Bart Jagger had a sweet thing going for him. First, he got the girls hooked on the horse he offered them. Then he made them pay for their habits by whoring for him. It was a good set-up. He made a nice bundle of money, and when he wanted a lay, well, there were twenty sweet-looking lovelies to choose from. All wanting to please him for that next fix. Then one day a couple of "gentlemen" from the Company came to pay Bart a visit. And things weren't so sweet any more. Things took a decided turn for the worse.
CHAPTER ONE
She was already beginning to tremble, though that didn't have anything to do with her condition. Bart was sure of that. She didn't need a fix yet. She was just nervous about it, because this was the closest she had ever come to needing one. And the first time she had run into any trouble about it.
"Bart, please," she begged, brushing back a strand of her long, blonde hair. Her face was contorted with worry, but still beautiful. It gave him a hard-on just to look at her like that, and hear her beg him. He crossed his legs to hide it, and tried to look convincingly sympathetic.
"I'm sorry, honey, but I just can't afford to carry you any more. You know I've been good to you up till now."
"Sure, Bart, I know that," she said quickly. "I wasn't saying differently. But I have to have a fix, Bart. You know I need it."
"Sure, honey, I know. But look at my side of it. I need money, or I can't stay in business. Now I supply the stuff for a lot of people, who need it just as badly as you do. Some of them worse. Without money, I go out of business. Then nobody can have a fix when he needs it."
"But-"
He cut her off. "How long have I been carrying you, baby?"
"I don't know. Three or four months, I guess."
"Sure. And I was glad to do it. I mean, when it was just a few joints of grass, or a free cap, that was just fine. But now you're on horse, baby, and that's expensive stuff."
"I wouldn't be on it if-" She broke off. Bart scowled at her.
"If I hadn't started you out. Is that it?"
"No, I wasn't going to say that, Bart. I-"
"Don't lie to me, Cathy. That's what you were thinking, isn't it? Isn't it?"
"Well, yes-"
"That's the gratitude I get. You wanted the stuff at the time. You begged me to let you try it, didn't you? And I gave in out of friendship, because I liked you. So now that you're hooked, you think you should have a free ride for the rest of your life, just because I was the one who gave you your first ride."
"No, no. It's not that. I'm not going to be on it for the rest of my life," she said with what sounded like real determination in her voice. "I'm going to kick it. But I need a shot now. I'll get the money for you, Bart."
"That's what you've been saying, baby. I stopped giving it to you free three days ago. You're carry in' a thirty-dollar monkey. That means you've already got ninety bucks marked up on the cuff. If I go ahead and take care of you today, it'll be a hundred and twenty. Now, I'm not giving you a gram of the stuff before I see some money."
"I'll get the money, Bart. You've got to give me some time."
"Christ, you junkies are all alike. You think just because you need the stuff, everyone has to give you anything you want. I don't have to give you some time. I don't have to give you anything. Now, I like you, Cathy. I think you're a nice kid. But business is business."
The phone rang, right on time. Bart had begun to feel a little nervous about it, for fear Hank wouldn't call on time, but there it was. He picked it up. "Hello? Yeah, this is Bart. Hank?" He waited, while Hank said the right things to make his pause sound realistic. "Tell him no," he said then. A pause again. "I know, I know. He's a good customer, and we could lose him, but I can't do it this time. I haven't been able to line up the right girl. You know how he is. His requirements are stiff." Without seeming to look at her, Bart saw Cathy look at him with quickened interest. "Hell, we don't make that much on him anyway, by the time we get through paying the girl ... Well, I'm sorry, Hank. I know he's a friend of yours and all ... Look, damn it, I told you, I've looked, and I just can't find the right girl. If you come across one who fills the bill, fine. I'll go a hundred and fifty bucks for the right one, and that's pretty good for an evening's work." He paused again. "Okay, Hank. Sorry I couldn't help you out this time. Bye."
He turned his attention back to Cathy. "Look, honey, I've got a lot on my mind right now, and if you don't mind, I just can't spend any more time sitting here talking to you. Now, I've told you the situation, and if you can't come up with the dough, I'm sorry. Really sorry. But-"
"Bart, what was that about on the phone?" She asked it with such intensity he knew he had her. From now on it was just a matter of reeling in the fish. And this was the part he liked the best. This was where he had some fun with her.
"What that? Oh, that was just a business deal. Nothing to do with you, honey."
"You said something about needing a girl to do some kind of work. And you said you couldn't find one."
Bart scowled, as though she had been eavesdropping. "Look, take my word for it. You wouldn't fill the bill."
"Why not? I'm a good worker, Bart. And I learn fast, too." She was so naive it almost made him laugh. His cock stood up harder than ever. She was a delicious little bitch, but ever since she had told him she was a virgin, he had held himself back. He could have screwed her any of a dozen times when she had just had her fix, but a hymen is a friend, he thought. And a treasure.
"It's not your kind of work, honey. I'm telling you. Now, run along like a good girl, will you?"
"Please, Bart!" Her voice rose to a shrill cry, almost a scream, and he looked at her hard. "I'm sorry," she said, holding her tone down to normal with an obvious effort. "But can't you at least tell me what kind of job it is?"
"This guy likes girls," Bart said. "He likes them young and tender. And cooperative." He put it pretty bluntly, just to see her reaction. Of course, it was exactly the kind of reaction he had expected. She looked shocked. Bart enjoyed her surprise. A girl like this was a rarity these days. "See?" he said, finally. "I told you, you wouldn't be interested. Now, if I were you, I'd get going. You've got money to grub up, and...." He looked at his watch. " ... not much time to do it in."
She looked at him for a moment, started toward the door, just a swaying of her body, and then she stood and bit her lip. "Bart, let me do it," she said. "Please."
"You?" Bart pretended to be surprised. "Honey, are you kidding? The cheerleader from the Catholic girls' school? You, hustle for dough? You've got to be putting me on."
"No, Bart. I mean it. I need that fix. You know I do. I'll do anything for it!" She was really starting to get frantic. Bart sat back and waited fifteen seconds before he answered her.
"No," he said. "I'm sorry, honey. This guy is a special customer. I'd rather refuse him than take a chance on disappointing him."
"But I wouldn't, unless you mean I'm not pretty enough."
"Oh, I guess you're pretty enough all right, baby." That was a laugh. She was pretty enough, all right, with a country mile to spare. "It's just that you're going to foul things up if I let you take on this trick. You'll run away, screaming for your Mama and Papa. Or at least you'll freeze up. No, I don't think so."
"Bart, give me a chance, will you? I won't let you down, honestly." She was almost in tears. Bart couldn't remember when he'd had such a good time. But it was time to cut things off. He didn't want to get her so worked up emotionally she wouldn't be able to give satisfaction. And there were some things left to do that would string her pretty high.
"Was that on the level?" he asked. "What you said to me once about being a virgin?"
"Sure." She said it quickly, and then looked worried, as though she thought it might go against her. "But it isn't because-"
"You sure? Because if it's true, he might take that as an excuse for you not measuring up in other ways."
"Of course I'm sure! I've never-"
"I have to be positive."
"But I just told you-"
"I'm sorry, baby, but your promise isn't good enough. I told you, this is business. And if he comes back to me and says you're a liar, I have to be able to tell him I know different."
"But how can you be sure?" She looked at him with pathetic anxiety, and he almost laughed aloud. She was really too easy. The spoiled ones like her were always the easiest ones, anyway, no matter how well they were brought up.
"I'll have to look for myself," he said. She stepped back and stared at him, wide-eyed.
"I told you, you weren't the right girl for this job, Cathy," he said. "And you just proved I was right. If you can't even make yourself let an old friend look at your cherry, how you going to let a perfect stranger bust it? And this guy isn't exactly Paul Newman, either."
"No, I didn't mean to give you the impression-I mean, it was just a surprise, Bart. I-" She was in a sweat now, her forehead shining with it, and her body was trembling all over. It was such a beautiful little body, he thought, with those smooth, shapely legs and the tiny waist, and the nice, firm breasts. And the trembling, and the fear, just made her all the prettier to him. That was how a girl should look. "I-If you want to-look-I can see why you feel you have to."
Bart pretended to consider things a little longer. "Okay," he said. "You do this job, honey, I'll give you a hundred bucks for it."
"A hundred! But you said-"
"I remember what I said, Cathy. But that was for a girl who filled the bill. I've got my doubts about you. I'm taking a chance, and giving you one. A hundred bucks is more than I should pay you under the circumstances. I could lose a good customer if you goof this deal. And I could have to give him part of his money back if he's not happy with you."
"But what about my fix, Bart? You know I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't need that!"
"Well, I'll tell you what, baby. You do this job, and do it right, and I'll give you your fix, and you can owe me the other twenty bucks."
"All right!" she said, jumping at the offer. Bart sat back in the chair and waited for her to start begging again, because she had no choice in the matter. She had to have the fix soon. "Bart, couldn't you let me have my shot first? I need it bad."
"Hell, you don't need it bad at all. You know you don't. In a couple of hours you will, but not now."
"Bart, please, I-"
"Now, you know how you are, baby. Right now you're willing to do anything to get that fix. But the moment you get it, you're not going to care whether school keeps or not."
"Bart, I won't let you down." Then she looked as though she had thought of the perfect argument. "Honey, you wouldn't want me to start to need it, would you? Just in the middle of things?"
That was the first time she had ever called him honey, or anything besides his name. She was already starting to change her attitudes, he thought. She was going to be valuable. He pretended to think over her argument.
"I'll tell you what," he said. "I'll take a chance on you, just this once, Cathy. I'll give you your shot, but I'll charge you double for it." He raised a hand at the look of consternation that crossed her face. "That means instead of twenty, you'll owe me fifty when this is over. And I'm makin' the offer as a favor to you, because you need it so bad."
"All right," she said. She didn't even have to think about it for very long. She needed this fix, and he could really demand just about anything he wanted from her in return. He could have charged her a thousand bucks for this fix, and she wouldn't have been in any position to object.
"All right, now, there's one more thing I have to tell you before you decide to go through with this." She looked at him with that scared look again, as though she were afraid he was going to pull the rug out from under. "This guy is what you might call an advanced hobbyist. He likes other things besides what you consider normal sex, Cathy. And he expects his money's worth. Now, he's going to know you're a virgin, so he won't expect you to know all about this stuff. But he will expect you to do it when he tells you what he wants, and without hesitation. You understand?"
"Well, what will he want?"
"That's up to him, isn't it?"
"Oh, sure. I-Yes, of course. I understand, Bart. I won't let you down."
Bart leaned forward in the chair and suddenly took her hand in his. He yanked her into his lap. She sat there stiffly for a moment, then forced herself to relax. He had never gotten this familiar with her before. She felt good there, light as a feather, soft and warm and with that little tremble passing over her again and again. Bart laid a hand on her thigh lightly, and felt her stiffen again. His cock was harder than a brick now, and he wondered whether she was aware of it.
"Cathy, I want to tell you something," he said. "I want to tell it to you now before you get your shot, because I want to make sure it sinks in. Are you listening?"
"Sure, Bart. What is it?"
"I'm going to give you your fix on the cuff again. And you're going to go into my extra bedroom and try to earn it." He let that much sink in before going on. The mention of the bedroom sent a strong shiver up her spine. "Now, when you have the shot, arid you see this guy and all, you're going to feel differently. You'll want to back out. You'll think nothing is worth giving your cherry to that ugly bastard. Now you know you're going to think that way. But remember how you feel now. Keep it in mind, and think about feeling that way again tomorrow, without a friend like me to help you out. And there's something else you can think about, honey." He paused.
"Yes, Bart?" she asked in a small, scared voice.
"I'm nice to my friends, honey. You know that. But when a friend does me dirt, then I get real nasty. I do that person a thousand times what he did to me. You understand?"
"Yes, I think so-"
"Well, I'll make it good and clear, baby. If you take this fix I'm going to give you, and then run out without doing your part, I'm going to send some other friends of mine looking for you. And they're going to give you something you'll never forget. They'll also bust your head, and both of your arms, and both of those gorgeous legs." He patted her leg for emphasis, and she winced. "And they'll also strip some hide off of you, and break a few ribs. They won't kill you, honey. They'll let you live as a reminder to everyone else of what happens to someone who runs out on a pal when he needs her. But they'll leave a permanent reminder on your face. They'll put a scar on it, in the form of a nice, big 'F' for 'Fink'. You got all that?"
She nodded, too scared to speak. He chuckled in a friendly way. "Now, don't worry about it, baby. I'm sure you're going to do your duty to the best of your ability, and that's all I ask. If you're not quite as good at it as you should be, we'll work out a deal one way or another. After all, we're friends. It's only when I trust someone, and she deliberately lets me down, that's when I get mad."
"Okay," she said brokenly. "I understand, Bart."
"Fine." He took a handful of hair and tilted her head back. After the first moment's surprise she allowed her head to fall back. The action parted her lips, and he kissed her. He had waited a long time to get her in his hands like this, he thought, and now he had to be satisfied with a kiss. But later, when the cherry was gone....
He sent his tongue into her mouth and over her own, and she made a muffled gasp that died in her throat, then forced herself to relax and return the kiss. He had the feeling that she had never even had a french kiss before.
His cock was stiff and moist, and he felt his control slipping away. This was no good. If he didn't get her off his lap and out of his sight pretty soon he was going to bust her sure, and that would cost him more money than it was worth.
Then the idea came to him, and it almost made him laugh aloud. It was such a great idea, and so simple. It would be a good joke on Towers, too.
"I want to see if you've really got the guts to go through with this thing," he said to her. She looked up at him with panic written all over her face. Bart gave her thigh a reassuring squeeze. "Nothing to worry about, honey. That is, not if you're really willing to go through with this kind of thing."
"What do you want me to do?" she asked. There was a clearly discernible break in her voice, and it made him hornier than ever. The little twat was scared shitless.
"I want you to do something for me. It will be something that Towers will want you to do for him, too, so this way I'll have some assurance that you're not going to louse it up when he tells you to do it."
"But I thought you wanted me to be a virgin for him." Her voice had a pleading quality to it. She had just begun to get used to the idea she was going to lose her cherry today, and now she thought she was going to lose it right away.
"You will be, baby. What I want you to do won't have any effect on your cherry at all." He let her stew a moment longer. "You know what a blow job is?"
"No."
"Well, you're about to find out, honey. Get down on the floor in front of me. Kneel." She hesitated a moment, then slid off his lap gracefully. She knelt there, looking up at him, scared and miserable, and all the more attractive for it. "Okay," he said. "Now we're going to see if you have the guts to go through with something like this." He reached down and took her face in his hands, cupping his palms over her cheeks. "I want you to unzip my fly," he said. He spoke the words in a dull monotone, with no emotion in his voice at all. It was just the kind of command that brooked no nonsense. She hesitated for just a second, then reached up a timid hand and started tugging at his zipper.
She had trouble with it, because it kept twisting and jamming. Finally, she managed to make herself insert her fingers over the top of the waistband and steady the zipper. Then it slipped down easily. "Fine," Bart said. "Now you can open the top of my pants too." She was in a real sweat now, but she managed to do the job with trembling fingers. The pants fell open, and Bart hoisted his ass a little and shoved them down past his hips. Then he shoved his shorts down too. He had a little trouble with that, because his cock was like a spear by this time. She stared at it for a moment when it came into sight, then tore her gaze away. She was a deep red color, and obviously mortified. It made him so excited he almost came right then. He could hear his own breathing as though it were being magnified by an amplifier. He ran his hand lightly over her smooth cheek. "Give me your hand, Cathy."
She didn't respond at first, and he repeated the command with more harshness. Her hand came up in a jerking movement. It was soft and smooth and tiny. His own hand almost devoured it.
He pulled the hand slowly toward his prick. She saw what he was doing right away, and tried to draw back. But a scowl from him put a stop to that. Bart pulled the hand all the way to his cock and dragged her fingertips over the shaft. She shuddered, and made a gagging sound. It turned him on all the more. He hadn't thought there were girls this innocent still in existence.
Then he closed her hand, wrapping it around his prick, and she made a little mewing sound deep in her throat. She almost tore loose from him. There was a tugging by her body, and her legs worked to get up to her feet, but he gave her hand a brutal squeeze, yanking it off of his cock momentarily, and she cried out with the pain, and settled down.
"Give me your other hand, baby," he ordered. She did so reluctantly, and he placed it on his cock. The tool was stiff as steel now, painfully stiff. Bart took one hand away from hers and reached down to her head. He took a handful of smooth blonde hair and pulled her forward slowly. He put some muscle into the action, overcoming her resistance. She was obviously trying not to resist him at all, but she was having trouble from her years of moral upbringing. At the last moment she twisted her head to one side, and her mouth was spared contact with the tip of his cock. He pulled his other hand free of hers and gave her a slap on the face, just a light one to let her know he meant business. "Don't think about it," he said. "Just think about that fix you've got coming in a moment." Then he pulled her head around and forward, and her lips touched his cock lightly. She almost gagged again, but she managed to choke her bile down, and she didn't try to pull away.
"Now lick it," he ordered. She looked up at him with terror-filled eyes. "If you can't do it for me, Cathy, I don't see why I should take your word you can do it for my customer." She had pulled away to look up at him, and now she licked her lips once, nervously, before diving forward. When she did, it was quick and convulsive, as though she couldn't trust herself to do it any other way.
She held his cock in her hands, resting her forearms and elbows on his thighs to steady the shaking in them, and leaned forward. She had her tongue as far out of her mouth as it would go, apparently on the theory this was one way to keep her face a little farther away from the cock even while she was licking it.
At the first warm, moist contact of her tongue to his prick he almost shot his wad. He held it back with a grunt, gripping the arms of the chair tightly. She looked up at him with a mixture of fear and hope, possibly thinking she had hurt him some way, and he might want her to stop. But he gave her a look that was clear enough in its meaning, and she went to work again, licking his cock lightly, then, as she continued to get used to things, with greater force. "All over it," he said tightly. "Move on in." She began to lick more of his cock's head, sliding her tongue back over it. The first time she hit the crown of it, he had to fight to hold himself in again. She started licking his shaft, then, and he could feel the quick shivers of delight traversing her body as she almost gagged again and again.
In a moment Bart's belly began to quiver with the approaching ejaculation. He reached down and grabbed her head between his hands. "Take it in your mouth," he said. "Come on, all the way in." She resisted him for just a moment, then took hold of herself and leaned forward, letting the cock slide into her mouth. He felt it nudge the back of her throat, and she almost gagged again just as her lips closed tightly around the shaft.
Then he began to come, shooting the cream into her mouth with fire hose force. She made gagging sounds deep in her throat, but she managed to hold on, without any effort to pull back. She held on by sheer dint of will, and the cream flowed out in one more quick shot. He saw her throat work frantically to swallow the come, and the sight squeezed one more shot out of him. The climax that swept over him was swift and powerful, wringing him like a chicken's neck. Then it was over. He leaned back in the chair as Cathy withdrew her face from his crotch. His cock hung, limp and wet, between his legs.
"Good girl," he said, leaning forward and patting her on the head patronizingly. "I'm beginning to think you might make it after all, sweetie."
He chuckled with deep enjoyment as he leaned back in the folds of the chair.
CHAPTER TWO
Bart sat there for a long time, just enjoying the pleasant feeling of relaxation that always followed a sexual release. Cathy was still kneeling before him, her body all folded up in itself, as though she thought she could make herself less noticeable that way. He had no doubt she had just undergone the greatest humiliation of her life, and one far greater than she had deemed possible. It made it all the nicer, thinking about how she felt. He had bent her to his will, and forced her to do something repugnant to her, just to give him a few moments pleasure.
Finally, he rose from the chair. She leaned back quickly as he came up, to keep from being knocked over by his legs. Then she made it to her feet. Bart stuffed his cock back into his pants and put an arm around her. "Now, that wasn't so bad, was it, darling?"
"No."
He knew she was lying, just to keep from making him mad, and that made it better yet. He laughed a deep, comfortable laugh. "Take off your clothes now, baby," he said casually. "I'll have that look I mentioned." She bit her lip, but of course after what she had just done for him, taking off her clothes wasn't as important any more. She stripped down to panties and bra while he went to get her fix ready. But then she stalled, looking uncertain. "All the way, honey," he said. "I don't have X-ray vision, you know." She looked at him with a hint of pleading in her eyes, then hooked her fingers in the band and began to peel her panties down. She stood before him, looking humiliated and scared. "Take off the bra, too, honey."
"But why? You said you just wanted to-"
"I told you, this guy's a connoisseur. I have to make sure you're something worth offering to him."
"All right." Reluctantly, she unhooked the bra and tossed it into a chair. She was completely naked then, except for the little flats on her feet.
"Get on the table over there," he said, pointing to the big, dining room table. She looked at the needle longingly and crawled up on the table. Bart swabbed the needle with alcohol and thrust it into her arm, in the fleshy part underneath. Almost instantly when he pressed the plunger he saw the difference in her. She relaxed, and her eyes took on a dreamy look.
"Okay," he said. "Now you feel better?"
"Oh, yes." She looked as though she wanted to go to sleep.
"Open up," he ordered. She looked up at him for a moment, then spread them. "Good. Now pull up your knees a little." He walked to the foot of the table and leaned over it. A glance at her face told him that even the dope wasn't keeping her from feeling the shame and humiliation of this moment. Bart placed his hands on the insides of her knees and pushed them wide. Her slit was tight, but it opened for him. He leaned in between her legs and looked into it. The membrane was there, all right, fragile but intact. It was worth more money to him, he thought, than the average man made in six weeks. He placed his fingers on her cunt and spread it nice and wide, pretending to need the better look. She was crying now, and he was enjoying her chagrin. He looked for a long time before he let go of her.
"Okay," he said. "Get up and put your clothes on, baby. Or better yet, go in and take a shower. Then get your clothes on and go into the bedroom. The small one. I'll be in in a little while to tell you what to do next."
When she was gone, he picked up the phone and called Arnold Towers. "Towers? I've got someone for you. Someone who's going to fill the bill."
"When?"
"Today. Just as soon as you can get down here."
He heard the man's heavy breathing from the other end of the wire. "Okay," Towers said. "Is she really good?"
"Have I ever fooled you?"
Towers was there within forty-five minutes. They sat on the couch and talked business. "She's sixteen," Bart said. "A cheerleader, blonde and cherry."
"How do you know?"
"The only way you can know. I looked."
"She's such a nice girl, and she let you look to see if she's cherry?"
"She needs the money badly. You interested?"
"Well, sure I'm interested."
"It's going to cost you."
Towers was instantly on guard. "No more than usual, right?"
"Wrong. Virgins are hard to find nowadays. Right now a sixteen-year-old virgin is hard to find."
"All right, never mind the sales pitch. How much?"
"Two yards."
"What? Two grand for a piece of tail?"
"Now, you know you're getting more than just a piece of tail for your money, Arnold. You're getting the right to bust a nice, well brought up Catholic girls' school cheerleader type. You're getting the use of a nice, safe bedroom for as long as you want, up to tomorrow morning. You're getting the right to break her in, have the fun of letting her do anything you can think up, when she's never even taken her pants off for a man before. You get all the booze you can drink, and all the booze you want to pour down her."
"I don't give a shit. Two grand is too much money."
There was a knock at the door just then, of course. It was just what Bart had told her to do. When he told her to come in, she opened the door and stood there in her miniskirt and blouse, looking nervous and lovely. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know-Where do you want me to go, Bart?"
"The bedroom at the end of the hall, honey," Bart said. She knew that very well, of course. She had been there for the past fifteen minutes. It was part of the sales pitch. She smiled nervously at Bart, looked at Towers with a nervous glance, and left.
"That her?" Towers asked raspingly. "Yeah. But since you're not willing to spend the money-"
"All right, you made your point. She's something special. But two grand!"
"That's my price, and you can afford it."
"Okay, okay. Good thing for you I carry that kind of dough with me."
"A good thing for both of us, I'd say."
Cathy Winslow sat in the strange bedroom, wondering how she had gotten there. The one look she had had of the customer had made her want to run away. She almost had, in sheer panic, before she had remembered the warning Bart had given her. He had described it so graphically. She didn't know if she would be able to give that man the kind of service he wanted, but she knew she would stay and do her best for him.
She didn't know how long she had sat there when she heard his heavy footsteps in the hall. It seemed like an impossibly long time, and yet like just a few seconds. Time always seemed mixed up when she had just had a fix. And now it was worse, because the fix hadn't deadened things enough to keep her from dreading what was coming. She looked at the window for a second. She was on the twelfth floor. If only she had the courage ... But of course she didn't.
He opened the door and walked in, looking huge and gross, a little distorted by the drugs. She could hear him breathing clear across the room, and she knew he was excited. He seemed all the more disgusting to her for that. She looked past him, into the hall, and thought for a moment she was going to make a break for it. But of course, there would be no place to go beyond that hall. No place where Bart's friends wouldn't be able to find her.
"Hello," she said, in a soft, spongy voice. She was suddenly aware that he was staring at her legs as though they were something to eat, and he were a starving man. She had an insane desire to tug at her miniskirt, but she fought it down. Only her fingers moved a little, flexing and straightening.
The man came the rest of the way into the room and closed the door behind him. It sounded surprisingly loud in her ears, as though he had slammed it, but he hadn't. It was the horse again, and her own high strung emotions. She stood up, just to be polite. She couldn't seem to think of anything to do or say. He just kept staring at her like that.
He came closer then, and she backed up the half step that was allowed her by the nearness of the bed, and almost lost her balance. She noticed that his shirt had a button missing right at the level of his huge belly, as though the belly had popped it loose.
"Goddamn," he said, breathing the words on her from very close. "Jesus, you're worth it." Then his huge, flabby arms were around her, and he pulled her against him. She felt his belly against her, and she was stiff and scared, her body tense with the urge to struggle, to break and run. But she didn't. She made herself stand there, held tightly against him. She was amazed at his strength, for a man so out of condition. The arm was like a steel band, the way it held her. "Relax," he said, barely vocalizing the words. His face was very close to hers now, and he was sweating. It wasn't hot in the room, so she guessed that he was just sweating because he was emotional at the moment. He wanted her. She knew that with frightening certainty. She had never been aware of being wanted before, though she had always taken some pride in her attractiveness, and had known that men desired her in the casual, offhand way they desired all attractive women.
But this was different. This animal wanted her with an obscene intensity she had never known before, and the most frightening thing about it was he was going to have her.
"I said relax," he ordered more firmly. She forced her muscles to slacken a bit, made her rebelling body melt against him. She knew that would inflame him all the more, and she didn't want that, but of course she had been paid for this night, and unless she wanted to be paid again, and in a coin she didn't want, she had better do what was expected of her. She only hoped that it would be over soon.
What she had done for Bart had been horrible beyond anything she had imagined. But now she was going to do anything this man wanted. Anything. For as long as he wanted to keep her here. "That's better," he said with a slack smile. He pulled her closer into his body, and held her tightly.
Cathy became aware of a stiffening down below. She had heard enough about sex to know what it was, of course, and the awareness made her want to vomit. At the same time it filled her with the urge to run again. And there was something else, too. She felt a sickening, perverted excitement, and a queer sense of power at the thought that she had gotten a man excited, and had brought about this reaction in him, a reaction over which he had no control.
His hand moved to cover her throat, and then slipped up to her chin and lifted it. She had all she could do to let herself be tilted back. He bracketed her face with his thumbs and pinched inward on her cheeks, opening her mouth. She knew what he was going to do, of course, and she was panicked by the thought, but she allowed her mouth to be opened by him, and when he kissed her she just tried to think of something else.
It wasn't a complete success. She couldn't help being aware of his mouth on hers, and his rancid breath. His tongue, intruding on hers, was too much to be ignored. Her body stiffened a little, and she had to work to make it relax. She didn't want to make this man mad at her. If she did, he'd complain to Bart, and then she'd be in trouble. .
Finally, the kiss was over. The hardness pressing into her belly had grown. The man let her go and stepped back to look at her. He took both of her hands. His hands were huge and soft and flabby, and they were moist with sweat.
"You're no bigger than a minute, are you?" he said. His eyes were like two drips of fire in his pasty face as they moved over her. She didn't know what to say, or do. This was so new to her.
"Do-" She started to say it before she realized the words were coming out of her mouth, and she had to go through with it then, no matter how embarrassed she was. "Do you want me to undress, sir?"
He laughed at her, and she didn't know whether it was from sheer delight at having her here like this, or whether he found her question, or her obvious discomfort, amusing. She felt herself flush deeply, and that made him laugh again, more heartily than before.
"Don't be in such a hurry, baby," he said. "We've got all afternoon, evening and night to get acquainted. We'll get the clothes off of you, but only when I want to."
"Yes, sir, I-I didn't mean-"
"Besides, I'm like a kid at Christmas. I like to unwrap my own presents." It took her a moment to get the drift of his last statement, but then she felt herself flush all over again. She had never been undressed by anyone in her life, or not since she had been a baby. She thought of what it would be like to have this hideous toad of a man undress her, to sit or stand very quietly and let him do it. The thought made her bile rise again, and she had to choke it down. She was glad she hadn't eaten anything since lunch time, and not much then. She had been worried about the fix she knew she was going to need. Well, she thought, she had certainly taken care of that problem.
He took her in his arms again, holding her very close, and she was suddenly, horribly, aware of his hand sliding down over her fanny. The hand reached the hemline of her skirt and lifted it, very slowly. Cathy felt like screaming. Then his mouth covered hers again, cutting off any chance of that, and she stood there against him, rigid and terrified while her skirt was pulled up and the hand began to play over her cheeks, feeling them luxuriously through the thin panties she was wearing. It sent chills up her spine.
His arms were around her body, and her own were outside of his, sticking down rigidly, her fists clenched into hard balls. "Put your arms around my neck, honey," he ordered her softly. His voice was tense with excitement. She hesitated, and he started to give the order again when she suddenly managed to work up the nerve to do it. She circled his neck with her arms and held her left hand in her right, using all her will power to keep from drawing away from him. She could feel sweat through his shirt collar, and she could smell it all over him, a rancid smell, the sweat of a hundred months of drinking whiskey and beer.
Sometimes, when she was alone at night, she had indulged in fantasies about losing her virginity, or giving it up, yielding it to the right man. She had imagined what it would be like, with a man she loved, maybe her husband, in a fresh, clean bed, in a lovely suite in some hotel. She almost had to laugh now to compare the dream with reality. It was such a grotesque comparison: her dream of a lean, hard, gentle man, and this flabby, sweaty animal who was pawing her ass.
He moved his hand upward to the top of her panties, and she bit her lip hard to keep from screaming. She knew what he was going to do, of course. She had expected it right from the moment he had begun to lift her skirt. For the first time she really clung to him, just to hold to something solid and real, something that would keep her from losing her balance as the dizziness of horror passed over her.
