A family bound together and held captive by ruthless convicts who teach them the true meaning of a closely knit family.
Perverted and incestuous acts are forced upon the unwilling prisoners by their depraved masters. RAPE! INCEST! FLAGELLATION: Aberration upon aberration heaped upon the innocents to change their values and release them from their social inhibitions.
CHAPTER ONE
Dorothy Martin was standing on a footstool in her closet, arching on tiptoes in a way that hoisted her skirt just to the tops of her flesh-colored nylons and hinted at the creamiest white soft skin imaginable. Her muscles were tense, and the round tightly spaced cheeks of her behind flexed and rippled sumptuously against the tight cling of her rayon skirt. She was a picture of utter concentration and absorption. She was watching her seventeen-year-old brown-haired brother Kenneth fuck.
Ranee Martin and his beautiful blonde wife Eleanor had had an urgent phone call from the latter's sister in Muskegon that her husband had had a fatal heart attack and she was utterly beside herself. So Ranee and Eleanor had told Dorothy and Kenneth to look after themselves for a couple of days until they could get back from Muskegon and help poor Alma make the necessary funeral arrangements and take care of those thousand and one pressing and agonizing details which always accompany death in a family.
Dorothy and Kenneth were a little set back, and after their first expression of sympathy for their Aunt Alma, felt a little miffed because it looked very much as if the planned Martin trip to California would certainly be delayed if not postponed in view of this unlooked-for circumstance. And today was the second day that Ranee and Eleanor had been gone from the pleasant little bungalow on North Mildred on the North Side of the Windy City of Chicago. And young Kenneth had lost no time in taking advantage of a golden opportunity.
Black-haired Dorothy Martin was nineteen, insolent and haughty. There had been times when her mother and father had wished they had exercised the parental right of applying at least the palm of the hand if not the hairbrush to her jouncy backcide, but thus far she had gone through her young life unspanked. The same was perhaps even more true for Kenneth, who was going through that difficult intellectual snobbery period which so many adolescents have when they reach seventeen. But the surprising thing to Dorothy was that her brother was not only showing an interest in the opposite sex but actually going all the way right here in their own house!
It wasn't exactly the way Kenneth Martin had planned it. He had had a few dates with Dody Brandon, a plump, gum-chewing classmate of sixteen whose hair was the color of ripe wheat and whose heart-shaped face and big blue eyes and full red sensual mouth were matched to the body of a young Venus with big firm titties and a juicy pair of bottomcheeks that Kenneth had been itching to sink his fingers in from the very first moment when Dody Brandon had walked into Senior English this last February and been told to take her seat in the row just ahead of him and to his left. Throughout the semester-and it was now the end of June-Kenneth Martin had been stealing greedy and hopeful glances at Dody's big firm titties. He could only see the right one in a kind of profile from where he sat behind her and to the side, but if looks could have been translated into reality, he would have seen the color of her nipples by now. As a matter-of-fact, he was doing just that, and he was also discovering the true color of her pussyhair ... it wasn't wheat color at all, but a dark brown and very thick for a girl her age, almost completely hiding the plump pink lips of her cunt. And he had also made a fascinating discovery-Dody Brandon wasn't a virgin. But then, there was no need of quarreling over such a detail; in the first place he wasn't a perfectionist, in the second, it was just about his own first sexual experience, and in the third place if Dody had been a virgin, he probably wouldn't be humping her right now in his own bedroom.
CHAPTER TWO
For that matter, Dorothy wasn't supposed to be there either. It was Saturday afternoon and she had originally decided to go to a movie with her best girlfriend, Sue Wells. Sue was just six months older, but already engaged to be married, and she had already done a good deal of talking about the joys that would be hers legally once the ring was put on her finger and the words said over her and the sheets drawn and the door locked between herself and Tom Jurgens. Dorothy naturally had read enough about fucking and such variants as Frenching, but she was still a virgin. Sue wasn't, obviously, because she and Tom had hit it off so well from the very start that the two of them had tried to find out if each was suited to the other on their very second date. That had been five months ago, and by now Sue and Tom were pretty sure that they wanted to get married so they could fuck all they wanted and not have to sneak around to find a place to do it as they did now.
What had happened was that Tom had been out of town-he was a junior salesman at the Torrance Finer Food Company, which sold to restaurants and hotels and institutions-and Sue hadn't expected him back until next Monday. He had called her up only fifteen minutes after Dorothy and Suj had made a date to go see "Ben Hur" down at the Loop, and Sue had called Dorothy back apologetically to tell her that she was awfully sorry but she just had to break the date because she and Tom were going to be together all afternoon and evening. And of course Dorothy had understood. And she was also a little envious, because from the way Sue had raved about what it felt like when a man stuck his cock inside your pussy and was gentle and tender and kissed your titties and goosed you while he was humping you, you had all sorts of sensations that sent you off into heaven. They were far better, Sue had assured Dorothy, than diddling yourself with your own finger-something Dorothy was doing surreptitiously at night with more and more frequency, since after all she was a young woman and herself of a ripe age to find a permanent fucking partner. Instead of which, she was still cherry.
So what had happened was that Dorothy had unhappily gone on back home and arrived about twenty minutes after Kenneth had started fooling around with cute young sexy Dody Brandon. Kenneth had expected that he'd have the whole bungalow to himself because he had overheard Dorothy talking to Sue on the phone originally this morning about seeing the movie, and he knew that it took four hours for the whole show which would give him more than enough time to have his first piece of cunt.
And finally, so that the perfectionist who may read this story will have every detail explained in the most transparent way, Dody Brandon herself had agreed to service Kenneth Martin on an impulsive whim, when she had managed to wrest out of him the embarrassed and stammered confession that he'd never had a piece of pussy before in all of his life. Dody Brandon was known as an "easy lay" over at Lane Tech High School, but that was a sour-grapes rumor started by a couple of fellows who had made a couple of passes at her and been thrown out trying to reach first base, much less getting home with her. She liked cock as well as any girl in the student body, but she was discriminating, and she would have you know that from the very outset. If you thought that the rumor that she was easy to seduce made it possible for you to slip your hand under her skirt on your first date and find home plate right then and there, you had another couple of thinks coming. And like as not Dody would never go out with you again if you tried a stunt like that the first time. The second or third, that was something else, if she had already taken a liking to you. She was a smart chick, even though her grades didn't exactly show it, being a C student; she had already found out from her mother about the pill, and she had been taking them for the past year. And since she had started taking the pill, she had had now fewer than seven different male cocks slide down the tight warm squishy groove of her eager cunt, and now Kenneth Martin's was the eighth.
Dody's father and mother were reasonably well to do, but they were out of town a good deal of the time and they gave her considerable leeway. For example, four of the fellows she had let fuck her after a second date had had their first piece of Dody's tasty quim in her own bed in her own house on North Devon Avenue. And yesterday in geometry class, just before the last bell, Kenneth Martin, who sat right next to Dody, had looked at her in such an imploring way, that she couldn't help giggling and she had followed him out into the hall and teasingly whispered, "Don't think I haven't seen the way you've been giving me the eye all semester, Kenny. But I bet you wouldn't know what to do with it if you got it. I think you're cute, but that doesn't mean you're going to get into my panties." And he had blushed so furiously that Dody's eyes had grown very wide and then she had pointed an accusing finger at him and, almost doubled over with giggles, hissed, "I'll just bet you never even had a girl, that's what I bet, Kenneth Martin!" And so, feeling the earth open up under him and swallow him up, he had desperately bragged that she was terribly mistaken and that he could probably give her a better time than any boy she had ever known.
Being a daughter of Eve, Dody had known that he was lying, and it had only convinced her that this would be a delightful experience to be able to teach a nice-looking fellow like Kenneth Martin what pleasure a boy and a girl could have together when they got better acquainted in a horizontal position and packed as snugly as a cock and cunt can merge. So she had pretended to be very awed by his boast and had taken him at his word and called his bluff by whispering, "All right, then, Kenny, I'll just see how good you are. My folks'll be out of town tomorrow, but that old cranky housekeeper we've got, Mrs. Judson, will be there cleaning so I can't have you over to my place. Where can we go?" And naturally Kenneth Martin had suggested his own house, being quite certain that his sister, as was her custom, would spend the afternoon with her perennial girl friend Sue Wells.
CHAPTER THREE
Dorothy Martin arched on the footstool, her slim fingers clamped to one of the ceiling beams in her closet. There was a wide crack there just between the. ceiling itself and the wooden moulding, and it was wide enough to look way out and then down, and her brother's bed was at the opposite end of the long room next to her closet, so she could see what was going on. Dody Brandon was naked except for her yellow cotton bobby sox, and her brother, muscular and slender, his black hair touseled and his face screwed up with concentration, was lying over her, his left arm under her shoulders. Dody had her fingers clasped around the back of Kenneth's neck, and her plump bare calves and thighs clutched over Kenneth Martin's wiry and slightly hairy legs. His lean muscular bottom was tightening and opening as he arched and then sank up and down over Dody Brandon's naked body, and every time he went down, Dody would emit a little "ohh, that's so good, oh don't hurry, let's make it last a long time-my gosh, you sure are good at this-you mean it's your first time?"
"Uh huh," Kenneth Martin panted, "I read a lot of books, and I got some dirty pictures from a store on Division Street one time that shows how it's done. And anyhow, Dody, you're so sexy I got all fired up and I guess that's why I'm doing it so good." And then, naively, he had asked, just like a little boy who wanted to be praised by his elders, "You sure I'm doing okay?"
"Mmmm, Kenny, I should certainly say you are-put your other hand under my bummy and squeeze it, I like to have my bummy squeezed when I'm getting honked," Dody sighed as she wriggled accommodatingly to ease her position under the lanky, excited naked youth. Actually, Kenneth Martin wasn't entirely naked; he had on his shorts, and he had naturally unbuttoned them to permit the emergence of his stiff young and certainly adequate cock.
When Dorothy Martin had entered the house, she had glumly gone upstairs to her room, and that's when she had heard giggles and the sounds of kisses, and then, amazed at all this, put her ear to the door and heard Dody Brandon say, "Ohh, you sure got a big dong on you, Kenny honey! Let's get to bed fast so I can see if it's going to fit nice and tight in my little lovebox!"
Her first impulse had been to fling open the door and give her brother hell for daring to get away with such a thing. But the sound of those kisses and her brother's hoarse moans and gasped-out praises of Dody's nakedness had stirred a shuddering warmth in Dorothy Martin's loins. So for the first time in her life she was spying on her brother. She had always known about this big crack in the ceiling of her closet, but this was the first time she was using it.
She didn't know it, but that impulse of being a peeping Tom (or rather, Thomasina!) was going to lead to the most remarkable drama of her young life and one in which not only Kenneth but her father and mother would also participate!
CHAPTER FOUR
Dorothy Martin knew even more theoretically than her brother about what she was watching now for the first time, and since she had been sixteen, her slim right forefinger had been her sweetheart. She rather fancied herself as being superior to most of the young males who hovered around her like moths about a candle, because after all her parents had doted on her so as to make her feel that she was something special. And to be sure she was. Physically, Dorothy was alluring and delicious, with the softest white skin and firm jouncy figure imaginable. And at nineteen she was overripe for fucking, except that she'd only had a few dates where boys had been allowed to be really close enough to her to start realizing what appetizing cockmeat she was going to turn out to be, such as movies-where they could put an arm round her waist or maybe slip a hand onto her knee and learn whether she would slap it indignantly off or let it stay there.
Thus far, they'd had it slapped off, for Dorothy had made quite a point of letting ambitious young men know she "wasn't that kind of girl." Secretly, though, at the ripely mature age of nineteen, she was beginning to get very curious about what sex could really be like with the right fellow. And theoretically, she knew all about the differences of male and female and that "coitus"-that was a highbrow term she'd read in a book she'd accidentally come across at the library-was the way you got babies.
Only now, for the first time in her delectable young life, she was seeing fucking for what it really was-in the person of her own younger brother and Dody Brandon, who was of course much younger than she herself was. And the idea that these "kids"-for she'd always up till now thought of Kenneth as a kid-could be actually doing what grownups do, what married people do, was just incredible to her. So she couldn't take her eye away from the crack in the wall through which she was witnessing all this.
Dorothy Martin stared as if she were hypnotized. Her calf muscles ached from the strain on them in having to stand on tiptoe to get just the right angle to look down through the crack which let her view her brother's bed on which he lay atop Dody Brandon. Her nostrils twitched and flared more and more quickly, and her magnificent titties began to rise and fall with a turbulence unused to her usual poise. She began also to experience a tingling sensation right between her quivering, tensing thighs. It was a familiar feeling. It was the feeling that she had alleviated many a night with her dainty finger, lying in bed alone in her room with the door securely closed and the shades down, pretending that maybe she had a boyfriend the way Sue Wells did, a boyfriend who would be right there with her in bed stroking her bare legs and her bubbies and maybe slipping a hand under her behind and pinching the cheeks while he kissed her hard on the mouth and then moved over her to put himself deep into that furry groove which was now itching so annoyingly between Dorothy Martin's beautiful creamy legs.
She gasped to herself when she saw Dody clamp her bare legs over Kenneth's wiry calves, saw Dody's toes curl and twist in those yellow bobbysox, saw Dody's plump, pretty arms swift to clutch her brother's shoulders and hug him down over her swelling ripe young titties. Dody's wheat-colored hair was rumpled and massed all around the pillow, and her eyes were wide open and her mouth was glued to Kenneth's. It was the most lascivious picture Dorothy Martin could have imagined, even when she thought of her own imaginary lover alone in bed with her in the dark. And naturally it left her stunned.
However, her first reaction was one of horrified concern; what if her brother got that nasty little tramp pregnant, what then? She was somewhat relieved when suddenly she heard the naked girl giggle and say, "Now, aren'tcha glad I toldja how to do it to me without usin' a rubber? Only dummies hafta do that, Kenny honey. Me, I found out where Mom keeps her pills, and I take 'em regular, see. That way, you can't get me into trouble. And doesn't it feel lots better having your dong right down inside my box, without anything on it?"
"Gee, yeah, Dody, oooh, gosh, it feels wonderful!" she heard Kenneth hoarsely pant. She saw his muscular young bottom contract as he thrust himself deep into the girl, and saw Dody's bare legs squirm about and rise up higher on his thighs as they took an even more possessive hold.
Dorothy Martin shivered. The feeling between her legs was getting warmer and moister and itchier by the minute. But in the difficult and strained position of arching high on tiptoes and clutching the molding with both hands to balance herself so that her eyes would be fixed at a sort of down-angling look into her brother's room, there was really nothing she could do about it. She clenched her thighs tightly, hoping to disperse the churning sensation which was beginning way down deep in her matrix and titillating the soft inner lips of her pussy. She heard Dody moan, "Ohh, Kenny, honey, you can't be doin' it just for the first time, you jist can't. You're doin' too good-mmmm, oh, honey, honey, sock it to me good and hard, I can take it, and I need it bad now, Kenny baby!"
Dorothy could hardly believe her ears, much less her eyes. But she knew that neither of her senses was lying to her. This young chit so much younger than herself, already a practiced and passionate piece of pussy, actually doing what her girl friend, Sue must be doing with her fiance maybe right now for all she knew. And her own brother, her kid brother who wasn't dry behind the ears yet! Why, it just wasn't to be credenced at all. And yet there it was, her ears taking it in, her eyes seeing her brother's wiry bottom tensing and jerking as he arched himself and then dug down into Dody's eager young cunt.
He began to moan now and to pant, because he couldn't keep it up much longer, and he exclaimed in a husky, trembling voice, "Aaahhh, ohh, gosh, Dody baby, I'm going to burst, I can't hold it back much longer, oh Dody, get ready-" and she was gasping, "You gotta, I'm not there yet, oh please, don'tcha let me down now, Kenny, or I'll never let you poke me again, so help me-faster, dig it into me faster'n harder too, Kenny sweetie-there, there, I'm almost there, now, ohhh, Kenny, sock it to me now!!" She saw her brother's agonized, congested face rise from Dody's, his eyes bulging and glassy, saw his back and thigh muscles wrench, and then heard his wild yell of agonized exultation as he sank down on the naked teen-ager whose bare legs swept up and locked ferociously around his heaving bottom. And her hands had cupped his cheeks and she was kissing him wildly, and arching herself, and sobbing, "Ooohhh, oh yes, oh it's so good, oh how much you shot into my box, oh baby, that was heaven!"
And it was over. Dorothy Martin had watched a fucking for the first time. And as she slowly and cautiously got down off the stool, taking care not to make a single sound, her legs were weak under her, and her muscles ached ... and it wasn't just from the stress of standing on tiptoe to watch; it was because in her pussy, in that virgin cleft, she was experiencing even more torrid yearnings than Dody ever could.
She really didn't have a yardstick to compare, to be sure. But because of Dorothy Martin's maturity and beauty and her own frustrated virginal state, the scene she had just witnessed was going to mark her psyche indelibly and prepare her for the transformation of her delicious and voluptuous young fife!
CHAPTER FIVE
Dorothy Martin was in a quandary after what she had seen through that treacherous crack in the wall. She realized she had something to dangle over her brother's head like a kind of Damoclean sword if ever she needed it because all she had to do was tell her mother and father that Kenny had brought a girl into their house while they were out of town, and Kenny's name would be mud. Then she stopped to think a little. They would probably ask her how she knew what was going on, and then she would have to tell all about the crack in the wall, and that would make her out to be a good deal of a sneak. No, she would just keep it to herself and remember it if ever Kenny needed a lesson in toeing the mark.
She vaguely heard their drowsy voices, and she guessed that they were dressing and preparing to leave. Kenny didn't know that she was back home, of course, so she decided to stretch out on her bed and take a nap. But the trouble was, she couldn't. The lustful images of Dody and her brother squirming about and fucking made her restless. Her legs shivered and there was a warm, quivering feeling right between her thighs. She quickly took off her dress and slip, panties, bra and garterbelt and charcoal-brown nylons and pumps, and she glanced at herself in the mirror and shivered again: the face she saw was flushed, the eyes humid and wide, and there were beads of perspiration on her forehead. She glanced down at herself and saw how her white nylon panties clung against her crotch, pressing tightly against the crisp thick black triangle of her virgin cunt-hole. She seemed to see herself for the first time, and she stared entranced at herself, in a kind of narcissistic enjoyment. She wondered what a man would think of what she had to offer just under those tight, so very sheer nylon panties and under the matching bra.
If a man had been present to appraise her, he would have answered her with direct action ... with a hard-on, to be exact. Her face was oval, haughty, with small, ripe lips (the upper one had an arrogant curl to it which further pronounced her haughty mien), and she had an aquiline nose with very thin, widely flaring nostrils. Her cheekbones were high set, and with her slightly almond-shaped gray-green eyes, and pure, high arching forehead, she had a kind of Eurasian look to her which was maddeningly exciting. She wore her glossy black hair in a thick pageboy, curls beautifully turned under and caressing her neck and shoulders. It was combed up high from the forehead which emphasized that fine full pure arch and suggested that she was also an intellectual. Actually, Dorothy Martin, in spite of being nineteen and thus two years older than her brother Kenny, was a self-centered and rather superficial girl who tended to judge life by material standards and who was impressed only on a date when a boy had a new car and a big allowance to spend and knew where to take her to the most expensive restaurants and theaters. Yet physically she was really magnificent and mouthwatering to see in this deshabille. She had titties that were surprisingly ample, very full and firm and round, set closely together and perched high on her creamy chest. She had a delightfully slim waist, but it flared into ripely curved hips. The cheeks of her bottom were upstandingly rounded, impudent and jouncy, and the furrow between them gradually widened as it reached the base of those two succulent hemispheres. By contrast, which made her even more feminine, and desirable, her thighs were long and seductively curved, beautifully muscled, merging from slim, sinuously mobile calves. When she had stood on the stool to watch her brother fuck Dody, the muscles of those lovely calves had rippled and flexed and writhed under her finely grained soft white skin, and the charcoal brown nylons, gauzy and snug as a second skin, had faithfully transcribed those undulatory movements.
She turned over onto her side and flung an arm over her forehead, closing her eyes and willing herself to sleep, but she still couldn't. In her mind, there rose again the feverishly lewd, excitingly graphic images of Dody's clutching naked body fused with Kenny's, of Kenny's jerking bottom as he thrust himself back and forth into Dody's eager quim. Her mind, too, was filled with the groans, sighs and with Dody's passionate exhortations to her brother, sounds that suggested the most primal and furious physical lust.
Dorothy Martin had had a number of dates to be sure, and she had been kissed a number of times as well, but in the parlance of her set, she was known as a "holier-than-thou", or, still worse, prick teaser. She loved to lord it over young men, to talk about the arts and culture and to show herself to be quite sophisticated and cool and poised. Often, when on a first date, the young man finding her excitingly delectable, would slip his hand onto her knee, she would look at him with a cold stare and remark cynically, "You can have just one minute to make a tour of inspection; after that, hands off. I'm not that sort of a girl." If she could have heard the secretly muttered threats of boys who had been doused with the cold, annihilating water of her taunting scorn, she would have blushed and cringed: the concensus of opinion was that Dorothy Martin needed to have her butt smacked until it was a blazing red and then to be turned over and thoroughly and vigorously fucked.
But of all this, she of course had no knowledge, nor had opinions of her classmates and associates and friends been able to influence her in the slightest. She felt herself a kind of queen, infinitely superior to those around her, although unto herself. And although she was tormented by the vision she had seen through the crack in the wall, she put her hands to her panties, arched her bottom from the bed, rucked the thin sheath down. Then, her left hand over her eyes, she put her right between her thighs, which she spread slightly, and with the tip of her dainty forefinger she began to brush the jet-black curls of her pussy, grazing the pink twitching lips of her cunt from time to time and shivering with a voluptuous anticipation of the pleasure that was being roused in her innermost depths. She felt a tickling sensation between the lips of her slit, and, exploring with her finger tip, discovered that she was moist just at the inner lips of her cunt. It was the prelubricatory effluvium which spelled a readiness to passion, a sign of tumescence. She was well aquainted with it, because since she had been fourteen, Dorothy Martin had often frigged herself to sleep. She did so after some of these frustrating dates-frustrating that is, to the male partners that escorted her. For she was always most excited when they had seen her to the door of her house and she had closed it on them and she had gone upstairs to her room, locked herself in and prepared for bed, she would stare into her mirror and smile with a secret joy, boosting to herself that another young man had been spurned, trampled and rejected for all his high hopes and for all his thinking that he was such a bigshot and a lover. And thinking these thoughts would make Dorothy Martin's pussy itch and burn and throb with a craving which she could always satisfy with the slim finger that was now delicately rimming the pink lips of her cunt.
She spread her thighs a little more, until she could feel the cords along the inside fronts of those long legs of hers surge and tauten rather painfully under the fine smooth white skin. She curled her toes, kicking off her pumps and, glancing down at her long beautiful legs and their charcoal-brown nylon sheaths, drew a long breath of anticipation. Then her forefinger delved deeper still, between the lips cunt, until she found the hymeneal seal which proclaimed her maidenhead. It was still inviolate. A smug little smile curved her pouting red mouth; yes, and it was going to stay that way, and she would get a pretty price for it when she finally deigned to give it up to some fellow. Her mother had, to some extent, made quite a fuss over Dorothy's beauty and often remarked to friends, in Dorothy's hearing, that her daughter was a simply beautiful girl who ought to make a very fine match. Dorothy accepted this as her due, as a princess might accept the nattering veneration of her retinue.
Now she drew up her knees in the air and swung them widely apart as her finger retreated till she brushed against her clitoris. She gasped at the electrifying sensation which that tactile discovery caused. Soon her nostrils began to flare and shrink more quickly now, and the tight thin bra was stretched by the shuddering upheaval of her titties, whose dark coral tips, ripe, crinkly and well developed, thrust energetically against the bra with every breath. Now, flattening the little nodule of pussy-flesh, she closed her eyes again and summoned up the image of Kenneth over Dody, his bottom working and jerking as he arched and sank deep into Dody's twat. Now her finger began to move the flattened button of her tickler, and the waves of hot itching and tingling sensation grew more and more vivid and rousing inside of her, till her lips parted and a faint sigh of libidinous delight escaped her.
Kenneth Martin had dressed, and blushing hotly and not quite daring to look Dody Brandon in the eye, he had given her a quick kiss and led her down the stairs to the living room. "Will I see you again, honey?" she murmured, linking her arms around his neck and arching her pussy against his crotch. Her eyes were lazy and languid now, and the soft-satisfied little smile on her ripe moist mouth told him that there was a secret between the two of them which delighted her.
"Sure, Dody. Gosh, you were wonderful! I wish you didn't have to go so damm soon, but Sis ought to be coming back pretty soon," he told her. His hands slipped around to squeeze her bottomcheeks and Dody giggled, "Naughty, naughty, Kenny! You better not do that when you see me on the street or in school or anything like that, or I'll be awful embarrassed!"
"Aw, shucks, Dody, I wouldn't do a dumb thing like that," he grumbled. She giggled, sure of him and pleased with her own triumph because she had always secretly wondered what kind of cocksmith this intense, handsome and brooding fellow was. She gave him a stinging little kiss on the tip of his nose and whispered, "You be nice now, and maybe we'll get together again like this. Maybe my folks'll be out of town like yours, and then you can come over to my place and we can really have a ball. Would you like that, honey?"
"You know I would, Dody baby!" he thickly muttered. His lips searched, found hers and gave her a long desperate and lustful kiss. At last Dody broke away and patted him on the head as she might a child, and slipped out of the front door. He stood there trembling, his face congested, and he found he had another hard-on. Then he smiled, and chuckled. Life was wonderful. He was a man now and he could brag that he had really shagged that hot box of a Dody Brandon but good!
He went back upstairs, whistling. Then he stopped short, his eyes widening. Dorothy's door was closed. She didn't do that unless she was home. Oh gosh-what if she'd been in her room and heard him and Dody while they were making out?
His heart began to beat wildly. Both very carefully and very slowly, he put his hand to the doorknob, and turned it. He opened the door and glanced in, just at the moment when Dorothy Martin, her nylon panties rumpled down to her ankles, was at the exact moment of gushing down her cream from the frigging she had been giving herself!
