It is no accident that major crime figures are always involved in rackets that relate to sex. If they didn't, that would be unusual. Sex is a basic society. It can be used to manipulate people and it is frequently bought and paid for-but only sometimes with money.
This is a novel about crime and criminals-and sex. They go together as normally as crime and politics or crime and money. The point is, sex is so pervading a force in any society that it automatically links up with the best-and worst-points in that society.
Adult novels, if they serve a purpose other than pure entertainment, make clear the relationship of sex and society. Perhaps, to make the point clearer, it is exaggerated. But that is normal in writing of any kind.
No matter what the writer puts in a novel, the reader only extracts that which he wishes or is capable of seeing. It is our hope that in this book and others like it, the reader extracts more than pure entertainment.
THE PUBLISHER
CHAPTER ONE
Cricket giggled when she felt her handsome husband's hand closing gently over her denim-covered pubic mound. "Tony," she whispered in mock embarrassment. "What will the goats think?" As she spoke, she looked around at the cool and serene semi-darkness of the barn's interior.
Her husband laughed, giving her pussy a playful squeeze. "They'll understand," he said, his eyes twinkling lustfully. "After all, spring is here and all the young budks are in heat." Moving to press his lips against hers, he swept her to the floor. In a moment, they were both giggling and rolling playfully in a plush bed of sweet-smelling straw.
Living on a small goat farm in northern California wasn't as exciting as life in New York City had been, but it had its advantages. Tony liked it because it was anonymous and because the location was remote. Cricket liked it for other reasons.
She had always felt more comfortable and more at home on the farm than she had in the city. The barnyard sounds and the clean fresh air reminded her of her childhood. Best of all, rural life moved at a slower pace. Which left time for love-making in the afternoon.
She had just returned from her trip to the post office, and was about to call Tony in from the barn when he surprised her from behind. Although they had been married for nearly a hear, he hadn't lost his playful hunger for the softness of her womanly body. He never missed an opportunity to caress her as she walked by, or to sneak up behind her and grind his pelvis meaningfully against the firm roundness of her buttocks. It pleased Cricket to know that he desired her so much.
Tony was tall and muscular, his rugged Sicilian features giving him a look of coarse and hard masculinity. His hair was dark, almost blue-black, and his skin was exotically swarthy. His face usually wore a conditioned expression of practiced impassivity. But when his attractive young wife looked into his piercing brown eyes, she saw tenderness there. And a gentle affection which the rest of the world had never seen.
Tony was the first man who ever made love to Cricket. And, although he was the only one she had ever really known, she was certain that none could ever please her as much. When she felt his lips against her own, or his fingers roaming lovingly across her quivering skin, she knew that she was made to be his.
Throwing her arms around his neck, she then pressed his face to the cushion of her bosom, stroking his eyes with the peaks of her mountainous breasts. The sweater which she was wearing was soft and flimsy, and she wore no bra beneath it. She felt her nipples harden against the clinging knit material as his teeth sought their turgidity through her garment.
"Oh, Tony," she sighed. "I love you."
"And I love you, Cricket," he whispered. He was kissing her throat, his lips nibbling slowly up toward her ears.
His hot breath played over the sensitive tissues of her neck, making her tremble with excitement. With a stifled moan, she kissed him, their lips meeting in a passionate exchange of desire. Immediately, his tongue darted into her mouth, jabbing at her teeth and dancing over her gums. She met its thrusts with her own, their tongues fencing wetly as their souls fused tightly together.
His hips were churning rhythmically, rotating his crotch into contact with the sculptured curves of her torso. His cock was thick and erect, its tip pressing insistently at the front of his work-stained dungarees.
One of Tony's hands cupped her ripe ass-cheeks and worked her body more tightly against him. His fingers closed lovingly over the resilient flesh, moving from one buttock to the other and then dipping hungrily into the valley between them. The fabric of her jeans was stiff and rough, but through it he could feel the smooth sheen of her silky underpants, and the unblemished perfection of her powdery skin.
As though controlled by some sensuous homing instinct, his other hand began working its way up under the symbolic barrier of her sweater. The skin of Cricket's belly was satin soft, its submerged muscles rippling involuntarily as his fingers explored its expanse. When he stroked her bosom, her breathing deepened. Pleasure shot through Cricket from each spot where he touched her, engulfing her senses and suffusing her with heat. She chewed at his lower lip, a groan of bestial desire rumbling in her throat, until at last he was cupping her breast.
His fingers squeezed lovingly at the full fleshy globes, the roughness of his calloused hands arousing her inexplicably. The pebble-like rigidity of her erect nipple stabbed and raked at his palm, as though begging to be pinched; to be rolled; to be kneaded; to be loved. Deliberately, he plucked at its distended rubbery surface, infusing the tip of her turgid tit with heat and engorging its vessels with pounding circulation. Then, when she felt as though she would scream from utter desire, his hand moved teasingly away.