The hot, damp hand moved down inside the tiny panties, breaching the thin defense of nylon that had guarded her skin from his palm. The hand moved with deliberate slowness, with real luxury, over the round, soft cheeks of her ass, squeezing and moving a little and stopping to squeeze again. She heard little grunts of pleasure from the man, and she knew he was working himself up into an intense state of desire. She clamped her eyes tightly shut and tried to think of something else, but couldn't. It was too real at this moment. She couldn't fool herself now, and she couldn't accept it either. She couldn't believe this was going to happen, not all the way, surely God wouldn't let it, after she had been a good girl all these years.
The hand spread out, flattening against her flesh, flexing and resting there, and then he withdrew it. Cathy felt her breath whistle out of her lungs as the tension in her lessened just a little.
He began to kiss her face and neck, and she made herself stand still and take it, fighting the almost unfightable urge to scratch and bite and struggle, to run away from him. His mouth moved over her skin like some slimy reptile, almost driving her into a faint, it was so repulsive. But she stayed there. She wished he would get on with it. This had to end sooner or later, she told herself. It had to. Why did he have to draw it out like this?
He released her finally. "Go over and sit on the bed," he ordered her hoarsely. She did as she was told, walking carefully and slowly, because she was afraid her shaky legs might fail her if she weren't careful. He looked at her when she sat down, and she was aware of his eyes on her bare legs, watching the retreat of her skirt as she sat. She wanted to pull the skirt back down, but she kept her hands away from it, folding them neatly in her lap. She tried to return his gaze, but her eyes kept sliding away from his face. She couldn't stand to look at him, not knowing what he was going to do to her. She couldn't stand to think about that, nor could she keep from thinking about it. If he didn't get it over with pretty soon, she would lose her mind. But he continued to enjoy the sight of her, while she sat and waited for his pleasure.
He walked to the bed, and she saw his cock now, bulging against his pants, as he approached her. She bit her lower lip and fought down the dizziness that swept over her. He sat down next to her, and his hand lowered, slowly and without haste, and she sat, tense, waiting for the touch of his fingers. The hand moved with exaggerated slowness, and she realized he was enjoying her discomfort, deliberately drawing out the preliminaries to make her squirm.
The hand moved back and forth along the length of her leg as it came down, so she wouldn't know where to expect the contact to come. Then he stopped it, only a half-inch above her flesh, and finally lowered it all the way, slowly, with contemptuous gentleness, showing her he had no need to be hurried, since there was no chance that she would draw away or offer him any resistance.
She felt the heat of his palm just an instant before the soft, moist fingertips touched her above her knee. The hand came to rest there fully, lighting slowly and tantalizingly, and Cathy almost screamed at him. She couldn't stand this kind of thing much longer. If he was going to do it, why didn't he?
He slid his hand up the length of her thigh, letting it go up very slowly toward greener fields, fuller, softer and warmer flesh. She sat looking straight ahead, painfully aware of the hand there, moving over her skin with the casual gentleness of ownership. He was breathing hard and heavy and fast now, and she felt the bed shake from the trembling of his huge bulk.
"You got fine stems, Cathy," he said, and she murmured some kind of thanks. All she could think about right then was that hand, nesting on her thigh like a toad.
He was getting a strange look about him, almost like someone who had turned on with grass. His eyes were heavy-lidded, and his tongue kept darting out to moisten his lips.
"Let's start the unveiling, baby," he said. He gestured to her, letting her know what he wanted her to do, and she turned slightly away from him, presenting her back. He began to unbutton her blouse, his hands shaking slightly. But he didn't hurry about it. He took his time, enjoying the revelation of smooth, white skin that he was earning for his efforts. He worked the vee of open cloth downward, widening it with each new button that was opened.
Cathy was aware of the coolness of the air on her skin as the blouse opened, and she imagined she could feel his eyes, too, looking at her. She was only wearing a bra under the blouse, and as it opened her back was increasingly revealed. She tried to tell herself that she had shown more of herself on a public beach, or at a swimming pool, many times, but it was no good. She felt more embarrassed, more humiliated and more helpless than at any other time in her life.
He leaned over after a while and traced a line down her back with his lips. She tightened convulsively and heard a muffled chuckling sound behind her. Then he slipped a hand under the open blouse, squeezing the flesh on her side lightly, and she had to grit her teeth to keep still. The sweaty palm moved moistly over her, stopping to squeeze her every once in a while. Cathy put her hands in her lap and gripped her thighs until it hurt. She looked down and saw little white marks on her legs from the gripping, and her fingers ached from it. Her jaws ached, too, from the work of trying not to scream.
The man withdrew his hand from her blouse and began to pull the garment free of her skirt, working it out a little at a time, pulling out an inch of the cloth and moving on, and she could feel the top of her skirt bite gently into her skin as the blouse was withdrawn.
When it was all out and hanging freely about her, he took the shoulders in his hands and drew it forward, pulling it off of her altogether. Cathy raised leaden arms slightly to allow the sleeves to travel down them, and the blouse was gone.
He looked at her for a moment, and she could see obscene glee in his eyes as they traveled over the expanse of naked flesh he had just undraped. Her bra was a light one. Her breasts were good sized and firm for her age and height, and didn't need the support of an uplift bra yet. She knew the color of her skin showed faintly through the thin white cloth, and she had a feeling he could see her nipples, too, just the pink shadows of them. She closed her eyes, clenching them tightly for a minute, and he laughed softly again. She could hear his breathing more clearly than ever now. He was excited, and getting more so with each passing second.
He laid his fingers on one of her bare shoulders and let them slide down the front of her, over the bra. She could feel the light pressure of his fingers through the garment. He squeezed the point of her breast lightly with a pinching motion, and then let the fingers move on down over her belly, making it quiver with the tickling sensation they caused, and also with the revulsion she felt at having him touch her there.
"Turn around again," he ordered her, and she showed her back to him once more. She felt his hands moving over her for a while, and she could feel them moving to converge on the clasps of her bra. She sat very still by a supreme act of the will, clutching her thighs again, while he opened the clasps one at a time. She felt little sounds of horror welling up in her, heard them in her throat, and he laughed as he heard them too, and his hands moved, if anything, more slowly than before. Then the first clasp was open, then the second and he only had the one more to go. She felt the bra loosen and her breasts bulge against it more freely. He waited a good long time before working on the last clasp, but when it fell open, she made a slight movement, as though she had been taken by surprise. The bra loosened and fell away from her breasts, and she lifted her hands convulsively, to hold it over them. He didn't say anything, but of course he didn't have to. She forced her arms down again, and the bra fell outward, hanging loosely by the shoulder straps.
He embraced her from behind, his arms circling her at the waist, his hands sliding up her belly to her breasts. They slipped under the meaningless bra and cupped her breasts lightly, luxuriously. She had to choke back the vomiting action in her throat. She didn't see how she could take much more of this. The man was dragging things out as long as he could, and they were only down to her breasts now.
He pulled her back against him, holding her that way with a light pressure on "her breasts. His palms flexed and relaxed lightly, squeezing her breasts with obvious enjoyment.
Then he moved his hand slightly away from her right breast and began to move his fingers lightly over the nipple, just tickling the tip of her breast with them, and she twisted a little, drawing away from him convulsively, as the revulsion she was filled with got the better of her for a moment.
"Let's not have any more of that shit," he said sternly.
"I'm sorry," she replied. She heard her own voice with a dull shock. She sounded hoarse, almost old.
"I'll be better," she said, feeling panic at the thought that he might get mad at her and report her to Bart, held herself still, giving herself up to his touch, and he worked on her nipples awhile longer.
Finally, he pushed the shoulder straps down, one at a time, and she held her arms out to let the bra slip off. She almost felt better to be rid of it. The half-on, half-off position had been more obscene than its absence.
He took her by the shoulders and turned her around to face him. She closed her eyes tightly and allowed herself to be turned. She couldn't bear to look back at him now. He must have found the sight of her breasts enchanting, because he waited a long time before he did anything else. Finally, she opened her eyes, because she couldn't just sit there with them closed forever. He laughed.
"I was wondering when you were going to pull your head out of the sand," he said. He looked at her face for a while, and then let his eyes slide slowly, insolently, down over her breasts. He stared at them openly for a long time, until she felt shivers begin to move over her body, and then he touched them again, cupping them one at a time. Finally, he leaned forward and unhurriedly covered one breast with his mouth, while he played over the other. Cathy felt her hand clench into a fist and her arm came up in front of her, a convulsive, defensive action that went no further.
She felt his tongue slithering over her nipple and the skin around it, and he made little animal sounds in his throat. He pressed forward, pushing her back, and she yielded to his pressure, lying on her back while he continued to lick her breast with increasing exuberance.
After a while, he withdrew from her, and stared down at her from a sitting position. She lay there, terrified and humiliated, wishing he would get on with it and get things over with, and at the same time wishing she could stall forever. He reached down and ran his fingers through her hair, spread around her head like a blonde halo, and then he began to work down the zipper on the side of her skirt. She felt the panic in her rise to the level of near hysteria, but she fought it down. She had to get through this, she had to, she kept telling herself. No matter how hard it was, she had to let him do whatever he wanted.
She had never been naked in front of a man before, except for a couple of doctors, and of course Bart. The thought of what Bart had done to her out there made her flush even more deeply, and the thought of what she had done for him made her dizzy with embarrassment.
The zipper moved downward as far as it would go, and then he went to work on the two buttons at the top. They yielded to his fingers one at a time, and then he slipped his hand under the top of the suddenly looser skirt. She felt the hand move over her panties, and for a moment he seemed to consider pushing it underneath. But he didn't.
He pulled the hand out and began to work the skirt down over her hips while she lay there. She bit her lip and looked at the ceiling.
"Hoist your ass," he commanded, and she managed to obey him. He pulled the skirt down to the level of her knees then, and she let her ass move back to the bed. She felt obscene again, as she had when the bra had been half on. She wished he would hurry and get the skirt off of her.
For once he did what she wished. He pulled the skirt down until it was off the bed, then let it fall to the floor. It made a little, wispy brushing sound as it hit the carpet.
He looked at her, and she knew he could see through her panties, as he had been able to see through her bra, just the shadow of blondeness under her belly. She felt sick as his eyes crawled over her, and she had to force herself not to retch.
He took her by one hand and pulled her to a sitting position again. She came up heavily, sitting there like a stone, wondering what he was going to do next, and wondering how she had come to be here, nearly naked, with a man like him.
His arms went around her, drew her close to him, and he kissed her again, his tongue moving through her mouth, a slithering intruder that moved over her own tongue with complete familiarity now. At the same time his hands slid up and down her back, sending chills of fear over her. She could feel his nails scratching her lightly.
"Now stand up," he said, breaking off the kiss. She had to try twice before she could get her shaky legs to lift and support her. She stood facing him, only inches away. He spread his legs so that she could stand in between them, very close to the bed. She saw him staring at her panties, his face almost even with them, and she squirmed.
Then he reached out and hooked his fingers in the elastic of the garment, pulling the panties down a little and stopping. He was relishing this moment, of course, the moment in which he was stripping off her last article of clothing. Cathy had to fight herself to keep from pulling away. She felt her knees shake under her, and she knew the shaking was becoming uncontrollable. She could no longer keep them from quaking, and he could see them doing it. He chuckled with amusement and slid his hands around to the back of the panties, pulling the elastic down there too, to even the back with the front. The elastic had made a faint red mark on her skin, which was visible now.
He was almost drooling as he looked at her, his hands moving over her body with obvious delight. He pulled the front of her panties down a little farther, then evened the back again, and went on to pull the front down another half-inch. The first wisps of blonde hair came into view, just strands, and barely protruding from the panties, but it was enough to make him laugh in what sounded like a burlesque of a villain's laugh in a melodrama.
Then he evened the back again and sat back on the bed, enjoying this moment. Finally, he reached out with fingers shaking in nervous anticipation and pulled the panties down to her hips, revealing most of her pussy all at once.
It was a shock to her, because she had come to expect the slow, deliberate, tortuous lowering of the garment. She gasped, but for once he didn't seem to notice. His eyes were glued to the treasure he had just uncovered, and he didn't wait long to pull the panties down to her thigh, making her body an open book. The wispy garment fell down around her ankles, a puddle of nylon. He looked at her pussy, staring at it for a long, long time, until she squirmed under his burning gaze. She felt the tears streaming hotly down her face now, and some of the shaking of her body was sobbing.
A hand came forward slowly, tantalizingly, toward her cunt, and Cathy shook with the desire to pull away. It was hard to stand still. Her thighs and calves ached with the effort of it.
The fingertips touched her there, brushing lightly over the wisps of hair, and she let out a mewing cry that made him laugh again. Then his hand came against her pussy more firmly, and she felt the violent, shaking convulsions pass over her body as she fought down the almost uncontrollable urge to run from him.
He slipped his fingers between her thighs, and she cried out as he ran his thumb and then his hand over her cunt.
Finally, he took her hand in his and pulled her down to his lap. She sat gingerly, waiting to see what he was going to do. She sat with her knees pressed together like a maiden aunt. "Open up," he said hoarsely, almost grumpily. Her joints almost creaked with the effort of obeying him. She watched her own thighs part as though they belonged to someone else, unable to believe she was really doing this thing for this man.
He laid a hand on one soft, warm thigh and stroked it, his fingers on the inside, moving up toward Cathy's crotch. She almost screamed. No one had ever touched her there. She couldn't believe this. It wasn't real. But yet it was the most real moment of her life. She couldn't escape it.
He kissed her again, and his hand nestled into the warmth of her crotch, squeezing and exploring. After a while he broke off the kiss. "All right, get up, baby," he said. "It's time to get on with it."
He made her turn down the bed while he undressed. She actually welcomed the duty. It was something to do, something to keep her occupied, and to keep her eyes off of him.
When the bed was turned down to his satisfaction, with the covers pulled all the way down and draped over the foot of the mattress, she sat on the edge and waited. He was down to shorts and T-shirt now, and he looked uglier than she had thought he would. He pulled the T-shirt off over his head and tossed it onto the chair with the rest of his clothes, then peeled his boxer shorts down. He had some difficulty doing that, because of the huge bulge in front. She had never seen a naked man before, but she had seen pictures in some medical books in the school library, so she had a vague idea of what she would see.
The organ was hard, erect, standing out from the man's slack belly like a flagpole. It was almost ridiculously big, compared to the rest of his body. But the ridiculousness of it didn't make her want to laugh. She bit her lip and looked away.
He came across the floor to her, his feet padding on the thick carpeting, and when he got so close she could feel the heat of his body, she looked up at him, drawing on all her courage to do it.
His cock was almost even with her face, and it was very near to her now. He chuckled and told her to lie down in the middle of the bed.
Cathy felt horribly vulnerable in the prone position. She lay there, her legs stuck straight down from her body, rigid as death, waiting for him to join her. She didn't have long to wait. In a moment he was beside her on the bed, his body making a depression in the mattress. He slid over to her, and his arms went around her, drew her close. She could feel his belly, heavy and slack, against her. His cock nudged her side lightly.
He moved his hands over her body, her belly, her ass, her breasts, and his breath was heavy against her between kisses.
Finally, he moved away from her. "Spread your legs," he ordered, and she obeyed, as she had on his lap. It was the most difficult thing she had ever had to do, but she managed to get them open for him. She was conscious of the cool air on her inner thighs and her crotch. She could feel her slit stretch open.
He moved down on the bed, kneeling beside her at the level of her hips. He bent low and stretched her wider with thumbs and fingers. Cathy felt more embarrassed now than she had been when Bart had looked her over out on the table. He seemed to take a very long time about it.
"I just want to make sure I'm getting what I paid for," he said. She felt his finger probe into her a little way. He drew it back quickly. "I don't want to tear the little thing," he said with a laugh. "At least, not with my finger. I have just the right tool for that."
Cathy felt her body turning cold, and she wondered whether she was moving into a state of shock. She didn't know how much longer she could stand this kind of thing. But she had to! She had to stand it, because if she tried to run away, she would have Bart's friends to contend with.
She lay there while he stared into her all he wanted. Finally, he moved up beside her again. She started to move her legs together automatically, but he laid a hand on one thigh, and she stopped. "You're the real thing," he said. She glanced between his legs, and saw that his cock was bigger than ever, as though the mere fact of her virginity at his mercy had made him more excited.
He lay down next to her and kissed her again, then mounted her, his body slithering over hers, the huge, soft belly seeming to envelop her, and she heard the scream die in her throat as she forced herself to lie still. The cock, rigid and big, protruded between her welcoming thighs, and she had to clutch the sheet under her to make herself lie still for him.
One of his hands went down between them to grasp the cock, and he centered it on her cunt. She gasped, a sound that was almost a cry.
This was it!
This was the moment when he would take her virginity. If she didn't do something now, she wouldn't ever be the same again. She'd be something else, something she hadn't ever been before. She clamped her eyes shut and waited, feeling panic and helplessness mingle in her.
He pushed the cock into her a little, just a fraction of an inch, but already it was painful. She could imagine how it would feel when he pushed it in farther. Sweat broke out on her body and on her forehead, and she lay very still now, not only because she had to please him, but because any movement would be painful.
He pushed in a little deeper, and she suddenly realized that he was probing for her hymen, feeling gently for it, so that he wouldn't tear it before he was ready. Then the tip of his cock came into contact with the membrane, and he stopped cold. He lay there atop her, his breathing loud and gross in her ears, and she could look over his shoulder and see his ass humped up higher than the rest of his body as he held back from punching through her cherry.
He began to lower his hips slowly, letting his weight come more and more to bear on her hymen, stretching it painfully. She cried out, unable to choke off the sounds in her throat any longer. The pain was mounting as he stretched the lips of her body and the membrane in her at the same time. She cried out again and again as he lowered himself slowly, and finally she actually screamed in pain, let go with all her might, and suddenly her cherry tore, and his cock drove into her in one great lunge that turned her white with pain and almost made her pass out.
Her virginity was gone, but she only thought of that fleetingly at the moment, realizing that she would think of it more later on. Right now the pain was all she could think of.
He had begun to pump above her, his body lunging down onto her, and withdrawing, pulling his cock out for another shove, burying it in her then deeply, all the way to the root, and the pain was like fire between her legs. She screamed again and again, praying that she could pass out, but the respite never came. The pain became greater and greater as he worked above her, pushing in and pulling back, pushing and pulling, until it was all she could do to keep from raking her nails across his flesh to drive him away.
It didn't take long, now that it was started. He had driven through her cherry, and that seemed to excite him too much for him to hold out. He jogged atop her for a while, and then, suddenly his whole body began to quiver loosely, and then something hot and liquid flooded into her insides. She screamed again as his body accelerated, driving with new vigor into her, and then it was over.
He lay atop her for a while, and she fought for breath. Then he pushed himself off of her, his cock pulling slackly free of her pussy. She lay there, sobbing quietly, the pain and humiliation flowing over her like a wave. She had time, now, to think of what he had done to her. The virginity she had nurtured, had kept and maintained, had been taken from her, not by a man she loved, but by this huge animal next to her, this great, slack toad that lay there soaking the sheet with sweat.
There was blood on her and on the sheet under her. "Go clean yourself up," he said irritably. She got out of the bed gingerly, the fire between her legs as hot as ever, and made her way to the bathroom. She half expected to see Bart in the hall, but he wasn't in sight. She cleaned herself carefully, grateful for the soothing action of cold water on her belly and crotch and thighs, and then went hack into the bedroom. He was still lying there on the bed, and he looked like he was asleep. She remembered what he had said about them having all night to get acquainted. Her nerves were already on the ragged edge of hysteria, and her body was a mass of pain. She didn't see how she could possibly take hours more of his attentions. But then she recalled what Bart had said, the threat he had made, and she knew the pain she felt now was nothing compared with what she would feel when he got his friends after her. So she would stay. She would stick it out this once. This was her first sexual experience, and it would be her last act of prostitution. She was determined never to go through this kind of thing again. She had never even thought before that she could be a whore.
She walked to the bed and stood looking down at the sleeping man. She was tired, and it would feel good to lie down. But she didn't want to take a chance on waking him up. He might want some more sex, and she didn't want that to happen again until it was necessary. She went to a chair and sat, bending herself into position with great care as the pain bit up from her crotch into her belly.
The pain eased a bit when she kept her legs spread open, she discovered, so she sat that way, leaning back in the chair and wishing she could go to sleep. But she was too tired and too keyed up, and the pain was too great for sleep. She sat very still, to keep from waking the man up. But it wasn't any good. Just a few minutes after she sat down, he stirred, and opened his eyes. He looked blankly around the room for a moment, scratching his massive, soft belly, and then his eyes fell on her. He smiled, and Cathy managed to return the smile with a tremulous one of her own. She rose gingerly, trying not to think of the pain between her legs, or the things she was going to have to do before he would let her leave....
CHAPTER THREE
Bart Jagger counted his money for the fifth time and sipped his drink. The liquor was middle quality stuff, but. he had a feeling he'd be buying something better in the future.
It was getting late, and he had heard the heavy tread of Arnold Towers a half-hour earlier as the man went down the hall and out the door. Cathy was in the bathtub, apparently trying to wash away the stink she'd never lose.
Bart kissed the money and put it away in a drawer in his old, scarred desk. There was a light tap at the door, and he sat down before calling, "Come on in, Cathy."
She looked different. There were black circles under her eyes already, and he knew she had been through the grinder. Well, that was a good thing in a way. The sooner she learned the worst of it, the sooner she'd be able to take things in her stride. And for the money Towers had paid, he certainly had a right to do whatever he wanted with her.
"Well, now, that wasn't so bad, was it, honey?" he asked. It was fun time again.
"Bad?" She looked at him blankly for a moment, then put her head in her hands and looked down at her bare lap. "I didn't know anything could be so bad," she said.
"No? Well, I'll tell you something that's a lot worse, sweets. Going cold turkey is worse."
"Yes, I-I guess so."
"You'd better guess so, baby. Unless you want to try it, just to be sure."
He stared at her for a long moment, but she didn't say anything. "I guess if you thought it was all that bad," Bart said drawlingly, "you won't want to be doing any more of it, huh?" He waited. Finally, she answered.
"No. I won't do it any more. Not ever."
Bart laughed, with no attempt at hiding the meaning of his laughter. "Okay," he said. "Never let it be said that I tried to force a girl to do what she didn't want to. But you'd better find another source of income, Cathy. That's all I've got to say. You're going to need it, with the habit you have."
She shifted in her chair, and then, finally, looked at him. Her eyes were full of tears. "Please. Isn't there any other way I could make the money? Anything else I could do for you? I'll work. I'll do whatever-"
"It's up to you how you get the money, baby. All I'm interested in is getting what I've got coming. There won't be any more credit for you. I told you that. Not unless you want to stay on the old payroll. In that case, I could see my way clear to carry you, knowing that you're going to be able to pay me back." He looked at her for a long time, waiting for some answer. "Well, you think about it," he said finally. "The right way to look at things is this: you're better off than you were before. You've found a way to feed your monkey. And it's good, honest work. You're an entertainer. Guys want pleasure, and you furnish it for a fee."
Suddenly she came to her feet and rushed to him. Bart turned his swivel chair around, and she went down on her knees before him. "Please!" she begged. "Oh, please, Bart, don't make me do this any more."
"I told you, honey, I'm not making you do anything. Not anything at all. It's entirely up to you." He felt desire surge up in him. She wasn't a virgin any more, he thought. She wasn't something to be hoarded now. A slice off a cut cake wouldn't be missed by anyone. And he had her where he wanted her. The thought made his cock stand up. Reaching down, he took both of her hands in his and pulled her to her feet, then tugged her forward onto his lap. She sat there stiffly, obviously apprehensive. She knew he wanted to screw her, of course. And, he thought, she was so right. He let one hand drop lightly to her bare thigh, as though it had happened inadvertently. She stiffened a little more, and one tiny hand raised as though to push his away. But she stifled the impulse. She didn't dare piss him off. The feeling of power over her made his prick all the harder, and he knew she could feel it under her ass.
That's for you, sweetheart.
He put his left arm around her, circling her back and shoulders, and pulled her against him. "Now, I want to get things clear, baby, once and for all. I'm your friend, Cathy. Right now, the only friend you have that counts. Do you know anyone else who could get you the stuff you need? Or who would be willing to?"
"No." Her voice was a tiny murmur.
"Of course not. I'm the only one. Now, I've given you credit, and everything. Now I can't afford to do that any more. You'll have to pay for what you get. Either payment on delivery or very soon afterwards. As I said, I don't care how you get the dough, baby. Just so you have it. I'm offering you a way to get it, of course, and if you want to take advantage of that way, fine. It's a nice safe way. Safer than trying to stick up a drugstore or peddle yourself on the sidewalks. But, as I said, it's up to you." Bart raised his hand from her thigh and laid it over her breast. She jerked with surprise, but she didn't try to pull the hand away. She sat very still.
"Now," Bart went on calmly, "the decision is yours. You don't have to decide right now, of course. Take your time. Think it over. Right at the moment, you're all depressed, and I can understand that. You know what you need?"
"What?" she asked suspiciously.
"A fix. You need an extra little treat to cheer you up."
"A fix? But I can't afford it right-"
"Don't worry about that, baby. We'll put it on the tab. Get up." She rose from his lap and stepped back. She looked doubtful, of course, worried about running up her bill. But she was a junky. And Bart had been around junkies enough to know how they would act in any given situation. He went to the wall safe and got out the horse and the needle. He set about preparing the shot for her while she looked on. Finally, he brought it to her. She raised her arm for the shot.
"I don't think we should keep giving you shots in the arm, baby," he said. "People start noticing the holes."
"Oh. Well, where-"
"Hike up your dress and bend over." She looked more worried than ever, but her eyes kept slipping back to that needle. She looked like a starving waif who had been asked to do something naughty in return for a square meal. Finally, she turned her back on him, hiked up her dress and bent over. Bart came up behind her and pulled her panties down, revealing the cheeks. She let out a little gasp, and he was amazed she could have kept that much of her modesty after what she must have done for Towers, and what she had done for him. Bart laid his hand on one cheek of her ass and pinched the flesh into a little mound. She was smooth and round and the feel of her made his cock as hard as iron. He moved his hand around, making little mounds in different places, as though looking for the right place to give her the shot. Actually, he was just having fun.
Finally he put the point of the hypo close to the fleshy mound and held it there for a moment, then plunged it in. Cathy made a quick, startled sound at the entry of the needle, and her body jiggled delightfully. Bart held the needle still for a moment, then began to press the plunger slowly. He dragged it out for a long time, letting the heroin seep into her bloodstream very gradually. He could see her body relax as the drug took hold. She was getting that pleasant, euphoric feeling that always came over a junky right after a fix. The dumb little bitch didn't know she was just letting herself down deeper into his power by taking an extra shot. She was making the monkey bigger, and pretty soon it would be so big she wouldn't have a chance in hell of ever getting free of it, or of him.
He pulled the empty needle out of her ass. A little drop of blood appeared, and he wiped it away with a tiny bit of cotton he had laid on a nearby end table. He held the cotton there for a moment, and when he took it away the blood had stopped. He couldn't even see where the needle had gone in.
She stood up and let her dress drop into place, then, as though the thought had just occurred to her, she pulled it up again and adjusted her panties.
When she turned to face him she smiled in a vacuous way. There was a touch of embarrassment in the smile, but she was beyond caring about anything very much now. She looked at her watch.
"I've got to go," she said. "My parents are going to be worried about me."
"Now, you don't want to go home, honey." He took her in his arms and pulled her against him. She felt delightful. He had waited for this a long time. All the times, right after a fix, when any man could have had her, he had been tempted. Now he didn't have to fight off the temptation any more.
"Oh, yes, Bart," she said. Her words were a little slurred from the horse. She leaned against him, her tiny body weaving with the unsteadiness of the drug in her veins.
Bart tipped her head back and kissed her on the mouth. She had started to say something, and he caught her mouth open. She didn't react at all at first, then, slowly, as though remembering her manners, she gave him her tongue. Fifteen minutes before she would have been stiff as a board, but now, with the heroin in her, she was too far gone to worry about things. He let his hands move over her body, relishing the warmth and softness of her, and she giggled softly.
"No, you don't want to go home," he said again. "You can take care of your old man and old lady later. They trust you, don't they?"
"Yes," she said, and giggled again.
"Sure they do. So there isn't any reason why you shouldn't stay here a little longer. You and I are friends aren't we, honey?"
"Uh-huh."
"Of course we are. I just did something friendly for you, didn't I? I just gave you an extra fix on credit. Now you can do something to show how friendly you are towards me. You don't mind that, do you?"
"Well, I-"
"No, of course you don't." He kissed her again, and started leading her toward the bedroom. She came along reluctantly at first, then with more readiness, as he kept talking to her. "You want us to stay friends, don't you, dear? You want me to go on trusting you, and giving you your little treats when you need them. Sure." He kept up the steady mill of words as he led her toward the bedroom, and she came along more quickly now. She was still going further under the heroin, and what she had already done for Towers had stripped away much of her innocent girlishness.
The bedroom was dim, and he left it that way, not bothering to turn on the light. It was a nice, womblike darkness, the kind that would give a junky comfort and confidence. She wasn't going to refuse him, of course. That was a foregone conclusion. But the darkness would help to soften any resistance she might still have left in her, resistance that could be stimulated by a sudden glare of electric light.
"Just sit here on the edge of the bed, Cathy," he said soothingly. She sat down with the obedience of a zombie, and he went down on his haunches in front of her. He put his hand on the underside of her thigh and ran it down over the crook of the knee and the calf to her ankle. She giggled again, and when he looked up at her she smiled stupidly. He took off one of her shoes, then the other.
He got up on the bed and began to unbutton her blouse. She sat there like a child being undressed for bed, offering no objection at all. He felt the excitement grow in him. This was prime young stuff, something a lot of guys would give a week's pay to snuggle up to. And she was sitting here without letting out a peep while he undressed her.
The blouse slid off of her shoulders, and he went to work on the bra clasps. She didn't react to that, either, just sat there while he opened them. Bart wondered if he had given her too much horse. He didn't want a dead fuck on his hands.
The bra came off of her easily. She held out her arms to let him remove it. Her tits were really great. He looked at them in the dimness, then cupped one lightly. She just smiled at him, and he squeezed the soft, warm mound and felt his cock grow painfully hard. He pulled her to him and ran his mouth over her face, then kissed her. She obligingly let him have her tongue. He ran his hand over her hair, delighting in the clean, soft texture of it, then slipped the hand down between them and felt one of her tits again.
"I think we should get rid of that pesky skirt now, baby, don't you?" he asked in her ear. She giggled again, and got shakily to her feet.
"You want me to?" she asked slurringly.
"Hell, no. Don't ever let it be said that Bart Jagger wasn't enough of a gentleman to undress a girl." She giggled. The giggle, he thought, was the main article in a junky's vocabulary. He tugged her zipper down and let the skirt drop around her ankles, then looked at her for a moment before removing her panties. They came down easily, and she looked just a little embarrassed to be naked in front of him. But she didn't try to turn away or hide herself. Her pussy, all blondeness and beauty, stared back at him boldly while she giggled again.