CHAPTER SIX
Kenneth Martin gasped and stared unabashedly at the breathtaking and certainly unexpected display of his beautiful sister's writhing body, with her panties rumpled down her ankles and only her bra covering her, her thighs hugely sprawled, her face twisted to one side away from him and her right hand pressed against the hairy triangle of her pussy. He hadn't ever seen her naked before, and of course he had no way of knowing that just a few minutes ago she had watched him fuck Dody Brandon and that, to be exact, was why she was frigging herself to kingdom come.
He was utterly flabbergasted at what he had just seen, and he tiptoed away from the door and hurried back to his room. His cock, which had been hard for new action when he had said goodbye to Dody so reluctantly, was harder than ever now. He had always known that his sister Dorothy was really a stuck-up snotnose who thought a lot of herself and who was pretty good looking, but he'd never dreamed that she could have such a gorgeous shape. And the sight of her burned into his brain. That luscious, smooth white skin of her belly and thighs made him close his eyes and wish that he were back in bed with Dody right this minute.
He just had to have relief. For a moment, he even feverishly considered the possibility of going back to Dorothy's room and breaking in on her and telling her that he had seen what she had done and that if she was going to waste all that hot loving, she might as well waste it on him, but he thought better of it. There was no telling what Dorothy might tell Mom or Dad, and they might think he was some sort of creep, or pervert, and have him sent to a headshrinker or something like that. No, he'd better not try to shag Sis. But he wouldn't forget what she was made of, and maybe one day, just maybe, things would work out so that he could really feel her up and find out what made her tick. For all he knew, she never had any boyfriends to neck with or anything like that, so it was pretty plain to him that this was her way of getting her kicks and cooling off her hots.
All the same, this line of reasoning didn't do anything to alleviate the throbbing agony in his stiff young cock. He bit his lips, then drew down his zipper and pulled his cock out and began to jack himself off slowly. He made a ring of his right thumb and forefinger and began to rim the surging, turgid shaft, starting at the very tip and gliding his circled fingers down to the scrotum and back again, while he kept his eyes closed and remembered-not Dody, whom he had fucked, but Dorothy, his own sister whom he had seen for the first time in all her enticing, prickhardening beauty.
His body shuddered, and his forehead was furrowed with the intensity of his welling-up feelings as he accelerated his frigging movement. And then suddenly he clapped his left hand over his mouth to hold back the shout of agonized delight which burst from him as the lips of his meatus clenched violently and yawned apart to emit the spattering white, viscous fluid of his young lust.
When it was done, he fumbled for his handkerchief and mopped his limp cock, drawing a long, shuddering breath and blinking his eyes. Boy, what he wouldn't give to have Dody back right now all bare and naked on the bed, wrapping her legs around him and holding him tight till he could feel her titties mash against his chest and her pert little tongue going two-forty inside his mouth while he precsed his tool back and forth inside that moist warm box of hers!
But then the folks would be back pretty soon and they would be going on that trip, and he wouldn't be able to see Dody until they came back. The trip had been scheduled for a month, and Dad had told Dorothy and him, just before he and Mom had left to go see Aunt Alma in Muskegon that if they weren't held up too much with the funeral and then looking after Aunt Alma to make sure that everything was going to be all right for her, they'd still go just as planned. Well, it was the last week of June now, so that would mean he wouldn't get back until around the first week of August to have any more dates with Dody. And by then she probably would have found a couple of other fellows to screw with. It was a darn shame, it was, Kenneth Martin told himself disgustedly. Because being along with the folks even on a month-long-trip to California was going to mean that he wouldn't even dare to jack-off the way he'd just done, because they and Sis would all be keeping an eagle eye on him.
He decided to take a nap before supper, because he suddenly felt tired. It wasn't any wonder, considering the riotuous experiences he had had this afternoon. First, proving he was really a man inside of Dody's tight hot quim, and then watching Sis frig herself till she gave it down, and now jacking off until he felt as if every drop of spunk had been drained out of his system and there wouldn't be any more. But of course there would be, and the worst part of it would bo when he'd have to go along on that, trip and mind his P's and Q's. Disgruntled, he walked slowly to the bathroom.
When Dorothy Martin came to after her furious autoerotic appeasement, she languidly got out of bed, stooped to retrieve her panties which she had kicked off to the floor in the final throes of her spasm, then began to walk to the bathroom. But she happened to glance back at the door, and her jaw dropped. It was slightly ajar. She was sure that she had closed it. Now what could that mean? Was it possible that Kenny had tried to find out if she had come home yet and had--? Oh no, it couldn't be, it mustn't be! She'd just die of shame if he had really seen her and what she had been doing there on the bed.
Her heart began to beat very wildly. Of course she didn't dare hint around to find out if Kenny had seen anything or not. She would just have to think and hope that perhaps she just hadn't closed the door tightly enough and it had just opened of its own accord. Yes, that must have been it. Kenny would have bee too busy seeing Dody out of the house and then tidying up his bed and himself to avert any suspicion, and he wouldn't have had time to sneak in and spy on her. But oh Lordy, what if he really had? What if he'd got nervous all of a sudden and thought that maybe she had come home ahead of schedule and found out about him and Dody? Then he might have gone looking for her, and of course if he'd done that, he couldn't have helped seeing her the way she had been in bed. Her soft white cheeks turned a vivid crimson at the thought.
She bit her small ripe red lips, and slowly slipped her right hand down to her stickied mount. Her blush deepened, and she closed her eyes and shivered as the image of her brother on top of Dody returned all the more vividly. She didn't know what she would do if Kenny had really seen her playing with herself. Maybe he'd try to blackmail her or something. He was just nasty enough to think up a stunt like that. But of course there wasn't any way of finding out unless she really went up and asked him, and she'd die of shame before she'd do anything like that. No, she would just have to wait and see what developed, watch how he behaved towards her, and then think up a good story in case maybe he hadn't been able to understand what had been going on there on the bed. She had to play it cool.
And thus both brother and sister had learned each other's guilty secret on the same fateful afternoon. And what they had learned and seen was to stand them in ideal stead for the most dramatic and unexpected and terrifying adventure of their young lives!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dorothy Martin decided to take a nap, and when she woke up it was about quarter of six, so she went to the kitchen to prepare a light supper. To her embarrassment, she found her brother already at the kitchen table, eating a hastily improvised meal of warmed-over baked beans, some baked ham and cheese, rye bread and some iced coffee.
"Oh, hi, Kenny," she said nonchalantly as she sauntered in, then walked over to the refrigerator and opened it to inspect a possible menu.
"Hi, yourself, Dottie," Kenneth Martin looked up from his plate and gave her a wry grin. Dorothy Martin flushed uncomfortably. Her brother knew perfectly well she detested that nickname. What had prompted him to use it? As she went back to the cupboard for a plate and then back to the refrigerator to fork a couple pieces of ham, she casually remarked, "You just get home from whatever you were doing?"
Kenneth Martin squinted at his sister, scooped up a forkful of beans and put them to his mouth, chewed them and then countered in a muffled voice, "You just get back from your movie, Dottie?"
"Of course not, stupid! I just got up from a nap, if you have to know. Stop calling me Dottie, you know I don't like it."
"Yeh, I know. I wonder just what you do like, sometimes."
"Now what's that suppose to mean?" she sharply demanded.
He shrugged. "I don't know. Whatever you think it means, I guess. Anyhow, how was that movie? What did you see?"
"Oh, it wasn't very good. I walked out early and I came home and read a book and then I took a nap. There, are you satisfied, Kenneth Martin? You're really getting to be a nuisance, prying around the way you do lately."
"Well, let's just hope it doesn't run in the family. Was the book good?"
"Now stop asking me stupid questions!" Dorothy Martin stamped her foot, her eyes sparkling with irritation. "I could ask you how you spent your afternoon, but I won't. I'm just not interested."
"I bet you would be, though."
Dorothy Martin bit her lips. To pursue the subject would be dangerous, because she had the gnawing fear that maybe, just maybe, her door had been opened enough for him to look in while she had been playing with herself. And if that had been true, then he would have the upper hand over her for fair and it wouldn't do much good to tell him what she'd seen him doing with Dody Brandon.
Discretion was always the better part of valor, so she added in a mollified tone of voice, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to jump at you. But sometimes you can be the most exasperating brother a girl ever had. Let's just forget about today."
"Well, maybe," he grudgingly conceded. "Anyhow, when do you think the folks will get back?"
"Mother will probably call this evening and let us know how it is with Aunt Alma. But I don't think they'll be gone much past Monday or Tuesday. And they did say we were going to start out for California on our trip just as soon as they got back." She glanced at him, and then her sudden anger at his nosiness led her into the fatal blunder of sarcastically adding, "You're going to have to miss Dody Brandon at least a month. But then, maybe you'll meet another nice girl when we get out to California."
She had the pleasure-although it was just a momentary one-of seeing him turn scarlet and suddenly take an interest in the rest of his baked beans. He swallowed a gulp of iced coffee, banged the glass down and fought for breath. When he regained it, he glanced up at her and grinned crookedly:
"Well at least it's more fun with Dody than it would be all by myself. I imagine the same would go for you, Dottie."
Now it was her turn to gulp and fight for breath and also to try to regain the poise of her greater maturity and age. She turned her back on him and hunted in the refrigerator for a few more items of food which she really didn't want, just to give herself time to regain her poise. Finally she walked over to the table and sat down across from him.
"Well, you know perfectly well that Mother and Dad wouldn't at all care for your going around with a girl like Dody. She's cheap and flashy and she's got a very bad reputation. Everybody says she's an easy mark."
"I don't."
"No?" she couldn't help taunting him again.
"Nope. She's lots of fun to be with, and she's a real swinger. Anyhow, what if she does make out with fellows? Don't you think guys my age have a right to have feelings? I bet you've got your own feelings. Say, come to think of it, I wonder why you never go out on dates with boys? Maybe you don't care for them, huh, Dottie?"
Now she was really blushing, and she was biting her lips furiously in disgust with herself for letting him see how thin-skinned she really was. "It happens to be none of your business," she informed him in the iciest tone she could summon, "and I suggest you just drop the subject entirely. I think it's a good idea that we're going on the trip, because maybe it will give you a different sense of values."
"I could say the same for you, Sis. Maybe you'll meet a guy who will give you a real thrill. Then you won't be so lonesome that you have to coop yourself up in your room and read a book and have fun ... that way." He purposely let a long pause lapse between the words "book" and "that way."
Dorothy Martin thought her heart would stop beating. Then he must have seen her playing with her pussy. Oh dear gosh, whatever was she going to do? The nasty little monster, why, he'd hold that over her head until her grave! To get him off the subject, she nastily countered, "You know, maybe you don't read the newspapers or statistics, but cases of V.D. and lots of unwed mothers are going up all the time. And if a kid like you fools around with a real easy girl like that Dody, first thing you know you might get her into trouble."
"Heck, where have you been the last few years, Dottie?" he was smirking at her in the most insinuating way. "Don't you know they've got pills now that keep girls from having babies? Not only that, down at the drugstore they have cans of spray foam a girl can shoot up into herself and keep from getting a kid. Is that why you don't go out with a guy, Sis, because you're afraid he might give you a kid?"
"You stop that kind of talk or I'll slap your nasty, silly face!" Dorothy Martin exploded, and again her face had gone very red. "I happen to be a decent girl, and I'm saving myself for marriage. I haven't met anybody that I like well enough to give him any privileges with me, do you understand that, Kenny? And if you keep talking like that, I'm going to tell the folks when they get back."
"Yeah, I sort of figured you'd be a real snitch, Dottie," he said disgustedly. "Only just don't forget before you start blabbing what you think you know, maybe I can add a couple of things on the other side of the ledger too."
Now her heart almost stopped beating. "Such as?" she insolently demanded, tossing her head.
But her attitude didn't cow her younger brother. He grinned, to her furious annoyance, and then he said airily, "Oh, nothing. What I know, I know. But me, I'm no snitch, see? I wouldn't say anything unless you said something. So let's call it a draw, Sis. No sense getting both of us into trouble with the folks, they're worried enough about Aunt Alma. Now I think I'm going to a movie tonight. Now, of course, you're not going to tell them I might be a little late."
"Oh?" she faltered, eyeing him as if seeing him for the first time.
"Nope." He shook his head and grinned again. "Because you know we don't have to worry about school anymore and it's a weekend night and I'm a big boy now. Or didn't you notice?"
With that, he got up, lazily stretching himself, and it seemed to his horrified and stunned virginal older sister that he was actually flaunting his crotch by sticking himself out in front of her. The fact was, Kenneth Martin was doing exactly that, just as a sort of subtle reminder to his sister that what was sauce for the goose was certainly sauce and a half for the gander!
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Martins got back from Muskegon late Wednesday afternoon, and much to the delight of Kenny and Dorothy, Ranee Martin announced that they would set out for California early Friday morning in the family Buick.
Ranee Martin was forty-four, and in the jewelry business. His attractive shop was on Howard Street near the elevated station, and the business was an extremely lucrative one. His assistant, Ben Salisbury, had eagerly agreed to run the store during the month long vacation which his employer had planned. Lance had a distant cousin in the San Fernando Valley whom he hadn't seen in fifteen years, and several months ago he had a phone call and an invitation to come out to see his cousin and the latter's wife and three children. Since he'd never been to California, it sounded like a great idea.
Ranee was sturdy, not too heavily set, and he didn't have too much of a paunch, considering his mature age. His black hair was only partly streaked with gray, and he had twinkling blue eyes, a strong Roman nose, a firm mouth and chin, and he was about five feet eleven inches in height. The Martins had been married not quite twenty-one years and Ranee's wife Eleanor was still, at thirty-eight, as delicious a morsel of pulchritude as she had been upon her graduation from high school when Ranee had eloped with her in a whirlwind courtship. Her parents had tried to annul the marriage, but when Ranee's father had tactfully persuaded Eleanor's folks that his son sure was going to inherit his jewelry store and a considerable sum of money and had always been a level-headed boy and never sho/ed too much interest in any other girls, they gave in. Insofar as Eleanor Martin was concerned, the happiest day of her life was when she had married Ranee.
He felt the same way. She was five feet six inches in height, and the years and two children had made her even more maturely beautiful. Her hair was the color of newly mown hay, and she wore it in a thick chignon at the back of her head, leaving her nape bare. She had a heart-shaped face, a soft generous and kissable mouth, a dainty nose with just a hint of snub to it, and hazel eyes with very curly thick lashes, and most expressive thin brows arched eloquently. Her skin was a soft carnation-pink-and white, and it went with a figure that was still, though she was two years away from forty, mouthwatering and prick-hardening.
Eleanor Martin's titties were closely spaced together, large cantaloupes with broad brownish-pink circles in whose centers full, ripe, crinkly buds flourished. Her belly was deliciously rounded, and she had always been on a good diet so that she didn't get that bulging midriff that so many wives get after a few years of marriage. Her bellybutton was broad, shallow, and a delicious place for kisses, as Ranee Martin had long ago discovered. It led the way to the lower abdomen's suave curve, where the darker brown curls of her pussyhair began to thrive. Over her plump-lipped cunt, the foliage was quite thick, and it hid the lovelips. Her thighs were round and beautifully proportioned, her calves saucily rounded like a girl's. Her behind comprised two succulently rounded tightly spaced cheeks, the furrow between which was extremely narrow. Her back was beautifully dimpled and deeply hollowed. She had a soft but husky voice that was entrancing, and it always suggested bed to Ranee Martin.
In spite of their many years of marriage, he enjoyed going to bed with her as much as he had their first few months of hot adolescent, blinding passion. Now they were both mature, they knew each other like a book, and a touch or a look could set them off. They could dispense with loveplay; and at the first moment he put his prick into her soft cunt, Eleanor Martin would gasp and feel the welling up of all her amorous tides, and wrap her legs around his thighs and hold onto him with a strangle-grip around his shoulders as she curshed her eager mouth to his and panted, "Oh darling, it's so good, oh give it to me hard and deep, give it to me, all you've got!"
In short, theirs had been a perfect marriage, a union of mind and flesh, and Ranee Martin hadn't really ever strayed from the marital fold. Oh, to be sure, there had been a couple of times when he'd gone to a jewelers' convention in New York and a couple of his friends had hired a couple of expensive callgirls, and he just couldn't turn down the opportunity to have a tasty hundred-dollar piece of pussy. But such interludes just made him come back home all the more passionately eager to fuck his wife.
As for Eleanor Martin herself, he had been her only man. What she knew about fucking had come entirely from him, and she had no yardstick of comparison. True, on her wedding night, as a girl of just past seventeen, she had been a little timid; but theoretically she had known what prick and cunt were and what they meant to each other, and he had been very gentle in breaking through her cherry and giving her a much easier time than she had feared. In her gratitude and her love for him, she had made up for it the next night by meeting his ardor with the most unexpectedly thrilling passionate initiative of her own. She had even reached for his cock and directed it to her pink soft slit, much to his excitement.
Still in all, there were many variations of passion in fucking that Eleanor Martin hadn't tried, simply because her husband had either not known about them or decided that they were a little too bawdy to be used between man and wife. Like so many adult males these days, Ranee Martin had been brought up by rather strict parents who had intimated to him that marriage was for procreation only, and as a result, he had a definite barrier in his mind against trying certain practices. For example, he had never sucked his wife's cunt. Nor, for that matter, had she sucked his cock in return. Thus they had never tried soixante-neuf, and to be sure, he would never dream of buggering her.
But the automobile trip to California was going to broaden Eleanor Martin's education in fucking just as it was going to broaden her husband's. It was also going to broaden the sexual awareness of their grown teenaged children ... the end result of which would be a closely knit family such as rarely exists!
CHAPTER NINE
Ranee Martin had taken the car on Thursday morning to a neighborhood garage, where the owner was a friend of his and had actually bought jewelry from him, and by the end of the day he was happy to report to his beautiful wife Eleanor and to Kenny and Dorothy that the Buick was in tiptop condition. They all went to bed early that night so that they could be up at dawn on Friday to start the drive to California.
Dorothy Martin and her brother had maintained a guarded truce since the previous Saturday. Dorothy couldn't help blushing every time her brother looked at her, because she was wondering whether he had actually seen her performing self-relief. And in turn, she couldn't forget the graphic scene between him and Dody which she had spied on through that crack in the wall which let her see right into her brother's room and the bed ... the bed on which he had been mounted over that young tramp, fucking her!
Ranee Martin and his wife, however, didn't seem to notice anything amiss, except that Eleanor did laughingly chide her son by remarking, "Kenny, honey, you've certainly become awfully quiet in a hurry. Usually you're such a chatterbox, especially when there's something new in the family schedule. I thought you'd be all excited about this trip to California." And he had flushed and nodded and said, "Sur^ I'm excited, Mom, but after all, we haven't smarted yet, and there's time enough to get excited when we start seeing some of the scenery along the way,"
"You're just trying to act grown up, that's all, that's your trouble," she had affectionately chuckled and given him a quick kiss on the cheek. And Dorothy Martin had lowered her eyes and told herself that her mother's remark had been much righter than Eleanor Martin knew, because Kenny was certainly grown up and practically overnight-but hardly in a way that would appeal to his beautiful mature mother.
The weather was glorious as the Martin quartet got into the Buick, with Ranee at the wheel, and the virile jeweler turned the car down Lake Shore Drive to head for the freeway which was farther north and west that would take them on the first lap of their journey. Eleanor Martin, in the front seat, was studying the map. Her husband had already worked out a tentative itinerary. They wouldn't try to break any speed records at all. There was so much scenery between here and California which none of them had ever enjoyed that they would keep an average of forty to forty-five miles an hour except on those stretches of highway where a higher speed was obligatory. "I figure we'll reach Abilene, Kansas by about Sunday noon or thereabouts," Ranee glanced over at his desirable blonde wife. "There's a lot of historical background to Kansas, you know. John Brown and his abolitionist movement came from around there. And then there were the famous Kansas Jayhawkers, sort of highwaymen who raided anybody that came into the territory in those early days. Most people think Kansas is a flat dreary state, but there are lots of very scenic spots, and the route I've chosen on the map is going to take us through most of them. We'll skirt the Dakotas, and see a good deal of Colorado and maybe even Wyoming and Utah, before heading down to California." He glanced back at his daughter with a grin: "You know, Dorothy, Cousin Edgar has got three practically grown children ... I wouldn't even call them children. His oldest boy, Dan, is all of eighteen. Going on nineteen, your age, honey. Why, who knows, you might take a shine to him."
"Please, Daddy," Dorothy Martin blushed hotly. In the back seat, with her brother to her right, she was keeping as quiet as she could and not looking at Kenny. Every time she did so, he gave her a kind of insolent grin, and once he had even winked at her. Oh, the devil! She was more than ever certain that by an unlucky chance he had stuck his head in the bedroom just when she was ... was playing with herself. She didn't dare come right out and ask him, of course, but the waiting and the suspense about whether he had or hadn't actually seen her doing that was driving her just about crazy. Of course, if he ever once opened his big yap about it, she could tell him a thing or two about what she'd coon him do to Dody Brandon. Still, insolent though she was by temperament, Dorothy Martin had reasoned that the best thing to do was to let well enough alone. Maybe the trip and all its novelties would make Kenny Martin hold his tongue and mind his manners and quit riding her.
It would indeed. But hardly in the way that any of the Martins could have dreamed would happen....
Just as the Martins were starting out for California, the Kansas State Prison in Hanford, about fifteen miles northeast of Abilene, was waking up to breakfast and to Sunday chapel ... and also the fact that four of its inmates weren't going to be present for either nutritional or spiritual comfort.
CHAPTER TEN
The four convicts who had escaped from the Kansas State Prison were as deadly a quartet of savages and amoral animals as one could find in a primitive jungle. Two of them were lifers, Ben Salters and Mack Bolton. Bolton was a squat, almost bald, scarfaced man of forty, who had fiendishly murdered his wife and then planted a bomb in her lover's automobile engine to send him to kingdom come. He had found the two of them making love early one afternoon when he had unexpectedly left his job as a printer because of a sudden attack of indigestion. What he saw in his own bed as he had let himself in the door and then gone looking for his wife had given him still more of a bellyache-but his handsome thirty-five-year-old wife, Mae had suffered far more before merciful death claimed her. Mack Bolton had pretended to take what he saw like a good sport; as Mae's lover, a bespectacled white-collar minor advertising executive in his early thirties, scrambled out of bed and grabbed for his pants, Mack had chuckled, "Take it easy, take it easy. This sort of thing happens all the time. I just wish you two had told me about it so I wouldn't have come home and disturbed you."
Mae, her big breasts marked with her lover's kisses and fingerings, her light brown hair disheveled over one cheek, had pulled the sheets up over her loins to hide her nakedness; she stared at him incredulously, not believing that this silent, brooding husband of hers was actually going to let the i two of them get off after what they'd done. She had been married to him five years, and she knew the fiendish temper of which he was capable. Once, because she had overdrawn their bank account, he had tied her wrists together with a strong cord, hoisted them over a hook in the closet, so that she was standing on tiptoe, wearing only her flesh colored nylon hose and a garterbelt, and then he had whipped her on her bottom and thighs and against the sides of her titties with his black leather belt until she had fainted. He had waited until she had come to, and then he had calmly buggered her, prying open the plump tawny-sheened cheeks of her bottom to expose her crinkly anus, and then thrust himself into her without any lubrication whatsoever. And he had warned her that the next time she had spent more than he gave her for household expenses, he would turn her around and whip her over her titties and cunt.
That was why she couldn't believe that after having caught her and Al Murcur in the most compromising of positions, he was going to let the matter pass without any comment or retaliation. And of course she couldn't have been more wrong.
Al Murcur had feverishly dressed and left, babbling his thanks to Mack Bolton for not hurting him and promising never to interfere in their married life again. Well, he hadn't; the bomb in the engine had seen to that well enough.
That night, Mack Bolton took his wife to a movie, and then led her back into the bedroom and, with a cruel grin on his fat lips, stared at her with his merciless dark blue eyes and muttered, "You got me all worked up when I came home this afternoon, baby. Now let's see if you can shag as good with your own husband as you can with that stupid four-eyed jerk. Take off your duds nice and slow, as if you were doing a strip for your boyfriend."
"Mack, believe me, it-it just happened. I didn't mean for it to happen, I swear I didn't. I'll never see him again. I promise you. It's just that-well, my God, Mack, you never talk to a woman, you just push her down on the bed and give it to her when you want her. It's terrible to live with you. If only you could be nice once in a while," she protested.
He grinned, but there was no humor in it. "Can the chatter," he said sibilantly, "and just peel down raw, nice and slow."
"All right, Mack," Mae had quavered as she began to tug off her dress. Her slip followed, and she stood in white nylon bra, panties to match, and garterbelt. His eyes narrowed as they fixed on the heavy yet firm and superbly rounded gourds of her titties, with the wide dark aureola and the full ripe nipple-buds. He stood there, his hands clasped behind his back, in a sport shirt and slacks, and she could see that his cock was beginning to harden as she nervously reached back to unhook her bra and let it fall. He licked his lips as her naked titties burst into view, and Mae Bolton shuddered at the cruel and gloating, possessive look in his dark blue eyes. She told herself desperately that she had to do everything she could to please him, to make him forget the unfortunate episode of the afternoon. Yet her thighs were quivering, and she could hardly stand as she now slipped down her panties, stooping so that her heavy breasts dangled and jiggled in the most lascivious way. He saw the dark thick curls of her brown pussyhair hiding the fleshy mount, and he licked his lips again, his prick thrusting out even more adamantly from the fly of his slacks. She looked up at him with a frightened smile, trying to cajole him into forgiving her infidelity by desiring her. Once she was in bed with him, she swore to herself, she would give him such a fucking that he wouldn't think of her transgression, and everything would be. all right again. Again she had committed the fatal error of underestimating Mack Bolton's inherent brutality and gloating cunning.
"Leave the rest of the stuff on; you look sexy, Mae baby," he hoarsely commented when she straightened after putting her panties on a little table near the bed to join the bra. "You're quite some bitch, you are. You get a guy real randy, don't you? I'll bet that poor jerk wasn't really thinking of poaching on my premises until you led him on."