Lovingly he pressed his fingers against her breastbone, his palm nestling snugly in the excitement-moistened canyon between her twin towering peaks. Cricket moaned softly, completely at the mercy of his tantalizing embrace. Slowly, with the fingers of his other hand, he lifted the hem of her sweater, methodically exposing the whiteness of her naked torso to his view.
When the crumpled garment was bunched up across her shoulders, he held his breath and looked down at her. Her soft blue eyes were closed, as though unable to deal with the frankness of her husband's passion. She knew he was staring at her, devouring her nudity with his lustful gaze. She could feel the heat of his eyes upon her heat-swollen pussy.
A muscle twitched to betray the emotion burning behind Tony Santamaria's expressionless face. His wife was a thing of beauty. He would never tire of looking at her. As she lay in the straw, her long, gossamer-soft blonde hair framing her face and shoulders, she seemed as helpless as a baby.
Tony still thought of his wife that way, even though she was twenty-one. Her tall and wiry frame made her look like an adolescent, in spite of the mature fullness of her thirty-six inch bosom and the sculptured roundness of her womanly ass. The fact was, she was ten years his junior.
He leaned forward to puff his warm breath across one strawberry nipple, smiling as it stirred to even fuller erection. Her breast heaved beneath him, a conscious desire for his hot, wet mouth. With a single flick of his tongue, he lapped lovingly at its rosy point. Then, unable to contain his hunger any longer, he threw himself forward and filled his mouth with her titflesh. His wet tongue brought a low, bestial whine from his wife's pulsating throat.
She reached instinctively for the firmness of his penis, clutching at it through his pants while he licked and lapped at her nipple. He was cupping both boobies now, filling her head with celestial music and making the flesh of her pussy moisten with the fluid of longing. Driven by lust, she arched her back, waving her crotch invitingly before him. Without relenting in his oral stimulation of her breasts, he undid the snap at her waist.
Cricket's breath was coming in rasping pants as her sensuous young body prepared for what she knew was next. She felt his fingers at the zipper of her jeans, freeing her body. Instinctively, she moved her body to assist Tony in undressing her. In a moment, she was wearing only her panties, the denims having been peeled from her legs and tossed onto the straw.
Her undies were wet with the flowing juices of her excitement, and she was anxious to be free of them, too. But Tony was caressing her pussy through them. And somehow he turned the wispy strip of cloth into a tool of their lovemaking.
First he stroked her puffy vulva through the tightly drawn bit of fabric, tracing the convolutions of her puckering vaginal lips with a fingertip. Then, slipping his fingers into the leg bands, he bunched the dampened material together into a twisted strip of cloth which he drew like a rope between her spread thighs. Sliding his hand upward, he gently rubbed at her clitoral hood. Tugging at the elastic material, he drew it up between the lips of her cunt and deep into her vaginal crack. Cricket gasped as the lacy garment made contact with her stiffening clit.
Tony was playing with her; teasing her. And she loved it. He had always known how to use her sexual inexperience as an implement in his titillation of her. It seemed to Cricket as though he would never run out of different, and exotic ways of arousing and turning her on. Spreading wide her bare legs, she abandoned herself gladly to his expert manipulations.
"Tony," she sobbed. "Make me feel good. You make me feel good."
Her words were a sensuous confession triggering all the erotic responses of his body. His cock threatened to drill a hole through his tight-fitting jeans. He had to be free of them to give his young wife a sample of what was to come. Pulling her panties down, he watched the lips of her cunt part reluctantly to permit the twisted fabric's retreat, his breath caught in his throat.
Thrusting one stiffened finger into the inviting softness of her pulsating pussy, he felt her slippery vagina, wet with lust. Swiftly he undid his pants. Within moments he was nude, his clothes scattered about in the fragrant barn stall. From the corners of his eyes he could see goats chewing quietly on their cuds. But he wasn't really conscious of them. His mind focused only on the hair-fringed loveliness of Cricket's sweet flowing pussy.
While she lay with her eyes closed, he stripped her sweater from her. Then he eased her onto her back, spreading her legs into an inverted V. Cricket made herself supple for him, bending easily to the demands of his touch. She knew that he would take care of her. She felt secure in his hands. A moment later his lips were moving over her, kissing at her throat and leaving wet trails across the contours of her mountainous tits. Her body swayed and writhed as he lapped gently at her pits and hollows. She felt her pussy opening for him.
Slowly, Tony eased himself into position over her. He kneed his way between her thighs, moving carefully. His thick and throbbing cock bobbed before him, grazing the whiteness of her skin, and bringing goose-flesh to the sensitive corners of her body. Lifting her head, she opened her eyes to look at it.