He reached out and placed his hand on her abdomen, then let it slide easily down over the hump to the tuft of hair. She shivered delightfully, and he felt her box spread a little to accommodate him. One thing about junkies, he thought. They weren't a whole lot when it came to desire, but they didn't have many inhibitions, either. He slid his fingers over her cunt with enjoyment, and she shivered again and put her hand over her mouth to stifle another giggle.
"Come here," he said, his voice dry and cracked. He felt the spit dry up. His arm circled her hip and his hand closed on the cheek of her ass. He pulled her to him roughly, without gentleness or preamble, and she fell against him, then sat down hard on his lap. She sat there looking at him, her face a little vacant, the smile empty in her eyes. He delighted at that look of hers, hyped up on junk, unable to care what he did to her. She wouldn't be so calm about it later, of course. She'd hate herself when the junk wore off, but right now she was defenseless because she was unable to worry about anything.
He laid his hand on her thigh, working his fingers in between, and slid the hand upward until his fingers were pressed between her thighs, high up near the crotch. She sat there, looking vacant still, and just a little embarrassed. She giggled again. He pulled her close to him, and, circling her neck with his free arm, cupped one firm, fragile breast. It was warm, and it filled his palm nicely. He felt her nipple slowly harden as the handling she was getting from him seeped through the barrier of the junk and started to turn her on.
She tilted her face up to him, and he kissed her, covering her mouth with his and working his tongue in. He made the kiss long and deep, and she warmed toward him. The lack of inhibition helped her to turn on under circumstances that would have had her in hysterics without the junk.
He felt his cock pressing up against her now, so stiff it hurt,, and he laid her back on the bed, her legs hanging over the side, and then he got up.
He undressed as quickly as he could, trying to get the job done before she lost some of the glow he had managed to build in her. Of course she was still floating along on the horse, but the nice little sexual fire he had managed to build in her was something extra, and he didn't want to lose it. She watched him stripping, and giggled every once in a while. She giggled when he stripped off his shorts, and she saw his cock, sticking out in front of him like a spear.
Bart went to the bed and lowered himself onto it. She was still lying there with her legs dangling over the side. She didn't have the ambition to get the rest of the way on the bed and turn around to lie along the vertical line of it. He pulled her around, and she cooperated.
He couldn't wait any longer. He had planned to make it last, but there wasn't any need to, really. She was hooked, good and hooked, and he would be able to have her as often as he wanted. Right now, he was too turned on to hold off any longer.
He took her in his arms, circling her body, and kissed her breasts, once on each tit, and then he lowered her to the bed again. He placed himself between her thighs, working them a little apart, and she spread them wide for him, being as cooperative as a junky could be. She looked up at him with mild, vacuous interest as he placed his cock in her slit and fed it into her a little, then pushed it in hard. He let out a grunt of sudden pleasure as the cock pushed in, spreading her. She was red and sore down there, and it probably would have been painful for her if not for the heroin pumping through her veins. She made a little wincing motion, but that was all.
Then they were locked together. He slid his arms around her upper torso again, cradling her, and lay there atop her, not moving yet, just enjoying the connection of their bodies. This was a moment he had waited for a long time. He wasn't going to let it pass too quickly.
Finally, he began to work his hips slowly, moving his cock through her and creating a tingling friction that widened the smile on her lips and made his own loins tighten with pleasure. He gave her a few strokes and then stopped, just keeping his cock in her for a while longer, hard and big, filling her tight channel, and her arms moved around his neck, holding him close. There was no real passion in her, of course. As dreamy as she was, that would be too much to expect. But she was feeling pleasure in their connection, and that was going to make it nicer for Bart, of course.
He moved his mouth over her forehead and into her hair, inhaling the cleanliness of her with delight while their hips began to move again, slowly, tantalizingly, spreading pleasure up into Bart's loins. His breathing was becoming short and quick and ragged.
Her tiny hands moved over his back and neck and shoulders, her fingertips playing over his skin lightly, and he felt his cock go stiffer inside of her, stronger and bigger and harder.
He knew it wasn't going to hold off much longer now, and if he wanted a good ride out of this fuck, he had better get with it. He began to work his hips a little more rapidly, thrusting into her with greater force. The pleasure in his loins built up quickly, becoming intense and exquisite as his cock slid through her like a ramrod, faster and faster.
Cathy gave a little moan, a sound deep in her throat that was hardly more than a gasp, as the pleasure began to penetrate the fog she was in. Her arms tightened about his neck a little, pulling his face down against her own, and he felt her lips brush against his cheek. She wasn't exactly turning into a fireball, but of course he hadn't expected her to.
His own pleasure had reached a peak of intensity by that time. He felt the pleasure bite through his vitals sharply, almost a spin in its strength, and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold back his come much longer.
He drove into her with all his force, and she let out another little moan of pleasure, louder this time. Her arms tightened more about his neck, and then he felt it boiling up in him, the come, and he held it back for just another half dozen thrusts before it flushed out through his cock, flooding hotly into Cathy's body.
He had worked himself up fast and to a fever pitch of desire, and the pleasure was intense, exquisite, almost painful in its strength. Bart let out a grunt followed by a cry that was answered by a less urgent sound from Cathy. He accelerated his thrusts, driving into her a few more times, and then it was over.
He felt weak and spent with pleasure, sated, completely satisfied, with a great lassitude moving over him. He lay atop her, his weight directly on her tiny body, and listened to her breathing heavily. He could feel her heartbeat. His own body was covered with sweat.
Finally, he got off of her and lay on his back for a while. She stayed where he left her, and after a few moments he heard her crying softly. He looked over at her and saw the tears glistening on her cheeks.
The horse was starting to wear off a little. She wouldn't need a fix until the next day, but she was already getting over the dreamy, half-conscious state she had been in since right after the shot. Her conscience was coming awake again, and she was beginning to feel it bite at her mind. Well, he thought with a grin, he really couldn't blame her for that. She had come in here a virgin, and now she had been fucked by two men, and had sucked at least one of them off. And maybe both of them.
But the tears weren't encouraging. She could be on the verge of a crying jag, and he had to get rid of her before she did that. He didn't want a sodden, tear-streaked junky on his hands.
"Get up," he ordered. He said it quickly and curtly, flinging the words in her face like a glove. He had found this kind of treatment was often the best when it was necessary to get a junky moving , in this situation. It was a shock to them, and it jarred them out of their own minds. Besides, they all liked someone to tell them what to do, even though a lot of them didn't know it at first. It was part of the junky personality.
She got up on the opposite side of the bed and looked at him uncertainly. He suddenly felt like fucking her again, or having her blow him, but a glance at the clock on his bedside table told him it wasn't a very good idea. Her parents were probably already worrying about her, and it wasn't safe to get the folks wondering all at once. They trusted her, which was handy, but they'd have to get used to the idea she was staying out later.
"Go in and get cleaned up," he said. "Hurry up about it. And get your clothes on and come into the front room."
She was there in a little while. Her clothes looked better than he had expected, especially since they'd been left on the floor. It was a little thing like that which could start parents thinking.
She looked at him from under lowered eyelids, her face guilty-looking. "I guess I'll be going home now, Bart," she said. "I want to thank you for-"
"Sure, sure," he said. "Now, I know you've decided not to do any of this again. But if you should change your mind and decide you need the dough, I want you to call me before you come up here. You understand?"
"Yes." She didn't even try to assure him she wouldn't be coming back. That was good. She was beginning to catch on. She was beginning to accept her new place in the scheme of things.
And that was healthy for the new business firm Bart was starting.
CHAPTER FOUR
Cathy had lost track of the number of men who had had her. She had come to accept things, and had grown accustomed enough to her new status that she didn't even mind going to bed with strange men any more. At least, she didn't mind it much.
But this new thing was another matter. This thing he wanted her to do now wasn't just a sin. It was evil, really evil. But she had given up kidding herself a long time ago. She would do whatever he told her to do. She had balked just once, and he had let her go through a couple of hours of withdrawal before giving her a fix. Cathy knew she didn't ever want to go through that again. At least not until she was ready to kick the habit once and for all.
Angela was sitting next to her on the bus, looking a little apprehensive, but she had been going to Bart's place quite a while now for joints. This was different, but Angela didn't know just how different it was.
"Oh, hell, it's nothing," Cathy had told her several days before. "I take the stuff when I want a little lift, and I do without it when I want to."
"But isn't it addicting?" Angela asked. "That's a lot of nonsense the Establishment feeds us to keep us from doing something they think we shouldn't. Sure you get addicted. So when you decide to kick it you get a headache and a little nausea, and then it's all over."
There was a lot more of that, stuff Bart had fed Cathy to feed in turn to Angela. And Angela had fallen for it with alarming ease. Of course, she trusted Cathy. That made Cathy's conscience hurt, but there just wasn't anything she could do about that. She would need a fix soon, and Bart had promised her one on the house if she could talk Angela into taking one with her.
They got off the bus three blocks from Bart's apartment and walked the rest of the way. It was a safety precaution. Bart had told her not to get on or off the bus at the same place too often when going to or coming from his place.
They used the stairs, of course, as always. It was better than taking a chance on being seen by someone in the elevator. The management of the place was strictly live-and-let-live, but you could never tell about other tenants.
They were puffing by the time they reached his floor. Cathy led the way, though by this time Angela knew where Bart's apartment was. She knocked on the door and waited, her heart in her throat. This was the first time she had ever deliberately set out to get someone hooked. It was evil, she knew. Her conscience was gnawing at her, and she needed a fix.
Bart had been waiting with some impatience. They were a little late, and he was beginning to wonder if Angela had gotten cold feet. Or perhaps Cathy herself.'He was worried about her lately. She was showing signs of a conscience.
But then the rap on the door came, and he relaxed. Everything was ready for them. The two needles and the bottle of alcohol lay on their white towel, looking neat and sanitary so that Angela wouldn't get scared. He walked to the door and opened it.
They were looking a little apprehensive, both of them, and he could see Cathy was about ready for a fix. She was carrying a fifty-dollar monkey now, and she was in debt to him for several thousand dollars. She needed the fix every day, and he didn't use her services as often, and when he did she wasn't paid that much. So the tab continued to grow.
He could see her conscience was already bothering her, too, and he decided to give her a fix right away, to keep her from making some kind of a fuss and scaring Angela.
"Come on in, dolls," he said. They walked into the living room, and their eyes fell on the needles right away. Angela looked a little scared at the sight, but Cathy looked at the needles the way a hungry baby would look at its mother's tit.
"Hi, Bart." Cathy was making an effort to seem cheerful and casual. It was part of the act, and something he had coached her to do. The friendlier they seemed the more calming it would be to Angela.
"Hi, chicken," he said, and kissed her lightly. She smiled brightly at him. A little too brightly. The fix would have to come soon or she would start to show ugly symptoms, and that wasn't what they needed for little Angela's peace of mind.
"You ready for some grass girls, or do you want to go right in on the big stuff?"
"Gee, I-" Angela said, looking a little frightened now that the moment was at hand. Cathy interrupted her smoothly.
"We've been talking about it, honey, and we want to go right for the horse this time."
"You finally decided to get in on the fun, eh?"
Bart asked Angela, injecting the right amount of friendly admiration into his voice. It was like offering congratulations on the wisdom of her decision.
"I guess so," she said. Bart smiled reassuringly and led the girls to the two chairs bracketing the table that held the hypos. They sat down, Cathy looking eager and Angela still a little scared.
While he was swabbing Cathy's arm with alcohol, Bart again looked Angela over. She was tiny like Cathy, but there the resemblance between the two friends ended. Whereas Cathy was light skinned and blonde, Angela was dark complexioned, with hair that shone like wet ebony. She was a beautiful girl, and he had the personal knowledge gained from her while she was high on grass that she was no virgin. Bart had refrained from taking advantage of her while she was on pot because he was afraid she might get to feeling guilty about it later and not come back. But after today....
He inserted the needle in Cathy's arm and pushed the plunger. She began to relax right away, and a dreamy, happy look came over her face. He could feel her body go soft and supple while he was still pushing the plunger.
The sight seemed to reassure Angela a bit. She could see that the shot had made Cathy relax, had made her feel good. While she was still riding the crest of confidence, Bart swabbed her arm and picked up the needle. She stiffened a bit, and he could feel her tug away. He let go of her arm. Force wasn't what he wanted. He wanted her to take the shot of her own free will, or at least to think she was doing so.
"Don't be scared," Cathy said with a giggle. "It isn't going to hurt. You'll sshh ... see," she said slurring her sounds a little. Angela bit her lip and held her arm out to Bart. He didn't waste a moment. The arm was swabbed in two seconds, and he had the needle poised over the spot. Angela winced a bit as the steel pricked her skin, then sat very still while he finished the injection.
It wasn't as big a shot as he had given to Cathy, of course. That would have killed Angela, who hadn't built up a tolerance for the junk yet. But it was as massive a dose he could give her without knocking her out. He had been watching her for the past few weeks, and the way she had taken to the grass convinced him she would be a natural addict. He was ready to bet in her case this one good shot would be enough to hook her.
She began to relax at once. Her lids grew heavy, and she leaned her head back against the chair and smiled dreamily. "There you go," Bart said, putting the needle down again. "There you is, sister. That was a good one, huh?" He prattled on in the crazy, nonsense talk all junkies seemed to like, and the two girls sat there smiling up at him happily. Cathy giggled suddenly, and Angela followed suit. Bart walked around the room aimlessly a couple of times, letting the fix soak into Angela's system. Finally, he sat down on the arm of the Chair. She looked up at him distantly, with that vacant smile he had come to know so well. Bart laid his hand on one of her cheeks and leaned down. He kissed her on the mouth, and she didn't even react. When he broke off she giggled happily, as though they had done something slightly naughty together. The fix was still taking hold, making her less conscious of what was going on, and making her care less what she did, or what was done to her. He kissed her again, tasting her tongue this time. She had a sweet mouth, just as he had expected. He waited a moment after the kiss and then laid a hand on her knee. She had closed her eyes, and she didn't even bother to open them at the touch of Bart's hand. He wondered whether she even felt it. He gave it the test by sliding his hand upward along her thigh, feeling the soft, warm flesh there. Angela opened her eyes and looked up at him with a vague look on her face. Bart kissed her again. She raised a tiny hand listlessly and moved her fingertips over his cheek. She seemed to be enjoying the sex play in a passionless way. The heroin had dulled her conscience, of course. She had told him that she had let one boy lay her once, and that was all. But her inhibitions had been weakened now to the point of nonexistence. Bart felt the heat of sudden excitement in him at the thought of her helplessness. She was any man's woman right now. And he happened to be the man.
"Wouldn't you like to be comfortable?" he asked, petting her thigh lightly.
"I'm comf'ble," she murmured fuzzily.
"Sure, honey, I know. But you'll be a lot more comfy in the bedroom, lying down, won't you?"
"I don-What-?" She worked her mouth a couple of times more, but nothing came out. Then she giggled.
"I know what he wants to do," Cathy said in playful sing-song, and Bart gave her a sharp look. It penetrated her fog just enough to make her draw back. "He just wants to make you comfortable because you're the new one," she said a little lamely. "He hasn't cared that much about my comfort in a long time."
"Heck, Cathy, you know I'm nuts about you," Bart said. She giggled. He slid his arms under Angela's thighs and back and picked her up. She was amazingly light. He carried her into the bedroom quickly, feeling a touch of moisture gathering on the tip of his cock.
The bed seemed to beckon to him through the darkness. Bart carried her to it and laid her down softly. She made a little sound of contentment as she came to rest on the bed, and he could see her eyes glistening in the darkness.
She was wearing a miniskirt and blouse, and the blouse buttoned up the front. Bart began to pry open the buttons. She raised a hand to stop him once, but he pushed the hand aside impatiently and she didn't try to stop him again.
Angela was really floating high on the heroin now, and anxious to please. Bart opened the blouse in a leisurely fashion, enjoying himself all the time. He opened it down to her skirt and then pulled it out of the waistband and opened the last button. Angela lay there looking up at him with a kind of shy smile that still had the vacant look of an addict on a nice cushion of horse. The blouse was open all the way down now, and he slipped his hand inside, brushing one side of the garment out of the way, and cupped one breast, feeling the warmth of it through the thin bra she was wearing. He let the hand slide down over her skin, down over her ribs to the waistband of her skirt. The other side of the blouse fell away as she moved convulsively, a mild reaction to his touch. Then he found the button at the top of her skirt, and he deftly opened it. The skirt pulled open at the top of the zipper, and he began to inch the zipper down. Bending low over her, he kissed her, driving his tongue deep and tasting the fine sweetness of her mouth. She murmured softly, and her tiny hand moved over his arm lightly.
The zipper was down. Bart pulled the skirt down, slipping the waistband past her hips, then moving down to the foot of the bed and pulling it all the way off.
She was wearing nothing now except her shoes and socks and a pair of thin white panties that matched her bra. The blouse was still clinging to her shoulders. Bart tugged off the loafers and her socks, then moved back up beside her. He kissed her again, and she seemed to like it in a soft, vague way. He was working loose the buttons of his shirt, preparing himself for what was to come. This was a hell of a nice little bundle, just as nice as Cathy. And she was strange stuff. He had become accustomed to Cathy in the past few months. When he had his shirt off, he moved his hands to her shoulders and brushed back the blouse. Lifting the upper part of her body, he got rid of the blouse altogether and tossed it to the floor. He could smell her hair and her skin close to his face, and it was intoxicating. He took a moment to unbuckle his belt and drop his pants. He was kneeling beside the bed, and the pants bunched up around his knees. He stood up and got rid of them, kicking off his shoes impatiently. Angela looked up at him and giggled, amused by his impatience. He grinned down at her and knelt again. She returned his kiss, this time with some fire, the passion penetrating the fog of dope she was in.
While they were kissing, Bart worked his hands under her and began to wrestle with the bra she was wearing. He finally managed to get the hooks open without tearing or breaking anything, and the bra slid away from the thrust of her young breasts.
She was smooth and soft and warm, her breasts nice and bulbous. He stroked them lightly, and felt an answering thrill from her. It wasn't the kind of excitement he might have gotten from a partner who wasn't drugged, but it was something, and Bart was beyond caring right then. He kissed her breasts lightly, then locked his mouth onto one tit and licked and sucked it until she began to warm up a little.
She was only wearing her panties now, and he felt the heat of his excitement become almost unbearable at the thought of peeling them off. He slid one hand down to her waist, dipping his fingers under the elastic, and pushed the garment down a bit. He could feel, with his fingertips, the first wisps of pubic hair.
The touch of his hand there managed to penetrate her fog and bring a little convulsive movement, a thrill that passed over her tiny body. Bart slid his hand farther down inside of the panties and gave her snatch a little squeeze. He worked it, kneaded it, and began to get some real response from her. She was going to be a better lay then he had expected, despite the heavy jolt of junk he had given her.
He removed his, mouth from her tit and came upright, looking down at her. Her panties were down a little, not enough to reveal anything that wouldn't have been revealed by a bikini. Still, just the look of them, slightly askew, pushed down past their normal place, with the bulge of her pussy beginning to show, turned him on more than he already was.
He hooked his fingers in the elastic. Angela giggled again, with a little touch of guilt in the sound. She still looked and sounded as though she were sharing something not quite nice with him. Bart pulled the panties the rest of the way past her hips, revealing her cunt, and she giggled again.
The panties peeled the rest of the way down her thigh, and he tossed them off the foot of the bed. His cock was almost too hard now, painfully stiff, and he knew he had to get on with things. He rose and pulled off his T-shirt and dropped his shorts to the floor. His cock was standing out from his belly like a flag pole now, and the sight brought a whole fit of giggles from Angela.
"Ohhh," she said, and giggled some more.
Bart got onto the bed, scooting her over, and then he took her in his arms, delighting in the fine, healthy firmness of her body against him. She was still dreamy, but reasonably hot, and she was certainly cooperative.
He was as ready as he was going to get, and there was no sense in holding off any longer. He covered her body, and she spread her legs automatically. She had been fucked before, he thought. She knew how it was done. He took his cock in one hand and centered it on her slit, then pushed into her. She let out a little gasping sound. He drove the cock in to the root, and she made a little sound deep in her throat, a moan of pleasure. Bart felt his cock go even harder with the stimulation of entrance into her, and he began to move in, to push and pull, driving his cock through her loins slowly, with a soft, deep satisfaction. Her arms found their way around his neck, and she held to him, not tightly, not with a great, hot passion, but with a kind of gentleness that was exciting in itself.
His cock moved through her with increasing vigor, and he could feel the pleasure approaching its peak. Her legs moved fitfully as the pleasure in her increased. The movement sent a further shot of desire through Bart's body, and he made a quick gasping sound that brought an answer from Angela. Her arms tightened about his neck, dragging him closer. He delighted in the softness of her cheek against his neck. He rested a moment, not moving in her, but just enjoying the connection of their bodies. His cock throbbed inside her, pulsing with hardness, and he could feel her belly trembling in response. The pleasure was as intense as it could be without movement to spark it along. Just having a little beauty like this in his arms was enough to keep a man excited. Angela was prime, as fine a twat as a man was ever likely to run into, and better than most men had ever enjoyed.
"Uh ... uh ... ooohhh," she moaned softly. Her hands moved over the back of his neck with a pleasing, tickling sensation. She twisted a bit under him, and her breasts stroked his chest. He could feel her nipples, hard and erect. The feeling excited him more, drove him into movement, his hips rising and thrusting, driving his cock in and out of her body with sharp little jabs of pleasure. Angela let out a sharper cry than before. Her arms tightened all the more about him, and she raised her legs and wrapped them around his waist. He felt her thighs tighten about him, felt them lock there as her ankles crossed. The thought skidded across his mind that she had certainly let a boy screw her more than once. She knew too much about fucking to be just one fuck removed from virginity. But that was fine. That was well and good. If a girl wasn't a virgin, then extra experience was an advantage. It was an advantage because she would be less likely to blow up when she got right down to the nitty-gritty with a customer, and because she would be more likely to please her early customers.
The thought slipped away from him, together with all thought. The pleasure was growing to masterful proportions now, and he couldn't have kept thinking if he had wanted to. He drove his ass down hard, thrusting his cock all the way into her, and she let out a sudden cry of delight. Her own hips began to really work then. Up to that point her response had been very slight, but now her hips ground up against his, their bellies meshing. He could feel her skin heat up with passion, could feel the muscles in her tiny body contract. Her legs, tightly locked about him, began to pulse with a life of their own, tightening and loosening with steady, pulsing movements, dragging him into her and letting him go. Her mouth was next to his ear, and her cries were magnified. Then she was biting him, her teeth nipping into his neck and ear, and he could feel her nails dig into his skin. It was amazing to him how much the sex was getting to her through the fog of heroin.
Then it reached a quick peak. Bart felt the power of the orgasm all over his body, and he felt a shiver of delight pass over her body, too. It wasn't the best orgasm he'd ever had, but it was better than most.
Afterward, he lay beside her for a while, enjoying his release. It was the first time he'd been able to be near this little cunt and not have the hots for her. She lay there next to him, drowsy. From time to time he could hear her move a little, and when he looked at her he noticed that her eyes were open. But they were unfocused, almost glazed, and he knew she was on cloud nine.
Finally he got up and pulled on his shorts. He walked into the living room. At the door he looked back at Angela. Her eyes were finally closed, and he knew she had gone to sleep.
Cathy was still sitting there, waiting for him. She had the satisfied look of a junky right after a fix. "Good work," he said shortly.
"Is she-asleep, or-?"
"She's asleep. Did you arrange things?"
"Uh-huh. A friend of mine invited us over for the weekend. Angela's parents, and mine too, think that's where we are."
"Will the friend cover for you?"
"Sure."
"Okay. She's going to spend the weekend here with me. I'm going to keep her doped up until Sunday afternoon. I want her good and hooked before she leaves here." Cathy dropped her eyes at that, and he smiled. "Conscience, kid? Don't be stupid. If the situation were the other way around, she'd have done the same thing to you."
"I don't know...."
"Well, I'll prove it to you before too long. She's going to be bringing other girls here, just like you did with her. And she'll do it just as often as she can for a free ride."
"I-I guess so. Do you want me to stay here too?" She asked quickly, changing the subject.
"What the hell for?" He let the question hang, deliberately insulting, before going on. "I've got a job for you." He went to the desk in the corner and pulled open the center drawer to unlock the side ones. He pulled open the top right drawer, pushed the .38 Special out of the way, and took out the slip of paper. He checked to be certain he had the right one, then carried it over to her. She accepted it casually, looking at it and reading aloud.
"Mel Jackson, forty-four twenty-nine Peachtree Lane, Apartment four." She looked up at Bart again. "How long am I supposed to stay there?"
"Tonight, tomorrow, and Sunday till noon. It's all fixed up with the customer. He'll let you come back here tomorrow for your fix, and you can get another one on Sunday on the way home. You get your usual fee for this, fifty bucks a day, hall a day's pay for Sunday." She didn't look too happy about the half-day's pay, but she didn't object. It was by little devices like this that he kept getting her deeper and deeper into debt to him. The fifty bucks a day he charged her for the junk was really a mythical figure, just something to keep her enslaved. It didn't cost Kim anywhere near that much. Besides, he never expected to get any of it. He paid her exactly as much for fucking, and so the days when she didn't work, or couldn't work, insured an ever mounting indebtedness. Actually, she was earning him a lot more than fifty bucks a day. She knew that, of course, though she had no idea how much it was. That first day, with Towers, had been a real bonus. There were a few rich bastards like him around who were willing to go an exorbitant amount for a chance at a beautiful young cherry. But once that membrane had been torn, there was a sharp drop in a girl's earning power. She had gone for two grand that first time. Now she made two hundred a day, when she worked. Sometimes he was able to get more than that from a well-heeled John. Occasionally, some especially smitten fellow would go as much as five hundred bucks for her. So, with her period and the days when she couldn't get away from her parents all deducted, she made him an average of about a hundred and fifty bucks a day, week in and week out, minus what he paid for her junk. In addition, of course, he could fuck her himself whenever he wanted to. That was a very nice addition, but it was the money that counted the most with Bart. This was business. He had made thousands off this one girl already, and now he was going to have another in his stable. Another just as sharp-looking and better versed in the art of screwing than Cathy had been at first. That meant his income would soon double. And just as Cathy had brought Angela to him for a free ride, now he'd have two girls accounting for him. And every new girl they brought in would be another scout. In a couple of years if all went well he should be ready to retire. It was a great racket. If he didn't get careless.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was two months after Cathy had brought Angela into the fold that Bart got his next idea. It was so obvious he couldn't imagine how it had taken him so long to figure it out. He told Cathy about it the next morning. She looked doubtful, and a little scared.
"I don't know if I can pull it off," she said. "I mean, I don't know that many-"
"Don't sell yourself short," Bart interrupted. "Of course you can pull it off. Why shouldn't you? A beautiful doll like you. And with all you've learned in the past months, it should be duck soup."
"But I don't know that many boys, Bart." She looked like she was getting more and more nervous about it. She didn't want to refuse, of course because she couldn't afford to get Bart pissed off at her. He gave her a frown, just to get her off guard.
"You can meet some. You must have dances and such at that school of yours. I'll let you off a couple of nights. You go to the dances, and pick up on some guy. Make sure he's something special, though. Someone who can do us some good."
"But what about my fixes? I'll need to keep them up, and I won't be earning any money while I'm going to dances."
"I'll put your fixes on the cuff," Bart said, and then held up a hand before she could interrupt. "And if you do this right, and it works, I'll write them off. How's that?" The idea was appealing, of course. Some fixes she wouldn't have to hump for. At least, not with customers. But she was still a little nervous about it. Her conscience wasn't completely deadened yet. Not that it would get in the way when the chips were down, of course. To a junky, nothing is as important as the needle. Cathy was carrying a sixty-dollar monkey now, which put her further into debt every day, since she was still only making fifty bucks a day for fucking.
"Bart, please. I don't want to hook some poor guy who hasn't done me any harm-"
"Look, Cathy, this kind of talk bores me. Now, you owe me a lot of money. You want me to get out the book and tell you how much?"
"No, honey. I-"
"I've been pretty good about it, haven't I?"
"Sure, baby. I didn't mean to imply-"
"All right. I've been carrying you all this time because I like you, and I don't want to have to muscle you any. In this business we have some very strong methods for handling people who can't pay their debts." He let that hang in the air for a moment before going on. He could see its effect on her. "Now, I don't want to get that way with you, and I don't want to use any other methods, either. I could work you more. Instead of pairing you with one guy at a time, I could put you on an assembly line, and make you take on ten or twelve guys a night. I may have to do that eventually, but for the time being, I'm giving you a break."
"Sure, honey, and I appreciate it. Believe me, I'm grateful."
"Now I'm offering you a good business deal. If you're too stupid to see how good a deal it is, then the least you can do is consider how much you owe me. If it wasn't for me, you'd be out on the streets right now, trying to feed your monkey. And before long you'd cruise some vice cop, and have yourself a record for addiction and prostitution. I'm protecting you from that, steering Johns your way. Nice, safe Johns."
"I know-"
"I'm talking. Now, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll give you your stuff on the cuff the nights you're going out trying to pick this guy up. You bring some nice stud into the fold, and I'll write all that stuff off. I'll also give you two more free rides afterwards, just for bringing the guy in. In the meantime, these dances won't last all night. If you can get in some tricks without endangering what you're trying to do, that will be extra money, and I'll apply it to your tab. Now just tell me yes or no." He looked at her good and hard, to impress on her the importance of coming up with the right answer.
"All right," she said dully. "I'll try, Bart."
"Okay. That's all I can expect you to do. Now, I suppose you want your fix, huh?"
"Sure, baby. If you'll trust me for it." They both knew he was going to give her the fix, of course. It was a little teasing game Bart liked to play with the girls, and they had both learned their roles well by this time.
"Well, I don't know. Do you think I ought to?"
"Well, that's up to you, honey. But sure, I think you should."
"Why?"
"Well, just because we're good friends, Bart." She came forward, and when he didn't say anything to discourage her, slipped onto his lap. She leaned against him, one hand on his shoulder, the other tracing a one-finger line across his cheek. "We're such good friends, you like to do me favors, don't you? And you know I'd do anything for you. Just anything. You only have to name it." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and then covered his mouth with hers, slipping her tongue between his teeth. She bulged against him, grinding their mouths together until Bart felt his prick standing up hard as a gun barrel. He knew she could feel it, too. She broke off the kiss and smiled at him from close up. Bart had kept his hand on the arms of the chair up to this point. Now he let one hand move to her leg and slip under her skirt. He ran his palm up along her thigh until it reached the bottom of her panties. She didn't stiffen or pull away, as she would have done a few months before. She sat there, looking at him, if anything, moving a little closer to him. Bart felt a touch of pride in the way he had managed to break her in. A girl who had been a virgin just months before, she was a wanton now, a real whore, capable of doing anything for a man without flinching. Angela had moved right along with her, too, but of course she had had a head start. She had been a pretty nice girl before Bart had gotten hold of her, but not the little innocent that Cathy had been. A whoremonger, he thought with pride. That was what he was. A maker of whores. He slipped his other arm around her and held her close, letting his hand slide under her arm and circle her body to fondle one breast through the thin sweater and bra she was wearing.