"I swear to God, Mack," Mae Bolton nervously stammered, her voice breaking under the onus of her torturing suspense, "that neither of us meant to do anything wrong. I've never cheated on you before, honest to God I haven't, Mack darling. Please forgive me. If you'd only show me more attention, I could be a wonderful wife to you. I really could. And-and you know you like it when we go to bed together. I can satisfy you, can't I?"
"Oh sure, you're a good enough lay when you've got your mind on your business, bitch," he had growled with a humorless chuckle. "Just stretch out now on your back-that's a position awful easy for a broad like you to take. I'm gonna have me a smoke and work myself up to poking you. Just lay there and think how you're going to try to please me and make me real happy and maybe overlook what you and that stupid bastard did in my own bed this afternoon, huh?"
He had taken off his shirt and undershirt, revealing his hairy fat chest, the paps of which were like a woman's. He scratched his belly button and ^ed her with a leer, then walked off into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him, lighting a cigarette and opening the medicine chest. Mae Bolton tremblingly took her place on the bed, her hands under her neck, her thighs spread docilely, in the classical pose of awaiting her lord and master. But she could not stop the nervous twitchings that ran up and down along her satiny inner thighs, nor control the quickened and erratic breathing which made her magnificent big bubbies rise and fall tu-multuously. And sweat beaded her temples at the thought of what her husband was thinking; she wished she could get inside his mind and read his murkiest thoughts. She would have been appalled if she could have done so!
He was looking at the bottle marked "Poison" on the ledge. Iodine, tincture of mercury. No, nothing really fatal that could be given without trace by a medical examiner. He was already planning Mae's death with as much suffering as he could bring to her for having wounded his male pride, for having destroyed his arrogant enjoyment of her as his chattel, his toy and plaything. That another man had dared to sully his own marital bed had already marked Al Murcur for death, but it was Mae who Mack Bolton most blamed. That four-eyed jerk was scared of his own shadow, and it must have been Mae who had enticed him to be bold enough to fuck her. Well, they'd both pay for it, Mack Bolton swore to himself.
He strolled out of the bathroom and walked into the kitchen. There was more in the pantry to whet his sadistic mind: turpentine, lye, bleach and other caustics. He smiled cruelly as he picked up the can of turpentine. He thought of shaving Mae between the legs, gagging her and spread-eagling her with ropes on the bed, and then rubbing the depilated area of her pubis with cotton soaked in the turpentine. Maybe even lighting a cigarette and then touching the fiery end to that sensitive area. The bitch, the dirty lowdown bitch to cuckold him and in his own bed too!
He had smoked his cigarette now and he went back to her. The thought of what he was going to do to her had made him even more randy than ever, and his prick was sticking out violently against the fly of his slacks as he entered the bedroom and saw her passively awaiting him. "All ready to be fucked, nice and sweet and gentle, aren't you, bitch!" he had growled.
"Y-yes, M-Mack darling," Mae Bolton gasped, raising intriguing eyes to him and arching her pelvis in the most provocative manner, hoping to take his mind off her folly and to lure him between her shapely stockinged thighs. She had good solid rounded thighs, and her buttocks were perhaps overly plump, but she was still a seductive figure of a woman, Junoesque and buxom. And she was also as passionate as any man could have wished for; Al Murcur had whispered that into her ear as he had lain atop her, his elongated stiff prong jabbing ecstatically down her love tract. She had wound her legs and arms around him, grinding her belly to his, devouring him with her mouth as with her voracious cunt, and she had felt transported for that brief moment because Al Murcur had been grateful for the attention she was giving him; he hadn't taken her as if she were a possession or a thing to be used at fancy and at will.
He had made her feel like a woman; her husband made her feel like a slave, like the lowliest animal.
Slowly her husband took off his slacks, and then his shorts, and was naked in socks. He was squat and muscular, even though fat, and he exuded an animal cruelty and bestiality as he stalked over to the bed and knelt down on it, staring greedily at her pussyfur and at the swelling mounds of her titties. "So you're sorry about what you did, huh, bitch?" he growled.
Tears sprang into Mae's hazel eyes. "Oh yes, Mack darling, I didn't mean to. You've got to believe me, Mack honey. I won't ever do it again."
"I know you won't, baby. Well, I suppose these things happen. Anyhow, let's see how good you can fuck right now. Only first, I wanna have you suck me a little and get me nice and hard for that itchy twat of yours," he demanded.
Mae Bolton could not help grimacing, and unfortunate reaction which her husband at once noticed. He had only on occasion during their marriage required this act of obscene intimacy from her, and each time it had nauseated her. Mack Bolton was not the most fastidious man in the world, and although he bathed with fair frequency, he had strong need of a deodorant. Besides, she just didn't like to French a man, although she loved being fucked. Something else he hadn't done to her regularly and which she hoped he would never do again was brown her. He had occasionally threatened to do it-in happier days when there was more or less of a relationship going-, but somehow he had taken the virginity of her bottomhole only once, as a punishment.
At any rate, she tried to make up for the grimace by stammering, "All right, d-darling, I'll do whatever you want."
"You just bet your sweet life you will, baby," he chuckled lewdly as he crawled up over her face and thrust his stiff organ against her trembling lips. "Lemme see how good you can French, baby. You seem to like cock so much, I'm gonna let you have your fill of it right now."
Closing her eyes, Mae Bolton had passively obeyed. Opening her mouth, she had taken the meatus of his thick, turgid prick and nuzzled at it, while he tauntingly admonished her to "suck it good and loud so's I can hear whatcha doing, bitch!"
Mae Bolton obeyed. She forced herself to overcome the nausea which seized her from the strong smell of sweat and indolic compound and male flesh, pursing her full red lips over the meatus of his organ, drawing upon it, feeling it harden and grow even more turgid within the soft nectared haven of her lips. Then he had ordered her to lick the tip of her tongue over the head of his cock, and he had gloatingly savored her helpless and feverish haste to obey his every injunction, knowing exactly what she was thinking, and knowing-what she did not-that all her attempts to coddle and cozen him would be ultimately in vain.
"Okay, that's not a bad job," he at last grudgingly remarked. "Now I wanna have you lick my dong from the tip right down to the balls, all over, without missing an inch. Get acquainted with my cock, baby, after all, it belongs to your hubby, you know. Say tell me, did you French that jerk I caught you with this afternoon?"
"Oh n-no, Mack, I swear I didn't!" Mae Bolton gasped, her eyes wide with terror as he crouched over her, his throbbing prick dangling just in front of her trembling lips, his merciless blue eyes fixing her with a greedy stare. "I'd only do it to you, because you're my husband, you know that, Mack. Please say you'll forget all about it. I'll make it up to you, I swear I will."
"Then start licking my cock, bitch, and we'll see how good you are," was his next command.
Mae Bolton proved as industrious at this odious task as if she had been a call girl. His hoarse panting, his gasps and groans of pleasure, attested to the fervor, if not perhaps to the artistic expertness of her technique, and at last he stopped her again, for he was near to bursting. "Now roll over onto your belly, bitch," was his next command.
Wonderingly, Mae Bolton obeyed. He had buggered her just that one time, when he had punished her after the whipping in the closet; however, during their normal relationship during their married life, he had never once attempted that perverse practice. But if she had the slightest wonder as to what he now proposed to do, she was at once edified to her consternation when she felt his pudgy fingers pinch the quaking cheeks of her bare bottom and yawn them widely apart to expose the shrinking fissure of her asshole. "Oh please, not that, please, Mack! It hurts too much, I can't stand it, please, darling!" she groaned, looking back at him with humid, dilated eyes. "Please, I want you to have me, I'll give you a wonderful fucking, I promise I will, but don't do that to me, don't, Mack!"
"You just shut your goddam mouth and take it, bitch, and don't lemme hear no more yipes about it," he had brutally retorted. "After what you've done, any court in the country would justify me if I took a stick to your ass and beat you black and blue. Now relax those muscles, I'm gonna brown you good!"
And he did as much, without lubrication again, and Mae had to stuff her fists against her mouth to keep from shrieking, and to muffle her cries of pain as he ruthlessly and slowly dug into the tender and narrow cleft between her quaking bottomglobes.
When he had pulled out, he commanded her to roll over onto her back again, and then once more crawled over her face and forced her to cleanse his cock and draw it to a new erection, for he had shot his load deep inside her rectum. Cringing and gagging, Mae Bolton had a difficult time obeying, but obey she did. And then he had fucked her, viciously and brutally, making her groan with pain as he rammed himself with savage digs back and forth inside her tender chasm.
Finally he had got off the bed and told her, "You did pretty good. Now go to sleep, and me I'm gonna sit up and read a good book or something and think about this afternoon."
"Oh please, oh dear God, Mack, forgive me! Didn't I do everything you wanted to? Wasn't I good for you in bed?"
"You did all right," he said grudgingly. "But you know damn well you hadda be forced to take it in your mouth and in your bumhole. Now, a really loving wife would have suggested it herself and go all out to make me happy. You just did it because you had to, see? Now shut your trap and go to sleep."
Sobbing softly, Mae Bolton had obeyed. Meanwhile, her brutal husband had watched television, still naked in his socks, smoking a cigar. Two hours later, tiptoeing back to the bedroom and discovering her sound asleep, he had proceeded to tie her up by wrists and ankles, spreadeagling her. Then he had gagged her. Then, taking a pair of manicure tweezers, he had yanked out her abundant pussy-curls, making her arch and twist and jerk, while sweat and tears ran down her cheeks, beaded her armpits, glistened along her naked sides. When he had taken away all of the pubic hair, he took a pad of cotton and brought in the can of kerosene from the pantry and showed it to her, and laughed uproariously as she threshed about on the bed, begging him with incoherent, muffled, sobbing pleas and with the agony of her tear-filled, exorbitantly dilated eyes. He enjoyed it to the finite moment, until at last he began to rub the cotton onto her hairless quim and the entire pelvic basin. If it had not been for the gag, her deafening shrieks would have brought the neighbors in full force, but all the same she yanked and lunged and twisted and arched and squirmed so frenziedly that the ropes binding her ankles and wrists dug into the tender flesh.
Then he had fucked her again, and after that, he had taken a long bone knitting needle and thrust it deeply into her vagina, and then another into her asshole, and he had left her there to bleed to death. And a few days later, when Al Murcur was blown to pieces by the bomb, the police arrested him after a violent struggle during which he sustained a gunshot wound in the upper left arm and another in the right calf. His trial was speedy and he was sent to the Kansas State Prison for life without the possibility of parole.
Such was the background of the leader of the gang of four escapees who were destined to alter the lives of Ranee and Eleanor Martin and of their son and daughter Kenneth and Dorothy.
The second lifer was Ben Salters, thirty-two, with sandy hair, freckled face, thin lips, shrewd narrowly spaced gray-blue eyes, and a rangy figure. He was also guilty of murder, having killed his father over a quarrel about a woman they both wanted. He had become engaged to a young nineteen-year-old black-haired waitress, brought her home for approval, only to find that his father, a man of fifty-six, had fallen in lust with her and had managed to seduce her. He had shot his father to death and tried to kill his fiancee, but the gun had been emptied with the final shot that had pierced her abdomen. She recovered in a few weeks later in a hospital, and did not bid him farewell when he was sent off to prison for the rest of his natural life, also without possibility of a parole.
The third escapee was George Budrow. George was twenty-nine, bullheaded, lanky, with several upper teeth missing as the result of a tavern brawl. He had been serving a sentence of twenty years for assault and criminal rape. The crime had been against a fifteen-year-old high-school sophomore, a pretty girl with glasses, gentle and reserved, whom George had talked into getting into his car under pretext of helping him find a hospital for his dying wife-a lie, since Budrow had never married and was much too sadistic for any woman to tolerate him for long. He had had intermittent affairs, lasting no more than a week, mostly with cheap women on the order of prostitutes; invariably, each of his pro tern mistresses had abandoned him because of his brooding and cruel nature and his utter contempt for a woman as a person. To him a woman was a sexual vehicle, a receptacle, nothing more, and he did not bother to concern himself with her feelings when he was enjoying his pleasures.
The only thing that had saved him from a life sentence had been that it was his first offense-so far as open charges on the book was concerned. He had beaten numerous women, but none of them had ever testified against him. The fifteen-year-old girl had had her eyes blackened, been whipped with his belt until she had herself begged him to fuck her, and then he had made her suck him off and finally take up the maidenhead of her bumhole. Only the fact that the lovely victim was nearly hysterical over what had happened to her, had prevented her from testifying to every one of the salacious details of her terrible four-hour ordeal in a deserted house off the highway. That was also why George Budrow had only twenty years to serve instead of life.
The fourth convict, Pete Pullman, gray-haired, fifty, had a ten-year sentence for criminal assault with intent to rape. Here again, justice had been lenient with Pete as it had with George Budrow. He had accosted a married woman in a saloon, and she had been waiting for her husband with whom she had had a recent spat. To avenge herself on him, she had accepted a date with Pete Pullman, who had promptly driven her to his apartment and there ripped off her clothes and fucked her. Character witnesses had proved that Pete Pullman had never before been guilty of such anti-social conduct, and also that the woman was known as something of a promiscuous tramp. Again these circumstances had mitigated his sentence.
But together, these four men were dangerous and ruthless, and when the Martins fell into their hands, there would be a dreadful reckoning for the unsuspecting family who were on their way to California.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The four escapees had ingeniously escaped by climbing into burlap sacks which were hauled into a truck driving from the prison at Hanford to Abilene on a Saturday night. They were to be left at a food warehouse and there loaded with dry staples like rice and flour and beans which then would be trucked back to the prison by Monday noon. Ben Salters, who was an excellent judge of distance and had done a great deal of automobile driving in his day, had been able to estimate at about what point they should break out of their sacks and leap out of the truck. They managed this feat about three miles before the city limits of Abilene.
"What we gotta do, boys," Ben announced, "is get rid of these prison rags and get ourselves some civie duds. And some food, and a good shave and bath, so we look like regular citizens."
"I dunno," Mack Bolton dubiously scratched his head. "Don't you think the bulls would be combing all over Abilene for us guys when they find us missing at checkout for chapel tomorrow?"
"Sure they will. But if we get ourselves dressed up nice and fancy, maybe find some hair dye and a car, we can hide out maybe in a farmhouse and not be bothered. That's why I picked this place, because there are a couple of old farmhouses about a mile apart along this stretch of the road. Now let's us guys beat it to the north, get down into that ravine, and on past that little range of hills. Seems like when they drove me here to start serving my time, I remember a house that's nice and hidden from the road."
The four men hurried down into a ravine and up over the range of hills, and then were lost from view as they trotted, crouching low to avoid detection, towards the distant light of a little farmhouse.
Nelda Ames was washing dishes, and wishing that her husband hadn't taken it into his head to drive over to Buford to see his folks this weekend. She was sick and tired of being marooned out here where Christ had lost his shoes. He had taken the only car they had, and she sure as the dickens wasn't going to walk three miles into Abilene. Besides, even if she got there, there wasn't much to do. She didn't care about the movies, and the boy friend she ought to have married had pulled up stakes four years ago-just six months after she had settled down with Dave-and gone to Salt Lake City. He'd dropped her a postcard from there about a year later, and he'd found himself a chick and was getting married to her. It was a darned shame the way life turned out, Nelda Ames reflected. What she wouldn't give to be in a big town instead of this Godforsaken prairie. Even granting that Dave was a fair enough farmer and made a living for them, it was terribly lonely out here in the midst of nowhere. And she knew she was good-looking enough to rate more than this in life. They didn't have any kids, and it was a good thing, too. Dave didn't especially like them, and he wasn't all that good a lover in bed. Not the way her real boy friend had been.
She closed her eyes for a moment and thought dreamily of the times she'd had before she'd finally said yes to Dave. There'd been that night in the hayloft in his Dad's barn, where he'd chased her, they'd started giggling, and all of a sudden they'd looked at each other, and the next thing she knew, her panties were down around her heels and she was being fucked to a faretheewell. Oh God, how he'd been able to love her! Nothing like Dave at all. Dave was a journeyman fucker compared to her boy friend. Dave got on top and then it was over in about two minutes and Dave was snoring five minutes after that. What sort of life was this for a woman?
Nelda Ames had every right to ask that question. She was only twenty-eight, with comsilk-blonde hair cut in a short pageboy, heavy-lidded dark brown eyes, a straight nose with very thin wings, a small ripe mouth, dimpled chin, and a tawny complexion. Her body was breath-taking. Even in the cheap flour-sack dress she had made for herself, there was no gainsaying the long lovely legs, with the gradually swelling calves, the full ripening thighs that merged into a juicy, lushly rounded bottom whose tightly spaced cheeks undulated when she walked, and a pair of high-set uptilting widely spaced titties to match. They still didn't need a bra, even at her age. And all those charms were being wasted on Dave. He did it in the dark and he didn't even care if she was naked. He just hauled up her nightie and let fly. She was really regretting this weekend ... and she was going to regret it a great deal more for his having abandoned her on this particular Saturday night.
"Now keep low and don't make a sound, you guys," Ben Salters whispered to the trio huddled around him. "I'll go in first. I don't see enough lights to tell me there's a guy at home. If there is, I'll get his attention and you, Mack, brain him with that rock you picked up in the ravine."
"I gotcha," Mack Bolton grinned cruelly. He was thinking of his wife and her lover, and how he had settled their hash once and for all.
"Okay, here goes," Ben Salters chuckled. He moved quietly toward the back door, saw a screened-in porch off to one side from the kitchen, and then knocked softly on the kitchen door which was ascended to by three wooden steps. Apparently the porch connected from a side room just off the kitchen, but there wasn't any entrance into it at all, unless you cut the screen.
"Who's there?" Nelda's voice was husky and low, a bedroom voice for fair, although her husband Dave Ames had never really noticed.
"I caught hurt ma'am, and I wonder if you can help," Ben Salters called. He grinned to his cronies, waved to them to hide at the side of the wall of the frame house, and not to show themselves till he gave the sign.
"Just-just a minute," Nelda exclaimed. Ben Salters grinned as he heard the key turn in the lock and then saw the door draw slowly open. Nelda peered out, still holding the knob warily. "Who are you?"
"I wonder if your man's home, lady," Ben Salters gasped as if he were in pain. "Somebody's got to drive me to the doctor in Abilene."
"I'm sorry, but my husband's not here and-what are you doing-stop it-help-oh my God!"
Nelda Ames had said the wrong thing, and Ben Salters had lunged forward, banging open the door and sending her stumbling backwards. The other men had poured into the kitchen, and now the frantic farmer's wife cringed against the table, her eyes wide with terror, her magnificent titties rising and falling with agitation.
"Well now," Ben Salters licked his lips, "Looks like to me we came just in the nick of time, eh, boys? The little lady's husband has gone and beat it and here it is Saturday night and things oughta be lively around the house."
"You-you're convicts!" Nelda Ames gasped, seeing Ben Salters' gray uniform with the arrows marking the legs and the sides and the chest.
"Go to the head of the class, baby," he snickered. "What's your name?"
"You get out of here. I'm not going to help convicts-" she began.
"You're going to help us turn into something else, baby. Now what's you name, or would you like me to bash your face in?" Ben Salters growled. Mack Bolton approached, now lifting his hand and showing the horrified Nelda the rock which his fingers curved around, ready to use as a lethal weapon.
"It-it's N-Nelda-Ames." she quavered. "For God's sake, don't hurt me!"
"How long is your hubby going to be away, baby?" Ben Salters demanded as he approached her. His eyes were feasting on the tumultous rise and fall of her beautiful bubbies, and the lovely tawny skin of her bare arms. She was wearing cheap cotton stockings, but even in those the lovely sweep and curl of her calves was enough to make a man's prick harden ... particularly when that man had been in prison and didn't know what a woman looked like, hardly.
"Till tomorrow night." Nelda Ames quavered. "I-I'll give you money, but for God's sake please go! I-I'm afraid."
"Well, boys, the little lady's afraid," Ben Salters guffawed. "Ain't that a crying shame! Mack, I guess you're so homely you scare her. And Pete and George, you guys need a shave bad. Okay, Nelda, suppose you give us some chow to start with. And nake it snappy if you don't want a good going-]ver."
"I-I'll get you something." she promised, her teeth chattering, as she went to the refrigerator. The four men watched with glittering eyes at the sight of those undulating hips and bottom-cheeks. They exchanged a significant glance. Whatever else they took from this farmhouse tonight, they would take Nelda Ames's chastity as well!
CHAPTER TWELVE
Nelda Ames, coerced by fear as well as the hope that by cooperating with the four convicts she might escape injury, had prepared an appetizing supper which was just now being finished. She had made a tasty lamb stew, hot biscuits, and there was a big deep dish apple pie in the refrigerator, with good strong black coffee.
"Christ," Mack Bolton swore as he shoved back his pie plate after a second helping, and patted his paunch, "best chow I've had since I went to stir This broad can sling a mean skillet."
"She sure can," Ben Salter agreed. Then, with a wink ot Mack and the other two men, he added, "Seems like we really ought to pay her for all the trouble she went to."
"Oh, it-it was no trouble at all, really," Nelda Ames uttered a nervous little laugh which had no humor in it whatsoever. "I-I was going to have to eat supper anyway, so all I had to do was set four more places, that's all."
"Ain't she a nice accommodating bitch?" Mack Bolton chuckled, picking his teeth with a dirty fingernail and leering at the shrinking blonde farmer's wife whose eyes shifted here and there, scared as she was, trying to read from the expressions on her four unwanted guests' faces what humor they were in. "Your hubby's a lucky guy, baby."
"Th-thank you," Nelda stammered, her face crimsoning. Mack Bolton's eyes boldly studied her neck and then her breasts, which were still rising and falling quickly against the flower sack dress which she had contrived into a rather attractive costume. Only trouble was, it was a dark material, so it hid from his eyes what she had against her bare skin. He had a fierce hunger growing in his cock. He remembered how his wife Mae used to take care of him on a Saturday night, after a hard week's work. God, could she shag, till she went and brought another guy into their place and did it right before his eyes on his own bed. He hadn't put his cock into a good hot tight pussy in so damn long he almost had forgotten what a pussy felt like. He was willing to bet that Nelda Ames could really take care of a man when he wanted his ashes hauled, no two ways about it.
Before Mack Bolton's wordless and insistent scrutiny, the handsome blonde young matron finally shoved back her chair and rose, stammering, "I-I'll do the dishes and get them out of the way."
"Great," Ben Salters winked at the other three. "Clear the decks for action, I always say. Then we can be ready for a little entertainment."
"En-entertainment?" Nelda Ames echoed, as she turned back, her eyes widening with astonishment.
"Why, sure, baby, we ain't going nowhere tonight. So it's up to you to put on a good show and keep us happy," Mack Bolton sadistically remarked. "Ain't that right, George?"
George Budrow nodded his head and grinned, revealing the empty spaces where his front teeth had been. Nelda Ames shuddered, and her heart began to pound wildly as she began to understand the leering greediness of their gazes, all now fixed unrelentingly upon her. But she tried to bluff it out, for it was the only thing she had left: "I'm afraid we don't have much. There's the TV set, and my husband's got a portable phonograph and a few records, but that's about it."
"Hell, baby, we get radio and TV in stir," Mack Bolton jeered as he rose, shoving back his chair, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his convict trousers. "That's not entertainment. What we need is a good hot piece of ass. You look like you could give it to a guy, too, sister."
"Oh no-please-n-no," Nelda Ames panted, shrinking back against the sink, her hands clutching the end of it to support herself, her thighs beginning to tremble as their eyes glittered and narrowed with lustful intent.
"Hey, you know something, you guys?" Mack Bolton asked. "I don't think our little Nelda is real interested in putting on a show for us. Now why do you suppose is that?"
"Please-please don't hurt me-I-I've done what you wanted-I'll give you money-anything, but please get out of here!" the attractive blonde farmer's wife gasped, tears welling to her eyes.
"Let's go into the bedroom with this broad, maybe she likes privacy. After all, the kitchen ain't no place to fuck," Pete Pullman grinned obscenely.
"That's a great idea. Come on, honey, show us the way," George Budrow grinned.
But Nelda Ames turned frantically around, wanting to escape. Anticipating her maneuver, Mack Bolton lunged at her and caught her by the wrist, dragged her back until with a cry of terror, she stumbled against him. He put his other hand against her bottom, and he growled, "Next time you try that, sister, you'll sure wish you hadn't! Now get into that bedroom, and make it damn fast!"
Nelda Ames began to cry, bowing her head and hiding her face in her hands. Mack Bolton sniggered cruelly and, raising his right hand, delivered a sonorous swat to the young woman's right bottom summit. With a wail of pain and surprise, Nelda Ames stumbled forward, as the four men gathered around her, escorting her in mock gallantry to her own connubial bedroom.
"Where does your hubby keep his clothes, Nelda baby?" Ben Salters demanded.
"In-in the closet in here," Nelda piteously sobbed, as she stumbled across the threshold. There was a large wide double bed, a padded leather couch against the wall, a chest of drawers, and a straight-backed chair. The shades were drawn, and there was a quilted comforter on the bed.
"Take a look in the closet," Ben Salters told Pete Pullman, who gave him a scowling look, but obeyed. Swinging open the closet door and pulling the light cord, the gray-haired convict glanced inside, then exclaimed: "Hey, four or five good suits. Looks like they might fit us all. Except for maybe you, Mack, you've got a belly on you, guy."
"You'll get a shot of lead in yours, you bastard, if you keep making cracks like that anymore," Mack Bolton snarled.
"Take it easy, you guys, let's not fight among ourselves. We all agreed that Nelda here has been a real nice girl and given us a fine supper, and we're going to thank her for it and show her how obliged we are, now, aren't we?" Ben Salters said with a mocking smile on his lips.
"That's sure right," George Budrow fervently agreed, licking his lips and staring at the shrinking and trembling young woman who had to lean against the edge of the bed for support.
"What say you start by peeling off that lousy dress. Damn if it ain't made out of a flour sack," Mack Bolton said disgustedly.
"Oh-what-what are you going to do to me-oh please, don't hurt me, don't touch me, I'll do anything else you want, I-I know where my hubby hides some money, I'll give it all to you, but just get out and leave me be!" Nelda Ames pleaded.