Tony's cock fascinated Cricket. Long and rigid, it tapered gently from base to neck and then swelled bulbously into a mushroom-shaped head. Its purple tip was distended with desire, throbbing like a living breathing creature. Instinctively she reached for it, cradling its masculine hardness in the loving grasp of her fingers. A single drop of pearly moisture formed at its tip, bathing her fingers with the warmth of its wetness. Closing her hand around the massively pulsating meat, she pulled rhythmically up and down on his cock, feeling the anxious organ grow thicker and more potent in her grasp. As she played with his prick, she tugged it steadily closer to the blonde-fringed portal of her body.
Her cunt was a scarlet gash against the pale white softness of her sheltered loins. Around its fragrant opening curled strands of soft furry pubic-hair, so silvery white that they shone like a halo round her twat. Her labia puckered and drew back invitingly, as though consciously soliciting his attention. Hunching forward, Tony bathed the tip of his penis in the sweet-scented chasm. Cricket gasped.
Manipulating the organ, she pressed its bulbous knob against the puffy prominence of her clitoral mound. Their sex juices mingled as the wetness of her excitement flowed from her slit to blend with the juice of his cock. She shivered at the contact, her breasts quivering like twin mounds of creamy foam. Greedily, she guided his penis lower, directing its tapering point to the pulsating slash of her cunt.
"Put it in me, Tony," she whimpered. "Fuck me! I need it!"
His penis throbbed. The sensuousness of his young wife's supplication brought his balls to a boil. In his mind, the innocence which had been in her when they met had somehow not been lost. Even now, as Cricket begged wantonly for his cock, there was something pure and virginal in her expression. Something which would always make her special to him.
Inching forward, he allowed her trembling fingers to bring his cock to the mouth of her pussy. But when it stood poised at the opening, his masculine urges took over. He humped urgently against her, driving his cock into the breach. In spite of the free-flowing fluid which coated the tissues of her vulva, the fit was tight, the way he liked it. He waited a moment, to give her vaginal muscles a chance to relax in adjustment to his penetration. Her cuntal lips drew snugly around the circumference of his penile probe, stroking and massaging the nerve endings which lined its surface.
Her love-channel seemed to be sucking him inward, gobbling his tumescent fuck-rod and drawing it deeper into her core. Its entire mushroom head was buried in the softness of her, the warm wetness of her internal vulvic membranes soaking deep into the sensitive rod. A fraction at a time, the gnarled shank of his staff sank beyond the barrier of her cuntlips, its massively curved prow pushing back the rolls of cuntflesh which convoluted within her.
Now half the swollen length of his cock had found its way inside her hot hole. The shiny black tips of his pubic hair brushed against his wife's silvery cuntal fur, sparks of static electricity filling their consciousnesses with spiralling patterns. Her hips were working rhythmically, her silken buttocks rising and falling against the cushiony straw beneath her. Her head lolled from side to side.
Hypnotized by the totality of her response, Tony rammed home the last glistening fraction of his penetrating cock. Only when he felt his pubic bone press tightly against her mound did he stop, knowing he was in to the hilt. Making a circular motion with his pelvis, he scoured the prominence of her clit, bringing a gasp from her throat.
Cricket's little feminine trigger hardened, its cock-like tip protruding slightly from the sheltering hood in which it nestled. Each of his movements stroked its surface with his curling cock-hair. Digging her heels into the straw beneath her, Cricket heaved herself up at him. The stimulation of her love button was shortening her breath and elevating her temperature.
Reaching under her, Tony filled his hands with the meaty flesh of her buttocks, working her loins even tighter against him to increase the pressure on her sex mound. Every stroke drove her excitement to a higher pitch, tearing strangled sounds of pleasure from her throat. Each murmur of ecstasy, each gurgling prayer for his touch redoubled the rigidity of his prick. He thrust harder; he drove deeper. He jabbed at her clit with the head of his piston. He reamed the depths of her vaginal cavity with the thickness of his pecker.
Then when she was certain that he could go no deeper, he rolled his hips and speared her even further. As he humped, his mouth sought the pebbled flesh of her pink aureoles, his pointy tongue nudging at the stiffening knobs at their centers. When her nipples came to full bloom, he pinched them gently with his teeth and rolled them with his lips. Cricket was gasping with excitement.
He began biting gently, his teeth leaving temporary marks which ringed the twin globes of her bosom. Each little nip brought a gasp of excitement and delight from his frantic partner's lips. Each loving caress of his tongue brought a rolling grind of her pelvis. Her body was gloriously impaled on the stiffness of his cock and she never wanted it to end.