Cathy snuggled close to him, pressing her breast into his palm. She looked completely at ease, as though she were doing this with her husband, or with a man she loved at any rate. There was none of the reticence and nervousness of a few months before. She could still pretend to feel those things when the need arose, of course. If a customer was the type who liked to think he was a pioneer, then Cathy would fake it. But she was beyond feeling those things actually. She had learned the main dictum of the junkie's life: nothing is really important but the fix.
Bart took his hand out from under her skirt and started to open the buttons of her sweater. It was a little pink sweater, thin, fragile. Very feminine. She sat quite still, smiling at him, as he opened the garment one button at a time. When it was open all the way down the front, he slipped his hand inside and cupped one breast. It felt nice, but the bra was still in the way. It was such a thin bra he could feel the warmth of her skin through it, and the nipple that pressed against the front of the cup. He slid his hand under the bra cup and pried it away from the breast. The tit came free and bulged sweetly into his palm, as soft and warm as a small bird. Cathy was breathing a little faster than normal now, and he wondered with some amusement whether she was putting on. It could be real. She had learned to like sex. There was nothing else she could do if she wanted to get through the tricks. She couldn't float through all of them on a cloud of narcotics. Bart leaned down and covered her breast with his mouth.
There was a knock at the door.
Bart looked at the clock on the wall. It had to be Angela. To make sure, he called, "Who is it?"
"It's Angela, Bart," a voice said through the thick wood. "Can I-"
"Come on," Bart said disgustedly. The door opened and she came in, looking worried, afraid she might have done something wrong, something to offend him. She was supposed to come here right after school, of course. She and Cathy didn't come together any more, because Bart didn't want them to attract any more attention than necessary. Two beautiful girls walking together over the same path every day could draw too much notice. So they came separately, and used different routes every day.
Cathy drew a little away from Bart and went about the task of stuffing her tit back into its container. She looked a bit put off by the intrusion, but not embarrassed. She and Angela knew they were both available to Bart any time he wanted them.
Angela looked embarrassed, but it was the same kind of embarrassment she might have shown if she had walked in on someone in the bathroom. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I can go back out, if-"
"Shut the door, will you?" Bart said. He gave Cathy a shove, and she got off his lap abscntmindedly, still buttoning up her sweater.
Bart went to the drawer and got out the needles and junk and carried them over to the desk. "Come on, girls, it's that time." They hurried to him. Cathy got in front and hiked her skirt up. She pushed her panties down and bent over slightly. Bart swabbed her cheek with alcohol and thrust the needle in, not bothering to be too careful about it. She jerked a bit, then relaxed as he pressed the plunger. Bart could see her body soften as the heroin ran into it. He pulled the needle and held the cotton against her ass for a moment. "Here," he said, and she placed a hand there to hold it in place. Bart turned to Angela, found her already holding her skirt up. Her pants were at hall-mast. He picked up the other cotton and needle and repeated the performance. Angela let out an audible sigh as the horse ran into her. Cathy was already pulling her panties back up. Bart put the needles away and took out the little ledger book. He chalked up the new amounts for both of them. They watched him do it without interest. They were already too dreamy to care about something like that. That was a big help. They never worried about the debt right after a fix. It was later, when it was too late, that they thought about that. And still later, when they needed the fix, they were unconcerned with it again. Then the only thing that mattered to them was the fix itself. And after they got it, the cycle started all over again. He looked at the amounts and smiled. They were getting in deeper and deeper. The deal he had made with Cathy was meaningless, of course. The cost of the heroin was paltry compared to the amount she made for him. And as for the amount he charged her, that was a myth. He didn't expect to get any of it. If she thought she was doing herself some good getting a few free rides, or having some numbers subtracted in the ledger, that was fine with him. She'd be in debt to him for as long as he wanted her. And when she was no longer of any use to him, well, time to think of that later.
"All right," he said, when they were both completely dressed again. "I've work for both of you today." He took a slip of paper out of a desk drawer and handed it to Cathy. "This guy asked for a blonde, so you're it, baby."
"Uh-huh." She took the paper, glanced at it.
"You got the address now?" he asked. "You sure you've got it?"
"Sure, baby. I'm not that high."
"Well, you'd better get there, or you won't be high any more. Understand?" He could see that sink in, and then he could see her drag herself back down. She looked at the paper again, more carefully. It was obvious she was making an effort to get through her fog and concentrate.
"Okay, Bart," she said finally. "I've got it. I won't forget."
"Okay," he said. He looked at the clock. "You better hustle your ass over there right now." He held out his hand, and she put the paper in it. Bart crumpled the paper and dropped it on the desk top. He'd burn it later. Cathy blew him a kiss, giggled and started for the door.
"Bye, Angela," she said, as though just remembering her manners.
"Hm?" Angela asked, but Cathy was already closing the door behind her. "I'm sorry I barged in in the middle of things, Bart," Angela said.
"That's all right. It's just as well. She had to get going. But you don't have to leave for an hour or so, baby."
"Okay." It took a moment for his meaning to penetrate her euphoria. "Oh, then we get to spend some time together. That's fine, Bart."
Bart took her hand. It was tiny and cool to the touch. She smiled at him with a shy look in her eye. He wondered if she was just putting the shyness on, or if it was a by-product of the junk he had just shot into her. But of course she didn't try to hang back when he drew her toward the bedroom. She followed with all the docility of a trained animal. Trained bitch, he thought, and chuckled.
"What's funny?" she asked dreamily.
"You wouldn't get it," he said, and laughed again.
She didn't bother to ask him again. A junky wasn't likely to be bothered by too much curiosity. That was one of the nice things about them, he thought.
"Okay, baby, why don't you get out of those clothes now, while I watch?"
She giggled and started to undress. She still had that attitude about her, the same as when she had started with him, of sharing a slightly naughty secret. He had a feeling that she was putting it on at this point. She was like any good whore. She had learned an act. With Cathy it was a kind of shyness, a nice-girl-but-I-can't-resist-you act. It was very attractive to the Johns. But so was Angela's aren't-we-being-naughty-you-and-I act. Either one was likely to inflame a man's passions, especially coming from two young girls like Angela and Cathy.
Yes, he thought, watching Angela's loveliness emerge from her clothing, she was a good whore. They both were. He didn't brook any nonsense. Any time one of them got a complaint, it came out of her fee. Half of the fee was deducted. He told them he did it because he had to give part of the money back to the Johns, which was just barely true. If a customer was really pissed off, he would give the guy his money back, or part of it, because that was better than having someone walking around mad at you when you were in an illegal business. But that was rare. He had only had to do that once in Cathy's case, and never in Angela's. Usually the complaints consisted of some simple little statement like, "She was great, Bart, but she froze up once on me, and it took a couple of minutes for her to loosen up again." Or "She was fine, except I had to talk like a Dutch uncle to get her to french me. She finally did it, though, and a great job."
That kind of complaint was enough to cost a girl twenty-five of her fifty-dollar fee. It was necessary to keep on a junky all the time. They were likely to relax otherwise. But if you kept after them, and kept them on edge about their next fix, they were the best whores in the world. They worked cheap, and they would do anything any man wanted. They needed the fix worse than a normal girl needed to eat. And it was a nice ring through the nose to lead them around.
Angela was down to her bra and panties now. She reached behind her and started to struggle with the clasps. "Come here, baby," Bart said. "I'll do that for you."
"Okay," she said, with that little saucy drawl in her voice. It set Bart's pecker to twitching. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, where he had been watching her undress. Now he watched her approach him, widened his legs to let her stand in between them. She turned her back on him and bent her knees slightly to bring her bra clasps down in a comfortable reach. She didn't have to bend them very much, because she was so tiny.
Bart unfastened the clasps quickly. As the bra opened, moving forward under the thrust of her breasts, Bart reached forward and circled her with his arms. He took her breasts in his hands and pulled her back against him. She lay there against him, soft and warm and all but naked. She turned her head as far as she could, and he felt her breath, warm and fragrant, on his face. He leaned forward and, turning his face toward hers, kissed her on the lips. Her mouth opened obligingly, and he tasted the sweetness of her tongue. His cock was iron hard. He buried his face in the thick loveliness of raven hair that hung loose down her back. Then his hands moved down the length of her body and slipped under the elastic of her tiny, thin panties. Her ass, warm and soft and bulbous, nestled into his palms for a moment, and then he slid his hands around in front of her to feel the real goodies. She gave a little shudder, a squirm of pleasure and her head twisted around again to kiss. He obliged her, even as his hands pushed her panties down past her hips and let them drop to the carpet. They lay in a puddle of pink nylon around her ankles.
She was still standing in that crooked-knee stance, and now she straightened her legs. "I don't think I could stand like that much longer, honey," she said, and turned to face him. She was really a breathtaking sight, and so tiny and dark and naked, her breasts firm and large for her size, her big brown eyes shining in the dimness of the bedroom. "You want anything special, honey?" she asked. Bart was about to tell her no, when he realized he hadn't had either of them do something special for him in a long time. He nodded.
"Give me a kiss," he said. "And you know where I mean." She gave him that naughty-but-nice smile again and fell to her knees without hesitation. She made the move gracefully, like a cat, without making any sound. She reached up and opened his pants with tiny hands. She pulled the zipper all the way down, and then opened the top button. The pants fell away, revealing his shorts. Angela looked up at him questioningly.
"You want me to pull it out, or do you want to slip them down, or what?" In answer, he hoisted his ass off the bed and pushed his shorts down past his hips. Pants and shorts fell to the floor, wadded about his ankles, and he sat on the bed again, coming down hard. Angela snuggled up against him, wedging her little body between his thighs, and took his cock in her hands. At the touch of her fingers, it was all the stiffer. She smiled up at him again, and then ducked her head. Her hair fell caressingly across his belly and thighs, hiding his cock, and her face and head, from his gaze. Then he felt something warm and moist trace across the head of his cock. Her tongue moved slowly, softly, caressing the tender skin, leaving it wet. The cock stiffened even more, until it pained him. Bart trembled suddenly, and made a little grunting sound. Then he reached down and took her shoulders in his hands. He gripped her hard, while she continued to lick his cock. The sensations grew in him with each passage of that soft, pink tongue over his glans. Then she began to move her tongue up the length of his shaft, and he gave another little cry, this time in surprise. It felt great, and he relaxed his hold on Angela's shoulders and lay back on the bed, letting her do all the work. Her tongue worked on him diligently. From time to time she stopped for a moment, gathering saliva, he supposed, and giving her tongue muscles a rest. Then she resumed the licking, and after a while began to move around a little. She licked his balls and his crotch and his abdomen, exciting him more every moment.
"You want me to stop in time to do it the regular way, or do you want to go off in my mouth, honey?" she asked. The question almost made him go off right then.
"Keep going," he grunted. "All the way."
"Mmm," she said appreciatively, and dived back to her work. It didn't take long after that. In a moment, while she was rocking back and forth on her knees, dragging warm, pursed lips back and forth across his glans, his cock trembled, then his whole belly, a signal that he was about to come. She tightened her lips a little and accelerated her rocking motion, whipping the pleasure to the peak of intensity, and then Bart's cock erupted. She slipped her mouth over as much of the cock as she could and held it there, caressing her tongue over it, and then as the come spurted into her mouth she swallowed it quickly, expertly.
Bart gave a series of grunts as his cock spit into Angela's mouth, and his body jerked with it. Then it was over, and he lay there, his body limp with satisfaction.
"All right, up and at 'em, kid. Fun time is over. Time to go earn your keep," Bart said after a while. Angela had been lying next to him, eyes closed, apparently asleep. He had to keep her on the ball.
She looked up at him, and for just a moment he saw a flash of resentment in her eyes. But she covered it quickly. She got up and went into the bathroom. After a moment Bart heard the shower running. He always kept shower caps and all the little things a girl needed to keep dainty, so that they would be able to fuck for him and then go out to their assignments fresh and attractive. When he was certain she was cleaning herself up, he put on his robe and went into the living room. He took out the slip with the name and address of her John on it and poured himself a drink. He smiled to himself, thinking of the money these two girls were earning for him this afternoon. They would pull in five hundred bucks for him today, and he had them lined up to pull in about two hundred apiece, every day, for the next three weeks.
The shower was turned off, and he heard Angela moving around in the bedroom. He glanced at his watch and decided there was time for another go-round with her before she had to shower again and leave. Hell, why not? He owned her, and she knew it. He took another pull on his drink and put the slip of paper back in the desk drawer. It's a great life, he thought.
It took Cathy two weeks to line someone up. She came to Bart with mixed emotions. He had learned to read both the girls like books. She was pleased to be able to give her lord and master what he wanted, but her conscience was still bothering her.
"His name is Doug Radcliffe," she said. "He goes to Saint Ignatius. It's a sort of companion school with ours, and they bring the boys over to join us in dancing classes once a week."
"Is he someone the girls like?"
"Oh yes. Any girl in the school would give her chances of graduating just to be his girl. He's an athlete. Football, basketball, baseball, track-"
"Yeah, yeah. Okay. So he's a B.M.O.C. right?"
"A what?"
"A Big Man On Campus."
"That's right. He's only a junior, but he's the president of the student body. He's the most popular boy in school, and the most admired."
"Sounds great. And he asked you for a date?"
"Uh-huh. He wants to take me out to a movie or something."
"Great. Ask him to take you to a drive-in. Then get lovey-dovey. Do you think he's the aggressive type where girls are concerned?"
"I don't think so. He seems to me to be a-a gentleman." She said the last word wistfully, as though wishing for something she could never have again.
"Then you'll have to make him aggressive. Sit real close to him. Melt all over him. Reach across him to adjust the speaker. Whatever it takes. But get him to make the first move. Then let him go as far as he wants. If he starts to get scared and pull back, you see that he gets encouraged. I want him to get into your pants. Got that?"
"Yes, Bart." She dropped her eyes.
"But get this, too. It's just as important. I want it to seem to him that it was his idea, not yours. He has to think he seduced you. If he's the kind of gentleman you think, that should worry him, and make him more vulnerable. So get laid, but make it look like his fault. Pull all the tricks you have to. Be innocent and helpless with the big brute of a male. Hell, you know the bit. You're very good at it."
"All right, honey."
"When you going out with him?"
"I told him to call me. I knew I'd have to clear a night with you."
"Don't worry about that. If we have to disappoint a client, that's the way it goes. This is important. I suppose he'll want to take you out on a weekend, huh?"
"I guess."
Bart looked at his calendar. "Well, the sooner the better. I got you down for an afternoon trick and an evening one this Saturday. We'll cancel the evening one. Maybe Angela can squeeze it in. When he calls you up, you tell him you had a date this Saturday, but you're willing to break it for him. That ought to boost his morale a lot. And it's the truth, too." Bart laughed, and Cathy managed to force a smile. "Cheer up, baby. This is going to earn you some free rides, remember? Don't worry about-"
"Doug Radcliffe."
"Yeah. Don't worry about him. He'd do the same thing if the situation were the other way around. And I mean to prove it." Bart laughed again, with real enjoyment. This was just the kind of thing the business needed.
CHAPTER SIX
Cathy looked at herself in the mirror beside the front door, and then kissed her father good-bye. She danced out the front door, looking like a young girl, carefree, on an important date.
She had taken special care to make herself attractive this evening. She was wearing one of her best dresses, and even her lingerie was specially chosen. She had borrowed some of her mother's French perfume. It had made her feel guilty to see the indulgent look on her mother's face when she had asked for the perfume. If only this date was what her parents thought it was. As she got into Doug's car, she glanced back and saw her parents standing in the front room, fondly watching her through the window. Her father had an arm around her mother's waist, and they seemed to be remembering their own youth. It made Cathy want to cry.
But she smiled instead. She looked at Doug, looking slightly uncomfortable in a dark blue suit, and gave him her most dazzling smile. She slid across the seat until her hip was in gentle contact with his, and felt the response in his body.
"Hi," she said, looking straight up into his face. He was very tall, towering over her even in the sitting position. "Have you decided where you're taking me?"
"Well, I thought we could get a paper and look at the movie section-"
"I don't need a paper. If it's up to me, I'd like to go to the Sky-Vue. They're showing a good double bill."
"I know. The same pictures are showing at the Strand in town, though."
"Oh, why tramp into a walk-in and sit mashed in with a lot of other people? I think it's much more comfortable in a drive-in, don't you?"
"Well, if you want," he said, and then, warming up to the idea, "Yeah, sure, that sounds great."
He drove them to the drive-in, trying to make small talk. He seemed a little nervous, which surprised Cathy. As popular as he was with girls, she couldn't imagine why he should suddenly be nervous around her. But she helped him out as much as she could, talking with him, laughing just the right amount at his little jokes, and above all smiling at him all the time, flashing white teeth and blue eyes at him, and always maintaining some physical contact with him. She kept her hip lightly against his, and from time to time laid a hand lightly on his arm while she was talking to him. She could see the effect it was having on him, and she could hardly keep from feeling the kind of contempt she always felt for the men who paid to go to bed with her. He was just like the rest of them. All men were, she supposed. All except Bart, she thought with grudging respect. He made other people pay. He made the Johns pay, and he even made her pay. She hated his guts, but she had to respect him. No one got the better of him.
While they were riding, she looked surreptitiously about the car. It was a Buick, about two years old. No doubt his father's. That was good. She had been afraid it might be a small car. She was going to have to get laid in this car tonight, she thought. The bigger it was, the more comfortable she would be.
She looked up at Doug as he was paying the girl for the tickets, and felt a surprising twist of excitement. At least he was in her age group and good-looking. If she had to lay for men at Bart's bidding, it was pleasant to be doing it with someone she could feel some desire for once in a while.
"Let's not get too close to the screen, Doug," she said, looking up at him prettily. "I like to park way in the back. It's easier on my eyes." And they would be harder to spot.
"Okay," Doug said, and his agreement was so casual she was sure he hadn't any notion of her reason for wanting to be at the back of the theater. They parked in the middle of the last row and Doug got the speaker and hung it on the door. It was playing music at the moment. Cathy remembered what Bart had said. She leaned across Doug's body and adjusted the volume of the speaker, turning it down a bit. She took a little longer than necessary, pretending to grope for the volume control. She made certain her breasts were pressed against the front of Doug's suit for several seconds, then, when she slid back to a sitting position, she let the breasts slip over his chest without decreasing the pressure at all. He turned a little red in the face at the contact, and she caught a quick glance at the lump forming in his pants. She was turning him on, all right, she thought with a mixture of guilt and triumph. She looked up into his face and pretended to notice for the first time his discomfort.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I wrinkled your suit, didn't I? I'm sorry, honey." She used the endearing address deliberately, but pretended not to notice she had said it. She also pretended to be concerned about his suit, which really wasn't wrinkled at all. She smoothed it with her hand, actually petting him through the cloth, letting her hand stroke and awaken him. Doug seemed almost ready to come unglued. He sat stiffly.
"No, no, that's all right, Cathy, really. It's not wrinkled." She ignored him, continuing to move her hand over his chest and belly, pretending to smooth the suit. Finally, in desperation, he grasped her hand to pull it away. He was breathing like a steam engine. It tickled Cathy to see his discomfort. When he grabbed her hand, she turned it instantly, pressing her open palm against his, then laced her fingers through his own.
"Okay, Doug," she said sweetly. "Whatever you say, honey." She snuggled closer to him and looked at the screen as the previews started. They sat there for a while. She was sure Doug wasn't concentrating on the movie at all. He sat there, a little more relaxed than before, but still nervous. After a while, she simulated a shiver. "It's kind of cold," she said.
"I could start the engine and run the heater for a while," he said. Cathy almost laughed aloud at that. He was really dense. She raised his hand over her head and circled her own shoulders with his arm.
"Oh, no, don't bother," she said. "This is nicer." She snuggled against him, really enjoying the nearness of his body. She felt a kind of tenderness for him. He was so damned innocent. She hadn't believed that possible for a boy like him. But at the same time she felt desire, sharp, physical desire. She had learned to feel sexual desire in the past months, desire even for men who were repulsive to her. She had learned to take the sex act simply as something physical, with no emotional meaning at all, and so she had been able to get through the mechanics of it even with Bart, a man she loathed. But this was different. She had taught herself to want the other men because she had to give herself to them, like it or not. With Doug, she wanted him for no other reason than the desire itself. She wondered if she were going soft on him? She'd have to watch that.
The thought of the needle hardened her a little. She felt fine now, normal and comfortable, because Bart had given her a fix this afternoon. But how would she feel tomorrow? And the next day? Hate him or not, she needed Bart, and he knew it. She simply couldn't do without him. So, she thought with a kind of jaded resignation, Doug would have to be sacrificed. Whatever it was she was beginning to feel for him would have to die now, before it was born. She hoped he enjoyed tonight's little tussle. Because he was certainly going to pay for it.
After a while, Cathy laid her head against Doug's chest. She knew from previous experience the effect that could have on a man. She also knew her mother's perfume would have its own effect. She could feel him warm up more than ever. After a moment she lifted her head and looked up at him, putting all the worshipful yearning into her eyes she could. He hesitated, started to lean forward, hesitated again. Cathy was beginning to feel some annoyance with him. He didn't have to be that much of a gentleman, did he? How strong a signal did he want, for Christ's sake? She parted her lips and ran a soft, pink tongue over them, adding glistening moisture to the little bit of pink lipstick she was wearing. Doug's hot, quick breathing seemed to fill the car, to make a wind tunnel of it. Then, finally, he ducked his head down to kiss her. She could tell from the quick, jerky action of the kiss that he intended it to be a quick one, just an exploration to see if she would object. Cathy shot a hand up and clamped it behind his head, pulling him down to her. She opened her mouth and slipped her tongue between his lips and teeth. The effect was more than she had expected. He was really primed, really turned on, and now he grabbed her to him, his arms holding her body tightly. Cathy slipped her other arm up around his neck too, holding him to her, pressing her mouth tighter against his. She could feel his cock stiffen, nudge her. She didn't have to simulate desire this time. It was real enough. He was turning her on almost as much as she was him. It was going to be easy this time, she thought. He was nice, really. Why not give herself up to things and enjoy this night? It would make it nicer for him, too, while the nice part lasted. The more she turned on, the better time she would be able to show him. And since he was going to pay such a horrible price for this night, why shouldn't she make it as wild and gratifying for him as she could?
With this rationale in her mind, she let herself go. Her hands slipped under his suit coat and began to move over his chest, and then around to his rib cage. She felt his warmth through his shirt, and her mouth worked quickly, expertly, over his face and neck. Then, when she could feel him grow a little bit worried, as the fog in which she had placed him cleared just enough for his brain to take charge again, she would clamp her mouth over his, kiss him deeply, working her tongue hard, whipping him up to a new and powerful excitement.
It wasn't hard, really. He came alive to her easily once she had made her body's demands known. He began to answer her clumsily. His hands moved over her body, diffidently at first, as though he still expected her to object. Then, as his mind retreated behind the fog of need that was enveloping it, the hands began to take on a life of their own, and a volition of their own. They groped over her without reserve or restraint. She could feel his fingers, trembling with desire, moving over her dress, and she hugged herself closer to him, showing him that far from objecting to his touch, she craved it. She had never known it could be like this between a boy and a girl. She had only known the kind of sex she shared with her Johns or Bart. One bought and paid for her services, the other commanded them. She had never known she could feel the kind of emotions that were coursing through her at this moment. She pulled his shirt loose from his pants, slipped her hands under it, and began to stroke him again. He was still wearing an undershirt, and she dragged it loose impatiently to stroke his skin.
The touch of her hands kindled his passion. She had never made love to a boy his age before, and she hadn't known this kind of virility was possible. The mere realization of that fact brought Cathy herself more to life. She reached down and plucked one of his hands off her waist. He tried to pull the hand away from her, doubtless thinking this was the rebuff he had feared all along. But Cathy thrust the hand downward, placing it on her thigh. She was wearing pantyhose, but still the touch of his hand sent her head into a spin. It was almost like having his hand on her bare leg. She could tell the reaction in him was just as powerful. His breathing was so rapid now it would have scared her if she hadn't heard breathing like that a hundred times already, heard it close up in her ear. It was a sound she had learned to know, to expect and to dread. But now she found it enjoyable. Beautiful, even. It excited her all the more. She slid the hand up the length of her thigh until it slid under her miniskirt and rested on one cheek of her ass.
Doug made a strangled cry, as though something had hurt him. He sounded wounded almost. The desire she had kindled in him was more intense than she had anticipated. Cathy started to quickly unbutton his shirt. At the same time she continued to kiss and mouth his face and neck, keeping him turned on. When he began to withdraw his hand from her ass, she replaced it there. He was really nervous, she thought with annoyance. Didn't he know yet she intended him to be as familiar with her as possible? She reached down and slipped her pantyhose down. She wasn't wearing any other garment in that region, and it left her naked there. She slid his hand onto her ass again, and it sent a trembling fit over his body. She felt a mixture of tenderness and amusement. It was a strange combination of feelings. But she couldn't help either of them. He was so innocent, she thought. The big man on the campus, and he didn't even know how to act when a girl tried to rape him. She wondered if he had told all the stories boys were known for telling, about the whores he had had and all that. He was trembling not only with desire now, but with nervousness, almost with fear. This was his first time, she was sure of that, and of course he was afraid of butchering things, of being inadequate.
Don't worry, little darling, she thought. I'll take care of everything. Don't worry, you'll be just fine. You 'll be great.
His shirt was open, and she went to work on his pants. First his belt had to be opened, and then she tried to yank loose the snap at the top of the pants. But it wasn't a snap. It was a hook, and she almost tore the pants. She unhooked it, using both hands, and then, holding the top of the garment together, worked the zipper down. The rasping sound of the opening metal teeth added to her excitement. She could feel the big lump in his shorts, and now, when she touched it with her hand, even the shape of his cock was obvious. She could feel the glans, could even feel some dampness in the cotton shorts. She felt as though her head would come off at any moment. She didn't think she would ever be able to feel the detached contempt for her Johns she had known. She knew, now, the kind of emotions they felt, the kind of desire that came from having one's arms close to an attractive member of the opposite sex. Her blood was pounding through her veins like something a boil. Her skin was hot, and she could feel sweat breaking out on her, almost as though she needed a fix.
She finally found the opening in front of Doug's shorts and thrust her hand inside. His cock jerked, and she knew he had almost come all over her hand. She had to take it easy, she thought dully. She had to help him hold back until she could get that lovely thing inside of her where it belonged.
Reluctantly, she withdrew her hand from his cock, pulling it clear away from that part of him. The cock was out in the air now, and she could see it in the dim light. The sight excited her all the more, and for a moment she had a crazy desire to french him. She had never wanted to do that before. She hadn't thought a woman could like such a thing. It was something she did for men because they liked it, because they had paid for it, and because she didn't have any acceptable alternative. But for just a moment she felt a deep, pinching desire to kiss that organ, to take it into her mouth and....
But she shook it off. That would ruin everything. Doug was a fish, but surely even he wouldn't fall for the idea of an innocent girl, succumbing to his charms, suddenly sucking his cock. She withdrew from him a little, shook her head to clear it, and then began to work on his clothes again. By this time he was helping her, but only semi-effectively. He seemed to lack coordination, as though his muscles weren't properly obeying his brain. But the little help he was able to give her helped a lot, and in a few moments she had his pants and shorts down past his hips. She pulled them clear down to his knees and then pulled her skirt up. Locking her hand around his neck, she laid back, pulling him on top of her. His body was rigid with excitement and need. She tried to spread her legs for him, but her pantyhose, only partially pulled down, restricted them. She pulled her knees up a little forcing their bodies apart, and thrust the pantyhose down more. They were around her knees. She tried to push them down farther, but it was hard to do. Then she received some unexpected help from Doug. His hands grasped the nylon and yanked. She felt a cutting sensation at the backs of her knees, as the edge of the pantyhose dug painfully into her skin, and heard a tearing sound. He yanked again, and there was another tearing sound. But the panties didn't give way completely. But Doug's determination was strong. Finally, he yanked the material down her legs and dropped them to the floor. His hands moved up the length of her body first, and the pantyhose landed on the floor of the car near the point of the seat where her head was resting. She opened her legs for him then, tangling one foot in the floor pedals to secure herself, while she raised her other leg a little, pushing it up the back of the seat.
But having gone that far, he seemed too inexperienced to know what to do next. Or perhaps his urgency had been overtaken by his nervousness again. Doug lay atop her, his body throbbing and pitching. His cock, stiff and hard, was thrust between her thighs, and Cathy reached down, sliding her hands between his body and her own, to take the organ in her fingers. He let out a grunt of pleasure, a grunt that almost sounded as though he were in pain, and she hurried to insert him into her. The connection had to be made quickly, or he was going to have nothing to show for this night but a messy car seat. She thrust the cock into her, and he let out another grunt, this one almost a scream, and then they were locked together.
Cathy's need, her urgent sexual desire, was greater than ever, now that he was actually in her. She placed her hands on his ass and pulled, driving him deeper into her body. He made another sound, and his hands clamped down on her shoulder. Then he was groping over her body, feeling her through the dress she was still wearing. Her skirt was up above her hips, but she hadn't had time to undress for him.
Anyway, this would be better. It would seem more like the kind of thing she might do because she just couldn't help herself. She felt his hands through the bra she was wearing, and wished for a moment the bra weren't there. But she didn't have time to worry about that detail for long. Suddenly, he was thrusting his hips, driving into her, and she answered him expertly. He was clumsy, new at the sex game, but he was a young and powerful male, and the pleasure flooded through Cathy's body in waves. She began to cry out, her voice coming in little gasps of joy. She had felt physical pleasure before, but at the same time there was an emotional attachment with this boy. She felt something she could only imagine was love. At least at this moment she loved him. She worked her left leg around his waist, turning it and bending her knees. She would have liked to do the same thing with her right leg, but it was on the floor, and she was afraid that without the support it was giving them, she wouldn't be able to keep from slipping off the narrow car seat. This was the first time she had ever fucked in a car. It was damned inconvenient, but at the same time there was something nice about it, something extra exciting. Their hips ground together again and again.
It wasn't as good as she had expected, of course. She should have realized that as excited as he was, it wouldn't take long for him to go off. She managed one weak orgasm, but long before she could reach the main event, the hot come flooded into her body and she cried out automatically, simulating the completion she didn't feel, as she had done so many times for the Johns. At the same time Doug gave a grunt, and then another, and then a third. His body continued to drive against her, surprisingly, and finally he let out one hell of a whoop and stopped.
Cathy could feel his cock going soft in her. She lay there for a moment, under him, trying to shake off the frustration she felt. Then she caught herself, remembered the role she was supposed to play, and started to cry. The tears came easily. She let herself wallow in the emotions that were going through her now, the frustration and the pity for him and for herself, the regret over what she had become. Her body began to shake with hard, racking sobs.
There were two Cathys for a moment then. She could lie there and wallow in her emotions, cry and really feel the things that were making her cry. At the same time another Cathy hung above her, looking down in amused admiration at the show she was putting on.