Mack Bolton approached her and, with a cruel grin, plunged his left hand into her short pageboy, then yanked it, tilting back her head, and at the same time delivered two vicious slaps against her left cheek which made her scream and twist. "When I tell you to do something, bitch, you hop to it, see?" he growled. "Want a couple of more?" Again he drew back his hand.
"Oh don't, don't hit me, please, I-I can't stand pain, please-please give me time to-to know what you want," Nelda Ames tearfully blurted. On her fine tawny skin, the angry red blotches of Mack Bolton's palm burned fiercely.
"I'll give you time, all right, baby," he leered at her. "I'm going to count five, see, and if you haven't got that lousy sack peeled off by then, I'll really start working you over. If you don't think I can, you ought to know what I did to my wife when I caught her cheating on me. Now get moving. One ... two ... three-"
With a frightened little cry, Nelda Ames stooped, seized the hem of her flour-sack dress and tugged it up over her head and shoulders, let it drop to the floor from nerveless fingers, then cowered back against the wall, her eyes huge with terror and glistening with tears.
"Wow!" George Budrow gasped, "look at that pair of knockers the bitch has got on her!"
Under the dress, Nelda Ames wore only a cheap white cotton bra held snugly against the uptilting gourds of her luscious titties with a narrow bandeau that hooked at the back, matching panties, and nothing more. The day was too warm for stockings, and the dry Kansas air made her want to wear as little as she needed to against her tender skin. That was another thing she missed; in a big city, or at least one like Salt Lake City where her boyfriend had gone, she'd take more pains to make herself pretty, go to the beauty parlor once a week. But it meant borrowing Dave's car and driving into Abilene and spending a lot of money which Dave wouldn't hold kindly for, because he was a tight one with a dollar. And whenever she asked him for some money for dress goods, he'd always chuckle and say that she could make do with the sacks he brought home from the feed store, because after all they weren't going calling on anyone and he knew what she looked like under the sack. And now ... and now these four horrible convicts were going to know that, too.
"Say, we gotta draw lots to see who's gonna fuck this juicy broad first," Mack Bolton tugged off his convict coat, and then his undershirt, baring his fat, hairy chest. Nelda's eyes grew bigger and bigger with terror, as she huddled herself against the wall and the edge of the bed, her arms folded around her panting breasts, the very picture of female anguish at bay.
"Yeah, we gotta do that," Ben Salters agreed. "Nelda, baby, you got a deck of cards in the house somewhere?"
"Oh please, please don't touch me-oh I can't-please, I don't want to-won't you let me be-won't you be kind and take pity on me-I-I fed you, and I'll give you money-and-" she sobbed helplessly.
But Mack Bolton, with a hoarse little laugh, again plunged his left hand into her hair, yanked it and applied two more stinging slaps across her already blotched cheek, drawing cries of pain from the sufferer. "Just make up your mind you're gonna get shagged, bitch, and that you're gonna be nice about it, see?" he menaced, drawing back his hand for another blow. "Now where's that deck of cards?"
"In-in the drawer of the d-desk in the 1-living-room," Nelda wept poignantly.
"Go get it, Pete," Mack directed. The gray-haired convict glared and was about to reply, but thought better of it, and left the room. The other three men stared greedily at the sobbing, cringing Nelda in just bra and panties. Her calves were elegantly shaped, sleek and slim as they rose above the ankles, ripening into breathtaking curves as they reached the full resilent apex of their contour. She had dimpled knees, and her thighs were equally lovely in their rounding proportion, from slender grace to womanly fullness, and then the appetizing juncture at those ripe rounded, tightly spaced bot-tomcheeks.
"Here's the cards," Pete Pullman announced as he hurried back into the bedroom.
"Okay, you guys, we'll shuffle them up, and then we'll each cut. High man gets first crack at Nelda's crack, haw, haw haw!" Mack Bolton sniggered. Then, to the terrified young woman, he ordered, "You better start peeling your duds off bitch, because by the time we find out who's gonna be first in bed with you, you better be Goddam good and ready, see?"
And when, numb with horror at the fate which awaited her, the unfortunate blonde matron stared at him, unable to speak, he applied still another slap against her already darkeningly blotched cheek, drawing a wail of pain. "Don't you understand English, you dumb bitch? Take off that bra and those pants, and do it fast!"
Sobbing pitifully, Nelda Ames reached behind her with trembling hands to find the hooks and eyes of the brassiere, which at last fluttered to the floor. The other men had begun to crouch over the bed, while Pete Pullman shuffled the deck like an expert.
"Who gets first cut, though?" he suspiciously queried.
"I think us lifers ought to have first try," Ben Salters amiably interposed. "You and George get out of stir a helluva sight faster than we ever will. I'll go first, since I was the guy that found this place."
"I guess that's right," Mack Bolton said with a surly look. "But make it snappy, and I get second cut."
Then he turned back to stare at the almost naked, whimpering and trembling blonde captive, who had crossed her arms over her heaving naked titties, biting her lips in despair and helplessness. "Get those pants off!"
Nelda burst into hysterical sobs as she stooped, inserted her trembling fingers inside the waistband of the cheap cotton panties, and began to tug them slowly down. She tried to prolong it as much as she could, but when Mack Bolton took another step towards her, she uttered a frightened little cry and frantically yanked them down to her knees, then let them fall to her ankles and stepped out of them. She was naked except for her sandals.
"Holy jeez," he breathed, licking his lips avidly, his chest heaving with his lust. Already his prick had begun to jab against the crotch of the convict pants, and its formidable length made poor Nelda shudder as she realized that she must service four brutal, desperate men who, sex-starved as they must be from their sojourn in prison, would spare her nothing.
She was so cowed by his glare that she didn't put her hand over her pussy, which she was dying to do. It was extremely thickly furred, with a light brown-ish-hued fleece that disappeared beyond her crotch and on towards the groove which separated the succulent round cheeks of her behind. It completely hid the quivering lips of her cunt. Her titties rose and fell violently now, and Mack Bolton's beady eyes lifted to contemplate those treasures. The aureola were narrow and of a dark coral tint that was delicious against the tawny sheen of her naked skin. The nipples were crinkly and pert, for she had never given suck to a child. Soft little curls of light brownish hair grew in her sweating armpits, and her body was a voluptuary's delight.
"Come on, Mack, it's your turn to cut," Ben Salters exulted. "Me, I just turned up a jack of diamonds!"
Mack Bolton reluctantly strode to the bed, reached for the deck, hesitated a moment, then lifted part of it and turned up a nine of spades, swore disgustedly, "Son of a bitch anyhow!"
"I'm next by seniority," Pete Pullman growled as he reached for the deck. He turned up a three of hearts and swore even more loudly than Mack Bolton, who had begun to guffaw.
George Budrow now came forward, and made his cut. His was a king of spades. "Whee!" he crowed, holding up the card for all to see including poor whimpering Nelda. "I got first dabs at that sweet piece of cooze!"
With this, he yanked off his convict coat and then his pants, his undershirt, and unbuttoned his shorts, revealing an elongated penis whose length was rather more than usual, though the breadth was not overly fearsome. "All right, Nelda baby, get your ass onto that bed!" he commanded. "You other guys, you wait your turn, and give me fucking room!"
"Oh please don't, oh don't do it to me, oh my God, I don't want to," Nelda wept.
"You put up any more squawks, bitch," Mack Bolton snarled at her, "and I'll spreadeagle you on that bed and tie you up and gag you, and then I'll let you have the belt on your bare ass until the blood runs down your legs, see? Now get into that bed and get ready!"
"Don't give the poor girl such a hard time," Ben Salters joked. "You're sore because you're third in line for her crack!"
"Yeah?" Mack Bolton growled. "I might just decide to use her other end, that's what, after you guys butter up her bun for me. Me, I like a nice dry tight hole to fuck in. Okay, Nelda, are you getting into bed or do you have to be helped?"
"Oh no, I-I'll do it-oh don't hit me, don't hurt me," Nelda whimpered. She stumbled towards the bed, put her knee on it and clambered onto it, as all eyes greedily devoured the pendant fruits of her firm-tipped titties. George Budrow followed, kicking off his heavy workshoes and flexing his toes in the dirty cotton socks, his prick throbbing with animosity and anticipation.
With a sob, Nelda Ames lay down on her back, arms at her sides, and twisted her face to one side and closed her eyes as if to remain oblivious through this coerced surrender of her naked person. George Budrow sniggered as he knelt between her legs, his eyes roaming her quivering nakedness, and then he put out a hand and playfully patted her stomach. Nelda's belly button was wide and shallow, and her belly was smooth and sleek, and it shivered under the obscene caress which intimated the beginning of her martyrdom. A stifled little whimpering sob escaped her clenched lips.
"Boy, I'll bet this bitch is squirmy as hell, way down underneath her skin/' he turned to regard his cronies. "Living way out here in this goddam prairie, married to a farmer, most like as not, he probably don't even give her what she needs. Ain't that right, Nelda honey? Well, you just keep those sweet legs open, and I'm gonna prong you so good you're gonna want to have me around the place reg'lar!"
"Can the chatter and start fucking, you dumb jerk," Mack Bolton growled irritatedly.
"You just gotta wait your turn, Mack," the lanky towheaded convict grinned. His left hand was caressing Nelda's belly, and now his right hand moved over the thick curls of her crotch, his fingertips playing with her private hair, delving slyly to feel the twitching pink lips of her crevice. "She's dry as hell," he announced. "I'll oil her up, you watch and see. Okay, Nelda baby, here goes for the first crack at your twat! I'm gonna give you a real good ride, baby!"
So saying, he stretched himself over her, and Nelda uttered a groan of heartrending despair to feel his body merging with hers, to feel his hard long thrusting, ripping prick gouge for the secret cavern of her womanhood. She winced as he prodded viciously against her groin, and then his fingers dug into her hips as he steadied her, groping with the tip of his stiff prong for the secret orifice. At last, after several essays, he found the outer labia of her slit, and pushed forward. Nelda bit her lips and twisted her face to the other side, her face crimsoning, tears seeping out from under her quivering, closed eyelids, her nostrils dilating and shrinking erratically.
Suddenly, with a massive thrust, the towheaded convict rammed his prick into her vaginal sheath. Nelda uttered a groan and squirmed and arched, despite herself, for the rasping, brutal dig exacerbated the tender tissues of her soft quim. "See? She's starting to wriggle, she feels what I've got to hose her with, you guys," George Budrow exulted.
He thrust forward still more, with a gasp, "Cris-sake, but she's tight! Almost like she was cherry! That hubby of yours sure don't grease you up proper, Nelda baby, but don't you worry none, we will, for fair!"
He wriggled forward on her, slipping his hands under her buttocks, and Nelda again groaned as she felt herself crammed up to his hilt, his hairs grinding against hers, in lubricious cohesion.
"Boy, is she tight and hot for fuckin'!" George Budrow breathed. His lean fingers sank viciously into the round resilent bare buttocks of the victim, and Nelda Ames groaned and turned her face again to the other side, clenching her fists, trying with all her might to remain passive and unyielding, so that this atrocity would pass and leave her unscathed.
"Looks like a cold potato to me, Georgie," Mack Bolton taunted. "Now me, if I was cuking her, she'd really be squalling and bucking until you'd hear that mattress creak from here to Abilene! Looks like to me your cock isn't big enough to wake her up!"
"Oh, yeah?" the towheaded convict angrily flung back, "I'll make her give down her cream, you watch! Now then, Nelda baby, let's you and me fuck!"
With this, he drew himself back, then crammed viciously to the hilt inside her cunt, drawing a stifled gasp of pain from the unfortunate naked captive, for the violent friction rasped her tender tissues. Mistaking this for response, he continued the furious gait, cramming back and forth, his sinewy buttocks tightening and jerking spasmodically as he fucked her. He pinched her bottom to elicit more cooperative enthusiasm, but all he drew were sobbing gasps and groans and tears as Nelda tried to remain impervious to her rapist. Nor did the rape take long, for the youngest of the four escapees had little self-control after so long a denial from the sweet clasp of pussy, and at last with an angry cry, he thrust himself to the balls and exploded within her, drenching her with the spatter of his gism.
Then he pulled out, and got out of bed. "She's a dead fish," he proclaimed angrily, "I bet none of you bastards can work her up good."
"Get me a towel from the bathroom, and be of some use even if you don't know how to fuck a bitch," Ben Salters chuckled. "I like a dry pussy because I can make it as wet as I like when I blow my wad. Hurry up with that towel!"
"All right, all right, keep your shirt on," George Budrow angrily exclaimed as he walked into the bathroom while Ben Salters now stripped down to his shorts and socks, kicking off his workshoes, and, unbuttoning his shorts, displayed a broader if not quite so long prick, with gnarled, very hairy balls. "This little toy will wake the bitch up, you watch, you guys," he boasted.
He knelt on the bed between Nelda's twitching thighs, as George Budrow tossed him the towel from the doorway of the bathroom. Bending, he began to wipe out the stickied lobbyway of her quim, making her gasp and blush furiously, while tears poured down her flushed cheeks. She had dug her nails into her palms, her eyes were tightly closed, but her lips were trembling convulsively.
"Get ready, baby, I'm gonna make you hit the ceiling," Ben Salters bragged. Lowering himself, he easily found the moistened gateway, and deftly inserted his prick, working it in slowly, inch by inch. His hands cupped Nelda's titties, and began to squeeze and fondle them, until at last he was in her to the hilt, and his mouth crushed over hers, demandingly exerting his male mastery over her helpless, palpitating naked body.
He fucked her slowly, but he did not bring her to climax as he had promised he would; once again, the long denial of prison life had attenuated his self-restraint, and after two or three minutes, he uttered a shout of anger and exploded his lust-lava deep into Nelda's womb.
It was now Mack Bolton's turn, and he was already prepared, having taken off even his shorts and leaving on only his socks. He took the towel which had been flung to the foot of the bed, roughly swabbed her stickied cunt, flung it to the floor, and then knelt down between her thighs. "This time, you're gonna do a little of the work, you crummy bitch," he told Nelda Ames. "You're gonna put your arms around my neck and hold on tight, and you're gonna kiss me good, hear? Otherwise I'll take a belt to your ass and that's not the only place I'll lay it onto, savvy?"
Nelda could not speak, but only nod, tears blinding her dilated eyes as she stared at the hairy, fat, but cruelly muscular naked convict.
"And I want to feel those legs of yours wrap over my ass, too, when I'm shagging you," he added. With this, he edged himself forward until just the tip of his prick pressed between the pouting, moist, twitching lips of Nelda Ames' quim, and then he put his right forefinger into her slit and found the dainty nodule of her clitoris. He began to stroke it very slowly and gently, and suddenly Nelda Ames opened her eyes and uttered a moaning sob: "Aaahhh! Oh don't do that-oh don't, please don't!" while at the same time her hips executed a convulsive swerving movement.
"My God, wouldja look at that," George Budrow gasped incredulously. "She shook it like a real two-dollar whore that time, she did. What the hell did you do to her, Mack?"
"You young punks don't know nothing about screwing a dame," Mack Bolton bragged. "Okay, Nelda, mind what I told you now, hug those arms and legs over me when I'm reaming you out, bitch." With this, he sank himself to the hilt inside her cunt, but kept his right forefinger between their bodies as his left hand gripped her by the hair and yanked at it, tilting her face up, taunting her features into a mask of helpless agony. Then loudly he began to suck and kiss one of her nipples, which began to glisten and to stiffen and to darken under this osculatory veneration. His finger had returned to the lodestone of her life, and was plying it with delicate touches. Nelda's face turned this way and that, and then she uttered a cry of "Oh God, oh stop it, ooohhh!" and suddenly her arms and legs locked over the fat hairy murderer as she gave up her veneer of ostrich-like imperviousness, beginning to feel for the first time since her marriage the wakening of deep-rooted emotions in her matrix.
Mack Bolton's fleshy lips fused over hers, and his tongue dug and gouged between her lips, as he slowly fucked her, while his finger kept up its persistent tickling. Nelda writhed and groaned, sobbing and gasping, babbling incoherent words, as her eyes rolled in their sockets, and her body jerked and jumped each time his prick retreated from its moist tightening haven.
Gritting his teeth to hold himself back all he could, Mack Bolton pursued his expert siege on Nelda Ames's emotions, till suddenly, her head rose from the rumpled pillow and she uttered a raucous cry just as he thrust himself in for the last time and felt himself shatteringly release all his pent-up gismic burden. Her body writhed and bucked and squirmed under him, her legs shifting over his buttocks, her nails gouging his shoulderblades, as her face twisted to one side, her eyes mad and staring, her nostrils flaring and shrinking, in the proclamation of her own unwilling but coerced orgasm.
Pete Pullman was next with her, but the scene had excited him so that the unfortunate young woman's ordeal was mercifully terminated. But that was only the first bout, a kind of "warmup," as Mack Bolton salaciously put it.
For now the unfortunate blonde captive heard herself ordered by the brutal murderer, "Now, you little bitch, now that you've got the hang of it, you're going to give us seconds. And you're going to suck us till we're hard and ready for your twat! The same order we drew the cards in, we're gonna let you French us good!"
George Budrow let out a cry of pleasure as he scrambled onto the bed and, crawling on his knees up over Nelda's torso, reached her face and dangled his limp, greasied cock over her mouth. "Suck it, you bitch," he panted hoarsely.
But Nelda Ames revolted: twisting her face away, her teeth clenched, she refused, even though her younger assailant applied three or four harsh stinging slaps alross her cheek.
"Lemme handle this, Georgie," Mack Bolton rasped. Unwillingly, George Budrow clambered off the moaning victim, and Mack Bolton seized her by the hair, as he seated himself on the edge of the bed, then dragged her pitilessly across his lap, shrieking in pain and trying to tear away the clutch of his cruel fingers. Clamping his left arm around her waist, he raised his fleshy right hand and brought it down with a furious smack on the ripest curve of her naked right bottomcheek, leaving a fiery red outline of his palm. Nelda Ames uttered a yelp and kicked her legs in the air, looking back with frantic eyes. A second spank followed on the other cheek, and then Mack Bolton began to spank the naked victim furiously, alternating on each bounding, tightening, round, resilient satiny globe, until the angry flame of fustigation marred the smooth tawny sheen of her bare flesh.
"Oww-oh don't, it hurts-Aiii! Oh please stop, oh my God, it hurts me-I can't stand it-Aarrrhhh! Oh please, don't spank me anymore, I can't stand it, I can't-Owww!! No more, I-I'll do what you want-oh stop, you're hurting me so dreadfully-Eeyaahhhrrr!!"
By the time he had administered about forty hard sonorous slaps over her bounding and jerking naked bottomcheeks, Nelda Ames hysterically shrieked for mercy and agreed to perform the odious task.
And then in turn each man knelt over her face, while, at Mack Bolton's mockingly taunting order, she was obliged to reach out her hands and grip her partner's buttocks, as she raised her head to put her lips to the limp and greasied organ so that she might harden it for the task of ravaging her anew.
All the convicts had "seconds" in that way, and in the same order in which they had cut the cards. Poor Nelda, her resistance and her pride destroyed by the humiliating spanking, and by the helpless violation of her body, experienced two more orgasms before the night was done.
They bathed, shaved, and then appropriated her husband's suits. Mack Bolton found a hidden wallet in one of the pantry jars, with about eighty-seven dollars, and appropriated it. Then, at dawn on Sunday morning, after a quick breakfast, they left the Ames house, with Nelda gagged and bound and locked in the closet and the key flushed down the toilet.
They had found some of her blonde shampoo tint, and used it, and this coupled with new clothes and a bath and shave made them almost unrecognizable as the grimy, hardened, desperate convicts who had escaped scarcely twenty-four hours ago.
Ben Salters was making a plan of action. "This is summer," he reasoned, "and there'll be lots of tourists driving from back East on through Kansas and on their way maybe to California. What we've gotta do is to get ourselves picked up by a family, so we won't be dead marks to identify. And we've gotta keep in hiding until we find a family like that. I figure we oughta do it by early afternoon if we're gonna get out of this area at all. Now there's a broken down old cabin over by the highway, couple of miles east. We've gotta head for there and stay hidden and just watch the lay of the land and see what goes on. Once we get across the State line, we'll be okay."
And even as they planned, the car bearing the four Martins was nearing Abilene.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ranee Martin smiled at his beautiful wife. "How's that for figuring, honey? Didn't I tell you we'd hit Abilene around noon on Sunday? Pretty fair for an amateur driver I'd say."
"I had the greatest confidence in you from the very start, darling," Eleanor Martin replied. "And of course in the family Buick too."
"That's a fine thing to say," he chuckled. "After all, who takes the Buick into the shop to have it conditioned for a trip like this? Yours truly. Well, we'll have a bite and then try to make Hutchinson by evening so that we can have ourselves a good dinner. In the guidebook, there's a first-class restaurant on the highway just about a mile or two out of town."
"Suits me fine, so long as I don't do the cooking." Eleanor Martin laughed happily.
"Great going, Dad," Kenny piped up from the back seat.
"Thanks, son. Glad it meets with your approval. How about you, Dorothy?"
Dorothy flushed as she replied, "I'm fine, Dad. You're a smooth driver."
Her brother gave her a sidelong glance and there was just a faint curl to his lips. Dorothy Martin quivered and looked away out of the window. She was hoping that this trip would give her a chance to get Kenny off to one side and sign a kind of truce with him. Otherwise it would be simply miserable living with him. She would forget all about Dody if he-no, that would be to admit the shameful thing he might have seen her doing that afternoon. Here she was old enough to be married, and to think that her brother might have watched her playing with herself. It was absolutely unthinkable!
The four Martins stopped for a hamburger and soft drink, and Ranee Martin filled up the gas tank at a nearby service station, then got back into the car, took a look around to make sure that the rest of his family was ready for the resumption of the drive, and started up the motor. "How's the highway ahead?" He called to the pimply-faced young attendant who was wiping his windshield.
"Okay, I guess. There might be a roadblock, though, 'cause a couple of cons broke out of prison last night and they're looking for them."
"Well, I think the State troopers can easily see we aren't they. Thanks a lot," Ranee Martin chuckled as he shifted into gear and the Buick pulled away and onto the highway....
The deserted cabin was a little more spacious than the convicts had realized, and Ben Salters had the idea that they ought to stay in it just as long as they could, though not later than evening. They had to get themselves some sort of transportation across the state line, that was obvious.
"It's gotta be a good sized car, and it's gotta have a family in it of the kind that won't arouse any suspicion in case there's a roadblock," he told his cronies.
"You're right about that," Mack Bolton declared. "I wonder if Nelda's hubby ever did get back and find his cute little bitch of a wife?"
"Probably not this early. Didn't she say something about his getting back this afternoon? That's another reason we've got to lam out of here before the sun sets," Ben Salters declared. "Look, you guys, in this brown hat and that fedora hat I pinched from Nelda's hubby, and this shave and that hair tint stuff nobody's gonna spot me. I'm going over to the road and see what we can do about getting ourselves a lift before they put a real block on every road."
"Good idea," George Budrow grinned, showing the wide gap in his front teeth. "See if you can pick up a car that's got some real quiff in it like that Nelda. Boy, I wish we could have stayed a week there and shagged her every hour on the hour. I sorta went for her squirmy tail."
"If you want to live long enough to shag some more, George," Ben Salters declared, "you'd better just keep your brains about you and help us all get across the State line. Now, look, you might as well come out around the highway-there's a clump of trees over there you can hide behind, and watch my speed when I try to flag down a lift. There isn't much traffic this time of day, so the chances are pretty good."
* * *
"I never realized Kansas could be so lovely," Eleanor Martin said to her husband as the Buick smoothly purred along the highway. "I always pictured it as being just flat dry land. But there are trees and hills and dunes, and even creeks. And such lovely farmhouses!"
"And a lot that are deserted and rundown because their owners couldn't make it with bad luck and all," Ranee Martin told her. "See that sort of cabin out there by the ravine? There might be a story there; maybe some family, pioneer family just at the turn of the century, came out and settled down and just couldn't make it. Who knows what happened to them?"
He had seen the cabin in which the four escaped convicts had taken refuge, and he slowed down so that his wife could have a better view of it. It was old-fashioned and obviously quite old, and Ranee Martin had always been interested in American history. Just then Ben Salters moved out from a clump of bushes and, taking off his fedora, smilingly approached: "Hi, neighbors. Wonder if you could give us some help?"
"What's the matter?" Ranee Martin asked solicitously.
"Well, my buddies and I, we had an accident with our car, and there was a thunderstorm out here last night and we had to stay in that cabin. We'd like to get back to town and send some service man out for our car. Two flats, and the rim of one wheel seems to be damaged a little."
"Why, I think I could take you into town, we're heading for Hutchinson. But there must be some other smaller towns before we get to that, where they've got a mechanic," Ranee said. "Hop in the back seat. My name's Martin, Ranee Martin. And my daughter Dorothy and my son Kenny are back there. This is my wife Eleanor."
"Glad to meet you all," Ben Salters grinned as he pretended to hobble towards the back door of the big Buick. As he reached for the handle, he turned his head and emitted a piercing whistle. Immediately, from the clump of bushes about a dozen feet away, the three other convicts hurried out. "These are my buddies, and we'd be mighty beholden if you could drop us off at the first town," he explained.
"Well, I don't know," Ranee Martin said doubtfully, "I don't know if we could handle four. Why couldn't I just take you and then send the mechanic and a tow-truck back for your car?"
"Because, buddy," Ben Salters said sibilantly, even though he was smiling, "You're going to play it our way, see? I've got my hand in my pocket on a gun, and I'd just as soon blow your head off, Mister, as look at you. Now, you're just going to have to make room for us, even if your kids have to sit on the floor, get me?"
"Oh my God, Ranee, do as he says," Eleanor Martin gasped, her eyes widening with horror.
"The little lady has got sense," Ben Salters chuckled. "Okay, boys, get into the back and I'll sit up in front and I think we can make it. These are the Martins, boys. The girl back there is Dorothy, and this is the guy's wife Eleanor."
"Not bad," Mack Bolton muttered thickly, his beady eyes fixing on the lovely matron, who colored hotly and averted her eyes.
"Do as the man says, Dorothy, Kenny," Ranee Martin's voice trembled a little. "We don't want any trouble, so we'll take you where you want to go. But we're on our way to California and we'd appreciate it if you'd get out as soon as you could."