Tangling her fingers in his thick shock of hair, Cricket guided his head from one of her tits to the other, the touch of his tongue on her nipples keeping her on the brink of sexual explosion. She felt his fingers moving possessively over the curving flesh of her ass, as he pulled its cheeks apart and pushed them together. When one of his fingertips brushed the puckered opening of her asshole, she shuddered and gasped.
It was a sound which Tony loved. Again and again, he brought it from her, making her writhe with the squirming movements of his fingers on the crack of her ass. Her rectum literally thrilled to the forbidden touch. The humping bucks of her groin, given in joyous response, pressed her clitoris tighter against him. Her white skin was coated with a glistening sheen of excited perspiration.
Cupping her buttocks in his palms, Tony allowed his fingers to wander beyond her roiling asshole and around toward the nether corner of her vaginal gash. Each time his cock drew out, he felt the flesh of her pussy reach up to follow. Each time he drove inward, her lips wrapped tighter around his shaft. Tracing the outline of her cuntal folds, he stroked the lips of her vulva with his fingertips while his penis slid smoothly in and out.
Cricket felt waves of sizzling pleasure ripple across her consciousness as her husband toyed lovingly with her twat. Her titties were tingling wildly. Her cunt was on fire. She felt his thick cock plowing deep through the most private and personal recesses of her body. How sweet it was to be penetrated by him; to surround his maleness with her downy soft tissues. To Cricket, it spoke of her dependence upon him; of her weakness and of his strength.
As if to engulf him completely, she raised her legs high into the air and wrapped them tightly around his waist. The movement pulled her cuntal opening wide, allowing him to drive even harder against her. His cock plunged deeper toward her core.
Tony felt her body open completely to him. Each driving thrust of his cock brought his heavy sperm-bloated scrotum swinging forward to slap at the open crevice of her ass. The overflowing vaginal moisture which had collected there coated the fleshy bag with a sticky froth. As he drew back, their bodies clung together for a tenuous instant. Then on the instroke his bag of nuts swung free once again in a long, pendulous arch.
Cricket wanted to shout her pleasure to the world. But her lips were clamped tightly together. Each penetrating stroke of her husband's prick brought his muscular pelvis thudding against the softness of her sex mound.
Cricket wanted to shout her pleasure to the world. But her lips were clamped tightly together. Each penetrating stroke of her husband's prick brought his muscular pelvis thudding against the softness of her sex mound. Each rotating twist of his lower torso rubbed his wiry pubic triangle across the trembling button of her clit. Her eyes were closed tightly, shutting out all but the rising glory of her mounting sexual tension. Her body trembled as her excitement rose higher.
She was panting and wheezing, her erotically stimulated body barely able to meet its own demands for survival. Her loins were hungry, craving the meat of his pistoning cock. She was obsessed by it; possessed by it.
Tony felt his river of semen overflowing its banks. His tubes were filled with its heat, his system brimming with its potent life-force. It inched laboriously toward release, the passionate churning of his testes raising its level by perceptible degrees. He tensed all of the muscles of his pelvis, attempting futilely to hold back the flood; trying in vain to prolong the ecstatic agony of the impending explosion. His wife's face contorted before him in the grimacing mask of her lust. Her teeth gnawed at her lips, her nostrils flared in hyperventilation. A rasping animal whine rippled from her throat as his prick bore her higher on the spiral of desire.
His cock was expanding within her, its muscles contracting spasmodically to give the inner walls of her pussy a rhythmically vibrant massage. She could feel the cushioney pad of his pubic hair pressing luxuriantly against the distended hood of her clitoral tent as their bodies ground tightly together.
"Oh Tony," she panted. "I'm going to explode!"
Those were the words he had been waiting for. Bucking hard against her, he drew back slowly until the tip of his prick was all that remained within her to connect their lust-driven bodies. Then, plunging forward, he buried the entire, glistening length of his penis in her twat. When he had plunged once again to her depths, the flesh of their loins fusing hotly in the fever of passionate embrace, the mutual eruption of their glorious orgasm began.
Cricket felt her body bouying heavenward as the mounting waves of pleasure wracked her naked frame. Her cunt became the center of a cosmically fantasmagoric universe which twisted and rotated drunkenly on a sex-bent axis. She began murmuring incoherently, her voice shattering the surrealistic stillness of the rustic goat barn.
"Ooooooohhh, cuuuuummming. Ooooohhh starting now. Nnnnnggghh. Yes. Cuuuummm-iiiinnng!" Her voice trailed off to a gurglingly strangled whisper as the climax carried her away.