It took a few moments for Doug to become fully aware of his surroundings. He seemed out of it for a long while. But when he realized she was crying, he stiffened all at once and clambered off her. He got up from the seat, pushing her knees aside to give him room. The gesture looked as though he were trying to get away from her. He sat there for a moment, and then seemed to become aware for the first time that his pants and shorts were down around his ankles. He pulled them up quickly, fastened his pants and pulled the zipper up, then buckled his belt. Cathy lay there for a moment before she sat up. She pulled her skirt down around her thighs, tugging at it hard, as though trying to make the brief skirt longer. Then she reached down and took the pantyhose from the floor. She balled them up as small as she could, and searched for her purse. It was on the floor. She managed to stuff the pantyhose into it, although it bulged a lot. The snap of the purse was surprisingly loud. The way Doug jerked, it almost seemed as though she had slapped him.
"Cathy," he said. "I'm-"
"Take me home." She spoke in a dull, inflectionless tone. She was sitting as far from him as she could get.
"But I just-"
She spoke without looking at him. "Are you going to take me home now, or am I going to walk?" She looked at him with fire in her eyes. "I thought girls only had to do that when they didn't put out!" She spat the last two words at him. The effect was the same as though she had hit him. He jerked back a little, and she thought she saw tears in his eyes. It made Cathy feel a little guilty, but at the same time it brought a fresh feeling of triumph. She had been a pawn of so many men, and in particular of Bart. Now she was getting even a bit with the male sex. She was getting even through Doug.
"Oh no, Cathy, it's not like that at all," he said. He started to move toward her, to reach for her. Cathy shrank back against the door. She felt an urge to come to him, to let him embrace and comfort her, but she fought it down. This wasn't the time to show any tender regard for him.
"Keep away from me," she ordered, although by that time he was already moving away from her again. The sight of her pulling back had been enough to discourage him. "I want to go home now," Cathy cried, letting her voice go up a couple of registers. Doug looked at her a moment, then opened his window and replaced the speaker on the stand outside the car.
The next day he called her. When her mother told her about the call, she said she didn't want to speak to him. "Why not?" Cathy's mother asked with a strong note of suspicion in her voice. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, Mother. I just don't feel like talking to him."
"Now, that will be enough of that, young lady. When a boy is nice enough to call you up after taking you out for an evening and spending his money on you, the least you can do is talk to him."
"But I don't want to!"
"None of your lip, girl. You just get down to that phone and be nice to that boy. March!"
"Oh, really, Mother!" Cathy rose from the bed and stamped downstairs to the phone in the hall. "Hello, Doug," she said, her voice dripping with resentment. Then, as she became aware of her mother's presence, she injected more welcome into her tone. "How are you this morning?"
"Miserable," Doug's voice said across the wire. "I just couldn't wait till Mass was over so I could come home and call and tell you how sorry I am about last night." He was speaking in a low, barely audible voice, and she guessed he was calling from home.
"It's all right," she said. "And I had a very good time."
There was a moment's silence. "Is someone listening to you?" he asked at last. "Oh, sure. All the time."
"Maybe we could get together for a little while, Cathy. I want to apologize, and, well, I'd like to see you some more."
Cathy's mother, apparently deciding that she was doing the right thing, walked out of the hall toward the kitchen.
"I'll just bet you'd like to see me some more," Cathy said acidly. "Now that you've found an easy lay, you don't want to let her slip through your fingers until you're thoroughly bored with her."
"Cathy, please don't talk like that. I didn't do it on purpose, honestly."
"I suppose you think it was my fault."
"No, no, it's not that. I just meant that, well, it just happened. I know I have to take the blame, and I do. I should have stopped. But I just lost my head. Can't I see you for a few minutes, Cathy? Please?"
"No, you can't. And I'll appreciate it if you'll stop calling me."
"Cathy, you've got to see me," he begged. Then his voice took on a desperate, threatening tone. "If you don't, I'll call back. I'll keep on calling and calling, bugging you and your folks until they figure out something's wrong."
"Don't you dare do that!" Cathy whispered harshly. The fear in her voice wasn't false now. She remembered the suspicious note in her mother's voice when she had asked Cathy why she didn't want to talk to Doug. It wouldn't take long for that kind of suspicion to build up into something dangerous. Her parents had always trusted Cathy, but parents seemed to have a sixth sense about some things. And she had a lot more to hide than the fact that she had screwed for Doug Radcliffe in a drive-in movie.
"I will," he said resolutely. "I'll keep it up until you agree to see me. Or until everything comes out."
"You wouldn't dare. It would get you into as much trouble as me. More, in fact. I'm under age, you know."
"I don't care. I'll do it anyway. I swear I will. Cathy, all I'm asking you to do is see me once. And if you don't want to see me any more after that, I'll get lost. I swear I will."
"And if I refuse, you'll get us both hung?"
"That's right," Doug said, his voice regaining its former hard ring.
"You don't leave me much choice. Let me talk to my parents. I'll have to have their permission, you know."
"Sure. I'll hang on."
Cathy put the phone down and went into the kitchen. Her father was sitting drinking a cup of coffee, and her mother was washing something in the sink.
"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Cathy's mother asked.
"He wants to see me today. He wants to pick me up and go somewhere."
"Well, I don't see any reason why you shouldn't, dear," her mother said. Her father nodded acquiescence. "He's a very nice boy," Cathy's mother went on. "And his parents are lovely. Of course, it's up to you."
Doug came by for her a half-hour later. Cathy was wearing a simple skirt and blouse, and the moment she saw his car she went out to meet him. She carried the same purse she'd had the night before. She had intended to see him again, of course. Having hooked him, she had to reel him in. But the way he had insisted, and threatened and blackmailed her, made it seem all the more like his idea. The poor darling boob, she thought. He was really playing into her hands.
She got into the car and sat as far from him as she could.
"I thought we'd drive out to the picnic grounds. We can talk there," he said. And then, when she didn't bother to answer him, "Is that all right with you, Cathy?"
"Don't ask me. You're the lord and master. I'm here under duress, remember?" She waited a moment, then said, "I don't care where we go, just so you keep your hands to yourself. And let's get it over with."
"All right," Doug said with a sigh. He put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.
The countryside looked lovely. Cathy sat enjoying the scenery and talking as little as possible. When they reached the picnic grounds he pulled the car in and set the brake. The engine died with a sigh. He turned to her and started to say something.
"Let's get out of the car," Cathy said. "I don't trust either of us in close quarters like this." She opened her door and got out, and he got out on his side. They walked a little distance and then Cathy sat on the ground, spreading her little skirt around her as demurely as possible. The miniskirt still revealed her legs well above her knees, and she could see the effect that was having on Doug. "All right," she said to him. "You wanted to say something to me. So say it and let's get out of here."
He sat on the ground, not too near her, but as close as he dared. "Cathy, I just wanted to tell you that what happened last night wasn't something-casual. It meant a whole lot to me. Honest. I-I love you." He said the last words in a shaky, embarrassed voice.
Cathy stared at him for a long moment before she said anything. Tears flooded her eyes, and when she spoke there was a break in her voice. "Don't say that! That's terrible! To say that to a girl just to get another chance to-to-Well, it won't do you any good!" She congratulated herself on a very effective performance, and at the same time hated herself because the tears, and the break in her voice, were real. She started to rise, but her legs had grown stiff from the position in which she had been sitting.
Doug reached toward her, then caught himself.
"Cathy, please! I mean it. Can't you trust me, just alittle?"
"I trusted you last night! I knew you were a big man with the girls. I knew I wasn't the only one who was crazy about you. But I thought you were a gentleman at least."
"I am. Cathy, honest. I-"
Cathy opened her purse and yanked out the panty hose he had ripped the night before. She held them up in one trembling hand. "Does this look like the work of a gentleman, Doug? Is that the kind of thing a gentleman would do?" She threw them in his face, and he caught them as they fell. "Keep them," she shrieked at him. "Tack them to your wall, or fly them from your car aerial. Maybe you'd like me to autograph them for you!" She stopped to catch her breath, and suddenly her body was racked by sobs. She lay face down on the ground and covered her face with her hands. "Oh, Doug, how could you? How could you do it?" She lay there crying for a long time, wondering whether he was going to react the way she wanted him to. Then she felt his hand on her shoulder, light, diffident.
"Cathy, honey, please don't cry. Please, darling, I'm sorry. Honest I am." He stroked her hair with his other hand, and suddenly she came up and threw her arms around him, clinging to him as though he were a lifeline.
"Oh, Doug, I love you too, really I do. I wouldn't have done it if I didn't. I wouldn't have done it for any other boy. You have to believe that!"
"Of course I believe it, honey. Of course I do." But his voice was full of wonder, as though he couldn't really believe that she could love him. His arms tightened about her, holding her close to him, and for the first time in her life Cathy knew what it was to feel warm and protected and precious in a man's arms.
There was something else there, too, though. Other feelings were pressing forward, strong physical and emotional feelings. Cathy could feel desire flooding through her. She wanted Doug, now, this minute. At first she tried to quell the need, but then the thought struck her that it couldn't do any harm. It could bind him to her all the more strongly. She raised her face to his, and he kissed her. His kiss was a tender one, meant more to comfort her than to arouse either of them. But Cathy didn't let it stay that way. She opened her mouth and pressed her tongue into his. She felt him respond immediately. His arms tightened about her, crushing her breasts against him. Cathy stroked his face with her hands while she continued the kiss, then, finally, broke off.
She pulled away from him. He looked at her guiltily, and started to say something, some apology. She cut him off by crossing his lips with a finger. She pulled farther away from him and began to unbutton her blouse. When he looked surprised, she smiled at him. "It's all right, darling," she said softly. "Really, it's all right." She unbuttoned the blouse and took it off while he sat, enraptured, looking at her. She reached behind her and opened the clasps of her bra. When the bra came off, and her breasts were revealed to him, he turned red all at once. She smiled at him, filled with both tenderness and amusement. She came up on her knees and opened the side of her skirt. It fell down around her knees and lay there while she paused a moment and then pushed her panties down after it. She sat down again, pulled the two garments off of her feet and tossed them aside. She looked at Doug. He stared at her nakedness for a long time before he caught himself. Then he began to undress. In a moment he was as naked as she. He looked a little embarrassed at his own nudity, though hers didn't seem to embarrass him at all. He stared at her with fascination. Cathy took him in her arms and pulled him toward her. She lay back, covering her body with his. He felt strong and smooth and sweet there. It was the most natural feeling she could imagine. His cock thrust between her thighs, and she felt a powerful desire at the touch of it.
She kissed him again, then ran her mouth over his face and neck. He shivered with desire at the touch of her mouth, and then he was clutching her, holding her tightly against him even as his weight drove her down into the ground.
She could feel the unevenness of the ground under her, found it exciting. She took her arms from about his neck and slid them down, her hands reaching his cock. He gasped with pleasure at the touch of her fingers, and then she inserted the cock into her, and he drove down, pushing it deep. Cathy gave a little cry of pleasure. She felt a warmth flooding through her, a warmth of desire and pleasure, and something softer and more tender than either of those feelings. She had never known this kind of thing. Even the sex they had had the night before wasn't quite like this. That had been a frantic thing, with little time for the tenderness that had made itself felt. This was different. This was something she had fallen into naturally, without planning it in advance. This was the kind of sex she had always heard occurred between a man and a woman who loved each other. After the hundred odd men who had paid for the use of her body in the past months, she hadn't believed there was anything else, any kind of sex except the contemptible, dirty, pawings of a customer, or the casual, brutal commandeering of her body by Bart.
Doug's cock seemed to swell all the more now that it was in her. He began to move his hips, dragging the rod of flesh through her, stroking her insides with it, and at the same time she could feel his body responding to the pleasure that was filling both of them.
"Oh, Cathy," he gasped in her ear. "Oh, God, Cathy. I love you, darling." The words were warm in Cathy's ear. She felt an overwhelming tenderness for Doug. Her hands went lightly across his cheek and up over his head. She could smell shampoo in his hair. Then he began to move his hips slightly. He was learning, she thought. He was learning how to screw.
She didn't know, really, what Bart's plans for Doug were. She had an idea, though. And he'd need all the talent and skill she could give him, if she was right.
He began to increase the speed and force of his thrusts, and she could feel the tingling pleasure grow more powerful. She heard a little moan, and realized a second later she had made the sound herself. "Ohhh," she moaned, and the pleasure grew in her with each thrust of Doug's hips. The cock stroked through her, bringing her more and more pleasure with each movement. She began to answer him with thrusts of her own hips. Her arms tightened about his neck, hugging him to her. She could feel his cheek, with just a suggestion of whiskers, against hers. His ear moved close to her mouth, and she nibbled at it automatically. Doug's body moved a little on her, and one strong hand slid between them to grasp one of her breasts. Cathy gasped and her hips moved again, thrusting up at him automatically, her body pushing closer to the source of its pleasure. She felt the joy in her rise to a peak, and then she had an orgasm. It wasn't a big one, not a massive, complete one, but it was a little peak of pleasure that egged her on, drove her to thrust with greater and greater force. She could feel Doug's body begin to grow rigid as his own orgasm came, and then she knew it was near as his belly began the little convulsive movements that meant he was about to erupt. Her own body responded with a pleasure that was almost too great to bear. She raised her legs and locked them about his small, hard waist. She could feel the pleasure in her peaking, and this time she knew it would be the main event, the big one, the fulfilling, completing orgasm. When it came it was awesome. She had never felt anything like it before. She hadn't known that anything like that could happen. It was nothing like the orgasms she had known with the customers or with Bart. It was something compounded of the elements of those other orgasms and a powerful emotional response as well. She cried out hard in his ear, and heard his answering grunt of joy, and the grunting, the sound that had always disgusted her when it came from those other men, was somehow sweet to her, musical and beautiful and satisfying. She gripped him to her all the harder for a moment, with her arms and her legs, and then the pleasure was over. She felt her body grow limp with exhaustion. She had never felt so sated before. She felt beautiful and complete.
Doug withdrew from her after a while. He lay beside her and stared up at the fleecy sky. He soon rose on one elbow and looked down at her. He looked a bit worried, as though he thought she might blame him for this sex act, too. She smiled up at him reassuringly and traced a line across his cheek with her finger. "That was really something, wasn't it?" she said softly.
He grinned suddenly. "Yeah. It was something, all right." The grin faded, and he looked concerned again.
"What's the matter?" she asked dreamily.
"I guess I'm still a little scared, honey. I don't want you to think I got you out here just so this would happen."
"It's all right, Doug. Don't worry about it. I wanted it to happen. If I hadn't, I don't suppose I'd have come here with you."
"Really? You mean that?"
"Of course, darling."
"You were so mad at me about the time last night-"
"I wasn't really mad at you, Doug. I guess I was just mad at myself. I was afraid I'd been too easy. I thought you'd hate me for that."
"Hate you? Oh, Cathy, how could anyone ever hate you?"
You'll learn, Cathy thought. You'll find out how to hate me, baby. She shoved the thought from her mind. This was a good time, at least for him. Why ruin it? She had dreamed all her life about something like this happening. Now, for this little while, at least, she wanted to pretend it was real. To pretend she was still the kind of girl to whom it could possibly happen.
"I love you, Cathy," he said, and bent down and kissed her. "I love you more than I can say."
Cathy felt tears flood her eyes, and she shook inwardly. This was no good. She couldn't let this kind of thing go on. She couldn't let herself love this boy. She was here to trap him, to destroy him, and no matter how much she hated it, she would have to go through with that destruction. There was nothing else she could do.
She smiled up at him and gestured with her hand. "Hand me my purse, will you, darling?" she asked. He reached back and got the purse, handed it to her. Trying to look as casual as she could, Cathy took out a reefer and lit it with a match from a book she kept in her purse. He looked at her with surprise.
"I didn't know you smoked," he said. She had to laugh at that. Then he got a whiff of the smoke and the look of surprise turned to one of consternation. "Hey, that isn't tobacco."
"Of course not, silly. Tobacco is bad for you. Haven't you heard?"
"Cathy! I didn't-"
"You want to join me?"
"Huh? But, Cathy, it's-"
"Grass, dear. Of course. I smoke them from time to time. A lot of kids do. They won't hurt you."
"But Cathy!"
"Don't look so shocked. Is it any more sinful than what we just did together?"
"Well, no, but I-"
"Well, I don't think what we did together was any sin at all. It was too nice to be a sin. And so is this. It's a nice, quiet feeling. And it helps the other thing, too. You ought to try it." She held out the reefer to him, and he turned his face away. "Never mind," she said. "I just thought you'd like to try it. Then we could do the other thing again."
He looked down at her with desire in his eyes. "Couldn't we do that anyway?"
"I don't think so, honey." She started to get up. He stopped her, taking her by the arm.
"Why not?" he asked, his voice half-pleading, half-panic.
"Doug, it was nice while it lasted, even if it was only a little while. I really have a feeling for you, and I guess you did for me, too. But we're not the same kind, I guess. I'm not going to give my body to a boy who despises me."
"Despise you! Are you kidding?"
"You do now. You think you're better than I am because I blow a little pot."
"No, I don't," he said, but he didn't look her in the eyes as he said it. She forced herself to smile.
"You see? You can't look at me when you say that. You want me again, but you only want my body. You don't really love me. You look down on me."
"That's not true! I was just surprised, that's all. If you like to smoke that stuff, I don't guess there's anything really wrong with it. I mean, as long as it doesn't lead to stronger stuff."
Cathy sat staring at him, not saying a word.
"I'm sorry if I gave you the idea that I looked down on you for it, honey. I don't really...."
"Then prove it." She stared at him, and he started to look away again. Cathy caught his chin in her hand and turned his face back to hers. "Prove it," she repeated. "I love you, Doug, but I'm not going to go around apologizing to you for my habits. I'm not doing anything wrong. And if you're too good to join me in a little innocent pleasure of one sort, then I don't think we should share any kind."
That really panicked him. He tried not to show it, of course, but she could see that she had really gotten to him with that shot. She hated herself, but she steeled her will. He had to be brought into things. Bart had told her to do this, and she had to do what Bart wanted. Besides, it was a way to get rid of some of the debt she owed him, and just as soon as she had eliminated that debt, she was going to kiss Bart good-bye forever. She was going to go somewhere alone and kick the habit, and then she was going to become the kind of girl she had been all over again. So she stared Doug down. Finally, he shrugged.
"Well, if it means that much to you, I don't suppose it can do any harm." He sat there, not looking at her, and not reaching for the reefer. Cathy nudged him.
"Then take it."
He gingerly took the reefer and took a drag. He didn't do it right, but he got some of the smoke into his lungs. He coughed a bit, and then looked at her, and Cathy gestured to him to do it again. He took another drag, and then another. In a little while she could see the effects of it. She could see he was beginning to enjoy it.
And then she knew, with a mixture of relief and disappointment, that she was going to win. She was going to make him into the same kind of thing she had become.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It wasn't as much fun with the boy as it had been with the girls, of course, Bart thought, but it was still a kick to see the youngster stand there quaking and sweating and almost shitting in his pants for want of a fix and for the fear that he wasn't going to get it. Bart sat back and eyed the bastard, then lit a cigarette and puffed on it for a while, taking his time.
"Sorry, Doug," he said finally. "I can't afford to carry you any longer. Look at it from my point of view. You owe me three hundred bucks right now, not countin' the stuff I gave you for free."
"Come on, Bart," Doug said, rubbing his wet palms against his pants. "I've got to have it, you know that. I can't do without it. You'll get your money."
"Sure. Sure, kid. I'll get my money. Because I'm going to have it in my pocket before you get your next fix. That is, before you get your next fix from me. Of course, if you have some other place in mind where you can get it...." He let the sentence trail off. Doug stood looking down at him.
"You know I haven't," he said. "Bart, please, be a good guy, will you? I need the stuff!"
"I know. And I need money. I can't live on air, you know. What you need isn't any concern of mine. Oh, I feel for you, kid. It's just I can't afford to drag you any longer. You're gonna have to start payin' your own freight."
"But how, Bart? How can I get the money?"
"I don't care how you get it. That's your business, kid. The important thing is, you have to get it. Or do without the stuff."
The kid looked like he was going to come apart at the seams. Bart couldn't help grinning at the sight of him standing there, as easy to read as an open book. Suddenly, Doug looked at him with a darker expression.
"You bastard," he whispered. "You did this to me deliberately. You hooked me!" He stood there for a moment, then shouted, "You bastard!" He came for Bart, his hands in front of him, bent into claws. He looked like he was really planning to kill Bart. It was a sight to scare a man, even when the man, like Bart, was too smart to be caught unaware by such a situation. Bart lifted his hand from the depths of the overstuffed chair. The gun he was holding wasn't his .38. It was a .45 automatic. That kind of gun looked a lot more impressive. The sight of a bore almost a half-inch in diameter was enough to give pause even to a junky. Doug hesitated for a moment. It looked like he was going to come on again, but the sound of the safety clicking off on the .45 changed his mind.
"Naughty, naughty, muscles," Bart said. He pointed the big gun straight at the kid's face. "If you do that again, I'm going to have to defend myself, boy."
"Holy smoke," Doug said in a tense whisper. He was so scared at the front-on sight of that gun that he forgot to swear. He just stood staring at the bore of the .45 for a long time. Then he said, "Take it easy, huh, Bart. I'm not going to try anything. I just ... just...."
"Yeah, I know, kid, but I think I'll hold onto this in case you forget how peaceful you are. Now what was that you started to say before, about me getting you hooked?"
"Huh? Oh, that was nothing, Bart. Honestly. I didn't mean anything by that. It just slipped out. I'm not thinking too well right now." He tried a placating smile. It came out weak as dishwater.
"Good. I wouldn't want any misunderstandings. When you started coming here, it was of your own free will. You came here because Cathy asked you to, and you were crazy about her. Right?"
"Yeah, sure, that's right, Bart." He was still looking at the gun, but Bart could tell the boy was listening to him.
"Now, if there's one thing I can't stand, Doug, it's a whiner. The girls are both carrying monkeys bigger than yours, and they don't whine about it. They pay their way, or at least they try. I have to carry them a little now and then, but I don't mind that, because they're trying."
"How do they pay their way?" He asked the question with obvious reluctance, as though he already suspected the answer, but didn't want to hear it, or admit it to himself.
"They hump for it, Doug." Bart took another drag on his cigarette, then smiled. "That's right. Darling little Cathy, who you've been mooning all this time over, is a whore. What you thought she was saving for you has been passed out to anyone who could pay for it. It still is."
Doug closed his eyes and lowered his head for a moment. The news was strong stuff to him, of course, but he didn't spend much time worrying about it. He had too much else to worry about.
"I can't do that," he said. "They can make money for their habit that way, but I can't."
"No, that's right, you can't. At least not the same way they do. But, of course, there are some guys I know with funny tastes. They'd probably pay good money for a little of your time."
Doug stared at him. "I couldn't," he whispered. "I just couldn't do that."
"You want to bet? Wait till that monkey starts clawing away at your back, boy. You'll change your mind. But in the meantime, there are other ways a guy can make it. Have you ever tried just taking the money?"
"Taking it?"
"Sure. There are a lot of liquor stores and gas stations in this town. All you have to do is get yourself a gun and go pick out a place. When you've got money, then come back and we'll be able to do business. Cash on the barrelhead."
"You-you're talking about armed robbery."
"That's right, Doug baby. I'll even let you have a nice, unregistered gun on credit, if you want. That's one way to make your money. Of course, it does get dangerous. I was just reading the other day about a kid who got his ass shot off by some gas station attendant. He was a junky, too." Bart sat looking up at Doug while the words sank in.
"Isn't there some other way, Bart?" The boy asked finally. Bart chuckled.
"Sure. I might be able to use you." He watched the sudden hope flare up in Doug's eyes, then dim a little as the boy became more cautious.
"Use me? How Bart?"
"Well, you're a good-lookin' boy. I'm a business man. The business I deal in is girls. There's always a demand for nice, young girls, if they're good-looking and desperate enough to do anything a man wants. Girls like nice-lookin' boys like you.
That give you any ideas?" Doug stared at him for a moment, then shook his head mutely. "Then I'll explain it a little better. You're a real good-lookin' boy. From what Cathy tells me, you've been a good pupil, too. You've learned how to be a real stud. As popular as you are, you shouldn't have any trouble gettin' some girls to fall for you. And when a girl falls for a guy, she wants to please him, right? Do whatever he wants. She wants to go wherever he goes, and do what he does, and be liked by his friends." Bart could see some light dawning in Doug's eyes. "That means when you offer a girl like that a reefer, she's not going to want to insult you by refusing. Then you work her up to the hard stuff, and when she's good and hooked, you tell her how she can make money to pay for her habit."
"By working for you?" He seemed horrified by the idea.
"That's right. Of course, if you're too fucking squeamish for that, then just find your own way to pay the freight."
"Gee, Bart, I don't know-"
"Look, don't be an asshole, kid. This world is dog eat dog. You got a special problem, a problem most people don't have to face. If the only way you can solve that problem is by shittin' on some other people, then shit on them. Believe me, they'd shit on you if it was the other way around."
"I-I just don't know."
"Well, I do. If you've got any brains at all you'll do like I suggest. You'll go out and start dating these little cunts, and when you do you'll be aggressive with them. As popular as you are, and with everything you've learned from Cathy, you won't have any trouble getting in their pants. And when you do that, you'll have them where you want them. A nice girl just automatically falls in love with any guy who's managed to get into her."
"And then I can bring her here and turn her into a junky and a whore," Doug said.
"That's right, boy. Of course, if you figure that's too bad a thing, and you can't do it, then I can always lend you that gun, like I said before."
"No," he said hurriedly. "No, Bart, I don't think I could do that. I'd get killed, or I'd panic and kill someone else. I wouldn't want that to happen."
"That's good thinkin', kid. Murder one is a bad rap. And you ain't gonna do anyone any good lyin' on a slab in the morgue."
"Can I ask you something?"
"You can ask. Maybe I won't tell you, though."
"If I do start doing this, what will I get out of it?" He blushed as he asked the question, obviously ashamed. Bart chuckled.
"That's more like it, buddy. That's bein' smart. I'll tell you what you get. You get ten percent of everything the girl brings in above her commission. And how much that is will be our little secret, Doug. These girls don't have to know how much their asses are worth. Christ, Cathy and Angela wouldn't know what to do with all the money they bring in. I get a hundred bucks a day for them when they work, and pay them half of it. That means, if you've got a girl workin' for you, and she's doin' the same kind of business, you get five bucks a day for her."
"That won't begin to-"
"It won't begin to feed your monkey. Of course not. But you get five girls workin' for you, and it will. At least on the days they're all workin'. Of course a girl can't work every day. So you get eight or nine or ten of them doin' it. Then you've got it made. You've got a guaranteed income. All you have to do is just sit on your ass and watch the dough roll in. You'll have enough to feed your monkey, and some left over for a rainy day. How about that?"
"I guess there isn't much choice, is there?"
Bart just shrugged.
"But-?"
"But what, kid?"
"It's going to take some time to get a girl willing to do what you want her to do, Bart. In the meantime, how-"
"In the meantime, you're back on the cuff, kid. I told you, I don't mind helpin' someone who's trying to pay his own freight. Cathy and Angela started out owing me a lot of money, but I didn't mind. They're tryin'. That's what counts."
The idea of being on credit again was enough to drive out whatever scruples were left. Doug nodded vigorously. "All right, Bart. I'll do my best."
"Good. Now, before I give you your fix, kid, there is something I want to say. Listen up good." He paused, and Doug brought his eyes up to Bart's, showing he was listening. "This is something I told the girls, and they took it to heart. I hope you're gonna do the same. I'm really a nice, soft-hearted guy, Doug. I like to help someone out if I can. If that person deals with me on the square. But I ain't a sucker. Now, the first time Cathy went to bed with a John, she almost tossed her cookies first she was so revolted. But she went through with it, and now she's all right. She wouldn't dream of lettin' old Bart down. She knows better. She needs me to feed that monkey. But she also knows if she let me down, there'd be another punishment besides losin' her source of supply. I told her that first day. If she didn't do what she was supposed to, she'd get her arms and legs broken, and then her pretty face would be sliced up like a pie. I'd have some of my friends do it. Understand?"
Doug nodded. His eyes were wide with horror.
"Now, with a boy, there's a lot more I could have done, and I would. As long as you do what you're supposed to do, I'll be your pal. But the first time you fuck me, I'll fuck you ten times. I'll have some of those friends take you somewhere and break your arms and legs and slice up that nice face of yours. And then I'll have them do something else, too. I'll have them cut off your tool, buddy. And if you think I'm lyin' about that, you just try me."
"You didn't have to say that, Bart. I wouldn't let you down." He could hardly talk he was so scared. It wasn't just what Bart had said, of course. It was also the fact that the gun was there. The gun made it all real.
"I believe you, kid. I just wanted to be sure you understood the price, if you should change your mind."
"No, there's no chance of that. When I make a deal, I stick to it, Bart. Honest."
"Fine, fine. Now I'm going to go get your stuff. And I'm going to mark you down for another fifty bucks in the books. Fifty bucks a day, Doug. That's what it's costin' you."
"I know. I know that, Bart."
"Well, then, if I were you, I'd start workin' on a girl. The sooner the better."
Her name was Nancy Morison. She was one of the most popular girls on campus. A redhead, with a fabulous figure and the kind of personality that made for popularity. She had a face like an angel in some Italian painting. She was beautiful, Doug thought. That was the only word: beautiful.
On their first three dates they had done some heavy necking. On the third one, Doug had managed to get his hand into her bra and up under her skirt. She had objected, of course, but not very strongly.
But now Bart was beginning to get mean about it. He wanted results. He had laid the law down to Doug: get into Nancy's pants tonight, or start looking for a way to pay for his horse from now on.
It wasn't that he didn't think he could do it. She had shown she was ripe for him on the last couple of dates. Doug had learned enough to know when a girl was in love with him. It was just the opposite. He was afraid of succeeding with Nancy Morison. Because then she was on her way to being a junky and a whore, on her way to carrying a fifty-dollar monkey on her back, and humping to pay for it. That was what scared Doug. He had never done anything to hurt a person before. This would be the first time. It was something like losing your virginity, he thought. Only a lot worse.
Getting Dad's car for the evening had been easy. Doug's grades hadn't begun to slide too badly yet, although he could feel that coming. He couldn't seem to study any more. He hoped it was just because he was so worried, but he doubted it. Deep inside he was sure he wasn't going to be able to shake this. He could feel himself becoming a different person altogether.
He drove to Nancy's house and beeped the horn once. On their first date, of course, he'd had to go inside and meet her parents. That had been a tough one. To look at them, and smile, and sir and ma'am them, and know all the time what he was planning to do to their daughter, the daughter they looked at as though she were the most precious person heaven had ever bestowed on earth, was enough to make him want to go blow his brains out.