"That's fair enough," Ben Salters grinned crookedly, "We wouldn't want to spoil your vacation, now would we, fellows?"
"Hell, no," Pete Pullman sniggered. He had squnched into the back seat, at Dorothy's right, and his thigh was pressing hard against hers. Her face was scarlet with embarrassment and fear, as she huddled herself as much as she could to avoid the unpleasant contact. He grinned at her: "You're cute, baby. I could sort of go for you."
"Please don't talk that way," Ranee Martin placatingly urged. "I'm going to help you, so there's no need to have any unpleasantness."
"Only unpleasantness will be what you make, Buster," Ben Salters chuckled. "Now get driving."
Kenny found himself rudely pushed onto the floor, and finally, out of indignation, seated himself on the floor and clamped his arms around his knees which he drew up under his chin. Next to Pete was George Budrow and then burly bald Mack Bolton.
"So you're going to California?" Ben Salters began a genial line of conversation. "I've been there lots of times. Gonna see friends there or something?"
"Yes we are," Ranee Martin grimly replied, his eyes on the road ahead. There was almost no traffic, but the sky was darkening, and it was evident that a thunderstorm was not too far off.
"Say, we're gonna have a spell of weather, looks like," Pete Pullman said in a confidential tone as he turned to Dorothy Martin whose lovely body he could feel against his because of the crowding of the back seat. "Where do you folks come from?"
"Chicago."
"Hell, that's a great town, that is," he said enthusiastically to Ranee Martin. "Well, I wouldn't mind if we got to California ourselves."
"I thought your car was broken down and you wanted to get it fixed," Ranee glanced at him uneasily.
"Oh hell, a guy can always pick up another car. Right now, we just want to have company on our ride. You're doin' great, Mr. Martin. Just keep it up and nobody will get hurt," Ben Salters said, his hand still in his pocket imitating a gun-which he didn't have. He did have a jack-knife, and he knew how to use it if need be.
They passed a little town, and Ranee Martin slowed to observe the speed limits. Ben Salters approved of this: "You're my kind of driver, Mr. Martin. No sense getting a ticket on Sunday from some hick cop, I always say. We don't want the cops, do we boys?"
"Like we want holes in our head," George Budrow piped up.
"I don't understand," Eleanor Martin faltered, "Who are you men, and what do you really want?"
"Might as well tell her, Ben," Mack Bolton growled, giving Eleanor Martin a smirking look. He was already hot for her panties, and he had already resolved to get them off one way or another. And that sweet bitch on the back seat over there next to Pete wasn't bad either. Ben Salters had really made a haul for himself. He had to give the guy a grudging kind of respect, finding Nelda Ames and the clothes and the food and a nice place to stay overnight.
"Well, the fact is, Mr. Martin, we broke out of prison last night and we aim to stay out of it," Ben Salters pleasantly remarked.
Eleanor Martin uttered a cry and put her hand to her mouth, her eyes huge with terror, "Oh my God, please, we won't tell on you, we won't turn you in. Just don't hurt us. Don't hurt my daughter and my son! We'll do what you tell us to!"
"Well, now, baby, that's the best offer I've had in years," Mack Bolton drawled, meeting her gaze and winking lewdly at her. Eleanor gasped and promptly turned her face away, blushing violently. And a secret terror began to invade her, for in that look she had recognized the predatory lust of the criminal male.
"Hey, Ben," George Budrow excitedly pointed towards the right-hand rear window, "That looks like a deserted house. And it's starting to rain. Why don't we turn off the road and go down to that gully, and see what we can do about a hideout?
There's a barn there, but there aren't any animals, and it looks deserted."
"Say, that's not a bad idea. Okay, Mr. Martin, turn off the highway onto that dirt road and then take that turn into the gully down to that old green-shingled house," Ben Salters directed.
Ranee Martin did as he was told. He was afraid for the safety of his wife and children, and he was also afraid of the gun which he thought was in Ben Salters's pocket. "Park the car on the side, over to the left behind the barn," the convict directed, speedily asserting his authority as spokesman and leader of the group. And again Ranee Martin obeyed.
"Now let's get out nice and easy and no trouble," Ben Salters warned as he ordered Eleanor to open the door and get out first. "I'm covering your wife, Mr. Martin, so don't try anything funny."
The occupants of the Buick got out, as the rain began to pelt down. Ben Salters, his hand again in his pocket, simulating the gun, urged them to the old house. "Let's go, all of you," he barked.
Ranee Martin tried the knob of the door, which swung open with a protesting squeal which indicated years of rust. The house indeed was deserted, and there was only a ramshackle couch, a broken armchair, and a little, badly scratched wooden table in what passed for the living room.
"This isn't bad. But what about grub?" Mack Bolton asked.
"Why, we'll send Mr. Martin here into the next town to bring back some supplies, that's what we'll do," Ben Salters cheerfully answered. "And of course we'll keep his wife and his kids here just in case he gets any notions about tipping off the law. Right, Mr. Martin?"
"Yes, I'll do what you want, but for God's sake, let us go soon as you can. We don't want any trouble." Ranee Martin said in a low voice.
"Okay, and you won't have any if you do your stuff. But I'll tell you this, if you come back with a squad car or the State Highway Patrol, you might as well kiss your wife and kids goodbye right now, because I'll blow their brains out," Ben Salters said viciously thrusting the hand in his pocket forward to suggest the gun again.
Ranee Martin shook his head. "I won't do that. Just give me your word you won't harm my family."
"You're a smart guy. Now get into that car and come back with plenty of grub for a couple of days, I'd say. Get a can opener now too, in case we don't find any silverware and stuff like that in this rundown place," Ben Salters directed.
Reluctantly Ranee Martin went over to his wife and kissed her, murmuring, "Don't get scared, honey. Try to keep up the children's spirits. I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Oh please be careful, Ranee darling," Eleanor Martin groaned as tears came to her eyes and she hid her face in her hands. Mack Bolton, hands on hips, was studying her luscious figure, and mentally undressing her. He could hardly wait to get between those lovely thighs of hers and shag her good!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The lanky towheaded youth looked at his mother and sister and bit his lips, pale with fear. He could see the way the guys were looking at Mom and Dorothy, and it didn't take a house to fall on him to tell him that men who had been in prison for any length of time were horny as hell. He was, just thinking about Dody Brandon and remembering that wonderful Saturday afternoon when he had had his first piece of pussy. Well, if you could be a man at seventeen, it was pretty plain that these old guys who had been in stir a long while were a lot randier. And he didn't know what the hell he could do against four of them if they all got the hots for Mom and Dorothy.
Yet at the same time, and to his own horrified awareness of it, there crept into his mind the lewd suggestion of what it might be like to watch four men forcing his sister and his own mother. Dorothy, who had always treated him as if he were a kid, lording it over him, preening herself like a beauty queen-well, she was a looker, all right, but until he had fucked Dody that Saturday afternoon, he had been made to feel by his sister as if he weren't dry behind the ears yet. But Mom, that was something else again. He respected and admired his beautiful mother, and the thought that strange men would abuse and hurt her made him tremble with the realization of his inability to put up much of a fight. They probably had guns and knives, and he just had his bare fists. What could he do if they took it into their heads to start something? Ben Salters regarded him, a wily smile on his thin lips. He winked at Mack Bolton: "Looks like Little Brother here is getting a little edgy. Maybe he's afraid that Daddy is gonna go call the cops."
"He wouldn't be such a bastard fool," Mack Bolton swore, "he knows what we'd do to his family." As he spoke, he boldly stared at Eleanor Martin, who shrank back at his gaze. The two had been made to sit on the broken-down old couch, while the four convicts stood watching them for the time being. Ben Salters had found a cheap wristwatch in Nelda Ames's house and now glanced at it. "He's only been gone twenty-five minutes, so don't get nervous yet, Mack," he remarked. "I'll give him another twenty minutes at the most, and then I'll start getting worried. And then you, Mrs. Martin, and you, honey," this last aimed at Dorothy, "better start saying your prayers."
"Oh, Kenny," Eleanor Martin gasped, "I'm so scared! We haven't done anything at all, we won't tell the police on these men, please make them try to understand, we just want to go on and see our relatives in California, that's all."
"You don't have to talk to your kid when you want to say something, baby," Mack Bolton moved over towards the couch and seated himself at one end, turning so that he could stare at both Dorothy and Eleanor Martin. "If you wanna say something, talk up nice and easy. We're gonna be good friends, so we might as well get acquainted. Me, I'm Mack Bolton. Your hubby's a lucky man, Eleanor baby."
"Show a little mere respect to my mother, will you," Kenneth Martin spoke out with youthful bravado. Mack Bolton turned, his eyes wide with amused surprise: "Well, now, listen to Sonny Boy, wouldja? Little hero, ain't he?" Then he scowled.
"You keep your flytrap buttoned up, Junior, or I'll separate you from your teeth, permanently. Get me?"
Kenneth Martin gulped and flushed, then lowered his eyes. The fat, nearly bald scar-faced convict chuckled gloatingly: "I thought that'd put a crimp in your plans to beat us all up and turn us in, Junior. Say, Pete, why don't you scout around the rest of this old dump and see what you can find? Like rope and stuff, anything like that. It's a cinch there wouldn't be any food in the kitchen. Damn gas was probably turned off years ago, along with the lights. Hell, you forgot to tell Mr. Martin to buy candles or a flashlight so we could see by."
"Relax, Mack," Ben Salters said. He had seated himself in the old chair, while George and Pete perched on the sides of the old broken-down armchair. "Who wants a light? Everybody for miles around probably knows that this place has been abandoned for years. First thing you know, they see a light, they'll bring the cops."
"Hey, I hear a car in the yard out there," George Budrow sprang up, his eyes lighting.
It was Ranee Martin, and Ben Salters swung the door open to receive him. He carried two large shopping bags, and looked tired.
"Nice work, Ranee old boy," Ben Salters chuckled. "Pete, George, make yourselves useful and take these bundles and put them in the kitchen. I hope you didn't buy anything that has to be cooked. We can't even light the goddamn stove."
"It-it's all canned goods, mostly, and I got a canned ham, but it's already cooked."
"That was smart thinking, Ranee. How about some beer, or whiskey?"
"I-I forgot about that."
"Why, you dumb jerk, don't you think we guys want a drink after all the time we did in stir?" Mack Bolton growled, his face clouding with annoyance. "Make him go back and bring us some stuff, then."
"Not now. Why press our luck? Listen, Ranee, anybody talk to you while you were shopping?" Ben Salters demanded.
Ranee Martin warily shook his head. "Not really. The storekeeper just asked me if I was passing through, he didn't recognize me, that was all. I told him I was going to California."
"Very good. Now what about us, did you hear anybody say anything about us?"
"Well, the storekeeper said that there'd been a prison break but they hadn't found the fellows yet. I told them I hadn't seen anybody since I started from Chicago.
"That's using the old brain, Ranee." Ben Salters nodded. "Well, let's divvy up the chow and see what we've got. It's about three o'clock, give or take a few minutes. We can eat in a couple of hours, unless somebody's hungry right now."
"I'm hungry for something else that ain't food," Mack Bolton said softly, staring greedily at Eleanor Martin.
The Chicago jeweler stiffened, stared first at Mack Bolton, then at his beautiful, cringing wife. "Now look," he said in a level voice, forcing a smile to his face, "I've tried to cooperate with you. There were policemen in town, but I didn't say a word to them, and I could have. Why don't you guys give me a break and not get dirty and offensive? After all, I've a right to expect a little respect for the sake of my wife and daughter, wouldn't you say?"
"Respect?" Mack Bolton jeered. "Look, Buddy, don't give me that crap. You know damn well why you didn't go to the cops, because you'd come back and find you were out a family. Now sit down and button your hp before I do it for you."
The jeweler flushed, bit his lips, but controlled his temper, realizing the futility of it. He seated himself between his daughter and his wife, and Mack Bolton rose from the end of the couch and began to stare at Dorothy Martin.
The lovely nineteen-year-old brunette had put on white linen playshorts and a white pullover Tee shirt, under which she had a bra and pantie-briefs. Her legs were bare and a delicious sight indeed from chisled ankle, along sinuously swelling calf to the long elegance of her gradually curving thigh which disappeared under the legs of the playshorts. The warm ivory skin twitched and quivered, as Dorothy became aware of the convict's stare, and she lowered her eyes and twisted her fingers together tightly. She was flustered and a little afraid. Her long dainty bare toes twisted in the open-toed sandals and Mack Bolton stared down at them. He was visualizing Dorothy stark naked, under him on the bed, spreading her legs for a good fucking. He would like to start with the mother and wind up with the daughter if he had his way about it. And he was pretty sure the boys felt the same way. They had really stumbled on something, this time. Two gorgeous dames. What fun they were going to have before they finally pulled out across the State Line!
Pete and George now came back to report that they had found some lengths of rope in a pantry closet, but not much else. There were some rusty kitchen utensils, some cracked plates, a nearly empty sack of stale sugar, and another of flour. There were two bedrooms, but only one cot in one of them and a chair and a broken table in the other room. There was a bathroom with a leaking toilet and a wash basin that wouldn't hardly fill at all. A little water did trickle through, but the pipes and the faucets were rusted. There must have been a leak along the regular main to let any water come in at all, after all these years. For luxury, it was hardly a place to be found in the guidebooks, but it was going to have to do for the time being.
"Tell you what," Ben Salters decided, "I want you to take one of those ropes and tie Eleanor's left wrist to Dorothy's right, and the same with their ankles. And then we'll tie Kenny with his wrists roped behind his back. Same goes for Ranee. Me, I want a little shuteye. One of you guys can stand guard, and the other three of you can sleep. Now let's get going. When we wake up, we'll have some chow and then we'll make plans for pulling tail out of here."
The plan met with enthusiastic approval from the other convicts. Pete and George took charge of Ranee and Kenny, while Mack Bolton volunteered for the job of fettering mother and daughter together. He made them stand up side by side, and then squatted down with a cord in his hands, his eyes greedily detailing the visible charms of the two captives. Eleanor Martin was wearing a light blue cotton dress, flesh-colored stockings, and thonged sandals. Her voluptuous figure excited him, and he could feel his prick hardening as he stared up at her. Eleanor Martin was conscious of his scrutiny, and closed her eyes and turned scarlet with embarrassment, for she had seen him try to glance up under her skirt to see what she was wearing. It was a white pantie-girdle whose tabs clung snugly to the tops of her flesh-colored hose.
Dorothy abominated this ugly man, and when she saw him look up at her and smirk, she burst out, "Why don't you just tie us and get it over with? Why do you have to stare at us like that?"
"Well, now," Mack Bolton drawled, "we got a spirited filly here on our hands, boys. Dorothy baby, I like a girl with spunk. Especially when she's got mine inside of her, haw, haw, haw!"
His cronies shared his bawdy laughter, and Ranee Martin uttered an angry cry as he struggled to break loose his wrists: "You've got no right to treat my wife and daughter this way! I've cooperated, and I insist you treat them decently, do you understand? Otherwise, so help me, the next chance I get, I'll get the police on you!"
Mack Bolton walked over to the chair in which Ranee Martin had been forced to sit, and backhanded him savagely across the mouth, drawing blood. Ranee groaned and twisted his face away, licking his lips, then glanced with furious hatred up at the grinning nearly bald convict. "You'll be sorry for that one day," he said softly.
Mack Bolton laughed and jolted him back with another vicious backhanded blow to the jaw. "Let's go whole hog, then," he jeered, "might as well have some fun while I wait for your cops, huh? Now that's about enough out of you, Mr. Martin, or I might just get mad and take it out on your sexy wife and that slinky girl of yours, understand?"
Satisfied at his victim's subdued reaction, Mack Bolton proceeded now to fettering Dorothy and Eleanor Martin together, again making them stand up and then squatting down and tying one cord around their ankles, and then their wrists. "There you are, pretty as a picture, all tied together just like in real life," he quipped. "Ben, who's going to take the first watch?"
"You can, if you want. That way, you can keep an eye on the girls," Ben Salters grinned.
"I gotcha! Thanks, old buddy," Mack Bolton grinned lustfully as his beady little eyes turned back to contemplate the shrinking mother and daughter.
Pete, George and Ben went back into the bedrooms, and Ben appropriated the cot, while Pete and George settled for the other room and, stripping the cot of two torn blankets, each used one as a kind of mattress. In a few minutes, all three men were snoring in dreamless sleep, their bodies at last relaxing after the nervous tension since their escape. In their chairs, Ranee Martin and his son Kenneth sat helplessly, their wrists tied behind their backs, while Mack Bolton seated himself again on the end of the couch, but this time closer to the women. "So you're from Chicago," he began conversationally, with what passed for a friendly grin but made Dorothy and Eleanor Martin both shrink in repugnance. "I been in that town lots of times. Great town for steaks and broads. Too bad I couldn't have got myself a job there, maybe I wouldn't be in this lousy fix way out here in dead Kansas. All it's good for is for burying people. You better be nice, girls, or you might wind up planted with all the others, hear?"
"Stop that kind of talk," Ranee Martin gasped, struggling at his bound wrists. "There's no need to frighten them that way."
"No? Listen, Mr. Martin, another yap out of you and I'll come over and break some teeth so you'll look like Georgie," Mack Bolton threatened. "Besides, I'm not doing anything. I'm just admiring your good taste at picking a broad like Ellie here, and getting a gorgeous looker like little Dorothy."
"Your remarks are offensive to them, don't you understand that?" Ranee Martin said heatedly.
"Keep it up, Mr. Martin, keep it up! You're just burning up for a good crack in the snoot," Mack Bolton angrily replied.
Then, morosely, thinking again of Mae and her lover Al Murcer, and how he had enjoyed avenging himself on them both, he leaned back, folded his arms, and considered Eleanor and Dorothy Martin. The glittering, narrowed eyes, the moist fleshy mouth, were signs of his lustful interest in the two helpless women. And Eleanor Martin sensed this and she averted her face from his gaze, moving closer to her daughter to seek sympathetic companionship.
They would both be forced to a more sympathetic companionship than either of them could have dreamed of!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The sun had gone down, and there was a death-like stillness beyond the deserted, ramshackle cabin in which the four desperate escaped convicts and their captives had taken refuge. The escapees had eaten heartily, though grumbling over the lack of liquor, but Ranee Martin had been thoughtful enough to buy a carton of cigarettes.
Ben Salters, as leader of the convicts, saw to it that Ranee and his son Kenny, as well as Dorothy and her mother Eleanor, received their fair share of food. As he grinningly explained, "We gotta keep you fattened up and healthy, Mr. Martin, because we might just need you for a while."
"All I ask is that you let us go, and you have my word that we'll not turn you in," the mature Chicago jeweler had told him. But Ranee Martin was not naive enough to hope that these brutal, unscrupulous men, who undoubtedly had not had sexual relations in many a year, would be considerate enough to spare his wife and daughter, and desperately he put his mind to work trying to think of ways to escape. But his wrists, as well as Kenny's, were bound far too tightly, and even while the four convicts dozed in their turn, there was always one of them standing guard with his hand in his pocket to simulate a gun. George Budrow was sent out about nine that evening to get the lay of the land, and came back to report that there was no traffic on the distant highway, and that there seemed to be no helicopters or search lights or any other kind of police activity.
"That's good. They probably figure we've gone on to Topeka or maybe are hiding out in Abilene, or even across the State line by now," Ben Salters declared. He lit a cigarette and glanced over at the old couch on which Eleanor and her daughter Dorothy still sat, each with her wrist bound to the other's, as well as an ankle. Both beauties had been frightfully embarrassed a few hours ago when each had experienced the communal need to go to the bathroom, and Mack Bolton had grinningly untied the ankle cord, but left the one fixing their wrists together, and had himself escorted them to the bathroom, and then, with a smirk of mock gallantry, closed the door.
"Oh my God, Mother, what are we going to do?" Dorothy whispered as she slipped down her play-shorts and whisked down her pantie briefs to mid-thigh and seated herself on the old wooden toilet seat. "This is just dreadful! This place hasn't been used in years, and of course there isn't any water or anything. I-I feel like an animal in captivity."
"I know, baby," Eleanor Martin turned away to give her daughter as much privacy as possible, but the situation was ludicrous in the extreme: as Dorothy seated herself, she drew on her mother's fettered wrist and Eleanor had to bend a little while turning away. Nor was there, alas, any such comfort as toilet paper, and Dorothy blushed as she stammeringly asked her mother for a bit of Kleenex. Fortunately for the proprieties, Eleanor Martin had a packet of tissues in the pocket of her blue cotton dress. The dress descended to mid-calf, but was very thin and light, and one could almost see the outline of her pantie-girdle and shoulder strap bra, as well as the narrow, binding bandeau which made a horizontal line against her sculptured back.
Then it was Eleanor's turn to seat herself, hoist up skirt and slip with one hand, and Dorothy's turn to look away while her mother relieved the urgencies of nature and then cleansed herself as best she could.
There wasn't any lock to the bathroom door, either, and Dorothy shiveringly whispered, "Oh, Mother, I'm scared of those awful men! That one man who's almost bald and with the scar on his cheek, he's been staring at me in the most horrible way."
"I know he has been, baby. I'm scared, too," her mother confided with a shaky little laugh. "All we can do is pray and hope. I'm sure that if they escaped from prison, the police must be out looking for them. Well, we'd better go back before they take a notion to open the door and come in after us. I wouldn't put it past horrible brutes like that."
It was she who opened the door, and found Mack Bolton standing outside, his arms folded across his chest. He grinned lecherously. "Feel better, ladies?" he leered.
Neither Eleanor nor Dorothy Martin answered, but both were blushing furiously as they made their way back to the couch. Kenneth and Lance Martin sat there, pale and perspiring, as each had tried stealthily to yank the wrist cords loose, but without any success.
The return of the women from the bathroom stirred the other convicts from their hastily taken naps, and, yawning, rubbing their eyes, they now gathered in the living room, standing round the couch, staring with growing interest at their captives.
"Too bad we ca't show you home movies or something," Pete Pullman chuckled, showing badly stained, decaying teeth in a crooked smile. "But maybe you could furnish a little entertainment yourselves. What do you say?" He bent down and ran his hand over Dorothy's bare ivory forearm. Her pullover Tee shirt had very short sleeves, and yet the lovely naked skin was as white as the shirt. Delicate pale blue veins formed their exquisite tracery at her slim wrists. With a stifled little cry, she shrank away from the convict's touch, glancing at him with frightened, widened eyes.
"D-don't!" she gasped, her cheeks reddening.
"Please let my wife and daughter be," Ranee Martin said gravely, staring at Ben Salters, whose leadership he recognized. "I promised we wouldn't give you any trouble, and we've been very cooperative. Now won't you hold your friends in check so far as my family is concerned?"
"I don't know about that, Mr. Martin," Ben Salters grinned, glancing back at the couch where the two frightened women huddled. "After all, we haven't had much pussy in a helluva long time, and we're only human, after all, even if you don't think so. You just try getting yourself locked up in stir for a while and not having your ashes regularly hauled. Isn't that right, Mack?"
"Right as rain," Mack Bolton lewdly sniggered. "Seems like a damn shame, with two gorgeous broads like that, and us four horny guys needing it so bad. What do you say, Eleanor, baby, to a quickie? You and I could go into one of those bedrooms back there and be all nice and friendly."
"Ohh, Ranee!" Eleanor Martin tearfully exclaimed, "don't let him touch me! Please!"
"Please!" Ranee Martin hoarsely implored, staring in appeal at Ben Salters, "can't you do something about him?"
"Not very well, he's bigger than I am, Mr. Martin. Now let's be sensible about this. You know damn well there are four of us, and you two aren't likely to start any trouble. We could just as well gag you and tie you up even better than you are now, and then have a go at your wife and daughter, but the boys and myself would like it a lot better if they'd be nice-you know," Ben Salters winked. "In fact, if they don't put up any fight, we'll treat 'em right. After all, what difference does a little shagging make between friends?"
"My God, you can't mean that!" Ranee Martin ejaculated, his eyes wide with horror.
"I'm afraid I do, Mr. Martin," was the inexorable answer. "In fact, I'm randy as hell myself, just looking at that wife and daughter of yours. I can tell you this much, you don't have to worry about their getting a dose of clap. We're horny as hell, but we're clean. We're just pussy-starved, that's all. So you've got your choice. We might have to manhandle the girls a little if they put up a fuss, and I don't think you'd like that and they wouldn't either. So why don't you put it up to them and see if they won't come across and be obliging in a nice friendly spirit, eh?"
Ranee Martin desperately tugged at his bound wrists, but Ben Salters laughed. "Don't take it so hard, Mr. Martin. It isn't as if we were going to rape them, you know. There's one thing to forcing a broad, and another to going into a bedroom with a guy on her own. And that's the choice we're going to give them. I think it's damn right of us, don't you?"
"Oh, Mother, Mother, oh my God, I don't want to," Dorothy wailed. With her free hand, Eleanor Martin leaned over and stroked her daughter's hair, trembling violently as she looked back at her husband.
"Oh, Ranee, please don't let them hurt Dorothy.
I-I'll offer myself in her place-I will, I mean it. She-she's never had a man."
"Say, now," Mack Bolton leered, "I'd take her up on that, if I was you, Ben boy. That broad's got style and she's got shape to match. I'd just as soon shag her as that Dorothy there."
"Oh my God," Ranee Martin groaned, bowing his head and closing his eyes. Kenny Martin couldn't speak; he just stared across at the couch where his mother and sister sat, and yet in the midst of his frantic worries about them, there came a gnawing, lascivious desire! He had seen his sister frigging herself on the bed that Saturday afternoon. Maybe he would get to see her being fucked! And his mother, too, stripped down naked and made to spread her legs for one of these men. To his own consternation he felt his cock begin to stiffen at the thought.
"Wei, how about it," Ben Salters pursued, "you going to look at it the sensible way, or do you want us guys to go to work and really give the broads a hard time-and I mean a hard time, take it from me!"
At this, the other three men burst into jeering laughter, and Ranee Martin ground his teeth together, his face pale and drawn. He stared agonizedly over at Eleanor, who, her cheeks scarlet, her eyes closed, sat very straight, though she was trembling.