Tony's cock was suddenly bathed in the heated release of her vaginal fluids. The potency of her orgasm washed over him as the first bubbling jet of sperm-laden semen pressed forward through the tunnel of his rod. Desperately, it sought release to the comfort of the satiny canyon which enveloped his cock. Closer it whirled, bubbling toward the passionately distended slit at the tip of his tool. Suddenly, flushing his loins with the heavenly friction of its passage, the fluid shot forth, leaving the spigot of his manhood to spray hotly at the membranes of her cunt. Immediately behind the first bursting jet came another. And another. And another. The gushing torrent of his love juice spewed mightily from its source, its excretion showering his being with glitter. A million stars were exploding in his consciousness, each searing flash of blinding light adding fire to the intensity of his climax.
Their fluids mingled in the sweet pit of her vaginal valley. The creamy froth of their blending coated his skin and hers, matting the moistened hair of their genitals as the loving bodies combined. Together, man and wife rode the spinning whirling tornado of sensual fulfillment, soaring as one being through the timelessness of ecstasy.
The goats in the barn looked up at the grunting wailing sound of the two copulating humans. Then, disinterested, they went back to their cuds while, heedless, Tony and Cricket fucked on. The rhythm of their undulating bodies beating a primitive tattoo on the straw-covered wooden floor. Their loins moved in unison, swinging apart and crashing together with choreographed precision. The pulsating throbs of their passionate organs joined in a duet of sensate stimulation. The crashing combination of their torsos was like a clashing of cymbals in the orchestral crescendo of their climatic coming-together.
"That was wonderful," the breathless Cricket gasped as her sated husband stretched lazily in the rumpled straw beside her. "I'm so glad we came here to live. It gives us more time for being together." Her eyes flashed with the youthful sparkle of love as she snuggled against her Tony's hairy frame.
"Yes," he drawled lazily. "When we left our old ties in New York, I thought that this would only be temporary. A place to lay low; to drop out of sight for a while. But I'm beginning to like it so much that I find myself trying to figure out ways of staying here. Maybe it will work. Maybe they'll never find me. Maybe they don't even care anymore."
He was musing absently, almost as though talking to himself. Cricket understood only vaguely what he was referring to. She knew that he had been involved with some pretty mean people in New York. Some tough and surly gangster types. But right from the beginning of their relationship Tony had evaded the questions which she asked him, and she knew that he considered his work none of her business. In a way it was better like that.
"I'm glad you like the country," she said brightly. "And I'm glad you're making friends here."
Tony laughed. "Friends?" He echoed in surprise. "I haven't talked to anyone but the guy in the gas station since we got here. I never thought of him as a friend."
Cricket raised herself up on one elbow, basking sensuously in her mid-morning nakedness. "That's funny," she said curiously. "The man I met at the post office this morning seemed to know you quite well. He asked how you liked milking the goats and whether farm life appealed to you and...."
Suddenly her husband was alert, springing to his feet and reaching for his clothes. "What did he look like?" he demanded frantically as he stepped into his pants. "What did he say?"
Something about her husband's reaction terrified Cricket. For the first time, she saw fear in his eyes. As never before, she sensed his vulnerability. "Tony?" she pleased. 'Tony, please. What's wrong? Tell me what's wrong."
"What did he look like?" Tony repeated. "What did he look like?"
"I don't know," she said, frightened. "He was tall. Taller than you. And he had dark wavy hair. Sideburns, I think. I think there was a scar or something near one of his eyes."
"Did he keep blinking it?" Tony asked her. "Like he had something in it?"
"I think so," she answered, trying to recall an image of the man.
"And a real raspy voice?" her husband continued, his eyes narrowing with emotion.
"Yes I remember that now" she said. "What is it?" But her husband was pulling her to her feet and moving them both toward the door. She barely had time to gather her clothes as she went. When they reached the entrance to the barn, he pushed her against the wall and peered carefully outside. She struggled quickly into her clothes.
"Come on," he said, pulling her roughly behind him. "Let's get into the house. I'll explain it all later." Her tits bobbing out of her unbuttoned blouse, Cricket ran breathless behind her husband, neither of them stopping until the house door was shut tight and safely locked behind them.
CHAPTER TWO
Tony peered carefully through the cross-hairs of his rifle scope, centering them between Messaria's eyes. Squeezing the trigger, he heard the boom, felt the recoil as the syndicate hit-man crumpled, blood spattering the grass where he fell.
Tony waited a moment, not moving from his vantage-point inside the equipment shed. Then he breathed again, smelling the cordite. Stepping cautiously out of the building, he was careful to stay in its shadow.
It was a shock to hear Cricket tell of a man asking questions at the post office. He had known, as soon as she remembered something odd about his eye, that the man could only be Messaria, Don Vitagliano's number one assassin. Messaria the Enforcer! It meant that they were on to him; that it had taken them just four months to find him in the farm land of northern California. It meant that for him there could never really be freedom.