She came out almost at a run. Don't be in such a hurry, Doug thought. It's not going to be so nice once you get where you're headed. But when she opened the door and got in, and smiled at him with that dazzling, toothpaste-ad smile of hers, Doug smiled back. Nancy closed the door and slid across the seat toward him. The sliding hiked her miniskirt up even higher than normal, and she pushed it back down absently. She sat as close to him as she could, the warmth of her body reaching him through their clothing. She was wearing a dark blue skirt and a white sweater that buttoned in front. Without making it obvious, Doug eyed the outfit the way a strategist would have eyed a battlefield. It was handy, he thought, and wondered whether Nancy wasn't deliberately making things easier for him. The sweater was worn outside the skirt, so his hand could slip under it. At the same time, he'd be able to open the buttons, as on a blouse. The kind of blouse that buttoned in back would have been the hardest to cope with. But this was the best of both worlds.
"Hi, baby," he said, and ducked his head to kiss her lightly. She blushed.
"Not here, Doug. My parents could be looking at us through a window."
"Okay." He put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb.
"Where are we going?" Nancy asked.
"There's a good bill on at the drive-in."
"Mmmm," she said with mock skepticism in her voice. "I'll bet there is."
"Haven't the foggiest idea what you mean," Doug countered, and smiled down at her. He took his hand off the wheel and gave her leg a squeeze just above the knee. She took the hand very ceremoniously and lifted it from her leg.
"Just don't get any ideas. That's all."
"Who me? Why, I'm the perfect gentleman. You know that."
"You've got more hands than a string quartet."
"You complaining?"
"Don't make me answer that. A girl has to keep up a front, you know." She laid her head on his shoulder. He could smell the perfume of her hair, and some nice scent she was wearing. It excited him, and he began to look forward to this night's work.
Bastard!
He pulled into the drive-in and drove to a space in the back. Nancy looked up at him with an impish smile, as though she had an idea of why he was trying to get her back where they could have privacy. You don't know the half of it, Doug thought. She probably thought this was going to be another evening of heavy petting.
They necked while waiting for the movie to start. Doug felt himself getting hotter all the time. This was a fine girl here, he thought. The kind that would bring a lot of money to Bart. And she was his tonight. He was certain of that. He had maneuvered her, manipulated her, and now he had her where he wanted her. There was no question of it.
He kissed her deeply, feeling her come alive as his tongue darted across hers. Her arms went around his neck tightly. Doug cupped one breast briefly, waiting to see if she would object. She didn't. He slid the hand down the front of her sweater and over her lap. She squirmed a little, but still she didn't make any objection. Doug slipped his hand down the front of her sweater and over her lap. She squirmed a little, but still she didn't make any objection. Doug slipped his hand down the length of her thigh and then back up, thrusting it under the hem of her skirt. She stiffened all at once, and then pushed the hand back down.
"Let's keep this on the outside, all right, Doug?" She sounded a little worried, as though afraid she might anger him with her prudishness.
"Sure, baby," Doug said, and kissed her again. She melted against him. Doug kissed her face, her throat and her neck. All the time he let his hands move over her freely, expertly, playing her body the way an accomplished musician would play an instrument. He had learned in the past weeks how to excite a woman. Cathy had taught him that. He knew where his hands should go, and how firmly and how lightly they should play over the various parts of her body. Nancy had drawn the rules already. He knew she was worried about making him mad at her. She wouldn't be likely to come up with another restriction. Not until it was too late, anyway. He played with her that way for a long while, getting her nice and fuzzy headed. Her breathing was quick and shallow and ragged before he decided to take the next step. Then he leaned forward, pushing Nancy back. She tried to resist the pressure, tried to push back against him, but with nothing to lean against, she was fighting a losing battle. She lay back reluctantly. Doug let his body press hers into the seat cushions. He lay on her hard, letting her feel the weight of a man's body on hers for the first time, he was sure. She was puffing like a locomotive now. Her skin was hot to the touch. Doug slipped his hand down over her hip and below the hem of her skirt, then slid it back up under the skirt for a moment. He didn't hold it there for long. He could feel her stiffen, partly in anger, but mostly in passion, and he withdrew the hand before she could lodge a protest. All the while he kept up the kissing, and his other hand moved over the front of her sweater, stroking her breast. Finally, she broke her mouth away from his, twisting her head to one side.
"Doug ... Doug...." She was having trouble catching her breath enough to talk. Doug found her mouth and kissed her again. She broke off the kiss. "Doug, stop ... Doug, please stop. I have to-" Doug kissed her again. She twisted her head again, pulling her face away. Doug brushed her hair aside and touched his mouth to her ear, slipping his tongue inside. The effect was electrical. She threw her arms around his neck, hugged him to her tightly. Doug slid his hand under her skirt again, and for a moment she didn't offer any resistance. In fact, as his hand slid over her thighs and up to the front of her panties, her hips thrust upward, driving her pussy against his fingers. Then she seemed to come to all at once. She put her hands on his shoulders and tried to push him away from her. Doug slid his free arm around her shoulders and held her tightly.
"Doug, stop it," she said, fighting for breath. "Doug, please, stop now. I-" She fought for breath, her mouth open, and Doug kissed her, tasting the wine-sweet tongue again. It was several seconds before she tried to pull her mouth away, and then it was a half-hearted attempt. Still, Doug let her do it. He attacked her ear again. It was already obvious he was going to win this wrestling match. Her movements were becoming less determined already, less coordinated. His left hand, still inside her skirt, began to work at her panties. Her resistance wasn't as determined as he had expected. He removed his right arm from around her shoulders and began to unbutton her sweater. This seemed to take a lot of the fight out of her.
Her panties were down around her hips now, and with one more tug he had them down to her thighs. She kicked a little, but that was all. Doug pulled the panties down past her knees, down the length of her calves, and finally pulled the wispy garment off altogether. He dropped it to the car seat, heard it slide to the floor. His hand moved up her leg again, stroking it all the way. She moved her legs spasmodically while Doug's hand moved up into the hot recess of her crotch. She let out a little sound then, a combination of a gasp and a squeal. Doug let his hand touch her bare cunt once, stroke it, and then he slipped his finger into her a little way.
"Oh, Doug! No, Doug! Please, darling, we mustn't...." Her voice was becoming fuzzy, like a sleep talker's. Her arms had slipped around his neck again, and even as she tried to talk him out of it, she was hugging him to her. Doug pushed the front of her skirt up, revealing her cunt. She was lost then, he knew. He could tell the difference in her body. What little resistance she'd had was gone. When he managed to get his own pants and shorts down and inserted his stiffened cock against her she thrust her hips upward, presenting herself to him. Her legs opened wide, and he felt a touch of relief. Up till this moment there had always been that doubt.
He drove his cock into her, ripping through her cherry. She let out a little squeal of pain, then lay still as he filled her with his flesh. Her body was full and hot under him. Her waist, so trim and slender, seemed to swell and grow under him.
"Uhh," she said softly, a moan of tiredness, pleasure and a little sadness all mixed together. Doug lay quite still for a while, gathering his own strength after the effort he had expended overcoming her.
Her sweater was only partly open, and even while he lay there atop her he began to open the remaining buttons. He brushed the sweater out of the way, then slipped a hand into one cup of her bra. He felt the breast there, soft and warm and pulsing. He squeezed it once, then withdrew it from the confines of the bra. It was lovely, white and pink-nippled, with the nipple extended and hard. He stroked it with his thumb. Then, after a while, he began to move his hips. Just a little at first, little stroking thrusts that pushed his cock deep inside of her and withdrew it a little. Her body lay still under his, then tentatively, as she caught on to things, her own hips began to move with his, thrusting up as he came down, matching his timing after an awkward moment. The pleasure grabbed Doug's loins, and he closed his eyes, holding her close under him.
"Oh, Doug," she whispered. "Oh, darling, I love ... I love you ... so much." She was fighting for breath. Doug thrust his prick deep inside of her all at once, driving it there with sudden force, and she gasped. He could see her face from this close angle. He could see her eyes. They were glazed and heavy-lidded. She was high with the pleasure of her first sexual contact. He could see that she was already on the verge of an orgasm, just a small one, but she was beginning to feel it. She was a natural, he thought. She was going to be great. Dynamite.
Doug continued his hip motion, working the rod in her slowly, stroking her with it, bringing her up higher and higher. She shuddered with another orgasm, a greater one this time. Doug felt his own pleasure rising to a peak. He halted the motion, freezing everything right where it was, until his own urgency receded. He wanted this to be a good one. Nancy had to like it as much as he could cause her to. It was going to take all the skill and knowledge he had learned from Cathy. Nancy was already three-quarters in love with him. This contact would make the difference, and it had to be good.
When he had himself well under control again, he began to move once more, stroking her insides with his prick, pulling and pushing slowly, stretching out the pleasure, the joy of their connection. Nancy began to moan again, her sounds and words mixed into a stew of noise, meaningless but encouraging. He knew he was giving her the kind of good time he wanted to, that she was his now, forever if he wanted her. But that was impossible. She would be his, but only until he turned her over to Bart.
Doug felt his own pleasure rising to a climax, and he hurried along, thrusting faster and harder, driving into her, raising her to a higher and higher pitch of excitement and joy, sending wave after orgasmic wave through her. He could feel her body shake and tremble as the pleasure swept over and through her and he continued, raising the pleasure in each of them, driving them both to an intense peak.
He had timed it right. They both hit their big climax at the same moment. Nancy grabbed him more tightly, her arms around his neck and holding him to her with all the strength of need, more strength than he would have thought her arms could muster, if he hadn't already learned of the deceptive power of slender arms from Cathy. She held on to him, and her body thrust up against his one last time, driving along the length of his prick, forcing it into her with greater fervor than before. Her body shook, and then it was over.
He lay atop her for a while, his cock still in her, gradually losing its stiffness. Then, finally, he rose from her, and began to dress again. Nancy lay there, drawing her feet up close to her body to make room for him. She covered her face with one arm, and he wondered for a moment if she were crying.
She wasn't, but she was close to it. He could tell that after a moment. This was a touchy moment. He would have to treat her with kid gloves, convince her that he thought more of her for what she had allowed him to do, rather than less. He would have to convince her she hadn't sinned or done anything wrong. If she went away from him this night feeling ashamed or used, he might lose her.
When he was dressed, he reached down and took one of her hands. He felt her pull away a little, but he grasped the hand and squeezed it. She took her other arm from her face and looked up at him. Suddenly, she realized he was dressed and she was still naked. She sat up, pressing her legs together, and covered her breasts with her arm. She tried to pull her other arm away, but he continued to hold on to her hand.
"Don't, honey, please," he said gently. "Don't hide yourself from me." He slid over next to her, placed his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her close to him. She stiffened, tried to pull away for a moment, then allowed herself to be held. But she was still stiff and rigid, still afraid. Doug kissed her on the temple. She softened a bit, not much. "I love you, Nancy," he said. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. She stared up into his eyes for a while, her lips trembling, and he knew she wanted to believe him but was afraid to. He kissed her on the lips, a chaste and tender kiss. "I mean it," he said. "You can believe me, baby. You can trust me."
"I-Oh, I don't know! Doug, do you mean it?"
"Of course, silly. How can you doubt it?" He tightened his arm about her, kissed her lips again, and then planted a kiss on top of her head. "Now, you'd better get dressed. I'm going to take you somewhere and get you something to eat, and then I'm going to take you home. And I'm going to call you tomorrow. Maybe we can go out somewhere, if you can get out."
"To do this again?" she asked suspiciously.
"No. Not unless you want to. If you think that's the only reason I have for wanting to take you out, you're wrong. I told you. I love you. And I'm going to keep asking you out, whether you want me to make love to you or not. I mean that, honey."
He was feeding her the bull now, of course. But she probably needed to hear this kind of thing.
And to a point it was true. He had too much time and effort invested in her to give up now. He'd keep her going for a while, even if she decided to test his "love" by making him keep hands off. In a little while she'd want him to screw her again. She had enjoyed it too much to leave it alone now. And before long, she'd be dependent on him enough to do other things just to keep him interested, including smoking reefers, and then trying the hard drugs. And after that, it would be just a short time before she would belong to him, and then to Bart. And he'd be on his way to trap another girl the same way. And then another and another. It made his head swim to think of it. He'd have to have a whole batch of them working for Bart before his commission would pay for his habit. And even more of them before he could start to pay back the debt he was building up now. Nancy was dressing, and she looked up at him and smiled tremulously. Doug gave her an answering smile, reassuring and automatic.
He was going to have to bring her along fast.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was a year after Bart finalized his ownership of Cathy that it happened. He had a stable of twenty girls working for him by then, a stable that was constantly growing. The girls were always trying to find new recruits for him, so they could earn a little money, get some relief from the debt to him that was constantly growing. And Doug, joined now by two other boys equally attractive, were out scouting too, trying to make enough of a "commission" to pay for their habits. Bart's bankroll was growing day by day. He had begun to look forward to the time when he would be able to get out of the business. There wasn't any use pushing his luck. A girl might be picked up sooner or later. He kept them working with safe Johns, and they had been warned by him against cruising on their own. Also, he made certain their monkeys were fed all the time, so they wouldn't be spotted as junkies in need of a fix. And so they wouldn't get desperate. They were pretty safe, as junkies and hookers went. Still, there was just no way to be certain with junkies. When a man made the decision to work with them, he had to realize there was a risk involved, above and beyond the normal risk of engaging in an illegal business. These girls and boys could go crazy at any time, decide to do something stupid. Or they could easily misjudge someone, try to bring in a new girl who wasn't about to have any, and the girl could go to her school principal with the story, or something similar. That could mean the end of the whole show, and prison for Bart.
Still, things were going so well now he couldn't see any reason to call things off prematurely. He had a quarter of a million bucks salted away in a bank in Switzerland, and it was growing faster all the time as the girls multiplied. Another two years, he had decided, and he'd be able to call it quits and spend the rest of his life enjoying himself. Switzerland, the whole of Europe, and anywhere else he wanted to go. By then he should have a million and a half put away, probably more. Enough for any man.
He was working with the hypos on the day it happened. The girls would be coming in for their fixes, and their assignments, in an hour or so. When Bart heard a knock at the door, he thought it was probably one of the girls showing up early. Trying to remember whether he had told any of them to show up early, he put down the needle he had been inspecting and walked to the door. Any time he felt a little horny he just told one of the girls to come a little early. It was necessary to handle things that way, now that there were so many of them. Otherwise, if he wanted one of them to go to bed with him it was like having the waiting room of a doctor's office right outside the bedroom. But he couldn't remember telling any of them to come early tonight. Maybe it was one of the guys, wanting to tell him about some new broad he had lined up for the kill. With a smile of anticipation on his face, Bart opened the door.
He only had it open a half inch when something hit it from the other side. The door shoved inward with so much force it hurt Bart's hand, still on the knob, and the door was driven against him, knocking him back on his heels. Bart almost lost his balance and fell back, trying to find something to hold onto. He did a little dance to keep his feet.
Two men came in through the door. They were both big, and they were both wearing overcoats. It was like something out of an old movie. Bart knew what they were there for the moment he saw them, but before he could even gather his wits together, much less do anything, he saw one of them come to him in two big strides. The guy took his hands out of his overcoat pockets, and he was holding a sap in one hand. He brought it up and around. Bart managed to move his head a bit, and deaden the blow, but it was still enough to make his head burst with sudden pain. He fell to his knees. The man with the sap grabbed his hair and pulled his head back, then kneed him in the solar plexus. Bart let out a grunt and reached up and grabbed for the man's balls, thinking to grab them in a crushing grip. But the guy was wearing a jock, and Bart's fingers slipped off harmlessly. The sap came out of nowhere this time, and struck him on the side of the head. He tried to remain conscious, but it was no good. The darkness flooded in, driving consciousness away.
He came to feeling something hitting his face again and again, first on one side and then the other. It made him mad, and he gave a hell of a twist, trying to break away from the slapping.
"He's comin' around," a voice said above him, and Bart opened his eyes and saw one of the two men, the one who had used the sap on him, standing over him, holding onto one of his lapels. "On your feet, pal," the man said, and gave him a tug. The tug showed a lot of strength. Bart climbed to his feet and stood shaking his head. He looked around the room and saw the other man sitting in his big overstuffed chair. There was a sawed-off shotgun across his lap. That was the reason for the overcoats, of course. It wasn't that cold outside.
"All right, what's the beef?" Bart asked. "Who put you gorillas up to this?"
"Shut your mouth, punk," the man in the chair said. There was another shotgun lying on the couch. The one who had used the sap on Bart stood between Bart and the couch now. "We're going to be asking the questions, and you're going to answer them. And if we don't like the answers, we're going to show you we don't like them. You understand the rules now, buddy?"
"All right, ask," Bart said sullenly.
"How many girls you got in your stable?"
"How many what? What are you talkin' about? What's a stable?"
"Oh, shit," the man in the chair said, and something hit Bart alongside the head. He reeled, almost fell. Hands grasped his lapels and held him up until he regained his balance. "That kind of shit bores me, friend. Now I'll ask you one more time. How many girls you got in your stable?"
Bart started to play dumb again, but he saw the one with the sap coming at him again, and he thought better of it. "Just four," he said. The one with the sap came in close again and hit him. He did go down this time.
"Put him in that chair over there," the other man said, and Bart felt himself being pulled along the floor. There was a grunt, and Bart was lifted and thrust into a chair. "I didn't like that number," the man in the other said. "Try again."
"All right," Bart said. "I have six girls." The sap hit him again, this time on the neck just above his shoulder. Bart felt a deep, sudden pain. He almost passed out from it. When his vision cleared, the one with the shotgun was looking over at the needles and bottles spread out across Bart's desk.
"That's a lot of stuff for six girls," he said.
"That ain't for-" The one with the sap started forward again. "All right!" Bart said suddenly. "All right, I have twenty girls." The man came toward him again. "Goddamn it, that's the truth! Twenty girls are all I have!"
"We believe you, buddy," the one with the shotgun said. The other one stopped. "You see, we always believe the truth. Just stick to it from now on, and you won't have any trouble."
"Would you mind telling me who you guys are?"
"Nobody important. But we represent some important people."
"All right. Who do you represent?"
"The Company you work for."
"You're crazy. I don't work for any-Oh."
The man with the shotgun was grinning. "Yeah. From now on you work for the Company. It ain't bad. There's all kinds of benefits. Like insurance from the kind of treatment you've been getting for the past few minutes. As long as you keep up your end of the bargain, of course."
"And what's my end of the bargain?"
"Well, you see, the Company doesn't like free-lancers. Not very efficient. The Company feels you and it should be in business together. That means you get girls together, and you get them tamed down using junk you buy from the Company-"
"At what price?"
"Well, naturally, the stuff is a little higher than it is on the regular market, but it's only the best grade."
"Sure."
"Then you turn in fifty percent of everything you get from your girls."
"Fifty percent! You're out of your goddamn-" The sap hit Bart again, just grazingly this time. But it hurt. Bart shut up.
"Of course, if you don't like the idea of working for the Company, you can always refuse. In that case, we'll just have to eliminate you as competition. And take over your stable ourselves. You think it over for a few seconds, and I'm sure you'll come up with the right answer. It comes to fifty percent of a whole lot, or a hundred percent of nothing."
"You said eliminate-?"
The man fondled the shotgun in his lap. "You know."
"I don't seem to have much choice."
"No, you don't."
"Okay, so I work for the Company."
"That's the boy. I knew you'd have enough sense to pick the right alternative. Now remember, you buy all your stuff from the Company from now on. And don't try to hold out on the take, boy. That ain't healthy."
"I have some boys working for me as scouts. They get a commission."
"Any commissions you agree to will have to come out of your half. And as for the boys, they'll have to be passed by the Company if they're going to keep on working for you. We don't want anyone around who might fuck things up."
"All right."
"And don't think this is all loss on your part. There really are some advantages in working for the Company. Like free legal advice. If you get busted. Also, there's the matter of discipline."
"Discipline?"
"Sure. Don't tell me all your little junkies love you so much you don't ever have to worry about discipline?"
"No, but the habit's usually enough to-"
"Well, when it isn't enough, and it won't always be, you just report any girls who get out of line to the Company. And we'll straighten them out for you. You'll be amazed at how cooperative and obedient they get after we reason with them a little bit."
"I'll bet."
When they were gone, Bart rose and walked unsteadily to the bar. He tossed off a straight shot, and then another, and the shaking began to subside a bit.
"The sons-of-bitches," he muttered. He poured himself another shot and took it back to the chair. Just when things had been going so well, they had to show up and fuck things up. Well, if they were really from some big outfit, there was nothing he could do but play along with them. It just meant that it would take a little longer to get where he wanted. And it would be smoother running, probably. Safer and all that. An outfit of that size wouldn't let people who worked for them go to hell. It wouldn't be good business. So maybe there would be some advantage to it. The only reason Bart had wanted to get out of the business was that it would get more and more dangerous as he gathered together more and more junkies. Now the Company could worry about that end of things. He could just keep recruiting girls and taking his cut, or the half of it that, was left, and the girls wouldn't have to know they were working for someone who was working for someone else. He could still be the big boss to them. And he could still enjoy their white little asses any time he felt like it. Hell, it wouldn't be so bad.
And he already had a quarter of a million stashed away in Zurich. Gathering interest. If worse came to worst, he could just pack up one day with no warning and leave. A quarter million wasn't as much as he had wanted, but it was a whole lot better than working for wages. The income from that much money could keep him in comparative luxury all his life. And he'd still be adding to the pile as time went by. Not as quickly as he had been, of course, and not as quickly as he had intended, but he'd be adding to it. In another year he should have at least a half million set aside. Maybe he should make that his goal, instead of the million. Sure. A half million should be enough for any man.
There was a rap at the door. A timid little rap. He knew how it was the moment the knock came.
He went to the door and opened it.
"Come on in," he said. Patty Lawson stepped in, brushing against him lightly as she went by, because he stood directly in front of the doorway and made her squeeze by him. Patty was his latest girl. She was a little thing with soft, light brown hair and big brown eyes that looked as pleading as a doe's. She had skin like a baby's, and her face, a tiny heart shaped one, was the kind that would make a man want to put his arms around her the moment he saw her. She had been a little harder than the others to trap, but now she was hooked as firmly as the others. She carried a fifty-dollar monkey, and she was finally realizing she was good and had, with no way out. She had given him a little trouble at first, but now she had gentled down, like a skittish mare who has finally grown accustomed to the bit. The nicest thing about her, he thought, was that she had been recruited by one of the other girls, so there wasn't anyone pulling down a commission from her. Not that the commissions were all that bad. The boys never looked at the books. They just took his word on how much their girls had brought in. And he charged them the same amount for their heroin as he did the broads themselves, so the amounts they made in commissions were fictitious. It only cost him about a sixth that much to keep their habits fed. Still, it was nice to look at a nice little package like Patty Lawson and know she was all his. Or half his now, he thought.
He closed the door and suddenly, without warning, took the girl in his arms. He pulled her up against him, and she went up on tiptoes automatically. Her little body was stiff as a board for a moment before she caught hold of herself and relaxed against him. Her breasts flattened against his chest. She wasn't wearing anything on them, he thought, under her dress. He let his hands move over the dress, feeling the supple little body under the cloth, while his tongue moved through her mouth freely, tasting the sweetness of hers. When he finally allowed the kiss to end, she looked up at him with those big deer eyes and managed a smile. She was still a little new at things like this, and had a bit of trouble pretending to like being pawed by any man who wanted her. But that was all right.
That gave her a virginal quality the Johns liked. Bart found that he liked it, too.
"Well, hello, Bart," she said breathlessly. "You're in a very friendly mood today."
"Yeah," Bart said. He placed his hand on her ass and pressed her against him, so that she could get a good feel of his cock, bulging against his pants. "You feel that? That'll give you an idea of how friendly I am right now."
"You want me to do something for you?" She sounded a little nervous as she asked the question. Things were still pretty new to her. Bart kneaded her ass luxuriously through the thin mini and kissed her again.
"The others will be arriving pretty soon. You stick around after they leave."
"Oh. You don't have a customer for me today?"
"No one who asked for you by name. Cathy can double up."
"Oh. All right." She sounded unhappy about things, as he had known she would. This meant that Cathy would earn a double fee today, and she would be fucking for free. Her debt would grow by a full day's supply of heroin.
"You got any objections to that?" Bart asked with a threatening edge to his voice.
"Oh, no, honey, of course not. How could any girl object to spending the day with you?"
"All right, then. Anyway, I should put you through your paces. Make sure you know how to please a man. Make sure you haven't forgotten anything."
There was a light tapping on the door, and Bart gestured curtly to Patty to answer it. Cathy and Angela were there, together with a couple of the newer girls. They came in and stood about looking nervous. They were in need of their fixes. Bart looked at them coldly.
"I thought I told you broads not to come here in groups. You want to make someone suspicious?"
"No, Bart, we didn't come together," one of the girls, a tall blonde, said. "Honest. We just ran into each other in the hall."
Bart stared the girl down, then looked at each of the others for a moment. They all looked at their feet, their eyes wavering away from his one girl at a time.
"Okay," he said. He kept his voice hard. "From now on I'll have you come at different times. All we need is for some damn cop to see you coming in here in bunches, and get nosy about it. Now let's get started. You first, Cathy."
He gave Cathy and Angela their shots. They were both mainlining, of course. When they had their fixes, he gave Cathy her assignment, the address written down on a piece of paper. She looked at it hard, looked up at the ceiling while she repeated the address to herself silently, then looked at the paper again. She took it over to the ashtray on the desk, held a lit match to it, then smiled at Bart a little vacantly, and, with a wave of her tiny hand, left the apartment. Bart handed another slip to Angela. Angela went through the same routine, burned the paper, and started to leave.
"Stay put for a while, Angela," Bart said. "Let Cathy get away from the place before you start. Christ, I have to do the thinking for all you junkies, don't I?"
Angela smiled apologetically and sat down on the couch. Bart remembered he had meant to give Cathy a double assignment today. He cursed to himself, wondered whether he should give the extra assignment to Angela. He looked over the girls who had shown up already, decided tentatively that Angela was the one. There was another knock at the door.
"Get that, Patty," Bart said. It amused him to treat Patty like a maid. Of all the girls in his stable, she had come from the best background. Her parents had quite a lot of money, and she was used to having someone open the door for her. The spoiled ones were always the most fun, he thought.
He turned to the big blonde. "You're next," he said. She came forward and held her arm out eagerly. Bart shook his head. "Not there. Hike up your skirt." He liked to give it to them in the ass as long as he could. After they were too hooked to be scared off by that kind of thing, of course. It made it less likely that they would be spotted as junkies. The blonde looked embarrassed, but she hiked up her skirt and pushed her panties part way down. Bart growled, "Get them down, damn it!" She pushed the panties farther down, revealing her cheeks completely. She held the brief skirt up with both hands. Bart took his time about getting the needle sterilized. This kind of thing was fun. He walked over to the girl, swabbed one round cheek with alcohol, and then laid the cotton down on a nearby table. He ran his hand over the smooth skin lightly, as though looking for the right place to stick the needle. Actually, he was just having some fun with the blonde. Finally, he stabbed the needle in hard enough to make the girl wince, and pushed the plunger.
"Okay," he said. "Here's your assignment." He handed her the note. She read it carefully, her eyelids already beginning to droop from the effects of the heroin.
There was a knock at the door. Patty opened it again, without being told this time. Nancy Morison came in. She looked a little breathless, as though she had hurried all the way from school. Bart looked her over with interest. She was really a knockout, he thought. One of the best in his stable. "Angela, you can leave now," he said. The little brunette jumped up from the couch and smiled at him vacantly, then left the apartment.
When Nancy's turn came he handed her two slips of paper, the one he had intended to give her, and the extra that would have been Patty's. "I got some extra work for you," he said. "A chance to make some extra money. Okay?"
"Oh, sure," she said.
"What do you say?"
"Thank you, Bart."
"That's better." He gave one of her breasts a little pinch through her blouse, and she forced a smile.
When they were all gone, Bart heaved a sigh of relief and started to put the heroin and needles away. Patty came up to him and smiled tremulously. "Aren't you forgetting something, honey?" she asked in what came close to a whine.
"What's that?" Bart asked, pretending ignorance.
"My fix? I mean, you said you were going to put one on the cuff for me, didn't you?"
"Sure. I'll leave one needle out, baby. And you can have your fix. Just as soon as you've shown me your stuff. I don't want to waste good stuff, you know. I want you to show me you're good at pleasing a man. Then I'll give you your fix. That's fair enough, isn't it?"
He could see she was about to object. She needed the fix, or would very soon. She had the nervous, skittish look of a junky who needs the stuff right away. Bart looked at her hard. "Sure, Bart. Sure, that's fair enough."
"That's a good girl. Go on in to the bedroom and turn the bed down, doll. I'll be in in a moment."
"All right, honey." She hurried through the door. Bart chuckled to himself. The little twat didn't dare give him any static. She knew better. Right there, in that needle, was something she needed more than food. And it was up to him to give it to her or say no, on a whim. He picked up the needle and carried it with him into the bedroom. It would be good for her to see it lying on the bedside table while she was doing her duty for him. It would remind her of what she was fucking and sucking for. It would keep her sharp.
Bart walked into the bedroom and stood for a moment looking at the girl. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, still dressed, when he came in. She stood up hastily and faced him, looking nervous. Bart walked past her and placed the hypo on the bedside table. When he turned to her again, she was staring at the needle, as he had known she would be.
"Take off your dress," he ordered her. She looked at him with a nervous expression, as though she were still a virgin and this her first time. But she took off the dress and then stood looking at him again, dressed in pantyhose and bra and shoes now. Bart sat on the edge of the bed. "Come over here and take off my shoes for me, will you?" She knelt before him and took off the shoes. "The socks too, for Christ's sake," he ordered. She took them off and put them in the shoes neatly.
Bart stood up, bumping into her with his legs, and she moved back on her knees hastily. He opened his belt and fly and let his pants fall about his feet. Then she took off his shirt and dropped it beside him. The undershirt followed, and then he shoved his shorts down and let them fall atop his pants. He stepped out of the clothes.
"Pick all that up and put it somewhere. Neatly," he ordered.
She did it quickly, without looking at him. Then she turned to face him again. She looked more nervous than ever.
"Come here," Bart commanded curtly.
She came to him almost at a trot. Bart gestured to her to turn around, and she did so. He began to work on the clasps of her bra. They came open one at a time, letting the bra forward a bit with each lessening of the pressure. She started to raise her hands to hold the garment in place, then stifled the impulse, obviously afraid that he might not like her doing that. The bra fell away from the firm thrust of her breasts, slid down her arms, and dropped to the floor with a little plop.
Bart threaded his arms under hers and encircled her, cupping her breasts with his hands. She trembled slightly, then throttled the impulse and held still. She leaned back against him reluctantly. Bart moved his lips over her neck and shoulder, feeling her softness, tasting the slight saltiness of her skin. Her hair brushed against his forehead and cheek. Bart felt his desire surge up, his belly heat with it, and his cock harden.
He released her and stepped back. She wavered a moment, regaining her balance, and then stood straight and still. She remained there with her back to him, waiting for orders. She seemed also to dread the necessity of turning to face him. Bart let her stew a few moments, enjoying the situation. He knew he was getting back some of the ego he had lost earlier when the two muscle men had broken into his apartment. He was taking it out on Patty. He knew that and he didn't care. What the hell was she for, if not to take things out on when he felt like it? That was what they all were for, he thought. Girls were to have fun with.