"Oh, God," he choked, "is this the way you're going to repay the kindness we showed you?"
"Don't be so Goddamn dramatic, Mr. Martin," Ben Salters chuckled. "After all, what's a little shagging for fun, anyway? It's not like it's the end of the world. Why, the broads will probably like it, just for the sake of variety. Isn't that right, Ellie baby? How'd you like to try some other guy for size in bed?"
"Oh, M-Mother," Dorothy groaned, staring at her beautiful, blushing mother, as the tears ran down her cheeks.
"I guess I can't stop you," said Ranee Martin slowly, his voice breaking with emotion, "but if you harm my wife and daughter, I swear to God I'll find some way to kill you, and you've got my word for it."
"Well, that's putting your cards on the table all right," Ben Salters acknowledged with a nod, "Mack, take some more of those ropes and tie him up good to that chair. And get the kid tied up, too. Sit him on the floor next to his old man, so you can fix the ropes onto the chair for extra strength, get me?"
"Way ahead of you," Mack Bolton sniggered as he hurried to the kitchen and came back with more lengths of cord. He bound a rope around Ranee Martin's waist, and then made his legs secure to those of the heavy, broken-down armchair, and then another looping around Ranee Martin's chest and to the back of the chair, which he finished off by binding around Kenny's right arm just past the armpit. Another two or three cords to the son, and both Martin males were pinioned and helpless.
"All right, Elbe," Ben Salters said as he came over to stare down at the shuddering mature beauty. "We're going to take you up on that little offer you made a while ago. If we don't touch your little girl, you're willing to shag with us, all four of us in turn?"
Eleanor Martin nodded, biting her lips and keeping her eyes tightly shut.
"Well, we'll start on that basis, anyhow. Mack, untie their wrists, but you can tie Dorothy's behind her back, but you can tie her ankles so she can't get away. We'll make this sort of private-like, to start with, anyhow," he decreed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The four convicts clustered around Eleanor Martin as, freed from the cord that had bound her wrist to her daughter's, she tremblingly rose from the couch, head bowed, arms hanging at her sides, resigned to her fate.
"Who's gonna be first with this sweet piece of quim?" Mack Bolton loudly demanded.
"I got a idea," Pete Pullman spoke up with a leer, "Why'ncha ask the broad herself? Let her pick the guys the way she wants to take them on. That's what I call fair play."
"Not a bad idea, Pete," Ben Salters approved with a chuckle, "all right, Ellie girl, it's up to you. Look us all over, make up your mind that you're gonna get it from all of us, and then let us know how you want us to come visiting the bedroom where you're gonna spread your sweet legs for cock."
"G-give me a minute, for God's sake," the beautiful matron pleaded in a low voice as a fiery blush of shame spread over her lovely cheeks and forehead.
"Oh, sure," Ben Salters laughed. "Take your time, baby, we've got all night. We're not going anywhere except to bed, and neither are you. Line up, boys, and let her see how you're stacked for fucking."
With bawdy laughter, the four convicts faced the trembling matron in a single row, lewdly clasping their hands behind their backs and arching out their crotches ... it was visible at once that all four of them were furiously erect and readied for this delicious treat.
Dorothy Martin, head bowed, face turned away, was sobbing softly on the couch. Mack Bolton glanced over at her, his beady eyes glittering and narrowed.
Crissake, whether a guy liked it or not, he, Mack Bolton, was gonna get between this black-haired cunt's legs before very much longer, no matter if her mother was going to take them all on. He wasn't going to pass up a piece of twat like Dorothy, that was for damn sure. The young beauty glanced up and saw his leering gaze, and uttered a stifled groan, then turned her face to one side. Mack Bolton chuckled thickly. Boy, was it going to be fun getting this squirmy, itchy, nervous little piece of pussy to peel off her shorts and the pants under it and show him cunt, and he'd show her something, too, something she hadn't seen before and wouldn't again for a helluva long time.
"Come on," George Budrow nervously exclaimed, "You gotta take us all, so the sooner you get started, the sooner you'll be finished. Who's gonna fuck you first?"
Helplessly, trembling violently at the lewdness of those words and of the desperate predicament which she now faced, Eleanor Martin took a deep breath and, staring at Ben Salters, whispered, "I-I'll go with you first."
In her mother's mind, she had conceived a frantic proposal: she would agree to be the concubine for the gang so long as they remained here if only they would spare Dorothy. She would do anything they wanted, anything, it didn't matter. But she knew that Dorothy was a virgin, and the thought of her daughter being raped and used by these depraved beasts made her sick to her stomach. That was why she had picked Ben Salters, seeing that he was the leader. He was a little more considerate, and also a little more intelligent and cultivated in his speech than the other three. Maybe she could reason with him, once they were alone together.
"You see, you guys?" Ben Salters exultantly crowed, "this broad's got taste. Okay, Ellie baby, let's you and me get a little privacy. Then we'll come back and Ellie can pick the next guy, and so on. You guys keep these hostages of ours nice and safe while Ellie and I are billing and cooing." He chuckled at his own salacious joke and then, slipping an arm around her waist, whispered in her ear, "You won't be sorry you picked me first, you sweet bitch. I've had the hots for you since I first laid eyes on you. Let's go. There's a cot in one of the rooms, and it will do us good."
Eleanor Martin let herself be led along out of the living room down the hallway into the decrepit bedroom with its torn-up floor planks, cracked wall plaster, holes in the ceiling and filthy window panes covered by a gray, sun-faded pull-shade. She grimaced with distaste as she saw the dirty cot in a corner near the window, and she murmured to Ben Salters, "please-please close the door."
"Sure, honey. Anything to oblige a broad that's gonna spread for Ben Salters," he said genially as he went over to the door and slammed it shut as a kind of sign to his cronies.
She turned to him then, her fists clenched, her titties rising and falling with the turbulence of her emotion.
"Your-your name is B-ben S-Salters, isn't it?"
"That's right, Ellie." To her shame he began to remove his shirt, tossing it onto a straight-backed, dusty chair near the door, and then unbuckled the belt of the trousers to the suit he had stolen from the Ames household. She could see the unmistakable protuberance of his rutting prick prodding out the material of the trousers at the crotch and she bit her lips, pretending not to notice it as she went on in a low, faltering, husky voice: "Look, Mr. Salters, I-I think you're more intelligent than the others, and I think you-I think they look up to you as their leader."
"That's right. I'm the brains of the gang. So what, Ellie? C'mon, honey, start peeling down-get that dress off. I want to see what you're made of."
"I-I will-I promised I will-and I'll keep my word. But first, oh my God, Mr. Salters, say that you'll protect my little girl. I'm willing to let you do whatever you want to me-I-I'm a married woman and I know what it is to want a woman-but not my girl-please, God, not my little girl-I don't want her fife ruined. Please, Mr. Salters!"
"You're asking a lot. Besides, it's not easy for four guys to have just one bitch spreading her legs for them," he said crudely, purposely intending to shock her and to gloat over her helplessness. "I can't control the other three guys, they've got feelings, too. There they are out in the living room with your daughter, and they know I'm going to fuck you. They're looking at her and wishing they were inside her pussy right now."
"Oh, don't talk like that, for God's sake, please don't talk like that! Can't you-won't you please help me? I'll be good to you, I-I promise I will. I-I'll do what they want, too, but not Dorothy, please not Dorothy."
"We'll talk about it later. Right now, I want to see you bare-ass naked and ready for fucking," he directed. He had taken off his trousers and was in undershirt and shorts, shoes and socks. He stooped down, unlaced the shoes and took them off, then straightened, his penis brazenly thrusting tightly against the material of the cotton shorts. Eleanor Martin shuddered and then hopelessly stooped, caught up the hems of both skirt and slip and lofted them over her head and shoulders. Ben Salters sucked in his breath and his eyes blazed with lust. In her bra and pantie-girdle and flesh-colored nylon and thong sandals, Eleanor Martin was one of the most desirable pieces of cunt he had ever seen. His eyes fixed on the round, closely spaced, high-perched titties, whose brownish-coral aureola could vaguely be seen through the white nylon cling of the snug brassiere. The carnation-pink-and-white tinting of her lovely skin was a stimulant to his growing lust, as was the visible, thick triangular patch of pussyhair at the crotch of the panty girdle.
"Now the bra," he instructed thickly. Eleanor Martin reached behind her, unhooked the bandeau and stood naked to the waist, arms at her sides, bowing her head but not trying to cover the glories of her rapidly swelling bubbies. The crinkly-ripe tidbits of her nipples attracted him, and he moved toward her, a crooked grin on his flushed face, and cupped those lovely fruits of love gently in his hands. Eleanor Martin caught her breath and turned her face to one side.
"Is that the way you're gonna be nice, bitch? Put your arms around me and give me a nice hug and kiss before you start asking for favors, get me?"
"If-if I'm nice to you, real n-nice, will-will you promise you'll save Dorothy?" she chokingly whispered.
"I'll tell you this. I won't do anything unless you start showing some hot loving," was Ben Salter's answer. Eleanor Martin drew another long breath, then put her arms around his shoulders and pressed her ripe, soft, sweet mouth against his. Ben Salters gasped iri rut at the smell and the feel of her half-naked body against his, and he grabbed her bot-tomcheeks as he pressed hard against his rigid prick.
"See what I've got for you, Ellie?" he growled softly. "I'm gonna fuck you till you cream your wad, so help me. Now let's have that kiss and see how well you can French."
What he referred to, to be sure, was the act of fellatio, to which he intended to force this beautiful and aristocratic woman. Eleanor Martin, far from being naive, thought he meant kissing with the tongue, and so docilely, pressing her mouth to his, proffered her tongue to his lips. She felt his lean, sinewy fingers squeeze her bottomcheeks and she shuddered as she felt his hard, rutting manhood prod against the crotch of the pantie-girdle.
"That's not bad, but you've got a long ways to go, Ellie girl. Now peel off that goddamn girdle or whatever it is. You can leave your stockings on, if you want. Makes you look sexier. Then get on your back on that cot and start showing some zip. If you don't, by God, you can kiss Dorothy's cherry goodbye."
Eleanor Martin shuddered as she moved slowly to the dirty cot, sat down, feeling her thighs trembling beneath her, then unfastened the panty-gir-dle, unhooked the stocking tabs and then dragged it down and off her legs. Her thighs were twitching then as she clenched them tightly, ingenuously trying up to the last moment of sacrifice to conceal the thickly furred, curly thatch of her cunthole. With an oath, Ben Salters tugged off his undershirt and doffed his shorts, retaining only his socks. Then he sat down beside her, squeezing her titties with both hands, then crushed his mouth on hers and forced her onto her back on the cot, which creaked under their combined weight. An old Army blanket was left, and it was scratchy, and the feel of it against her bare bottom and back was irritating. She had closed her eyes, desperately resolving to submit, to do whatever was needed to save Dorothy. His left hand slid down her belly towards her crotch, and then she uttered a strangled "Please, oh, please" as she felt him insert two fingers inside her quivering snatch. Her legs convulsively clenched together as he growled, "Cut that out, bitch. Spread those legs as far as you can, or Dorothy gets it instead."
With another fearful gasp, the naked beauty relaxed the tension of her muscles and reluctantly opened her thighs, while with a satisfied chuckle, Ben Salters delved his fingers within the inner sanctum of her vaginal sheath. She squirmed enervatedly at the rasping, distending feel of his fingers inside her tender, secret love-cleft.
He knelt between her legs now, his stiff prick bobbing between his hairy thighs. He stared down , at her panting titties, at the shallow, wide oasis of her bellybutton and then his hands went to her panting titties again and fondled them as he slowly lowered himself until the tip of his prick just brushed against the forest of her light-brown pussy-curls. Beads of perspiration glistened along her high, arching forehead, and her eyelids fluttered as she strove to keep her eyes tightly shut to blot out the ignominious, salacious sight of her intended and unwanted consort.
"Aaaaaahhh!" She suddenly jerked, tilting back her head and opening her eyes in startled alarm as she suddenly felt his rigid cock press between the lips of her pussy and invade the citadel. His fingers tightened on her bubbies, and he suddenly murmured, "You're nice and tight for a bitch with two kids. How old are you, Ellie?"
"Thirty-thirty-eight ... ohh, please be-be gentle with me ... don't hurt me," she whispered vibrantly.
"Don't give me none of that crap, Ellie," Ben Salters exulted as he pushed home inside Eleanor Martin's quivering cunt. "You know damn well you've been dying for a poke like this. How long you been married, anyhow? How old is Dorothy?"
"N-nineteen. Oh, please, not so hard," the naked matron gasped as she twisted her face to one side, her features strained with the anguish and shame of her helpless surrender.
"Well, I'd say you must have been married about twenty years, then. Which makes you about eighteen when you first got it. Well, in twenty years your hubby must have worn himself out, and he must be stale stuff by now, eh, Ellie baby?" Ben Salters gloatingly dominated his helpless prey as now he clutched her naked, round, firm, velvety bottomcheeks and remained pressed, hairs to hairs, flattening down the panting globes of her satiny titties as, his cheek against hers, he muttered his salacious commentary into her ear.
"I'll bet you've been wanting to sneak away from home lots of times, baby, and get shagged like this. Well, now's your chance. You don't have to worry none, because your old man knows you're forced to come across, and he's tied up and can't help you, so you don't have to worry about cheating, you can just go ahead and enjoy it all you want. And there'll be plenty of seconds for a tight, hot, sweet piece of cunt like you, Ellie dear. Now let's fuck, huh?"
Feeling her quiver and squirm under him, for his fingers were hurting her as they gouged into her helpless backside, Ben Salters drew himself back to the very brink of her sheath, then lunged to the balls in a single mighty, eviscerating thrust. The woman beneath him moaned, her nails digging into her sweaty palms, as she strove to maintain her selfcontrol in this absymal, abandoned degradation.
"Christ, but you're tight and hot in that little box of yours. As if you hadn't been poked since you got married. You and I are going to have a real honeymoon tonight. When the other guys are through, I'm gonna come back and show you a few ways I'll bet your old man never tried." He drew back again and again lunged to the hilt, making her jerk convulsively and utter a sobbing, "ohh, don't, don't, not so h-hard, oh please, don't h-hurt me!"
"You Goddamn cute liar," he replied with a grin, "you know you love it. Now put your arms around me and hug me good, or I'll go have the boys work on Dorthy next. Now, that's much better."
In her desperation, Eleanor clutched him tight in her satiny arms, and now his mouth crushed hers brutally, his tongue thrusting insistently between her lips as once more he drew himself slowly back, feeling the aching agony of his pentup lust, then thrusting home with a savage, gouging penetration, that again rubbed the pubic hairs together. Once again Eleanor Martin groaned and squirmed. The scratchy blanket was an added exacerbation for her.
"Wrap those legs around me, too, baby," he instructed as his left hand cruelly squeezed the luscious, ripe rondures of her nether summit. Again with a gasp of pain, Eleanor Martin obeyed. Her flesh-colored nylon hose had begun to sag down from the glories of her quivering thighs, and she was lewd and libidinous in this scanty custome for
13.5 the cruel copulation to which she was being coerced.
"That's the way," he exulted. "Now let's shake and wriggle that ass of yours, Elbe. I'm going to flood you with a quart of oil and haul your carburetor over!" he boasted. He quickened his tempo of driving thrusts deep into her matrix, and the naked matron groaned and squirmed as the rasping vigor of his fucking-friction made itself insistent within her tender depths. Her eyes remained closed, but her nostrils were flaring and shrinking and her lips were trembling pitiably. Suddenly he slowed his attack and tantalizingly drew back until the tip of his cock brushed the inner lips of her cunt. Eleanor Martin uttered a moaning sob: "Ouuuuuuu!" Her eyes opened to stare into the contorted, twisted, grinning face of her ravisher.
"Starting to feel the hots, baby? Just let yourself go and old Ben will cream you down good," he whispered harshly. Then suddenly he thrust himself home to the balls and Eleanor Martin's body twisted and waved under the urgency of her own secret womanhood. His powerful virlity had begun to conquer her, though she had sworn she would try to remain impervious to the abhorrent rut of her captors.
"You ever had any guys on the side since you got married, Elbe?" he murmured slyly, studying her flushed, contorted face. Tears were glistening on hr curly lashes and had begun to rivulet down her flushed cheeks.
"N-no ... oh, please, get it over with ... I beg you-"
"And you were the one that was going to be real nice to me if I let Dorothy off a cherry-busting, huh?" he growled. "Just for that, she's going to lose it."
"Oh, no please-I didn't mean it-I'll be very nice-please don't hurt her-just tell me what you want-ohhh, please don't do that-ahhh, you're hurting me, please, Mr. Salters, please take your finger away-oooooh!"
Ben Salters had slyly inserted his right forefinger into the narrow, ambery passageway between her succulent round bottom-globes and found the crinkly cleft of her virgin asshole. It was true: in all the years of her marriage, Eleanor Martin retained that maidenhead as well as that of her mouth, for she had never sucked Ranee off!
"So you're sort of goosey, Ellie baby? It seems to be waking you up. I'm going to give you a good goose-fucking, then, and really make you cream," he bragged. "No, keep your legs and arms around me if you know what's good for you ... there, do you feel my finger up to the hilt inside your sweet bumhole ... it's tighter than your cunt, if you want to know ... I'll bet it's the first time you ever had yourself brownholed, huh, Ellie baby?"
"Ohhh, oh please, it's so shameful, don't do that-ahhhh, you're hurting me-please don't do that-ohhh!!" For even as she squirmed and tried to arch herself off and disengage the maddeningly probing finger that was probing the tightly clenching walls of her rectum, her ravisher had resumed his coupling with her. Now, with deep, fiercer and more rapid thrusts, Ben Salters crammed himself to the walls inside the quickening, vibrantly pulsing vaginal sheath of his beautiful naked victim. His left hand still clutched her buttock, squeezing, kneading the still-shuddering flesh, while his forefinger began to move back and forth inside her asshole just as his prick was moving inside her quivering cunt. Eleanor Martin's eyes were open, staring up at the dirty cracked ceiling without sight, and her arms clutched him all the tighter as her legs' shifted over his, her stockings now rucked down to her calves, her sandaled feet furtively and sporadically jerking and kicking as his possession of her began to waken the innermost sensations which till now had been reserved only for Ranee.
His forefinger was gouging inside her bumhole, back and forth, now with the same rapidity as his prick inside her cunt. Her head turned from side to side, her nostrils twitching and shrinking, her mouth gaping with sobbing groans, inarticulate and wordless cries.
"Owwww-aaahhh-ouuu-ooohh-please, don't-oohhh!"
"Come on, baby," he panted, "I'm getting close. Let's show some life! Shake that sweet ass and let's go off together in a cloud of dust. Shake that ass, I said, you squirmy little bitch!"
Now his finger gouged to the hilt and twisted back and forth, wriggling inside her tightening asshole walls, while his prick sent thrust upon thrust cramming deep within her matrix.
Eleanor Martin suddenly lifted her head, her eyes glazed, her mouth gaping in a wordless, high-pitched shriek: "Eeeeyahhhouuuu!!!" Then, whimpering and sobbing hysterically, betrayed by the fierce answering primal lust within her own beleaguered woman's body, she felt herself catapulted into the empyrean realm of carnal abandon and total ecstasy. Her nails gouged his lean, bare back, her legs shifted to clamp with savage tightness over his sinewy buttocks as she arched up her pelvic basin to meet his last few digs, and then felt herself swoon as the tumultuous spasm seized her, at the very same moment his hot drench burst into the channel of her enervated and responsive cunt.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"Wow, Ellie, that was really something!" Ben Salters breathed as he pulled out of her and then sadistically wriggled his finger in her distended bottomhole a few last times, making her squirm and groan and stare at him with tear-blinded eyes. "That was a real ride you gave me, baby doll. Now, which guy do you want next? I'll go and get him."
Eleanor Martin sprawled on the bed, her flesh-colored nylons sagging about her slim ankles, her pussy curls glistening with the stickied essence of their communal spending. Her naked titties, marked with his fingers and reddened from friction against his hairy chest, rose and fell with erratic turbulence.
"Ohh ... let me rest ... oh, God ... you-you almost k-killed me...." she moaned.
"Hell, you're only just starting to get your second fucking-wind, baby," he chuckled lewdly as he rose from the cot, rubbing his inner thighs with both palms, surveying his limp, dangling, greasy prick with satisfaction. Then he put on his shorts and thrust his feet back into his shoes, stooping to lace them up.
"I'll give you a couple of minutes, that's all. Who's gonna be next? The big fat guy Mack, or the guy with the missing front teeth, George, or that gray-haired con man Pete? Better speak up, Ellie, or they may come busting in here and give it to you all at once. They're probably creaming in their pants by now, for all the time we've taken for that good fuck you just gave me."
"The-the gray-haired one," Eleanor Martin feebly managed, t-visting her face to one side, covering it with her hand and sobbing hysterically.
"Attagirl!" Ben Salters chuckled. "I'll go and tell Pete to come right in. He's not a bad guy, even if he is a little old, and he's a real cocksmith, I can tell you. I watched him operate with a gorgeous blonde farmer's wife last night, and he really had her yelling for mercy. Stretch out there and rest up while you can, Elbe baby."
With this, not bothering to put on the rest of his clothes, he strode triumphantly into the middle of the living room, naked to the waist, in only shorts, socks and shoes.
"Pete, the little lady wants you to oblige her," he called.
Ranee Martin uttered a choking cry as his eyes fixed on the man who had just ravished his beautiful wife. Dorothy, her wrists tied behind her back in a way that made her titties stand out magnificently against her tight white shirt, was sobbing softly, her eyes closed, her head bowed.
Mack Bolton sat near her, on the edge of the couch turned towards her, feasting his eyes on the peaks of her bosom, the twitching muscles of those creamy thighs of hers in the white play shorts. His prick was monstrously erect now, and it didn't matter whom he fucked, the mother or the daughter, so long as he got some immediate relief. When he heard Ben Salters call for Pete, he called aloud, "You mean that goddamn stupid bitch didn't pick me next? Just tell her to wait till I get there. She'll pay me back for making me wait so goddamn long. Come on, Dottie baby, how about a little kiss to tide me over till your mother takes me on?"
He put a hand on her bare arm and Dorothy Martin uttered a sobbing cry. "Oh, Daddy, Daddy, don't let him, please don't let him have me!" Then she flung herself down and buried her face against tin surfa:3 of the couch as her body shook with her stifle i sobs.
Peto Pullman waved his hand to his cronies. "See you aicr; a while, youse guys. I'm gonna go in there and make Ellie yell so loud you can hear her into the next county."
Ran 3 3 Martin turned towards Ben Salters. "Please, after you-after you men have had what you want-let us go. There isn't anything else we can do for you."
"You're forgetting you've got a Buick," Ben Salters growled with a frown. "And until we get away from Kansas, you're not getting out of our sight. Make up your mind to it. Tell you what-" and here his thin lips curved in a sadistic grin, "if you don't give me any trouble, I'll let you and the kid watch Ellie getting it. Bet that would work you up!"
"You disgusting degenerate!" Ranee Martin flared as he jerked at his bonds. "I swear before God I'll kill you when I catch up with you."
"That might take a long time, Mr. Martin. But I'll tell you one thing." Here Ben Salters winked. "You've got a first class piece of cunt traveling along with you. Boy, can Ellie shag!"
Inside the bedroom Pete Pullman had closed the door, taken off his suitcoat and pants, then his shirt, but left on his undershirt and shorts and socks. Eleanor Martin lay, an arm across her face, the other arm across her face, her thighs tight together, her naked breasts rising and falling erratically. He stared down greedily at the carnationy-satin contours of those luscious thighs, at the stickied, matted curls of her pussyhair.
Then, unbuttoning his shorts and liberating his elongated, bony prick, Pete Pullman flung himself down on the naked, sprawled body of Eleanor Martin, and, digging his his fingers into her sweaty, furry armpits, thrust himself into her with a single savage lunge, probing his stiff cock to the roots inside her stickied sheath. Eleanor Martin uttered a cry, her eyes opening to stare at his grinning, flushed face, as her hands futilely pushed against his lean, wiry shoulders.
"Ohh, not so soon, please-t-take it easy-let me rest a little," she begged.
"You can rest on your back while I do the work, bitch. Just come along for the ride," Pete Pullman chuckled. Then he began to fuck her ruthlessly, with a relentless and rapid thrusting that made her jerk and squirm on the dirty cot, rasping her naked bottom against the scratchy blanket, groaning in pain as his fingernails dug into the sensitive flesh of her moist armpits. His mouth seized one of her stiffened nipples and began to suck and mouth it, flicking at it with the tip of his tongue while he fucked her, but this joust was of short duration, for the older man did not have the self-control of Ben Salters. After a few minutes he uttered a shout of agonized delight as he poured his essence into Eleanor Martin's matrix.
"I'll be back, you hot piece of quim," he told her as he drew out of her and staggered to his feet. "Do you want Georgie now, or Mack?"
Vaguely she turned her face to him, stained with tears, her eyes blank and dull, her lips trembling. Her body vibrated with the aftermath of that first unwanted, betraying orgasm to which Ben Salters' virility had brought her, and now this brutal and degrading pillaging by her second ravisher. Yet she recalled the savage and surly features of Mack Bolton and his angry threat at her. That was why, feebly, in an almost inaudible gasp, she murmured, "I-I'll take M-Mack next."
Pete Pullman strode back into the living room, his limpened, greasy cock dangling out of the unbuttoned shorts, smirking at the helpless husband and young son as he sniggered, "Mack, she can't wait for you. I put a quart of oil into her crankcase, so you better sponge her out or you'll have a buttered bun to work on."
Ranee Martin closed his eyes and ground his teeth, once again struggling uselessly against his bonds. But Kenny Martin, his face flushed, could not take his e-es off Ben Salters and Pete Pullman, who brazenly exhibited their manhood, positive proof that both men had had carnal relations with his own beautiful mother.
Each of them framed his sister at an end of the couch, with the trembling, still sobbing young brunette between them. George Budrow stared gloomily at Dorothy Martin, his cock straining futily at the fly of his trousers. He watched Mack Bolton take off his suitcoat and fling it on the table, then take off his tie and shirt, and stride out of the living room in just undershirt, trousers and shorts, toward the bedroom where Eleanor Martin awaited her third violation by this convict gang of escapees.