He had hurried his pretty young wife into the safety of their house, knowing that with Messaria on the contract, there wasn't a moment to lose. It was either kill or be killed. Fastening a telescopic sight to his rifle, he had gone out to secure the entrance gate. But before he had gotten very far, something made him duck into the shed. It was the goats. Their natural curiosity had caused them to cluster unnaturally around something or someone hidden in a clump of eucalyptus trees. Looking through the shed window, Tony had spotted him, crouching behind a bush, too busy with the goats to even realize that he had been seen. Tony wasted him while he had the chance.
Cautiously he approached the fallen assassin's body. His hand clutched tightly at his rifle stock. Messaria was wily. He could be feigning death, and Tony wasn't a professional gunman. Carefully, turning the body over with the toe of his boot, he looked down into what had been the Enforcer's face. All that remained was an oozing bloody pulp. Sighing, he relaxed his sweaty grip on the rifle.
There wasn't much time now. Messaria usually worked alone, but he might have brought a backup. And even if he didn't, it wouldn't be long before his failure to report alerted Vitagliano's boys in New York to the possibility of trouble. He had to bury the body in a hurry, and then get Cricket and himself the hell out of there!
Dragging Messaria's body under the trees, Tony went for a shovel. Then, standing his rifle against a eucalyptus, he started to dig. As his powerful arms swung the shovel, he thought of Cricket. He would have to get her out of there, to some kind of safety. It saddened him to realize that he would probably have to tell her everything: what they were running from and why, and how little chance they had of getting away.
He loved Cricket totally, with all his heart and with all his mind. Not just with his prick like Don Vitagliano always thought. The don, who never really understood his feelings for Cricket, used to laugh at Tony, calling him "a man who thinks with his prick". He often said that Tony's prick was his most potent weapon, and he took great delight in commenting that it was his young protege's cock which had first brought him to importance in syndicate circles. Tony couldn't help smiling as he remembered.
He hadn't been much more than a kid himself then, not quite twenty-one. And he didn't hold much of a position. Nothing more than a street soldier. He ran a four block area; using his fists to collect for syndicate shylocks, taking bets for syndicate bookies, and managing a string of four flashy streetwalkers. But though he wasn't highly placed, his way with women had already earned him the moniker, "Tony Charmer". And his fellow street soldiers had already learned to keep their girlfriends away from him.
Even the don, Angelo Vitagliano himself, had heard tales of the young hoodlum's prowess as a seducer. Apparently, he was impressed. When hostilities developed between his family and the Mancinelli gang of Brooklyn, he sent for Tony Charmer personally with a special assignment.
Carmelo Pima, an important Mancinelli lieutenant, was to be hit. But he was too closely guarded for any of Vitagliano's contract-men to get near him. Except when he visited his mistress. Then the bodyguards remained at a respectful distance.
If Charmer could convince the pretty lady to change sides, the rest would be easy. Not even Pima would expect his own woman to finger him for a hit. The element of surprise would be his undoing. And for a job well done, the young hoodlum would receive a promotion.
The woman, Rosa Ponti, was beautiful enough to have been under contract to a major Hollywood studio.
Pima gave her a new deal, though. He set her up in an apartment. Then he got her the hat check concession in a prominent Mancinelli nightclub downtown where she earned four times what the film-makers had been paying her.
He hadn't intended for her to run the stand herself, of course. But to ease the boredom of a kept woman's life, Rosa gave her assistant some time off, using the hat check concession as an excuse to get out at night without arousing Pima's jealousy.
After learning as much about her as he could, Tony dropped in at the nightclub one evening when he knew she would be there. After staying just long enough for a fast drink at the bar, he stopped to pick up his coat, lingering at the check stand to lock eyes with the raven-haired beauty who helped him into it. Then, casually, he left a one hundred dollar tip on the counter, walking from the club without saying a word.
Two nights later, when he dropped in again, Rosa smiled and greeted him by name. He knew from the softness of her voice that it would only be a matter of time before he had her. Maybe sooner than he had planned. As he sat at the bar sipping his drink, he felt her eyes upon him. Glancing quickly into the mirror, he caught the reflection of her gaze, their glances meeting in a secret exchange of propositions. Tossing down the rest of his whisky, he stepped from the stool and headed for the door.
Almost as an afterthought, he stopped at the check stand. Whispering a single sentence across the counter at her, he handed her a folded bill. Inside it was a key. Two hours later, she was in his room.
"How did you know I would come?" Rosa asked, accepting the glass which Tony held out to her.
"You did, didn't you?" he answered, smiling smugly.
"Yes I did," she said, her dark almond-shaped eyes flashing. "And if Carmelo ever finds out...."