He took her by the shoulder and turned her around to face him. She turned willingly, glad to get the waiting over with. Bart stared at her tits with frank insolence, stared at them until she blushed with embarrassment. Then he reached forward slowly, letting her see it coming, and cupped one breast with his palm, to feel the nipple come erect. She was embarrassed, of course, and she was humiliated, and she was scared, and she would rather be anywhere else than right here. But she couldn't help responding. She was a hot little number, this Patty. She was a good moneymaker, too, he thought. He put his arms around her and pulled her close. The pressure of her tits against his bare chest was exciting. His cock thrust against her rigidly. He could feel the warmth of her body, and her breathing was coming faster and faster. Bart slid one hand down her back and let it dip into her pantyhose, cupping one round, warm cheek. She stiffened a moment, then made herself relax. He continued to squeeze the cheek for a moment, then slid his hand over to the other cheek and worked on that one for a while. He began to work the pantyhose down a little at a time, still cupping and squeezing the cheeks of her ass, and she began to tremble again. But now it was from desire. He could tell the difference. And perhaps there was a little of something else in it too. She was getting close to the time when she would need that fix. As though to drive that imminent need from her mind, she threw herself into the job of making love to Bart. Her body surged and bulged against his, and her pussy pressed against him, her hips thrusting hard. Bart worked his hand around to the front, working the pantyhose down there too, evening the level of the garment. He could feel the roundness of her thigh, the wisps of pubic hair, and then his hand came into full contact with her pussy. She gasped once, and her body thrust against his hand.
Suddenly, Bart didn't want to drag things out any longer. His own desire was getting too strong for that. He'd have her all night, he thought. If he wanted to drag things out he could do it later, after he'd had one good fuck from her. Right now the thing was to get his cock into her before he came all over the front of her.
Bart pressed her into the bed, brought his weight onto her, drove her down. She gasped again, this time with surprise at the strength and ferocity of his approach. He drove his legs between hers, and after the first moment, after she had regained her sense, she widened her thighs for him. He lay on her, letting his full weight press against her tiny body. She fought for breath, not daring to complain, and he delighted in her discomfort, her fear of him. He ran a hand down between them, took his cock in his hand and inserted it in her pussy. There was another gasp, a mixed one this time, made up of the need for air, and the shock of knowing that it was about to reach that stage, the entrance, and the thrill of purely physical pleasure. He drove into her, pressing his cock deep inside of her all at once. She gasped again, and then cried out, and then she lay still under him for a moment. She lay very, very still, and then, gathering her wits about her, she began to pump her hips at him, slowly, mechanically, listlessly.
Bart slid his hand between them at the level of her breast, and, taking one nipple between his fingers, pinched it hard. She let out a squeal and then clenched her teeth.
"Put some life into it," he grunted in her ear, and she began to make the thrusts more lively, and at the same time more meaningful. She spaced them, timed them to his own movements. She was making love now, fucking, not just allowing herself to be fucked. Bart's cock was rock hard in her, almost painfully hard. He continued to massage her insides with the crown of his cock, driving and pulling, thrusting with greater force, while she worked hard at pleasing him, matching him, giving him as much as she got. She had learned a lot, he thought with a touch of amusement. This wasn't the little virgin he had fucked here weeks before. She had learned the ways to please a man, the ways to keep him turned on, to bring him up higher and higher, and then satisfy him totally. That was good, he thought with a touch of dreaminess as his own pleasure rose to a higher level. That was good, not only for his own use of her, but also because he knew it meant that when a man paid good money to fuck her, he was going to get the best that could be expected. That meant satisfied customers, and more money in the bank. It meant a quicker ride to Switzerland, more time to enjoy the good life there without anything to worry about, cops or district attorneys, or angry parents or any of the dangers that he could lose out to here. The quicker out of this business the better, and little junkies like Patty were going to buy him out soon.
Patty let out a little moan, and he knew she was going through a mild, preliminary orgasm. He slowed, letting things subside a little. There wasn't any sense in letting his own orgasm come too soon. He let her lie under him, gasping for breath, her body laced with sweat, her thighs spread around his to make entry for him easier, and he waited while things slowed a little. Then he began to pump again, more slowly this time, carefully, babying things along again.
"Uh," she said softly, answering the pleasure in her vocally. She grunted again and again, and then the sounds rose in pitch and volume, becoming squeals. Her arms tightened about his neck, and he knew it wasn't just because she knew she had to put on a goqd act. She was responding to him all right. She was giving now because she was caught up in it, and that was great. It was good when it was real, he thought. Always better than when she was giving him just a show.
He slacked off again for a moment, then began to thrust again, this time pushing all the way into her, all the way to the root, pressing their bellies together, and their abdomens, so that he could feel their pubic hair mingling and scratching. Her breasts were flat under the weight of his chest, and then she lifted her thighs and wrapped them around his waist tightly, holding him in an iron embrace, milking his cock, and then there wasn't any sense in holding back any longer, or trying to, because the juices were obviously about to spurt into her, and he accelerated his pumping, thrusting and pushing and pulling with greater and greater speed, getting the most out of the few remaining moments. Patty let out a series of cries as her own pleasure grew and grew, and he knew she was going through a series of orgasms, each more powerful than the preceding, and then his own orgasm hit, and his come spurted into her, driving with fire hose force, and he grunted and thrust, and the pleasure peaked deliciously, driving clear through his body, nearly blowing the top of his head off. He felt the puckering and gathering all along his skin, and knew that this was it, the peak, the top, and it was almost too powerful, almost more than a man could stand, and then it was over, and he lay on the girl, his body limp and sweaty, while she fought for breath.
He knew she was having trouble breathing, and that the exertion of her own climax had raised her need for air, and that she was wishing more than anything else for him to get off of her, so he lay there for a long while, his weight completely on her, silently daring her to complain. Her arms slipped from about his neck, and she lowered her legs, too, but she didn't dare go any further than that in signaling to him that she would like him off of her.
After a very long while, a lesson to her, he finally moved off of her body. She smiled at him in timid relief and gratitude, and her tits heaved and jiggled as she sucked air into her lungs in great heaps. Bart lay on his back for a moment, enjoying the feeling of her next to him, the nearness and availability of her tiny, exquisite body, and then he reached over and gave the nearer of her thighs an intimate squeeze.
"Go in and get me a drink," he ordered. She scrambled to her feet.
"Sure, honey." She looked down at the needle lying on the bedside table for a moment, obviously hoping he would take the hint and give her a fix now. But she didn't really need it now, not yet. In a little while she would start getting bad, and then he'd give it to her, but for the time being he wanted her on edge, alert, eager to please, frightened of his displeasure. All those things would be there to some extent when she had had her fix, but they would be lessened, blunted, and he didn't want that. Besides, he was enjoying her nervousness, her need, her little nagging fear that maybe he wouldn't give it to her this time. Of course he would. It didn't make sense to starve a junky. They could get you into all kinds of trouble that way. Unless you locked her up and kept her off the stuff just to teach her a lesson when she'd been bad. But Patty wasn't likely to be bad. This kind of time, this kind of session, was very helpful in keeping a girl in line, in reminding her of her place. Patty wasn't likely to forget her place.
"What the fuck are you waiting for?" he asked, and she threw him a smile compounded of regret and cringing servility, and then went into the living room at a trot.
She brought the drink back in a moment, and Bart scooted back on the bed, leaning against the headboard, and took the glass from her. He began to sip it while she stood beside the bed watching him nervously. Bart shifted the drink to his left hand and with his right patted the bed next to him. Patty crawled onto the bed obediently, moving with care to keep from spilling his drink. Bart took another sip.
"Ain't this nice?" he asked, and she nodded, forcing something like a happy smile onto her lips.
"Sure, honey, this is great." He enjoyed this part of things almost as much as the fucking itself, making them pretend to like what they had to do for him, making them choke down the bile and pretend to be fond of him, when he knew they would like to see him roasted over a slow fire, if they could only be sure of another source of junk when he was gone.
"You're a good girl," he said. "I'll give you your fix in a little while." He took a big pull of his drink and then reached across and placed it on the bedside table to his left. "I think I'll let you go down on me now," he said casually, wording the command as though he were doing her a favor. She blanched a little, and he knew she hadn't expected that to happen quite this early.
"So soon?" she asked, and tried to make her voice sound admiring.
"Shit, why not? I may not be able to get a hard-on just yet, but it's still nice having you lick it. It's just a nice feeling. I may even fall asleep. If I do, you just keep right on licking, Patty. You got that?" He made the edge in his voice obvious on the last command, and she swallowed hard before she answered him.
"Sure, baby," she said with a quaver in her voice. "Anything you want is fine with me. You know that."
"Yeah, I know. Get with it."
She forced another servile smile and then moved down on the bed, positioning herself over his abdomen. Bart sat there, leaning against the headboard, and watched her. She didn't dare stall, although he could see that she wanted to. She leaned down, kneeling and sitting on her own calves, and took his limp cock in her fingers. The touch of her hand was nice there. Her hair, long and silky, fell down across her face.
"Brush your hair back," he said. "You know I like to watch your face while you do that." He said it curtly, to let her know that she had goofed by not remembering, and she winced. Her tiny hand came up and shoved her hair back, draping it over her far shoulder to keep it out of the way. Her profile was revealed to him now, and he knew she was aware of his gaze, and embarrassed more than ever by it.
She leaned down the last fraction of an inch, and her tongue, pink and soft and warm, began to move across his cockhead. "Mmm," Bart said, relaxing at the nice, comfortable feeling of her tongue there. He let his hands rest at his sides on the bed, while she continued to work. He could see her face, her cheeks slightly distorted by the effort of keeping her tongue extended. The loveliness of her face, contrasted with the thing she was doing, sent a thrill through him, and he even felt a little stirring in his prick, and he was delighted at the thought he might be able to get something out of it sooner than he had thought possible.
Patty was breathing hard now from the exertion of maintaining her position and continuing her work. He could see from the way she held her face and head that the effort of keeping her tongue extended was starting to cause her some discomfort. Finally, she stopped a moment and craned her head back and rolled it around once, then came back down and started to lick him again. Bart's prick was coming to life faster than he had thought it could do so soon after a good fuck like that. He didn't try to will himself up or anything like that. There was no hurry. The girl's job was getting him turned on, and she would keep at her work until she got the desired results. She would keep at it because she knew what would happen to her if she didn't. Bart just leaned back, enjoying the warm, moist feeling of her tongue moving over the head of his prick.
"Get a little variety into it, sweets," he ordered in a pleasant, dreamy voice. "You're in a rut."
She mewed an acknowledgment and started to move her tongue down the length of his shaft, and then she was kissing his abdomen, balls, crotch and the insides of his thighs. Bart sighed pleasantly, trying to relax, but feeling the tension of his urge building up. His cock was half-hard now, really starting to swell and stiffen. He let it get hard at its own rate, not trying anything to speed it up or slow it down. He was content to let things go their own route, to let her do all the work. He could feel himself getting dampened all over as her tongue traveled over his intimate parts.
Then his cock was really getting stiff. He felt a pleasant sense of surprise at the result, the way things were going. He felt pleased with himself. There was a lot of steam left in the old engine, he thought, when he had someone worthwhile around to build up the pressure. It was great having a lot of beautiful teenage girls eager to do anything, literally anything at all, to please him.
She must have seen the cock standing up, because she started to lick it again, and then he felt her lips close over the head of it, pursing slightly, to bring pressure onto his glans. The feeling sent a shiver through him, a thrill, and he grunted. The sound seemed to bring Patty more alive. She started to work harder and more diligently on him, to work with greater vehemence and direction. She had seen she was getting him turned on more quickly than she had thought possible, of course, and she was trying to bring him along quickly, to get him to go off so she could have done with it.
She was on her knees still, sitting on her calves, but now she came up off of her calves and began to rock back and forth slightly, keeping up pressure with her lips, exerting friction on his glans. Pleasure was coursing up through Bart's abdomen, sending him into little shaking fits as it increased and faded, and then increased again. Bart tightened his belly, because he could already feel the beginnings of the pressure there, the need to unload on her, and he wasn't going to let her off that easily, by God. He was going to hold on now, make her work for it, make her keep it up, and keep it up himself, the enjoyment of it, the pleasure that was sharp and wonderful now, and he wasn't going to give it up until he had to.
She stopped again for a moment, craning her neck back, and then she came down on him, her tongue tracing a path across his cock for a moment again before she returned to what she had been doing before. She had a good thing going there, she knew, and this was the way to keep him up. But the momentary change had excited him, too, and he couldn't hold on much longer. As she continued to work with him, and her lips passed up and down, up and down, over his glans, he knew he couldn't hold back much longer now. He let it come out, finally, the come flooding into her mouth, and he could see her throat muscles working as she swallowed hard and feverishly. He had told her, as he had told all the girls, that it was an insult to a man if a girl didn't want to swallow his come. It wasn't nice to lose any of it, not even a drop, and of course she was aware he was watching her now, and she was working hard at keeping it all, at swallowing it all. Bart's cock gave one last spurt, and she managed to swallow it, and then it was over.
She sat back on her calves again, her head hanging down, and he could see she was humiliated at what she had done. She was still new, he thought. She hadn't really gotten used to this part of it yet. Well, she'd have to learn, that was all there was to it. A whore who doesn't suck, he thought, is worthless.
He picked up his drink and took a sip. The ice had melted, and the drink was warm and weak. He handed it to her. She didn't take it, didn't even see it.
"Wake up, junky," he ordered. She came alert with a jerk, saw the glass and took it automatically. "Go into the living room," he said. "Get a fresh glass. Wash this one and dry it, and pour a drink into the fresh one. You got that?"
She nodded.
"I asked you, did you get that?"
"Yes sir," she said.
"All right, then get your ass in gear. When you come back, maybe I'll give you your fix."
That got better results than the vocal raking he had given her. It was like catnip to them, he thought with contempt. They couldn't get along without the stuff.
She was back so quickly he asked her with suspicion whether she had cleaned the other glass as he had told her to.
"Yes, sure, honey," she said, and he could tell she was giving it to him straight. Anyway, she wouldn't dare disobey or lie to him. He told her to stand next to the bed with her back to it. He picked up the needle and gave her the shot hard enough to make her wince. Then, while the heroin was taking effect, and he knew she wanted to lie down and enjoy it more than anything else, he finished off his drink, lay back, and told her to give him a massage.
CHAPTER NINE
The next day the two men were back. They knocked on the door, as they had the first time. And when he opened the door and saw them there, he jumped back involuntarily, afraid they were going to hit him again. But they only smiled. The big one stood leaning against the door, a casual sentry. The smaller one walked to the couch and sat down, looking expectantly at Bart.
"We came for the day's take," he said. "Our half, that is." Bart looked back at him for a moment, reluctant to part with half of his take. But he knew there wasn't any use stalling, or trying anything. The men had taught him his lesson the day before. He got the money out and handed it to the man. All of it.
"That's the day's take," he said. "You can take the half out of it yourself."
The man counted the money and looked up at Bart. "Not bad," he said. He peeled some bills off of the stack and handed the rest back to Bart. "Count it," he said. Bart counted it. The man had taken two thirds instead of the half he had expected.
"Hey, what the fuck?" he demanded.
"Your supply of heroin will be arriving shortly," the man said softly. "We don't carry the stuff ourselves, of course. We have others who do that."
"Oh. You mean you're taking out for the heroin now?" Bart didn't like the idea, but it was better than having them take all that money for their share.
"That's right."
"Shit, that's enough for two or three days anyway," he said. The two men looked at each other and grinned.
"That's enough for one day," the one on the couch said. "Our stuff comes a little higher than the stuff you've been buying up till now. Of course, it's the best. And you're getting a nice, generous supply. It doesn't pay to be caught short."
"Jesus Christ, you mean you're going to take this much out of my take every fuckin' day?"
"You gotta buy the stuff. Your girls need it, to keep working."
"Yeah, but Christ-"
"One thing we can't stand, J agger, it's a chronic complainer. We don't like someone who's always bitching about things that can't be helped. This is something that can't be helped. Business expenses have to be met. If someone keeps complaining about things like that, we don't like to work with him. Keep it in mind."
Bart almost said something back, but he thought better of it. He looked at the floor, miserably aware of the thin sheaf bundle of bills in his hand. "That's better, friend," the man on the couch said. "Now, I've got something to tell you. Have you wondered how we found out about you? Who you are and where you live and all that?"
"No. Well, yeah, I guess."
"Sure you have. We expect that. And we don't want to keep you in suspense, Jagger. A man who's in suspense all the time can't do his job right, and we wouldn't want you to fuck up." He sat looking at Bart for a moment before going on. "Have you noticed anything strange about any of your people lately?"
"Strange? No."
"Maybe you don't pay close enough attention. Or maybe she's a very good actress. A cunt by the name of Cathy Winslow?"
"Cathy?" The name startled Bart. "She's my oldest girl," he said.
"Sure. Well, she's a big mouthed whore, is what she is. Our boy pumped her, and she dropped enough hints to enable him to figure out that she was working for someone who was supplying her with horse. Then he got enough more out of her so he knew the general direction to where you lived. Then he found out the school she goes to. Then he just followed her over here one afternoon. She's a gold mine, that girl. Just a gold mine of information."
"Yeah. Well, I'll straighten her out. Or are you going to do that?"
"We're going to straighten her out, all right. We're going to see to it that she doesn't do anything like this again. Ever."
"Shit, you going to kill her?" The two men smiled at each other. "Does that idea bother you?"
"Well, hell, it's bound to make waves."
"Don't worry. We're not going to kill her. It doesn't make any sense to destroy a perfectly good asset. We're going to dispose of her the same way you'd dispose of any other asset you didn't need any more."
"How's that?"
"We're going to sell her, friend. And you're going to help us out."
"Sell her? How-"
"We have connections with outfits all over the world. People who like to buy nice young girls, and particularly blondes. We got some in South America, some in Arabia, and, oh, hell, all over the place. Not any of them run places where a girl is likely to enjoy working. That's one nice thing about selling girls to places like that. The other girls pay attention to business then. But not in your case. I don't think we want to tell any of these young cunts that they could be sold down the river. They're too likely to panic and run to the fuzz. So we don't tell them where the blonde went. You understand?"
"Yeah, sure."
"We just let them guess. They'll fill in bad enough details for themselves."
"Okay."
"We'll send this one to Arabia. They got guys over there who just love to bust American blondes. Guys who don't have any love for this country, you know? They just love to bust into a sweet young American blonde."
"You said I was going to help," Bart said fearfully. "How?"
"Your part is simple. When she comes in today, you just send her to this address." He took a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Bart. "We'll take care of the rest. After you send her out of here today, you'll never see her again."
"Okay. It seems a shame to lose a great little moneymaker like her, though."
"That's one of those things that can't be helped. One of the things it doesn't pay to complain about. Remember?"
"Okay, okay, shit, I was just mentioning it."
"Now, the way we look at it, you shouldn't have had a dangerous girl around like this in the first place. So even though you're an even partner in things, we're going to consider this girl all ours now. For purpose of the sale, that is. That's fair enough, the way we look at it. Especially when you consider we're the ones who are going to ship her out and all that. And we're the ones who have the contacts. And you're the one who stands to lose the most if a girl like this spills her guts. But we're nice to our partners. We've decided to give you ten percent of what we get for her."
"Yeah, okay," Bart said. He felt like making a snide remark, but it didn't seem a good idea.
"Now, for a nice, young chick like that, we'll probably get eight, ten grand. We'll figure your ten percent and give it to you. You trust us, right?" He was grinning again and the one at the door laughed aloud.
"Yeah, sure," Bart said. "Now, is that all? The girls will be coming in pretty soon."
"Yeah, I guess that's about all," the man said. He stood up and stretched, then looked down and noticed that he was still holding the money in his hand. He thrust it into a coat pocket and smiled again. At the door, he turned back. "Just one more thing, Jagger. I wouldn't try any fast stuff, if I were you. A fraction of something is a lot better than all of nothing. Especially, if you're running out of blood. Then nothing isn't any good at all."
"I know," Bart said. "I won't try to pull anything. I'm not brave, and I'm not stupid."
"That's a good boy," the man said. "You got a nice little deal going here for you. A good income, even after all the expenses. And all those sweet young things ready to do anything you want, just to keep you from getting unhappy with them. It'd be a shame to lose all that because you were greedy." The two of them left, closing the door softly behind them.
Bart looked down at the money in his hands. A few hundred dollars was all that was left. By the time he paid the recruiters their commissions, even if he screwed them out of part of it, he'd be working for peanuts. A bricklayer with a working wife would be grossing almost as much. He threw the money against the wall. The bills hit with a dull plopping sound and then fluttered to the floor. Bart stood looking at them for a moment, then walked over and began to pick them up. Some was better than none, he thought. But not much better. It meant they would have him right here, doing their bidding for as long as they wanted. It would mean he'd never add anything significant to his bankroll.
The thought of the bankroll set his mind to going. He had almost a quarter of a million there now. He'd been putting everything there that he was making, everything he'd been able to screw the kids out of. That was enough, he thought. It wasn't as much as he'd wanted, but it was enough to live well for the rest of his life. Why not get out now? Why not split while the splitting was good?
He poured himself a drink and sat down with it. The more he thought about it, the better the idea seemed. There was only one thing. He needed traveling money. He didn't intend to go through regular channels to get out of the States. If he put in for a passport and visa and all that shit, they'd be likely to find out about him. And then they'd make holes in him. No, he had to get out some other way. That meant money, and lots of it. He had always made it a point to keep a few thousand around just in case of an emergency. He had to buy junk for his troops, after all, and there were ordinary living expenses. And always the possibility that he'd get sick, or need payoff money or something like that. He got up and went to the hiding place and counted the money. Twenty-eight hundred bucks, in bills no larger than a fifty. Most of them smaller. That was good. But he'd need more. Lots more. To do what he had in mind, he'd need a good ten grand, and it wouldn't hurt to have some extra around for emergency use.
He could always send to the bank in Switzerland, of course, and have them send him eight or nine thousand. But that would cause raised eyebrows. The Feds would want to know where he got the money, and how come he hadn't reported it to the government before this. Besides, he didn't like the idea of cutting down his fund over there if it could be helped. So he'd have to do something else. He looked at the money they had left him for the day. He could just keep things up until he had enough through those channels, but that wasn't a satisfactory idea either. He had been around this kind of thing long enough, Bart thought, to know that when your luck starts to go sour it doesn't stop until you've been kicked in the balls and then had them cut off with a spoon. It was time to get out, right now, before something worse happened. The next time it wouldn't be someone trying to muscle in, he thought. The next time it would be the Feds, and he'd have more than dope charges and contributing to the delinquency of minors, and stat rape to worry about. He'd have the Little Lindbergh Law. Kidnaping. Shipping the victim across state lines. If they were going to ship Cathy Winslow out of the country, he'd be an accessory at the very least, and maybe more than that. They might decide he'd been right in the middle of it, since he was the one who would send Cathy over there today to be packed, crated and sold.
Out, he thought, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Out of this whole mess. Out of the business. Out of the country.
So there was only one way to do it, only one way to get the money together all at once.
He had to try some fast shuffling with the bastards. He had to screw them out of a few thousand dollars in the next few days. It was a scary thought, a thought that made chills travel up his spine. But he'd have to do it. It was the only way to get out of here. Then he thought of the junk. He could peddle some of that. They were selling him more than he needed, more than he could possibly use up. But that was a bad idea, too. Pushing was dangerous. It was the most dangerous part of the whole mess. Pushers had to deal on the street, and that was where a man was picked up by the narcs.
No, he'd have to hold out on them. He'd have to be convincing about it. It wouldn't take long. Just a week or so if he held out a few hundred dollars every day. Then he could make his contacts. No, he could do that in the meantime. Make the contacts and give them some of the money down, on account, so they'd get things rolling. He'd have the rest for them when he got on the ship, or plane, or whatever it would turn out to be.
All right, he thought. It's settled. The thought made him calm, oddly enough. He'd made his decision. That had been the scary part. He knew the decision could end in his death. He knew when the time came he'd be scared again. But he also knew he could go through with it now. He'd go through with it whatever amount of coolness was necessary.
There was a timid knock at the door, and he knew, without knowing how he knew, that it was Cathy Winslow. Something about the knock, something in the sound of it, or the rhythm made it obvious to him, and he felt a quick excitement. This would be the last time he'd ever see her.
He went to the door and opened it. Cathy was standing there, dressed in a plaid miniskirt and a blue blouse, her school books braced against the front of her body. Her legs were bare and lovely, and she was trying a smile on him. She looked like a school girl facing the principal. And she was beautiful. Bart stepped back without a word, and she came in.
"Hi, honey," she said nervously, breathlessly. "I know I'm a little early. I thought maybe I could beat the rush, if you didn't mind. I feel I need my fix now." She smiled at him, and when he didn't smile back she blushed and looked at the floor.
"Come on," he said. "I'll give you your fix now."
"Thanks," she said. She hurried along beside him, a little behind. Bart took her into the living room.
"Take your clothes off," he said.
"Huh? My clothes? But why-"
"Because I told you to," Bart said without raising his voice. He had gotten out the needle, and she didn't argue with him. She began to strip. Bart sterilized and loaded the needle, watching her out of the corner of his eye all the while.
She was just as beautiful as ever, he thought. He was going to miss her. Well, it couldn't be helped. It was what she deserved anyway, for being such a big mouthed bitch. In a way he was glad to get rid of the little tart.
When she was naked she turned to face him fully. Bart looked her up and down until she blushed. "I'm surprised you can still get embarrassed about a man looking at you, Cathy," he said. She blushed even more deeply.
"I guess it's the way you're staring, honey," she said. "You've seen me so many times, I'm not used to having you stare like that. It was like you'd never seen me before."
"Or like I was never going to see you again, huh?" The moment the words were out of his mouth, he was sorry. It had been a stupid thing to say, of course. But she was looking at the needle flow. She didn't seem to have heard what he said. There was only one thing that was important to her right now. Bart held the needle in his hand, feeling the sense of power it always gave him. "Come here," he ordered, and she approached him, still looking down at the needle. Bart put his arms around her and held her close. When he kissed her she threw herself into the kiss wholeheartedly, giving him her tongue with all the gusto he could ask for. It was automatic, of course. She had learned that when she was with a man, she had better be completely with him. It had become a conditioned reflex by this time. Bart let his hand travel down over her body, down to her ass. The other hand held the needle, and it was pressed flat against her back. He knew she could feel it there, and her attention was on it.
He stepped back. "Remember the first time, honey? Remember how you were still a virgin, and I didn't want to bust you before the client got to?"
"Sure," she said. She sounded like she didn't want to remember it.
"And remember what I had you do for me to get around the problem?"
"Sure, honey. I remember."
"What was it?" He wanted to hear her say it. It would be exciting to hear it from her young, full lips.
"I sucked you off, honey," she said. She said it with a touch of wonder in her voice, as though she couldn't imagine how he could have failed to remember, or why he should want her to repeat it. But she had learned, long since, not to question his reasons about anything.
"I feel reminiscent," he said. "Why don't we do that again, for old time's sake? Then I'll give you your fix."
"Sure, honey," she said, injecting enthusiasm into her voice. She was a good actress, this one, he thought. A real shame she had to go. "Sure, that sounds great, Bart." She looked around. "Where you want me, honey? In the bedroom?"
"What's wrong with the living room? That's where we did it that time, if I remember right. And it was great."
"It sure was." She slipped back, as though about to go down on him.
"Over here," Bart said, heading for the big chair. "I was sitting down, remember? No reason why I shouldn't be comfortable while I'm enjoying myself, is there?"
"None that I can think of," she said. He sat down with a sigh and placed the needle on the table next to the chair. He saw her eyes flick to it and then back to him. She smiled and came to him. She knelt down in front of him, nestling between his spread knees. He felt her hands on his legs, through his pants. They felt tiny and soft. Then she was working his zipper down. She had trouble with it because he was sitting and wasn't doing anything to help her. Bart motioned her back a bit, then stood and opened his pants and dropped them down around his ankles. He shoved his shorts down too, and then sat again. Cathy knelt on the clothes, pulling herself right up close to the chair. Bart scooted his ass forward, leaning back against the back of the chair. The position gave her good access at his cock. She took it in those tiny, soft hands, and it stood up like an antenna. Then she had hold of his balls, and she started by kissing them. She had learned a lot, he thought, since that first day. She knew all about how to make a man happy now. There wasn't a shred of lady left in her, not a shred of decency or reticence or shyness. She was a wanton. It gave him a little thrill to think of it. This teenage girl, who had come to him pure, and he had broken her down into this. A fucking and sucking machine. Interested in nothing except pleasing whatever man she happened to be with at the moment, because that was the way to get her fix.
She left off kissing his balls and began to lick his cock, her tongue, soft and warm, traveling over the head of it. It was a nice feeling, and when he looked down at her, it was nice to watch, too. She brushed her hair back and glanced up at him with a mechanical smile. He felt the hair, thick and golden, wisp across his thighs. Then she was back at work, intent on what she was doing, giving her all to him, her all to please him.
It was a workmanlike job, and she managed to please him all right. Bart felt the pleasure grow in his cock, and spread through his belly and thighs, growing in intensity all the time. She worked away, and he knew she was playing him like a fish, working him just right to keep things going. That was something some of the newer girls, like Patty, hadn't learned yet. They still tried to get things over with as quickly as possible. But Cathy had become a real pro. She knew what it was all about. She knew the name of the game, he thought as he began to grunt with irrepressible joy. The pleasure was becoming almost painful now, it was so intense. He knew he could come now, if he let himself, but he fought it, and Cathy, apparently sensing his nearness to completion, slacked off a bit, letting him rest. When she went back to work, he had gained control of himself again. Then it was up there again, the pleasure and the need to let it go, and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold it much longer. Anyway, time was running short. The other girls would be showing up pretty soon. Cathy must have thought of the same thing, because she didn't slack off this time. She bore right in, pulling him higher and higher, driving him nearer to the edge, and then all at once he was over the edge. His come spewed into her mouth in big bursts, big blobs of cream that she swallowed hastily and expertly.
"Mmmmm," she said, as though enjoying the taste of his prick and his come immensely. It was a technique she had learned a long time ago now, way back in the beginning. She knew it pleased a man, brought him on stronger, excited him even as he was being totally sated. Another shot of come entered her mouth, and she swallowed it neatly. Then the climax was on him, covering him with its power and intensity, and Bart grunted loudly and relaxed, falling back against the back of the chair. His cock went limp in Cathy's mouth. She kept it there, running her tongue over it for a while, before she finally drew back.
"How was that, lover?" she asked.
"That was pretty nice," he said. "You're gonna be great for-" He stopped, cutting himself off in mid-sentence. She looked up at him with interest, but not suspicion in her eyes.
"Great for what?" she asked.
"Great for any customer we ever have for you," Bart said, weakly. "Now get your clothes on and go gargle or something. I'm gonna send you out before the others get here."