"Sure took you long enough to call for me, bitch," was Mack Bolton's angry greeting when he strode into the bedroom. He hurriedly took off his trousers, then his shorts, standing in undershirt and socks, licking his lips at the sprawled and palpitating carnationy-satin nakedness of the unfortunate beauty. "Spread your legs good and put your knees up. I'm going to clean your cunt out before I give it to you," he directed.
Eleanor Martin closed her eyes and whimperingly obeyed. All she could pray for now was a swift termination to her agonizing martyrdom as the plaything of these four animals. All she could hope for was that her desperate plea to Ben Salters, who seemed to be the least sub-human member of this gang, had had effect, and that Dorothy Martin would be spared the ignominy and brutality and terror of being raped and used like a whore.
Mack Bolton went into the bathroom, found a dirty rag which had once been a towel. Squatting, he prodded Eleanor Martin's dripping cleft with the rag until he had dried it from the overflow of sperm. Then he commaned: "Grab hold of the backs of your knees, Ellie, and hold them up to your titties. I'm going to hose you that way. It'll touch bottom and scrape the sides, and make you really blow your stack."
Eleanor Martin began softly to cry as she reluctantly obeyed that obscene order. Uptilting the luscious round, satiny contours of her behind, exposing the crinkly, ambery-rosy aperture of her asshole, she offered herself in the most salacious pose a woman can take. Her nylon hose hung loosely at her ankles, and playfully Mack Bolton yanked them off, leaving her as naked as when she came into this world. Then greedily he knelt down on the cot, which creaked beneath his heavy weight, and digging his fingers into the sides of her bare hips, inched his swollen prick towards the pink, glisteningly moist and twitching lips of Eleanor Martin's pussy.
Slowly and deliberately he edged himself so that his meatus just crept in between those inner gates to paradise, and Eleanor could not help uttering a stifled, "Ahhhh!" nor wriggling her naked bottom, while her bare feet twisted in the air, her toes curling restlessly. The reiteration of that phallic friction inside her tender cunt had by now weakened the dam of all her secret, latent sensuality. Frantically she tried to banish her awareness from her mind, staggered by the grossness and shame of what was happening to her. For the truth was that this fastidious, aristocratic matron, the mother of two grown children, was shamelessly beginning to feel "the hots!"
Mack Bolton tantalizingly kept up this in-and-out maneuver, rubbing to and fro just inside the portal of Eleanor Martin's pussy, deftly attacking the nodule of her clitoris. Her eyes widened now, glassy with tears, and her nostrils flared and skrank convulsively. Her knees jerked as they sporadically bumped against her panting titties, and the flexions of her bottom muscles provided a lascivious choreography for Mack Bolton's beady, glittering eyes.
"You really want it bad, don't you, bitch?" he jibed. His prick had drawn back to touch just the inner labia of his victim's twitching cunt. "Tell me you want it bad. Go ahead, tell me. Otherwise, I'll go back to the living room and bring Dorothy in here and screw her right before your eyes, Ellie baby."
"Oh, no! Oh, not that! Ohhhh, please, M-Mack-d-do it to me-I-I want it-not Dorothy-take me instead-do it to-Ahhh! Oh, my God in heaven!"
For, watching her tearstained face, watching her trembling lips and the pleading, tear-filled eyes, the sadistic bully had suddenly gouged his prick to the very hilt inside that proffered cunt, sinking his fingers into her hips as he brutally guided himself to impale her with his thick and massive spear. Then he began to fuck her violently, while his hands reached out to squeeze the sides of her titties, kneeling forward to merge into her in a lascivious cohesion. The sticky and onomopoeic sounds of the squishy juncture of relentless prick and moist quivering cunt was heard now, and Eleanor Martin twisted her face to one side, scarlet with shame at this awareness of her own lubricious yielding. But her body was aflame with hot desire now, and unbridled lust was beginning to take the place of heroic, self-accepting martyrdom.
Closing her eyes, her lips parted, she emitted sobbing gasps as Mack Bolton fucked her. Her hips wriggled and jerked, regardless of scratching torment of her tender flesh against the old, rough blanket. And when at last he uttered a shout of boisterous exultance and gushed himself deep within her, Eleanor Martin's hips arched upward and her feet kicked in the air as she uttered a shriek of tortured ecstasy ... drawn once again to climax by the sadistic and expert coitus of her ravishers.
George Budrow was the last to enter the bedroom, while Mack Bolton went out to boast of his prowess. Standing before pale, drawn, haggard Ranee Martin, the scarfaced murderer bragged, "Boy, too bad you couldn't be there to see how I made out with your wife, buddy. You should have seen her kick her legs in the air when she felt my prick. She yelled like a stuck pig when I creamed it, and I think the trouble is you don't give it to her regular enough, Mr. Martin."
Kenneth Martin bit his lips, his face and body drenched with sweat. He clenched his legs together desperately to hide the fact that he had an erection, and he could not keep his eyes off his sister in her pullover seater and playshorts. Sobbing on the couch, with two men clad only in their shorts and socks, their cocks dangling out of their unbuttoned fly, on either side of her. But Mack Bolton comprehended with that salacious ESP which the true sadist possess.
"Say, now, boy, you're a real chatterbox, you are. Wonder what is eating you ... but I can guess. You're trying to figger out what's going on in that bedroom, aren'tcha, kid? Boy, you otta see your mother. Bare-ass naked and bucking like a whore when she gets crammed with cock."
"You bastard," Ranee Martin groaned in a hollow voice. "If only I could get my hands on you!"
"Fat chance!" Mack Bolton jeered. "What I really think is you wish you could get your hands on Ellie right now. Both you and your kid are randy as hell. Say, Ben, how about that? I'll bet both these guys are randy as hell."
With this the fat rogue bent down, put his hands on Kenneth Martin's knees and dug his fingers cruelly into the muscles so that the youth uttered a cry and tilted back his head in pain. But the evidence was unmistakable: Kenny's fly was strained by the bulge of his own stiff young cock!
And in the bedroom, George Budrow was taking off his pants and shirt, standing in his undershirt, unbuttoning his shorts, his eyes feasting on the helpless nakedness of Eleanor. He, too, used the dirty rag that Mack had used to sponge her stickied cunt, and then he ordered, "I wanna try it a little different with you, Ellie baby. Get on your hands and knees. I want to see that juicy ass of yours up in the air and feel it against my belly when I screw you."
Eleanor Martin burst into hysterical sobs, totally enervated by the knowledge that she had been brought to sexual climax by two vicious criminals, ravished by a third, and about to be forced to behave like the commonest prostitute by her fourth captor.
George Budrow scowled, and then stooped down and slapped her face. "When I tell you something, bitch, hop to it," he snarled.
Sobbing, poor Eleanor Martin crawled wearily to all fours, bowing her head and closing her eyes, her lips moving silently as in prayer.
George Budrow got behind her, reached for her dangling titties and squeezed and fondled them while he edged his stiff cock toward the pink, moist crevice of her cunt.
The feel of her warm, bare bottom against his belly augmented his furious rut. Hence Eleanor Martin's fourth violation was relatively brief, and yet the terrible knowledge of her response was again manifested, for she was brought dangerously close to climax when she felt his hot spurt drench her womb.
"Well, now we've all had a piece, we can compare notes and see what we think. Better fix yourself up in the John, baby," George Budrow cheerfully called as he walked back towards the living room and his cronies.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Eleanor Martin lay on the dirty old cot, panting and half-swooning. She felt too listless to move, and yet a seething turmoil was lodged between her twitching naked thighs. Darkness had fallen, and the room was now pitch black. It was as if she were in a kind of purgatory, a limbo in which only which the sensations of her quivering naked flesh assured her that she was still alive.
"We better light some candles," Mack Bolton growled.
"Only in the bedroom," Ben Salters replied, "And then you'd better find some black cloth or maybe clothes to hang up over that shade so the light won't shine through. It would be a dead giveaway to any cops looking for us," he chucked, then added, "anyhow, you don't have to see Ellie anymore, you all know what she looks like. It's just as good in the dark with a sack over her head as with all the lights on, I'll tell you that."
"You dirty, filthy coward," Ranee Martin croaked, lunging again at his bonds. His wrist and legs were chaffed, and loaded with sweat from the constant efforts he had made to get loose. On the floor beside the chair to which he was fettered, his son Kenny, his head lolling, half asleep.
"I-I have to go to the bathroom, PI-please," Dorothy Martin quavered.
"I'll help the little lady," Mack Bolton guffawed. None of the four convicts had put on their clothes. They were all standing around in shorts and socks, for the night air was warm and dry now with hardly a breath stirring. Outside, only the faint chirping of the crickets could be heard."
"Say, Ranee, boy," George Budrow spoke up, "ain't you got a flashlight in your car?"
"That's for you to find out. I won't give you any more help, not after what you've done to my wife," the Chicago jeweler declared with a hoarse groan.
"Go out and see, Georgie," Ben Salters ordered. "I'll take Dorothy into the John."
Groping his way toward the couch, he found the bare arm of the young brunette, who uttered a cry of terror in this sepulchral darkness, and shrank away from him. Roughly he yanked her to her feet snarling, "No tricks, you little bitch, or you'll get it here and now. I've got a gun in my pocket, so just keep moving like I tell you."
Steering the frightened brunette captive towards the bathroom, he stopped her on the threshold, and then told her to wait there while he went back to the couch coat and got his suit coat, found a match packet and returned to her. Striking a match, he told her: "Want me to take your pants down, baby?"
"Oh my God, no, No!" Dorothy Martin sobbed. "Please untie my wrists, I-I won't try to escape, I promise I won't!"
"You just better not try, baby, I can tell you that," he said roughly. The sight of her lovely creamy bare legs stirred him again to new desire, and as he struck another match, Dorothy's horrified eyes rested upon his stiffening cock, emerging from the unbuttoned fly of his shorts. She turned crimson and quickly averted her face to one side while he chuckled again sardonically: "You're a big girl now, baby, you better get used to seeing what a cock looks like. Before too much longer, you might just be taking us all on."
"Oh God, please no, oh don't touch me, don't do it to me. I don't want any of you to," Dorothy whimpered.
Ben Salter slapped her viciously across the cheek, and then, again telling her to stay where she was, made his way to the kitchen, found one of the candles which Ranee Martin had brought along with the rest of the supplies and came back to the bathroom. Holding the candle in his left hand, he struck a match on the dirty, rotted wooden floor and lit it to the wick. As the feeble light flared he saw Dorothy cringing against the washbasin, her eyes huge and scared, her magnificent bubbies rising and falling rapidly in her atrocious anxiety. He licked his lips greedily. Boy, what a piece of tail this little bitch was! Promise or no promise to Ellie, he was going to take this bitch's cherry before much longer, see if he didn't!
"Turn your back, and I'll untie your wrists. Just try something, and you'll be the sorriest girl that was ever born," he promised.
"I-I am already," Dorothy whimpered tearfully as she slowly obeyed. He took out his jackknife, slashed the cords fixing her wrists together, and then backed away. "Hurry it up," he directed, "and when you're done, knock on the door and I'll open it for you, hear?"
"Y-yes-yes I will," Dorothy stammered faintly. He held up the candle to her lovely, fear-tautened face, and chuckled again as he backed out and closed the door.
In a few minutes when she knocked, he opened the door again and ushered her out, walking beside her with the candle held above her head so that his cronies could see what she looked like.
"Seeing that pretty bitch parade around in those thin shorts," Mack Bolton hoarsely avowed, "makes me pussy-hungry all over again. How about divvying her up, Ben?"
"Goddamn you all!" Ranee Martin stormed.
"Gag that sonofabitch," Ben Salters directed. George Budrow sprang to obey, as he plunged his hand into the pocket of the Chicago jeweller, took out a handkerchief, pinching nose shut with his left thumb and forefinger, made the victim open his mouth, whereupon he crammed in the handkerchief. "Spit it out and I'll break your jaw for you," he warned as he looked around for something to tie over Ranee's mouth. Seeing one of the men's undershirts on one end of the battered old couch, he took it and wound it round the jeweler's mouth, made a knot at the back of the man's neck. "There, that ought to hold you!"
"Say, you know what I'd really like to see?" Pete Pullman spoke up. "I once saw a magazine with two babes doing it to each other. You know, dykes. Boy, what I wouldn't give to see Elbe and Dottie here going down on each other."
A cruel light appeared in Ben Salters narrowed eyes, "Yeah," he whispered, "So would I. Okay, Mack, let's take her into the bedroom. We'll all watch the fun."
"Oh, what are you going to do to me, oh please, don't touch me, oh Mother, help me-oww!" As Mack Bolton seized her by the elbow Dorothy Martin began to cry out for help, but Pete Pullman coming up behind her, drew back his right hand and applied a solid swat to her voluptuous bottom, shaped out so seductively by the tight playshorts, and Dorothy jumped with a squeal of pain as she glanced frantically round her.
"Move," Mack Bolton growled in her ear, and gave her another smack on the bottom to quicken her. Bursting into tears, the helpless young beauty was constained to follow her captors down the hall and into the room where her mother still lay, half-conscious, her heart pounding wildly, the flesh of her inner thighs still twitching from the violent siege set against her most intimate feminine nervous system.
"If you want to see the fun. I told you guys to get something to put over this shade, so the candlelight won't shine through," Ben Salters snapped.
Mack Bolton and George Budrow contributed their trousers, which they hung from the roller of the shade down over the thin, faded covering. Ben Salters took a critical look. "That'll do with just this one candle. Now, then, make Dorothy strip down bare. Look at Ellie there, just lying on her ass and taking it easy. Cheer up, Mummy, we've brought you your little girl to keep you company. Haw, haw, haw!"
"Oh-M-mother, please help me!" Dorothy Martin sobbed hysterically, as she sank down on her knees and clasped her hands as if in fervent appeal. But Mack Bolton reached down, and plunging his right hand into her black hair, dragged her to her feet as she screamed out in agony, and clapped his other hand over her mouth to silence her outcry. "Shut your trap, or I'll slit your throat," he hissed in her ear, and the shuddering girl fought to control the horror that mounted in her.
Ben Salters continued to hold the guttering candle in his left hand, as he backed against the old chest of drawers near the door of the room. It cast sufficient light for all of them to see the sprawled nakedness of the beautiful matron, her hay-colored chignon rumpled and awry, her face streaked with tears and sweat, the marks of fingers on her breasts
-rid belly, on her thighs and hips and sides and arms. And the matted curls of her pussyfur spoke only too well and eloquently of what had been done to her.
"Okay, Pete," Ben Salters, "Tell Dottie here what you want her to do. And listen good, sister, and you too, Elbe."
"Well, like I said in this magazine, I saw a picture of two naked janes giving it to each other. They was sort of lying over each other the wrong way, if you know what I mean. One gal had her face down between the other girl's legs, and vice versa."
"Muffdiving, you mean," Ben Salters snickered. "Sure, the French call that sixty-nine. Okay, Dot-tie, you heard Pete here. Start peeling off your duds and get on top of Mummy there and start sucking her pussy while she sucks yours."
"Oh God, oh how can you horrible men make me do such a filthy thing to my own daughter?" Eleanor Martin wailed as she propped herself up on her elbows, staring at them with dark-circled eyes, glazed with tears.
"It's that or getting shagged for Dottie," Ben Salters told her. "Now, a mother is supposed to be her daughter's best friend, so tell her what she ought to do, see, Elbe? Dh it quick, or we'll peel Dorothy down ourselves, stretch her out on the floor and gangshag her till we've all had a piece of her cunt."
"Oh my God, Dorothy, oh my poor little baby, you better do what they want! Oh, it's so horrible, but I can't bear to think of their each having you." Eleanor sobbed hysterically.
"Oh, Mother, Mother, what am I supposed to do? Oh I'm so ashamed! Oh I want to die!" Dorothy Martin sobbed.
"You can take off everything you've got on, that's what," Mack Bolton growled, advancing toward the shrinking brunette and drawing back his left hand. Cowed, Eleanor Martin's beautiful nineteen-year-old daughter grabbed at the hem of her pullover Tee-shirt tugged it off her body, and stood revealed in a clinging white nylon bra. The four convicts licked their bps as their eyes feasted on the succulent round, closely spaced titties with their wide coral circles in whose centers there rose the dainty, pert buds of her nipples. "Get that bra off fast," Mack Bolton drew back his hand again, and Dorothy sobbed aloud, "Oh don't hit me, I will, I will!" as she fumbled with the hooks and eyes at the back. It fluttered to the floor, and the magnificent ivory turrets of her virgin bubbies were exposed to all those inimical eyes.
"Now the play shorts," Ben Salters' voice was thick with rutting anticipation. Again the sobbing half-naked brunette obeyed, unbuttoning them, and stooping to pull them down and let them slide down to her ankles, stepping out of them. Now all she had on were nylon pantie-briefs which clung tightly against the prominent mound of her virgin cunt, through the crotch of which one could see the vague outline of her triangular patch of pussyhair.
"That too," Ben Salters pointed to the panties, and Dorothy Martin began to cry hysterically as she slowly and with trembling fingers tugged down the final veil. Immediately she clapped a hand over her pussy, and crooked the other arm over her panting, naked titties, shrinking there before the guttering eyes of the four convicts, while her own mother stared, eyes blurred with tears at her own daughter's self-preparation for this perverse exhibition of ignoble lust.
"All right, Dottie," Pete Pullman was trembling with excitement, "now you be down on that cot with your snatch over your mother's face, and your face right over hers, and then you two girls start eating ii, get me?"
"Oh Mother, I can't, I can't. Oh please don't let me them make me, please don't! I don't want to do it!" Dorothy wailed, ringing herself down on her knees and clasping her hands as she stared imploringly at her mother. The flickering candlelight which Ben Salters held in his hand cast an eerie pattern of dancing shadows on the walls and the floor and the ceiling of this squalid, long-abandoned room. The musty smell of age and of rot and of moisture clung to it like an auro of the tomb.
"Teach her a lesson, Mack," Ben Salters hissed, his prick sticking out in all its ferocious rigidity. "Spank her sweet white ass for her a little, the way her Mummy would when she won't do what she's told!"
"Oh no, oh Mother, don't let him-Oww, my arm-let go-Ohhh, stop it, please!" Dorothy wailed as the grinning fat, narly-bald sadist gripped her by the fleshy part of one bare white arm, posed his left foot on the left of the cot, and shoved her down over his fat hairy thigh, bending her in two and uprearing her ivory-satiny naked bottom for all to see. "Hold her wrist so she won't cover up while I'm fan tailing the little bitch," he called to his cronies. George Budrow and Pete Pullman promptly hurried up to the sobbing, struggling, naked brunette, and, squatting down in front of her, each seized a wrist in both hands and held on tightly staring up into her tearstained, scarlet face, watching the way her dangling naked titties heaved and jiggled.
"Oh don't hurt her, oh please don't! Don't hurt my little girl!" Eleanor Martin sobbed as she feebly sat up on the edge of the cot, clasping her hands and staring pietously at the grinning scarfaced convict.
"When she says she'll do it, I'll stop paddling her juicy ass, Mummy," he guffawed. "Here goes!" And with this, lifting his right hand, he brought it down with a violent Smack against the ripest curve of her naked right bottom cheek, leaving a fiery outline of his heavy palm.
"Oww! Ouch, that hurts! Oh, Mother, Mother, make him stop!" Dorothy wailed, dancing from foot to foot and trying frantically to break loose. But Pete and George held her down tightly and now Mack Bolton clamped his left arm across her back to crush her down against his thigh and immobilize her so that her naked bottom would be entirely vulnerable. A second Smack rang out, this one on the other cheek at its ripest apex. Again Dorothy Martin squealed tearfully and kicked up first one leg, then the other, as she protested this rude and painful treatment.
She could feel his prodding prick against the edge of her naked hip as she struggled, but in a few moments she quite forgot the obscenity of this contact; his heavy hand rose and fell now with rapidity, visting the cheeks of her rounded, succulent ivory bottom alternately and sonorously. A rapid Smack-Smack-Smack of the impact of his hand against her bare resilient flesh filled the room now, punctuated by her cries and sobs and wails. Her legs began to kick, she twisted and tried to throw herself off his thigh, but the two men holding her wrists now each seized her by the hair as well with their other hands, further immobilizing her and making it painful for her to execute the slightest movement of her torso and head and shoulders. Only her bottom and legs could move, and bottom now danced and jiggled and twisted and arched and flattened under Mack Bolton's rapidly descending palm. The ivory tint disappeared, and a fiery crimson spread from the tip of her hips to her upper thighs, while the cheeks of her behind yawned and clenched and gave vent to convulsive spasms which only set into relief all her delicious virginal charms. Mack Bolton was grunting and panting with rut, and his prick was swollen with lust as he continued the furious spanking till ast last Dorothy Martin could bear no more. "Ohwww-oooo-uuuu!!! Stop it, I'll do anything-oh stop, oh Mother, please make him Oowweeeeyaahrrr!!! I'll do it. Please stop spanking me, I'll do it, I'll do it!"
"Let her go, you guys, and let's see if she will or not," Mack Bolton added with a final resounding whack that bridged both inflamed naked buttocks and drew a piercing cry from the unhappy naked brunette. "Now get over there to Ellie and suck her off," he commanded.
Crying as if her heart would break, the naked girl stumbled towards the cot, both hands frantically rubbing her swollen bare behind, tears flooding her cheeks, while her mother wept in sympathy.
"Oh my poor baby, oh my darling, I'll show you-I don't want them to hurt you anymore-you have to do it, you have to, Dorothy, darling," Eleanor Martin sobbed heartrendingly. She lay back on the cot, spreading her thighs, and holding out her arms to her daughter, stammered, "Get over me, h-honey, and I'll show you what;-what they want us to do."
"Well, now," Mack Bolton sniggered with a wink at his crones, "Ellie sure knows the score. I thought that tight-cunted bitch was a real swinger. Why, she's got more on the ball than little Dottie, here. Go ahead, Ellie, teach your girl the facts of life, haw, haw, haw!"
Dorothy Martin was crying so hard she could hardly see, but terror at the thought of being spanked again made her awkwardly assume the lubricious pose her vile captors desired. Stretching out slowly over her mother, supporting herself in her palms on the edge of the cot, she found herself with her mouth right over her mother's furry-grove while her own loins were placed just over Eleanor Martin's trembling lips. She felt her mother's hands close over the small of her back and press her down, heard her mother's gasping "Just relax, baby, and do what I do to you-do that to me too!"
Then suddenly Dorothy Martin felt her mother's warm trembling lips press against her cunt and apply a lingering kiss. She uttered a gasp and squirmed uneasily while her lips brushed her mother's pussyhair. "Do it to me, hurry, baby, or they'll spank you some more," her mother urged.
"That's sure as hell right, Dottie," Mack Bolton jeered as he moved closer to the cot. Dorothy looked up at her executioner, seeing the fiendish glitter in his beady eyes, the slavering looseness of his fleshy mouth, and terror seized her again. With a cry, she plunged her mouth against her mother's cunt and began to kiss. Ingenue that she was to this Sapphic game, nonetheless her terror gave her expertise; moreover, Eleanor had begun to kiss her cunt with a fervor and enthusiasm that perhaps was not born entirely out of desperate urgency to comply with the wishes of this cruel gang of convicts. She squirmed and writhed as her mother forced her loins down to this maternal tribute and she emulated her mother by placing kiss upon kiss on Eleanor Martin's quivering moist and love juice fragrant cunt.
"Look at them go for each other," Pete Pullman breathed, his prick stiffening with savage ardor. "Boy, oh boy!"
"You two have got to do it until you both cream, you hear?" Ben Salters directed.
"Oh Dorothy, Dorothy, my poor baby darling, do what I'm doing to you, do it to me and don't stop," the naked brunette heard her mother pantingly gasp. "We've got to, or they'll hurt you terribly-please, for my sake, I want you to, Dorothy darling!"
Then again Dorothy felt her mother's lips press through the pussyfur and find the coral pink petals of her virgin slit. And then she felt her mother's tonguetip delicately brushing and rimming her orifice. She moaned and sobbed, and her burning bottom seemed to throb now with another feeling that was not entirely that of pain. It was her own sexuality being wakened ... as she had wakened it herself with her own finger that Saturday afternoon when Kenny had spied upon her....
To distract herself, shamed and dying humiliation that these men were watching her and her naked mother perform this perverse sport, Dorothy Martin kissed and sucked and licked just as her mother was doing to her own virgin pussy. And soon the two women began to writhe and groan and sob and gasp, as, urged on by the duress of this brutal coercion, and under the eyes of four brutish and dangerous criminals, Eleanor and Dorothy Martin gamahuched each other until suddenly Dorothy lifted a sobbing cry of "Ooooh, Mother-oh God, oh Mother, I-I'm coming!" and her body heaved and threshed, so that Eleanor Martin had to dig her fingers into her daughter's naked sides to hold her loins to her own mouth to complete the task of drawing her own tender virgin daughter to the ecstasy of cunny-climax.
And in turn, excited by what she had done as well as what Dorothy had done to her, Eleanor Martin felt her own flesh betray her for the third time ... twice by the raping of these four brutes, and now drawn to crux by her own daughter's innocent lips and tongue! Before the eyes of the panting, almost naked convicts, the two naked bodies on the cot wriggled and jerked and finally sagged in the dreamy-creamy limbo of mutual hot girl-come!
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ben Salters had stuck the end of the white candle into a cracked glass ashtray on top of the old chest of drawers, so that he could be free to watch and, if need be, to force the two naked victims to their ordained task. But now, having seen both mother and daughter achieve the throes of orgasm, he could readily perceive that Pete, George and Mack were as savagely excited as he himself and would not content themselves with merely watching this incestuous act of Lesbianism.
"Better let the two broads go to the John and clean up a little before we start anything, boys," he announced.
Eleanor uttered a startled cry: "Oh dear God, surely you can't mean to do anything more to us, after what you've already done? OH don't, please let us go, please let us be now!"
"Shut your trap, Ellie," Mack Bolton roughly interrupted. "You got nothing to squawk about, you haven't. All we did was fuck you once apiece, and Dottie here ain't hardly been touched, except by your blowing her. It's time she was taking up some of the slack. Our cocks want some pussy now, and by God, we're going to get some."