Tony smiled again, this time stepping towards her. The time for conversation was past. Suddenly, she was in his arms, her lips nibbling hungrily at his, her hands roaming hotly over his masculine shoulders. His fingers tangled in the softness of her hair, moving her face from side to side as their mouths melted together. He kissed her hungrily, the passion of his embrace communicating his burning need for her body. Taking her shoulders in his hands he held her away from him, a muscle in his temple twitching as he openly appraised her.
His eyes slid sensuously over the curves and the contours of her frame. For a moment they came to rest on her face-the finely chiseled slope of her high cheek bone, the straight and unbroken line of her nose, the full and sensuous ripeness of her lips. Then his gaze travelled downward.
The throat was an alabaster column, softened by the loving touch of its creator's hand. Her shoulders, bared by the cut of her low-necked red gown, were thrown back to uplift her more-than-ample bosom. At the plunging neckline of her gown, he could see the cleavage between her breasts, deep and shadowy in its exotic mystery.
On either side of the sheltered valley were the globed softnesses of her tits. Nearly half of their contours were exposed by the garment, its bodice covering only that part of her which lay below the aureoles. The young mobster felt his penis twitch as he envisioned the pink-tipped beauties that would soon be cupped in his palms.
Pulling her towards him, he kissed her once again. When their lips met, his hand went straight for the zipper at the back of her gown. He toyed with it for a moment while his tongue explored the recesses of her honeyed mouth. He felt her stiffen, her body tensing in anticipation of what she knew he was getting ready to do. Then without further hesitation, he drew the zipper downward, allowing the conditioned air of his room to wash enticingly over her undraped back.
The stiffness went out of her at once, her body responding hungrily to the grazing touch of his finger tips on her naked skin. She wrapped her arms tightly about his neck, pressing herself against him until the softness of her bosom nudged urgently at his shirtfront. One of his hands dipped lower to caress her sculptured buttocks under the fabric of her gown. While they kissed, he began peeling the garment from her.
Rosa's sparkling black eyes focused on his for a moment. Then she cast them downward, as though, by the innocence of the gesture, she could deny the gangster who had been keeping her, and the scores of Hollywood producers who had moved freely through her bed. She continued looking away from him as he eased the gown from her body. At last, when it lay puddled at her feet, she stepped out of it, meeting his glance once again. For a moment there was silence, each participant in the erotic drama holding his breath arousedly. Then he touched her bare midriff, and they both sighed audibly.
Rosa's bra was strapless, its lacy black cups held in place by the narrowest of elastic bands. Her panties were brief, covering little more than the fleecy triangle which upholstered her loins, and made of the same lacy gauze as her bra. Tony's fingers itched to remove them, to tangle in the rich curls which padded her crotch. But there was no hurry. None whatsoever.
Stepping toward her, he kissed her once again, this time his lips nibbling softly over her mouth and chin. The woman was beginning to moan, the tenderness of his caresses warming her and arousing her lust. Arching her back, she thrust her pelvis forward, grinding her gyrating body against the stiffness of his cock.
She wanted this brash young mobster; wanted his strength and his sensuality. Her skin ached for the touch of his fingers. Her pussy throbbed in hunger for his prick. Carmelo hadn't been paying enough attention to her lately, too busy with business to concern himself with her needs. But Tony the Charmer thought of nothing but pleasure. Nothing but lust. She wanted to tear the remaining clothes from her body and show herself to him, offering all of the excitement stored inside of her. She wanted to free her tits of the bra's cruel restraint, to expose her cunt to his gaze, to pull back its lips for his entry. But something in his manner told her that he was in charge. Very much in charge! And that if she were but patient, letting him have his way with her, there would be far more pleasure in the end.
Now that they were committed to mutual desire, Tony's approach was leisurely. Deliberate. He kissed her shoulders and the top of her chest, his tongue-tip tracing the line of her bra cups around each of her twin fleshy globes. With gentle fingers, he peeled back the lacy material, exposing the top of one rosy pink nipple to his gobbling lips.
Rosa sighed as his tongue glided gingerly over the super-sensitive membranes. Filling her lungs with air, she thrust her bosom out at him, stuffing his mouth with the softness of one powdery sphere. Tony's fingers explored the bra's skimpy backstrap, searching slowly for its clasp. Then, with a deft twisting motion, he undid it. The well-stuffed brassiere immediately sprang forward, carried away from the front of her body by the resilience of her joyously freed boobs. But the pointed curve of her tits held the cupped material in place, still shielding their magnificent rosebud crowns from his view.
With his teeth, he drew the fabric away from her flesh, dropping it limply to the floor before turning back to look at her. Her tits were totally naked now, for him to stare at unhampered, to play with unimpeded. For a moment he just looked at them, letting the promise of what was to happen stimulate her even further. Then, with a strangled groan of emotion, he fell upon her, his mouth opening slightly to accept the pink turgidity of one nipple.