"How about my fix?" she asked with a hint of panic in her voice.
"Oh, yeah," Bart said. "Sure." He had honestly forgotten about it. "Hold out your arm," he commanded. He got the stuff into her vein, mainline, as she had been going for the past month. He dropped the needle back on the table and said, "Now get going."
The other girls began to arrive in a few minutes. Bart was rough on them, rougher than usual. He was in a bad mood about things in general, and nervous because he was beginning to think of all the things that could happen to him because of the decision he had made about cheating the Company of their money. Not that he even thought for a moment about changing his plans. The decision would hold, he knew, no matter what. He would try to get away with things. And he would, he told himself. He would get away with it. In a few weeks he'd be in Switzerland, enjoying the Alps, with some Swiss miss on his arm, and another to shine his shoes, if he felt like it. The money would talk.
The money would make him attractive to women. It would be like now, with girls all over him, only this time he wouldn't have to worry about the cops showing up, or someone like those two goons popping in the door to fuck things up.
But for now he still had the jitters about things. There was a lot to do, and a lot that could go wrong yet, before he'd be in Switzerland. One of the girls, the big blonde who was still pretty new, jerked involuntarily when he jabbed the needle into her butt, and Bart spun her around and slapped her face hard. The girl fell back a step, placing a hand against the offended cheek and staring at him wide-eyed.
"Goddamn it, you stay put," he said angrily, and she stared at him for a moment longer before she nodded.
"Sure, Bart. Sure, I'm sorry, honey." She resumed her position, and he injected the heroin into her, jamming the needle harder than before. It made her wince, but she didn't pull away this time.
The other girls were all staring at him in silence. Bart gave them their fixes and sent them on their way.
When they were all gone, the boys came in and got their fixes. He charged them for the heroin, and gave them credit in the book for the money they were supposed to get in commission. They would have preferred to have cash, he was sure, but he told them he had decided against giving out any more cash, and they would be needing the money for heroin anyway. They couldn't really argue about that. And anyway, they didn't dare argue with Bart. He was their source. Bart knew he'd be able to keep the money this way. When he left, they'd have nothing but the memory of some numbers listed in a little black book. And the book would have been burned by then. What did junkies need with money, anyway? They wouldn't spend it on anything worthwhile. Just to feed their filthy habit. Bart was sure he could find a better use for the cash.
When the boys were gone too, he put on his coat and went out. He went down to the waterfront and moved around, looking for a ship that was unloading. When he found one he stood looking at it for a long time. Finally he saw a grizzled man with a white beard come out and stand on the deck, leaning over. The man spat into the water, watched the splash. From his air of casual command, Bart deduced the man was the captain. He stepped away from the building against which he had been leaning, and let the man see him. He continued to stare up at the man.
After a while the old man walked to the gang plank and walked down to the dock, and to Bart. "You thinkin' of buyin' somethin', boy?" he asked.
"Maybe," Bart said. He had brought his money along, just in case he should get lucky on the first try. The old man looked him up and down.
"Well, whatever it is, it can't be much, from the look of you."
"Maybe if we had some privacy, I could show you something that would change your mind, Captain."
"Maybe," the man said, and because he hadn't contradicted the title, Bart guessed he had been right about the man's position. "Why don't we go up to my cabin, then?" He looked curious and interested, Bart thought, though it was hard to tell. The man's face was framed in beard and hair, all white except for brown tobacco stains on parts of the beard. He had startling blue eyes which twinkled from time to time, but showed nothing else remotely approaching expression.
Bart followed the captain up to his cabin. The gang plank wavered and swayed under their feet, and even the ship seemed to have a little roll to it.
It was an old ship, but it seemed to have been well cared for. When they were in the captain's cabin the old man sat behind a desk and motioned to Bart to sit down across from him. "Now, then, my boy, just what is it you have it in your mind to buy?"
"Passage. If you're going in the right direction."
"We're a cargo ship."
"So I'm cargo. Ail I need is a room of some sort to eat and sleep until I get where I'm going. And then you take me ashore, the same as you would any of your other cargo."
"You have a passport, I take it?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye to show that he didn't take it that way at all.
"No, I don't like all that red tape."
"I see. Well, sometimes it's expensive cutting through red tape."
Bart pulled the cash out of his pocket. He had brought twenty-five hundred dollars with him. He placed it on the desk and shoved it toward the captain. The captain scratched his chin through a half-yard of beard and looked down at the money. After a while he picked it up. "Now, let me see." And he counted it, twice. "Well, now, you couldn't cut through much red tape with this amount, son," '"' he said.
"That's only a down payment, Captain. I expect to have another few thousand when it's over."
"That's not really what you'd call an exact figure, is it son?"
"All right. Say another five thousand dollars."
"Say another seventy-five hundred."
Bart pretended to think it over. "All right, we'll say that. But we won't say any more, will we?"
The captain smiled. It looked strange on his face. "No, we'll just say that." He started to pick up the money again.
"Before you pick that up," Bart said quickly, and he put it down again, "I'd like to ask you where this vessel is going, and when?"
"We leave in three weeks, son, after some fitting up. I hope that's soon enough, and not too soon?"
"That'll be all right," Bart said after some quick figuring. He'd be able to put together the money in that amount of time. "Where are you going?"
"Europe."
"That's a big continent."
"Two ports, son. First, Calais. Then Copenhagen."
"Copenhagen sounds good." Bart said it in a flat voice, not wanting the old man to know how great it really did sound. From Denmark Bart would be able to get to Switzerland by road, only a few days at the most. And then, easy street.
CHAPTER TEN
The days crawled by slowly. Bart sat on pins and needles. He slept with his gun under his pillow at night, and kept it handy all the time during the day, too. The first time he handed the two goons a short count, he almost crapped. The smaller of the two, the one who always did the talking, looked at the money after counting it. "It's not as much as yesterday," he said.
"Some days are better than others. Yesterday was a very good day."
"With all the classy cunt you have lined up, you should be doing better than this."
"Christ, I do the best I can! I can't keep them working all the time, you know. I don't have that many steady customers. And besides that, I have to let them lay off when they're on the rag."
"Sure," the man said. He took out Bart's share and handed it to him. "The junk arrive?"
"Yeah."
"Good. More will be over here tomorrow. I took it out of your share of the dough."
"I figured."
The man smiled. "Sure you did. Just keep 'em workin, boy. Keep the money coming in, and the Company will take care of you."
"And if I don't, the Company will take care of me another way," Bart said, and the men both laughed.
"How right you are," the small one said. He rose from the couch and walked to the door. "Keep honest, boy."
He almost gave them full count the next day, he had been badly shaken by the man's suspicion. Then he realized that to do that would be a dead giveaway. So he decided, at the last moment, to give them a short count again. He gave them less than he had the day before. Just a little less, but he made it a point to give them less. Despite the fact the day had been a little better.
He was really nervous that time. But the man didn't say anything about it, and Bart congratulated himself. He had put it over on them. They were accustomed to the short cut now, and didn't expect him to come up with any more.
He salted it away quickly after that, counting the days until the ship would leave. He had the date filed away in his brain. But the days crawled along like snails.
The day before he was to leave, he packed his clothes. The money he wrapped in a piece of brown paper and stuffed it into his overcoat pocket. He had managed to salt away the seventy-five hundred passage money and another thousand for his own pocket, just in case. He was about to set the packed suitcase in the closet when there was a knock at the door. He walked across the living room, leaving his bedroom door open, and opened the front door.
It was Angela. She stood there, in a miniskirt and a blue sweater, and her books hugged against her ample bosom. "Hi, Bart. I'm reporting for duty," she said, smiling nervously up at him. Bart glanced at his watch. "Oh, I know I'm early," she said hurriedly. "But I-I couldn't wait. All right?"
"All right, come in," Bart said. He stood aside and she entered the room. He walked to the drawer where he kept the junk and got out a needle and loaded it. When he looked at Angela again, she had put her books down on the couch, and she was staring into the bedroom.
"Where are you going, Bart?" she asked, wide-eyed. Bart cursed himself for having left the door open, and the-suitcase on the bed in full view.
"I'm just leaving town for one night, baby," he said. "I'll be back tomorrow." She stared up at him.
"No, you're not going to be back," she said. "You're going away for good, aren't you?" She stared up at him for another moment. "Bart, you can't do it," she pleaded in a nasal whine. "Bart, honey, you can't run out on us. We need you. You know that. We can't get along without you, Bart."
"I told you, I'm only going out of town for a night," he said again, but he knew she wouldn't believe it. Shit, this would have to happen.
She ran to him and grabbed his shirt front, clinging hard. "Bart, take me with you. Please. Wherever you're going. Take me with you. I don't know where to get junk, and I can't get along without it. You know I can't, Bart. So take me with you, honey. Please take me with you. I'll be no trouble. I'll be good, Bart. I will, honestly. Haven't I always been good? Haven't I always done what you said?"
"I can't take all the girls with me," he said.
"I don't care about the others. Just take me, Bart. Please."
Bart stood looking down at the girl for a moment before answering. He thought of playing along with her just to shut her up, but then the thought hit him that there wasn't any reason why he shouldn't take her along. Sure, two hundred grand was enough money to keep the broads coming as long as he wanted them, but it couldn't hurt to have a sure thing around. And it might take time for the word to get around he was rich. Besides, it was going to be a long ocean voyage, and a little pleasant company would be nice for passing the time. And when he got tired of her, there would be ways of getting rid of her. The guy from the Company had said they had connections all over the world, places where a troublesome cunt could be peddled at a nice profit. Why not do the same with Angela when he'd had enough of her? He didn't have those connections, but he could make them. He'd never had any trouble making connections before, not that kind of connections anyway. He might be able to add another five yards to the kitty. Angela was a real prize, a real beauty.
"Okay, kid," he said, running his hands lightly up and down the meaty part of her arms. "Sure, why not? You want to go with me, I don't see any reason why you shouldn't. Provided you can keep your mouth shut and do as you're told, of course."
"Oh, I can, Bart. You know I can. I always have, haven't I?"
"I guess so. I'm not leavin' until tomorrow night."
"You-" She looked panicky, as though she thought he might be lying to her, putting her off so he could sneak away without her.
"You're gonna have to take my word on that, kid. Otherwise it's no go. I told you, you have to keep it shut, and do what I tell you."
"Sure, Bart." She still didn't sound very secure, but she had obviously made the decision to go along with him, since she had nothing else to do.
"Okay. Now, you be here tomorrow night about eleven o'clock. Can you manage that?"
"Oh, sure. I'll go to a movie with some friends. My parents have been wondering why I don't go out more often nowadays. They think it's strange I always come home from school late, and then stay home all the time. So I know they'll let me go. Then I can sneak out of the movie and come here. It won't be hard."
"I don't want the story of how you're gonna do it, Angela. Just do it. Or you'll be left here. You got that?"
"Sure, honey. I'll be here."
"Good. Now how about sealing the bargain with a little kiss?"
"Sure, baby." She stretched up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss, but Bart drew his head back.
"Not there, baby. You know where I like you to kiss me. And how."
"Sure, Bart. I know where, and I know how." She sank to her knees and worked open the zipper of his pants. Bart placed his hands on her shoulders, steadying them both, as Angela reached inside his pants and fished out his cock. Her fingers were cool, and the touch of them there made him shiver with a little thrill. Then he felt his cock come out of his pants, with the cool air playing over it.
Angela leaned forward a little and began to lick the head of the organ, her tiny tongue moving over it light, moistly, warmly. One of Bart's hands slid up over her shoulder to her neck, and played in her hair. Her hands caressed his cock, moving over it gently, as her tongue continued to work. Then she slid her lips over it, moving up over the length of it a little, letting the head of his cock feel the warmth and moisture inside of her mouth before she withdrew and began to lick it again. She knew how, he thought. She had learned a lot since that first time. Now she knew how to please a man, and she had also learned to work hard at it, to die a thousand deaths at the thought she might fail. That was good, that was great for a little junky whore. It would also be good for a sea voyage companion. And also good when the time came to sell the little twat.
She pulled his cock up out of the way. It was already stiff as a board, of course. She pulled it out of the way and began to kiss his balls, then to lick them. Her tongue moved over his scrotum quickly, with a kind of feverish haste, and then she was back to his cock again. He could feel her hands move deftly, expertly, over his privates, and then she was back again, with her mouth on it, the cock thrust in deeply, so that he could feel the roof of her mouth. She began to suck on it, lightly at first, leaving from time to time to baby him along. Then she was sucking harder, and her tongue moved over the shaft and head of the cock quickly, and then more quickly, and then with feverish haste, until he grunted with unsuppressed delight, and his cock was trembling and shaking with the preliminaries of the climax, ready to spurt out at her, ready to fill her mouth with come, and he knew it wouldn't be much longer now.
He gripped her shoulders with both hands, digging his fingers into her flesh until she winced from pain. But he didn't care, it was nice to make her hurt while she was giving him pleasure. He dug in all the harder, wringing fresh tremors of agony from her, pulling the stops as the pleasure in his own cock took hold of him, gripping him and shaking him like a rag doll. He grunted and grunted again, and his skin puckered in gooseflesh, and he cried out with it, cried out as the pleasure drove him over the edge, and his cock quaked and spat, and the come flooded into Angela's mouth, driving deep into her throat, and she seemed on the verge of gagging for a moment before she caught hold of herself and choked it down, fighting her own reflex and swallowing the come as fast as it came into her mouth. The final, glorious burst of pleasure came over Bart, driving him wild with joy, and things seemed to burst in his head, explosions that filled his brain with pleasure and color and heat, and then it was over, and he looked down, shaken with the power of the orgasm, at Angela.
She still had the cock in her mouth. It was growing limp now with each passing second, but still she rolled it about her mouth with her tongue, tasting it and giving him the little dregs that were left of the pleasure.
Then she opened her mouth and withdrew, letting the cock hang limply between his legs. She put it back in his pants and shorts, and pulled up his zipper. "How was that, Bart?" she asked almost shyly. "Was that a nice kiss?"
"Shit, that was a great kiss," he said, forgetting for the moment his iron clad principle against giving any of the girls a lavish compliment. He had always felt that it was best to keep them thinking they were only fair at sex, to keep them trying harder, to get better and make themselves safer from punishment, but this had been a great one, the best he had ever had, and he couldn't see any harm in telling her now anyway. She wasn't going to be a moneymaker for him after this afternoon anyway. She was going to be his own little toy, and nothing more until he decided to sell her, and that might be a long time indeed.
"I'm glad you liked it," she said. "You see, if you take me with you wherever you're going, I'll be able to do that for you all the time. I don't usually work all that hard, even for a paying customer, but you're more important to me than a customer, Bart. You're my master. You're the one who can take me with you or drop me. You're the one who can give me my fix or not. So I'll be working that hard to please you all the time, no matter what. And I can start while we're on the trip, if it's a long one. Will it be?"
"Sure. We're going to Europe. A ship to Copenhagen, and then by rail to Switzerland. I have a numbered bank account there, and I'll be able to live like a king. And you can live with me, as long as you know your place, baby."
"I won't forget my place, Bart. You can bank on it."
She seemed to be as good as her word. She worked that afternoon, going out on the call without giving any sign to the others that this would be her next to last call, and perhaps the next to last call for any of them. She was a good little actress, Bart thought. He was the only one who had any idea of what was really going through the little cunt's brain.
She worked the next afternoon as well, and then she was back that night, as she had said she would be. She showed up fifteen minutes early, her face flushed with excitement. She was dressed in a pantsuit, purple and black, and she looked like a little doll. He wanted to have her suck him off right then, but he knew they had to get going. On the ship, he thought, there would be nothing but time to put her through her paces, and maybe even teach her one or two things she hadn't picked up yet. It would be possible to make her draw back in disgust, he thought with delight.
They took a cab to the docks and then walked the last couple of blocks. Bart had an overcoat, and in the hand that wasn't carrying the case with the money and the heroin, he had his gun, hidden inside the coat pocket. He was still nervous about things. Things had gone very well, not a single snap, and that worried him. He tried to tell himself that that was silly, and the time to worry was when things started to go wrong, but still he couldn't help thinking it was too goddamn easy.
They walked to the ship and up the gang plank. A seaman was standing at the head of it. He stopped them. "I'm a passenger," Bart said. "The captain must have told you about the deal."
"He said there'd be just one guy," the seaman said, managing to look at Angela with a glance that combined suspicion with hunger.
"There is just one guy. And a girl."
"The cap'n didn't say anything about a broad."
"Well, there's been a change in plans."
"I'll have to go talk to him. You two wait here."
"Sure." With one backward glance at Angela, the seaman headed for the captain's cabin. He was back in a moment, and the captain was with him. The old man looked at Angela with casual interest.
"You bring your amusement with you," he said.
"That's right."
"Our deal was for one person."
"She can share whatever room I'm in. And she won't eat much."
The captain thought about it a moment, then shrugged. "Okay, son. It's nothing to me. This man will take you to your cabin. He'll have to lock the both of you in, and you'll have to stay there except for a half-hour a day exercise time. I'm afraid the girl will have to stay in the cabin all the time. There's a toilet and basin there."
"All right."
The seaman took them to a door and opened it with a key he had in his pocket. He couldn't stop staring at Angela as though she were a rare steak. "I could peddle your ass to him any time I wanted to," Bart said when he and Angela were inside, and the door locked behind them. His words made Angela shudder, but she smiled.
"Any time you wanted to," she agreed. "
"And speaking of ass," Bart said, "I think it's time I had a piece. That's why you're here, remember?"
"Sure, Bart." She took off the top part of her pantsuit, and then shucked the pants, too. She was wearing sexy white bikini panties and a flimsy bra that matched. Neither piece of clothing hid anything much from view. Bart's prick got hard just looking at her. She came toward him and laced her arms around his neck and kissed him on the mouth, hotly, deeply, wetly.
Bart slid his hand under her panties and felt a nice, warm handful of ass. She bit his ear lightly, using the play to work him up, and he felt as though he had never needed working up less. Not that he was going to object.
He placed both hands between her shoulder blades and began to work at the clasps of her bra. She stood very still to make it easy for him. In a moment Bart had the clasps open and the bra fell away from her body. She drew back a little, and her breasts thrust the garment away quickly. It slid down, revealing darkened and distended nipples. The straps slid down her arms a little and stopped, because her arms were still high, her hands resting on his shoulders. She removed them, and let them hang at her sides, and the bra slid down them to fall on the floor with a plopping sound.
Bart took her in his arms and kissed her again, and then walked her to the narrow bed against the wall. She went with him meekly. He laid her down on it, and then slipped her panties down over her hips and down the length of her legs. The tiny garment looked almost ridiculous without her body to give it shape and meaning. He dropped it to the floor and then stripped himself quickly, letting his clothes drop where they would. He could have Angela pick them up later.
He got onto the couch with her and they embraced, kissing and tasting each other's skin, and then he told her to scoot down and french him. She did as she was told without a moment's hesitation, sliding down the length of the narrow bed and jamming herself between him and the wall. She took his stiff cock in her hands and began to lick it. Bart grunted with pleasure and she took it, as he had known she would, as a signal to go easy, to baby him along, because he was already too worked up, and he didn't want this to go too quickly.
So she licked lightly and slowly, taking her time between strokes, holding his cock lightly in her hands, without squeezing or milking it, until he was evened out, and about where he should be, and then she began to work more diligently, licking and sucking and kissing his balls and thighs, working him up higher and higher, until he was grunting and crying out with joy.
"All right," he said finally, "that's enough. Come up here now. Come on. Hurry it up." She came up beside him again, and they were lying facing each other, on their sides, and Bart slipped his left thigh between hers, and she parted her legs for him readily, making room for him. Her hands slid down between them, taking his cock in them and inserting it into her cunt. Bart thrust his hips toward her, driving the prick all the way in, and she gave a little squeal of delight, and they clasped their arms about each other, their bodies moving together and molding, fitting like two interlocking halves of a puzzle, every nook and cranny of flesh filled, and he embraced her tightly, feeling and delighting in the pleasure of her breasts against his chest, flattened by the pressure, but still there, still big and round and ample, her nipples hard against his skin. His hips thrust and worked, pressing and plunging his cock into her, and she responded expertly, and a little more than expertly, with real passion as the pleasure got to her.
Then he went over the edge all at once, and his come flooded her, filled her, and she cried out, and he knew she was having a climax, though not a big one, not one that would fulfill her. He had gotten hot on the frenching, and he was coming too soon to fulfill her. But that was all right. Fulfilling her wasn't the reason for it.
When it was over, he lay back looking at her, their faces only an inch apart, and then sat up on the edge of the cot. "Get these things picked up," he ordered.
"Sure, honey. Sure." She busied herself picking up his clothes, and her own, and laying them across the one straight chair in the cabin. Bart watched her, enjoying the perfection of her body as the little muscles rippled under her flesh, watching her bend and stoop, and then turn and smile at him as though to tell him she knew he was enjoying looking at her nakedness and that she was happy he was. Then he stretched out on the cot and slept.
He woke to a knock at the door. Angela was sitting huddled on the straight chair. She had put her panties and bra on, and stopped there, as though not entirely sure whether he wanted her to dress, and therefore compromising about it. Bart pulled his pants on and motioned her to stand against the wall, out of sight of the door. He didn't want any members of the crew to get a shot of Angela in her undies. Just knowing there was a beautiful young girl aboard, and that she was fucking for the passenger, would be enough to cause trouble unless that captain was as tough as Bart judged him to be. If they started seeing her partially nude, that could be the primer.
Bart got his gun out of his coat and walked to the door. He held the gun in such a position that it would be behind the door, and yet he would be able to get it out in a hurry if he had to. He rapped on the inside of the door and heard the rattling of a key in the lock.
It was a seaman, big and muscular, with a belly that hung over his belt. But the belly didn't look like the kind a man would want to try .to sink his fist into. The man was unshaven, and he was carrying a large steel tray, loaded with plates and food, in one hand as though it were a saucer of milk.
"This is your dinner," the man said in a voice like the grunt of a gorilla. He looked past Bart, apparently trying to get a look at Angela. Bart took the tray, having some trouble holding it in one hand. The gun kept his other hand occupied.
"Thanks," he said, and then pushed the door closed with his foot. He heard the door lock. They were sealed in again.
"Pull the chair over here," he ordered Angela. He sat on the bed and she on the chair, and he put the tray down beside him and started to divide the food. He took more than he gave her, and she didn't object. Junkies didn't get too excited about food. In fact, you had to keep after them to keep them from starving themselves scrawny. But there wasn't much chance of that happening to her in this cabin. About the only exercise she would be getting would be fucking.
After they ate he listened to her beg him awhile, and then he gave her the fix she needed. Actually, she didn't need it until the next day, but she wanted it, so he gave it to her. Spoil her a little, he thought. Besides, he could see light leaking through the porthole cover, and he knew they'd be coming for him to take his exercise pretty soon. It would be better if she was a little woozy through that. Less likely to get into trouble or to start fishing through things to get her own heroin. She could give herself a goddamn overdose without any trouble at all, and there wasn't any sense in losing her now.
He put on his shirt, shoes and coat, and then there was another knock on the door. He took the tray over and rapped back, and the door unlocked and the same seaman was there. He was looking past Bart again, trying to get a look at the girl. "Cap'n says if you want to take some exercise, this is the time to do it."
"Fine." Bart stepped through the door and stared at the man until he closed the door again. "I think you'd better lock it," Bart said. The man locked it. "I'll just walk up and down right along here," Bart told him, to let him know that the door to the cabin wouldn't be left unwatched. The man grinned, revealing a scar that had been hiding in the creases of his face. Bart walked up and down the deck a few times, breathing deeply. The cabin was stuffy and it was good to smell fresh air.
He walked down to the end of the deck, and got a shock. He was sure of it the moment he saw the girl on the deck below. The deck he was on was a shortened one, not running the full length of the ship, and the other was in sight of it. The girl was small and blonde, and just when she was at the closest part of her walk, she looked up at him, and he knew she had recognized him, too.
Cathy Winslow.
Bart heard the girl gasp, cry out a little. Then he spun on his heels and ran for his cabin. He didn't know what was going on. He did know that things were strange here. And he wanted his gun.
He reached the door in fewer strides than he had thought possible. Of course it was locked. He raised a fist to pound on it before the futility of that gesture struck him. Angela couldn't let him in. The door would have to be unlocked by someone outside of it.
A seaman was walking down the ladder from the next deck, and Bart hailed him. "I want back in my room," he said. "Who has the key?"
"Can't wait, eh?" The man grinned and turned. "I'll tell the cap'n."
Bart walked around in tight circles for what seemed a half-hour before the captain showed up. "What's the trouble, son?" he asked. Bart noticed he had three burly seamen with him.
"No trouble," he said. "I just want to get back into my room."
"The seaman said you were in a mighty big hurry about it, boy," the captain said. "Sounds like there's somethin' wrong."
"No, no, there's nothing wrong. I just want to go in and go to bed now, that's all."
"All right, matey," the captain said. He fished a key out of his pocket and opened the door. Bart almost ran inside. The door closed behind him. He waited for the sound of the key, but it didn't come. He got the gun out from under the mattress, where he had placed it, and cocked the hammer. He always kept a live one under the hammer.
"What's the matter honey?" Angela asked nervously.
"Shut your mouth," Bart hissed. She backed away, into a far corner. Bart stood waiting. After a moment, the door opened, as he had expected it to, and they came in after him. The door was a narrow one, and he knew they'd have to come in one at a time. That would give him a chance. He could kill eight of them anyway. And he had ammunition in the case. He wished for a moment he had gotten it out, but it was too late to worry about that. He leveled the gun at the open door, at the man who filled it, and pulled the trigger.
The hammer clicked on an empty chamber.
He only had a moment to wonder about that. He knew he had checked the gun before coming aboard the ship. And he knew that no one had come into this cabin since then. No one, of course, except for Angela.
The first of them reached him a second after the door opened, and something hit Bart alongside the head.
When he woke he was on deck again. He was naked, and his arms were tied behind him. He looked around quickly, frantically, and saw that Angela was nearby. She looked at him with a cold smile. "You outsmarted yourself, Bart," she said.
"What is this?" Bart demanded. 'I paid you to take me to Copenhagen." The captain was standing right in front of him.
"I know, boy," the captain said. He smiled at the men around him. "But you see, we're not going to Copenhagen. This is about as close as we get to Copenhagen, in fact. So we're going to let you off here."
"Christ's sake," Bart whined, "you can't drown me! What did I do to you?"
"To me personally, nothing," the captain said. "But you did something to the Company, the people we both work for. And I can't let you get away with that. If I did, I wouldn't live much longer than you're going to."
"The Company...?"
"That's right, matey. The Company. We both work for it, but you're the one who tried to screw the Company. Did you really think you could get away with that, son?"
"Wait a minute...."
"liven if they hadn't been on to that short cut you were giving them, this young lady here would have told them what you were doing. As indeed she did. That was mistake number two. Trusting a user."
"Now, look, Captain. Maybe we can make a deal. I have almost a quarter of a million bucks in a numbered bank account in Switzerland...."
"Oh, yes. That number you had scribbled on the inside of your case in the cabin. That wasn't very bright either. You should have memorized it. Then you'd have something to deal with. Not that it would have done you any good in the long run, of course. I'm not stupid enough to go against the Company. They reserve a terrible vengeance for those who have supped at their table and then turned against them."
"Jesus Christ, you can't just drown a man...."
"The Company will take over your stable. They have a lot of bright young men about to take care of that kind of thing. And all the debts those boys and girls owed you will be transferred to the Company."
"Except for mine," Angela said eagerly.
"Yes, that's right," the captain said. "Hers we're writing off."
"You fucking little bitch!" Bart screamed at her.
"You see, we were carrying one girl anyway, as you know. The one the Company sold. Now we have another one to sell."
It took a moment for the meaning of the captain's words to sink into Angela's brain. Then she turned to him, white faced. "No! You said. I mean they said-"
"Take her away," the captain said to a couple of his men. "Back to the cabin. Strip her and tie her to the bed, and pass the word that she's available to officers and crew for the rest of the voyage, just so they don't rip her up and reduce her sales value."
The two men grabbed the struggling Angela and carried her back to the cabin.
"Why did they let me get this far?" Bart asked, his voice shaky.
"Why not? It was a handy way to get you out of the city, out of the state, out of the country, and into the middle of salt water, where you can disappear without a trace. Why not let you go of your own free will, with a little cock pleaser to keep your mind off of things?"
"Captain, please, for Christ's sake, let me go. Wherever you're going, you can just let me off there, and I'll disappear. They'll never know I'm still alive. I swear it. You can't just drown a man-"
"Now who said anything about drowning a man? We're not going to drown you, matey."
"You're not-"
"Of course not." He motioned to someone behind him, and the man brought up a covered tray. It was just like the tray on which their food had been brought to them earlier. The man lifted the' cover, and Bart saw several huge chunks of bloody meat on the tray. "This is shark water," the captain said. He lifted one piece of meat and waved it back and forth a couple of times. Bart watched it, fascinated, and the captain and some of the men laughed. Then the captain tossed it overboard. It hit the water with a splash, and the water around the splash turned dark with blood. Nothing happened for a while. Then there was a great thrashing of the water around the splash. Bart saw, with horror, the bodies of sharks, huge things, bigger than horses, as they fought over the piece of meat. The captain took another piece and tossed it in. He tossed in another and then another, and the water was a mass of bloody foam, filled with the huge fish. There were two pieces of the meat left. The captain brought one of them over to Bart and held it under his nose. "They always go for the blood," he said. "They have uncanny noses. Go straight for it every time. Straight for it." He lowered the dripping piece of meat and let it brush over Bart's cock. Then he rubbed it over the organ with greater force. He took the cock and rubbed the meat all over it. Finally Bart's numbed mind registered what the man was doing, and he screamed and tried to fight, but they had him held good and tight, three of them, and his arms were held behind him by ropes. The captain took the other piece of meat and rubbed that over his cock and balls, doing a thorough job of it. Then he took a length of rope and tied it around Bart's waist, loosely. He thrust one of the pieces of meat through it on either side. "And now," he said jovially, "I think we'll end this discussion. I'd like to go have some fun with that little dark one before the crew get to her. There's still some fire in the old boiler, you know, and that little gal is just the one to get it stoked up nice and high." He smiled and then made an up-and-over gesture to the men who were holding Bart.
Bart struggled and screamed, but it did him no good. They picked him up as easily as though he had been a sack of garbage and threw him over the side. He heard them laughing and joking as they did it, and as he fell.
He landed in the water with a huge splash and began to sink immediately. He kicked his feet wildly, trying to keep afloat. He had some success. The ship pulled away from him, the screws churning the water noisily. Bart looked back to where the ship had come from, and saw the tail fins of the sharks. Three of them peeled off and came for him. He tried to kick away from them, but it was no use. The first one reached him twenty feet ahead of the others. The tail disappeared as the shark dived, to come up at him from below. Going for the blood, Bart thought. He screamed, and then screamed louder as the mammoth jaws crushed shut on his pecker, and his balls.