"Then take me, for God's dear sake, take me, not her," Eleanor Martin wept.
But again it was Ben Salters who acted as arbiter to quell the angry wrangling which sprang up between his three cronies: "Hold it, you guys! Now we all know that Dorothy's cherry. And her Mummy has been pretty cooperative, you guys ought to hand her that. Now you don't take a cherry so fast, not till you sort of guide her along and show her what she's got to do. Anyway save the dessert for last-that will be her cherry. I say we make her blow off now each one of us guys in her mouth. How's that?"
His proposal met with acclaim from the three men, but not alas, from the horrified mother and daughter. Eleanor Martin scrambled out from under her trembling naked daughter's body and, swaying as she stood, her hands clasped in terror, her hair disheveled, her naked titties rising and falling turbulently, sobbed, "Oh my God, don't make my poor girl do such a filthy thing! I told you, I'll do everything you want, if you'll only spare her."
"Listen, Ellie," Mack Bolton jeered, "We've been pretty nice so far. A lotta guys would have ganged up on your brat and hosed her without even thinking twice about it, see? Now you tell her she's gotta make up her mind. Either she blows us, or she gets shagged. It's one or the other, and maybe it'll be both if you don't hurry up and tell her what to do, see?"
Faced with this dreadful dilemma, the lovely matron sat down on the cot and cradled Dorothy's head in her lap, bending down to kiss the trembling lips and to soothe her weeping daughter: "Shhh, baby, don't take on so. It-it's lots better if you do-do what they want this way-than-than the other. You-you won't get a baby this way. I know it's terrible, but please, for my sake, I can't bear to see you r-raped, please say you will!"
Slowly Dorothy Martin sat up, wincing and groaning as her burning bottom made contact with the scratchy blanket of the cot. Tears ran down her cheeks as she stared at the grinning convicts who had ranged around her. Through their unbuttoned shorts, their pricks stood out boldly, throbbing and angry, the lips puckering with the load of gism intended for her orifices. Her eyes went wide with horror and revulsion at the obscene sight, and she gulped nervously in a kind of anticipatory revulsion of what was destined for her.
"You're gonna get down on your knees, Dottie, and French us, see?" Mack Bolton declared^ "Ben, I'm gonna let you go first, because you thought all this up and you were the guy that picked these two sweet bitches for us. But I'm next, you hear, Pete and George?"
"Okay, Okay I can wait a little. Fact is, I get a kick just out of seeing her work on you guys," George Budrow laughingly declared.
Ben Salters accordingly seated himself on the edge of the cot, spreading his wiry hairy legs, and grinningly crooked his forefinger toward the aghast naked young brunette. "Down on your knees, Dot-tie, like you were about to say your prayers, and start blowing," he ordered.
"Oh Mother-" Dorothy sobbed helplessly as she turned piteous, tear-drenched eyes to her weeping mother.
"You have to, darling, oh please, for my sake!" Eleanor Martin groaned.
And so slowly, shuddering Dorothy Martin knelt down between Ben Salter's legs and, at his order, put her hands on his knees and then bent her head forward to his stiff, readied cock. But her lips curled and her nostrils twitched in revulsion, and she twisted her face to one side and cried out hysterically, "OH no, I just can't, Oh my God, I can't do such a filthy thing!"
"Mummy, you're gonna hafta fantail your little stubborn bitch of a daughter, I guess," Mack Bolton hoarsely guffawed as he bent down and twisted his fingers in poor Dorothy's tumbled black tresses, "You've gotta teach her to mind, Elbe girl. Take her over your lap and whack her bare ass till she says she will, you hear? If you don't, we'll whack yours instead!"
And so horrified and yet coerced into surrender, the naked matron seated herself on the cot while Pete and George hurried up eagerly to grab Dorothy's wrists and to drag the pleading, sobbing and hysterical naked girl across her mother's lap. Then as before, Pete and George squatted down and took hold of Dorothy's wrists, while Ben Salters bent towards the mother, both palms pressing down hard on the small of Dorothy Martin's naked ivory back. Her upturned dark-reddened bottom already bore the stigmata of that brutal spanking which Mack Bolton had given her. That latter worthy, with a lecherous smirk, had squatted and was reaching out to fondle one of Dorothy Martin's panting round ivory titties with his pudgy fingers.
"Go ahead and spank her good, Ellie," Ben Salters advised.
"Oh darling, I have to, don't you see? You've got to do what they want or they'll hurt you-they-they'll rape you-please, Dorothy," Eleanor Martin sobbed. But her daughter, struggling and squirming, hysterically wailed, "I just can't, oh, Mother, don't make me, it's so filthy, I'd vomit, I'd faint, I'd be sick-don't make me-"
With a sob Eleanor Martin raised her slim right hand and then brought it down with a crisp smack on her daughter's naked, inflamed bottom. A wail resounded, and Dorothy began to kick. But Ben Salters crouched down at the end of the cot and, taking hold of Dorothy's slim bare ankles in his hands directed, "Go ahead, she can't get loose now, give it to her good and hard till she says she will!"
Eleanor Martin had no recourse but to obey. She began to spank her daughter, and Dorothy began to cry out at once, for the second chastisement after the burning torment which Mack Bolton's hard hand had lodged inside her tender behind at once attacked her sensitivities. But the atrocious thought of what she would have to do despite this second and undeserved punishment for a time over-weighed the pain and she continued to scream and tried to kick and wriggled while her mother's hand rose and fell crisply, making those reddened, swollen bottomcheeks dance and jiggle, contract and gape in the most shameless and uncontrollable manner.
FIinally, she could bear no more, and at last in a dying voice, implored mercy: "Arrrr! Oh, Mother-oh Mother-no, I can't-oh yes, please, don't spank me any more, oh Mother, I'll do it, just please do stop!"
"You did a great job, Elbe. Now you can tell her what she had to do," Ben Salters stated as he released the sobbing girl's bare ankles and stood up. Then he took his place beside the naked matron, winking at her lewdly, as he spread his thighs and poor Dorothy swaying before him, her hands feverishly rubbing her throbbing posterior, was compelled once more to kneel down and to put her hands on his knees.
"Tell her, Ellie," he urged.
You-you have to take his th-thing inside your mouth and then s-suck, darling," Eleanor Martin stammered faintly. "You-you have to do it till he-till he has his climax."
"Till he shoots his wad, you mean, Ellie," Mack Bolton broke in with a bawdy laugh.
Sniffling and sobbing, Dorothy Martin forced herself to open her lips and accept the stiff meatus which topped Ben Salter's rigid prick. Then she made a squirming recoil as revulsion again seized her: "Oh no, oh don't make me-"
But Ben Salters, anticipating just such a protest, had plunged his fingers in her hair, and twisted them until she screamed in pain. "Get to work, or I'll yank your hair out by the roots!" he threatened.
And under this duress, beautiful naked young Dorothy Martin achieved the first Frenching of her life. Choking and gagging, she was none the less compelled to swallow Ben Salter's viscous jet when at last the sweet suction of her lips and the trembling warmth of them had compelled his furious ejaculation.
Then it was Mack Bolton's turn. Once again Dorothy pleaded brokenly to be spared, but the threat of another whipping, this time with a belt, soon quieted that revolt. And gagging, groaning, squirming on her knees, her face purple with shame and loathing the naked young brunette performed the act of fellatio on the sadistic fat bully till he too had his climax in her gagging mouth.
And then came George and Pete, by which time Dorothy was exhausted, bathed in sweat, her stomach retching, her eyes rolling with nausea.
She and her mother were tied up for the night on the cot, Eleanor lying under her daughter, mouth to mouth, titties, pussy to pussy, their thighs and waists tightly corded, their wrists bound behind their backs. And then the four convicts, hugely satisfied, went back to the living room to stand guard in shifts while each of them in turn enjoyed the bounty of sleep ... sleep in which lustful dreams of further exploits against the two helpless Martin women ran riot in their sadistic brains.
* * *
Rance Martin and his son had spent a virtually sleepless night. Both had heard the cries and pleas of Eleanor and Dorothy from the bedroom, and had closed their eyes and shudderingly pictured what was happening. The Chicago jeweller was haggard with thwarted helplessness and mental suffering. But his son was trembling, pale, and his groin ached from the lascivious images which had filtered into his precociously adolescent mind. Once again Kenneth Martin had seen his sister's naked body, lying on her bed, her hand between those ivory thighs, tickling the soft furry depths of her girlhood, till at last she had squirmed and wriggled and uttered a soft sobbing cry of bliss-fulfillment. And remembering his own manly prowess for the first time with Dody Brandon, he was able to imagine with vivid graphic detail what those four men had probably done to his helpless and beautiful mother.
It was about eleven in the morning, according to the stolen wristwatch, when Ben Salters decided to steal out of the cabin and take a looksee around. He came back to report that there seemed to be still no sign of highway patrol or police cars. Occasionally a heavy commercial truck, laden with cargo for some distant city, rumbled by, or an occasional automobile. But there was nothing on the highway beyond to indicate that the authorities had narrowed their search to this area.
Eleanor and Dorothy, still naked, were ushered to the bathroom, and Rance Martin and his son shuddered when they saw the victims pushed along like cattle, guarded by three men who exchanged lewd jokes and appraisals. Kenneth covertly observed that his sister's bottom was quite red and inflamed, and guessed that she had got a good spanking to make her do what they wanted. His body was aching from the cramped pose of sitting on the floor all night long, but as he shifted, he could feel the aching rigidity of his cock at the mere thought of what had happedned to Dorothy, as well as the sight of her black pussy-triangle between those white thighs, and her lovely jiggling titties and that red shifting and squirming ass of hers.
By mid-afternoon, the convicts sought new diversion with their helpless female victims who had been herded back into the bedroom, their wrists tied behind their backs. Mack Bolton was staring at Rance Martin, and then at Kenneth, whose face was flushed, and suddenly spoke up: "Say, you talk about two gals blowing each other, I'd sure like to see this young punk here give it to Dottie. Wouldn't that be something!"
"Hey, Mack, that's a great idea!" Pete Pullman chortled.
"My God, no!" Rance Martin hoarsely gasped, again uselessly struggling at his bonds. "You filthy degenerates, haven't you done enough to my family already?"
"If you keep up that line of chatter, buddy," Mack Bolton swore, "I'll smash your face in, I mean it. Unite the kid and let's take him into the bedroom and give him some lessons."
Ben Salters produced his jackknife and untied Kenny's bonds, while Pete and George helped the tow-headed lanky youth to his feet.
"Hey, look at that, the kid's already got a hard-on," Mack Bolton jeered pointing at Kenny's suspiciously stained trouser crotch. For indeed, during the night, Kenny Marting had been unable to hold back the gush of semen which had been stimulated by his hearing what had gone on in that bedroom.
Before they took Kenny into the bedrrom, they replaced the gag they had put in Rance Martin's mouth, having taken it off to let him enjoy a scanty breakfast. One of their gripes was that they didn't have any hot coffee, and breakfast itself had consisted of canned fruit and bread. But this gripe was quickly forgotten when the four of them entered the bedroom where Eleanor and Dorothy Martin lay helplessly bound on the cot.
Kenneth Martin's eyes bulged as he stared at his mother's nakedness, and then at his sister's. Mack Bolton poked him in the ribs with his elbow: "Eating stuff, ain't it, kid? Well, we're gonna let you fuck Dottie!"
"Oh no-oh God, you can't mean that," Eleanor Martin cried hysterically.
"Put that bitch in the corner so the kids can have the cot and steal the show," Ben Salters ordered.
Pete and George dragged the sobbing pleading matron off the cot and towards the corner of the room, where both held her by the wrists with one hand, and using the other to squeeze her bottom and belly and titties, as web as to tickle her furry cunt and make her squirm and groan as the tears ran down her controrted face. Meanwhile at Mack Bolton's order, Kenneth Martin tremblingly began to undress till he was down to his shorts and socks. Ben Salters meanwhile untied the cords binding Dorothy's ankles, but left her wrists tied behind her back, then rolled her over onto her back. "Now you're gonna get it from Kenny, baby," he chuckled, "You see, we're letting you keep it in the family. But we exepect a good show, you hear? If you don't shag real nice with Kenny, we're all gonna take it away from you. Maybe we'll even put two on you at once, one from behind and one in that soft black little hairy hole of yours, get me?"
Then he turned to the trembling youth: "Okay, open up those shorts and let's see what you've got. Put it into her twat, and fuck the living hell out of that sweet piece of cunt!"
"Oh no, K-Kenny-don't do it to me-please don't-" Dorothy Martin's eyes were huge and glazed with fear, as she tried to shrink back into the cot, squeezing her thighs shut, jerking frantically at her bound wrists behind her back, her titties frantically rising and falling.
"I-I'll have to, Sis," the youth panted thickly, his eyes feasting on the ivory loveliness of his naked sister. He remembered now how she had looked on her bed, playing with herself. The thought made his prick spring up with savage rut, and Mack Bolton roared with laughter at this evincement of lust: "By God, look at the size of Kenny's hard-on, would ja? He really wants a piece, he does. Okay, Kenny, take it away from the little bitch!"
"Oh no, don't, don't you dare oh Kenny, no, oh, Mother, help me, please don't let him do it-" Dorothy shrieked. She tried to fling herself off the cot, but Mack Bolton seized her by the shoulders and forced her back on, while Ben Salters crouched at one side and put his hands on her belly to press her down to her destiny. Kenneth had unbuttoned his shorts, and his prick stood out in bold virility as it had done with Dody Brandon.
On his hands and knees, crouching over the squirming naked brunette, Kenny was panting with pentup lust as he stammered, "I-I gotta, Sis, don't you understand? They'll do it to you if I don't. I've got to, don't get mad at me, I've got to!"
"Quit the chatter and fuck," Mack Bolton growled.
Kenny glanced nervously at the sadistic fat bully, then lowered himself while Ben Salters swiftly seized one of Dorothy's bare ankles and yanked it towards himself, thereby gaping her legs, and calling, "There you are, Kenny, get between her legs and give it to her good!"
His eyes shinging with lust, Dorothy's younger brother sank down on his naked sister, his prick-head gouging the thick black fleece between her struggling ivory thighs. She uttered a horrified scream, twisting her face to one side, trying to wriggle away, but the eager youth was maddened by the feel of her nakedness against his body. His prick thrust vigorously and found the mark, slipping into the grotto that came up against the hymenial seal. Dorothy arched and shrieked, "Oh don't, Oh it hurts, don't do it-"
Mack Bolton had gone around to the head of the cot, bending down, was holding Dorothy down by the shoulders while Ben Salters kept hold of her left leg and his other hand clamped against her naked side to pinion her to her doom. "Stick it all the way in, kid," he hoarsely advised.
Dorothy's face congealed with horror and pain as she felt her brother's stiff young cock bang up against her cherry. She arched and squirmed, but to no avail; as he gruntingly shoved home, she felt her membrane rent asunder, and a piercing scream attested to the loss of her maidenhood: "EEER-RRHHHOOHHH!! Oh don't, oh take it out of me, Kenny, it hurts so!"
But the youth was enraptured by the tight clinging feel of Dorothy's cuntwalls against his ripping ramrod, and with a gasping cry, seized her by the titties as he forced himself forward to the very hilt.
Her face twisted frantically from side to side, her eyes bulging and glassy, her nostrils flaring and shrinking, as she emitted cry upon wailing cry.
And then he needed no exhortation from the convicts to fuck his beautiful naked sister. Rabid with rut, remembering her as she had lain down in her own bed playing with her soft pussy, Kenneth Martin fucked his naked sister as violently and as enthusiastically as he had done Dody Brandon on that fateful Saturday afternoon back in Chicago.
In her corner, held by George and Pete, who continued to feel her up, Eleanor Martin closed her eyes and wept helplessly.
"Now you know what would be good?" Mack Bolton thickly gasped as he saw Kenny's body jerk and sag in the last convulsive spasm of hot gushing gismic come. "I'd like to see the old man shag Dot-tie here and Kenny give it to his Mummy!"
"Terrific idea," Ben Solters licked his lips and grinned. "Get our fried Rance. And you, Pete, get yourself a kitchen knife out of that drawer, we'll need it to talk sense into our helpful head of the family, ha, ha, ha!"
While George remained to hold Eleanor against him, one arm around her waist, the other hand squeezing one of her panting titties, Mack Bolton went out with Pete Pullman to help cut Rance Martin loose and then take him into this room of rampant rut.
When the handsome mature jeweller saw his wife in the corner with George Budrow, and his son sheepishly rising from the cot on which the sprawled naked form of his daughter lay, he uttered a shout of rage and tried to run toward the cot to protect her. But Pete Pullman dug the point of the knife against his back and hissed, "Easy, easy, Mr. Martin, easy! You do as we say, and nobody'll get hurt. Otherwise I'll shove this in up to the handle, savvy?"
Rance stopped as if paralyzed, his eyes wide with horror, as he slowly looked back at the grinning gray-haired convict. "All right, what do you want now, for God's sake?" he stammered, his voice breaking with exhaustion and agony of spirit.
"Take off your clothes first, Mr. Martin," Pete Pullman ordered. "Go on, you heard me! Start stalling and I'll bloody up your suit!"
Slowly Rance Martin began to undress, until he was down to shorts and socks. Then Pete prodded his bare back with the knife: "All right now, get there with your kid, Mr. Martin. You heard me. You're going to fuck Dottie!"
"No! I won't! You can kill me, but you'll never make me do a thing like that," Rance Martin cried, beside himself with despair.
"Gimme that knife, Pete," Mack Bolton sneered as he ambled over and took it from the gray-haired convict. Then he walked to the cot and directed the point of the knife right against Dorothy's left tittie: "I'm gonna count to five, Mr. Martin. If you aren't on top of her by then, she gets this shoved down as far as it goes, get me? one ... two...."
"But it's my own daughter, my God, you can't ask a father to do that-"
"Three ... you better start getting to it, Mr. Martin. After all, you won't be the first with her. Your boy's already knocked off her cherry. Might as well keep it in the family, I always say. Four ... your last chance. Because next comes you know what-" he paused dramatically, bfted up the knife as if to stab. Dorothy Martin shrieked, struggling with her bound wrists, trying to twist to one side.
"No, wait, I will, Oh my God, I will!" Rance Martin shouted hoarsely.
His daughter's eyes were pools of incredulous consternation as she saw her father unbutton his shorts and mount the cot, which creaked under his weight.
"Oh no, Rance, oh dear God," Eleanor Martin sobbed from the corner, and turned her face to one side so as not to see.
Rance Martin lay upon his daughter, his hands at her shoulders, tears running down his cheeks. But Mack Bolton wasn't funished yet. He put the point of the kitchen knife to Rance Martin's neck, and hissed, "All right, you had those kids by fucking, so you know what to do. Start rubbing your cock up against Dorothy's cunt till you get a hard-on, then stick it in and give it to her good. It'll go in, don't worry, Kenny did a fine job on her. Go ahead, start rubbing cock and cunt, Mr. Martin!"
Grinding his teeth and closing his eyes, Rance Marting slowly obeyed. He felt the prick of the knife and winced, as he whispered, "Dorothy, my God, honey, you know that I don't want to do this to you, I have to, please forgive me, child!"
Dorothy was sobbing softly, and her eyes were closed, too, as she felt her father's cock friction the tangled matted curls of her pussy.
"Watch, Ellie, see how your old man works on Dottie," George Burdow sniggered, goosing the beautiful naked matron and making her squeal and jump.
"Keep it up, Mr. Martin, you're doing fine," Mack Bolton jeered, as he pricked the knifepoint against Rance Martin's wiry neck. With a groan the jeweler quickened his rubbing movements, and suddenly his eyes widened, for he had felt himself grow hard and turgid. The soft quivering thighs of his naked daughter, her panting young titties, rasping their crinkly points against his straining chest, had made his cock harden against his very will.
"Let's get with it, Buster," Mack Bolton urged, pricking Rance Martin on the bottom with the dull, heavy kitchen knife. With a gasp, Dorothy's father arched himself and prodded against the curly thicket of pussyfur, found the mark and felt himself slip slowly between the palpitating lips of his daughter's young cunt.
"Ohh-D-Daddy-Oh my G-God, oh Mother, he-he's in me," Dorothy wailed.
"Get all the way in," Mack Bolton panted, pricking the father's bottom again with the knife.
In desperation, Rance Martin thrust home, and his cock drove down the still narrow, moist and twitching channel of his daughter's love-cavern to the very hilt. Dorothy uttered a strangled cry, twisting her face to one side.
"All right, Kenny, it's your turn to go on Ellie," Ben Salters grinningly decreed. "Pete, bring Ellie over here and make her get down on the floor and spread her sweet legs so her boy can find the way he came out of, huh?"
"Sure thing," George Budrow sniggered. Cupping both of Eleanor Martin's breasts with his hands, as he stood behind her, he rubbed his own stiff cock against the crease of her bottomcheeks, muttering, "Go on, baby, if he doesn't do a good job upon you, I will."
Sobbing, the naked matron shamefacedly moved forward, and then lay down on the floor. Ben Salters took Kenny by the elbow and with his other hand pointed down at Eleanor's sprawled and readied nudity: "Go to it, kid!"
Kenny Martin gulped and swallowed. His glittering eyes studied his mother's panting titties, the soft dimpled belly, the brown fleecy curls of her, soft cunt. He felt himself stiffen again, and sank down on his knees between hers, as he panted, "Gee, Mom, I have to, I just have to, I don't want them to hurt you none, I have to, Mom!"
"Oh my God, my poor darling, oh what's happening to us?" Eleanor Martin whimpered as she closed her eyes.
Kenneth Martin sank down on his mother's nakedness, and his stiff cock rooted against the thicket of her pussycurls. Eleanor uttered a whimpering little cry, biting her lips almost to the blood as she felt her son's prick enter the sanctum and perform its incestuous cohesion.
Mack Bolton still stood over the cot, occasionally pricking Rance Martin with the knife to urge the latter to greater enthusiasm: "Fuck her faster than that, give it to her till that goddamn cot breaks down," he gloated.
Rance Martin, his face flushed, his eyes closed, breathing stertorously, obeyed. Now clasped by the soft tightening walls of his young daughter's cunt, he knew only the delicious, forbidden rapture of this incestuous union. Her jerking body under his, the rubbing of her panting titties against his chest, inflamed him. And on the floor beyond, as he slowly turned his face and opened his eyes, he saw his son topping his wife, who had her arms around him at Ben Salters' injunction, humping away like mad.
Suddenly Dorothy uttered a sobbing groan, "Oh, Daddy-oh Daddy, I can't help it Daddy, oh what are you doing-oh oh, oh Daddy, Oh I'm going to-oh yes Daddy don't stop now, oh make me come, OOHHHH!!"
Her body leaped and jerked in the throes of her first orgasm as a woman as her panting father thrusting deeply inside her quim felt himself explode and lay moaning and drained, tasting the sweetness of his own daughter's naked palpitating flesh united with his in lascivious and forbidden climax!
* * *
It was night again, and the frugal evening meal had been quickly finished for by now the four convicts were eager to enjoy their lustful "dessert."
This time, Dorothy Martin was to take on all four of them, after which Mack Bolton proposed that they watch Rance do it to his wife and then Kenny finish the night off by fucking his own sister again-after both had done a sixty-nine on each other.
Rance and his son had had their wrists tied behind their backs, and their ankles corded, to prevent their trying to escape and also to make it easier for the four convicts to operate on the two helpless females. Mack Bolton, who had won the card deal for the first crack at Dorothy, was leading his trembling and sobbing victim by an elbow towards the bedroom when suddenly there was a sound of a distant siren. The convicts froze, and Mack Bolton gasped, "Blow out that Goddamn candle, Ben!"
Ben blew out the candle instantly, while Pete grabbed the handle of the kitchen knife and brandished it in readiness.
Silence fell on the room, as they waited. It was broken only by Dorothy Martin's soft whimpers, till Mack Bolton hissed into her ear, "Keep your trap shut, or I'll strangle you, you stupid bitch!"
The siren had stopped. And suddenly from a bullhorn, there came the booming voice, "This is the police! Salters, Bolton, Budrow, Pullman, come out of there with your hands up or we'll start shooting! We're going to count to twenty-five, and then we're going to use machine guns."
Rance Martin had been testing the bonds of his ankles, and in the darkness had discovered that they were loose. Silently he hobbled towards the front foor of the cabin, and then turning his back, grasped the knob with his bound hands and twisted it open, and yelled out, "Don't shoot, they're got my wife and my son and my daughter in here as hostages!"
It was over. The nightmare, the ordeal of terror, the coercion and the lust were over ... or were they?
* * *
The Buick turned into the motel on the Nevada line, and Rance Martin got out and went into the office and signed the register, He would take two cabins.
The Martin famly had been rescued four days earlier, and had testified the following morning before the State Highway Patrol commander and his deputies before being allowed to go on their way. They had been taken to a hostpital for a checkup, and released, after giving their California address so that the authorities could get in touch with them if need be when the escaped convicts would stand trial to have their sentences augmented for the prison break, the kidnapping and the criminal assault upon the two Martin females.
But Rance Martin's handsome face bore no sign of the suffering and the horror he had witnessed as he emerged from the office, two cabin keys in his right hand. Ad he got back behind the wheel, his daughter put her head on his shoulder and whispered, "I feel so nervous, Daddy, just like a bride," and turning to her with a smile he whispered back, "That's the way I want you to feel, baby. You aren't jealous that Kenny's going to be with your mother tonight, are you, Dorothy sweetheart?"
"Uh uh. Not so long as I've got you all to myself, Daddy darling. You don't know how much I need it. I can't wait till we're alone together, can you?"
"No I can't, baby. And maybe if Elbe isn't feeling quite up to it tonight, we might just have Kenny in and make it a threesome. Would you like that?"
The raven-haired young girl glanced back at where Kenneth Martin and his mother were cuddling in the back seat of the Buick, oblivious to all else. Then she turned back to her father and whispered, with a sly wink: "You better not count on Elbe's being not up to it. From the way they're necking in the back neat, they're probably good for all night. We'll have to let it go until tomorrow night, Daddy darling."