He nipped gently at the rosy nubbin, his cock throbbing painfully in response to the sobs of pleasure which tore from her lips. He was as stiff and as hard as a solid iron bar, the blood-engorged head of his mammoth rod pressing urgently at the front of his pants. Moving against her, he pressed its prominence to the puffy panty-covered mound of her crotch. There was softness there behind the lacy barrier. A softness and warmth that cried out to him, begging for the entry of his ramrod prick. Her pussy ached to be penetrated by his mighty staff of pleasure.
His head moved from side to side, his lips sucking first at one pebbled nipple and then at the other. Burying his head in the canyon which separated the pair of marshmallow-soft titmounds, he filled his mouth with the taste of her flesh, drawing on its softness and pressing gently with his teeth. At the same moment, his hands strayed lovingly to her crotch. The tips of his lingers luxuriated in the lacy fabric of her panties, stroking the fullness of her pubes through its clinging transparence. Then, sliding upwards, they hooked in the elastic of its waistband.
Tugging gently, Tony lowered them, a millimeter at a time. As he pulled at the undergarment, his knuckles grazed the curling strands of pubic hair which were being exposed. They were soft and silky, as though brushed daily like the hair of her head. Overcome, suddenly, by the heat of his desire, he peeled the panties from her in a single swift stroke. As his lips trailed wetly over the tautness of her belly, he heard her gasp. His cock twitched in response. Cradling her naked body in his arms, he lifted her from her feet and carried her to his bed. Then, laying her gently down on the satin-covered mattress, he stood over her, his nostrils flaring with heated desire.
While she watched in aroused silence, he began slowly and methodically to undress. Unbuttoning his shirt, he draped it carefully over the back of the chair. The bulging muscles of his bare chest rippling, he unbuckled his belt. Then, an inch at a time, he lowered his zipper, allowing his trousers to slide down over his hips and to the floor. He wore nothing underneath them, his swollen cock springing free the moment they were down.
Rosa inhaled sharply, biting her lip as her eyes came to rest on his mighty tool. It was magnificent and she wanted it inside her. In anticipation, she stroked idly at her pussy as she stared at it.
The massive rod of flesh stood out straight from the jungle of Tony's hairy loins, like a single oak tree amid the brush. It was as thick as her wrist, and shiny with the oozing sheen of desire. Its head, distended and purple, was the size of a billiard ball, the single eye at its tip winking obscenely like a pander promising his clients a night of delight. As he stepped toward her, the tumid organ bobbed before him, signaling his intentions like the waving of a flag.
Unconsciously, Rosa drew her knees back, as though to make room for his mighty weapon of lust. The lips of her pussy splayed open, like the petals of a flower in bloom. Between them, the beefy gash of her vulva was exposed, its tissues coated with moisture to prepare the way for his entry.
Looking down at her, Tony stroked his penis, squeezing its shank to make the head swell even larger. Then he fell to his knees beside the bed. With a feather-light touch, he began stroking her naked skin, the tips of his fingers tracing circles around the erect pink nubbins of her teats. His hands moved in circles, spreading the tingling which began at her breasts to the rest of her quivering torso. He felt her abdomen rippling as he stroked gently at its skin. His nostrils could sense the blooming of her cunt. Leaning forward he followed the path which his fingers had blazed with the fluttering touch of his tongue. As he laved at her goose-bumpy skin, he felt her tension increasing, elevating the heat of her passion.
But still he was not ready to spear her with his potent dick. Before she got fucked, she'd have to beg for it. For although she had genuinely piqued his desire, Tony Charmer did not lose sight of his mission. He wasn't just out to seduce her-that would have been easy. He needed to win her; to make her his. Body and soul!
She whined when his lips began nudging at her vulva, the warmth of his breath puffing erotically over the crest of her hooded clitoris. Her olive-skinned thighs were trembling now as her yearning for him carried her to the pinnacle from which all self-control would be cast to the winds.
"Please Tony," she murmured, devoid of all shame. "Do it to me. Please do it to me. Give me what I need."
Pursing his lips, the handsome young gangster sucked her clit into his mouth, nuzzling gently at it with lip-shielded teeth. He heard her gasp as he rolled the quivering pleasure button with his tongue tip. But before her hips could begin moving in the rhythm of desire, he let it slip from his oral grasp to delve lower. The broad blade of his tongue lapped roughly at her vaginal slit, massaging the sensitive tissues with the roughness of its surface. His taste buds tingled at the exotic flavor of her love juices as they cascaded freely over the con-voluting surfaces of her labia. Continuing the downward progression, he subjected her twat to total lingual exploration, his tongue not coming to rest until it nuzzled at her anus.
Rosa's whole body twitched spasmodically, as though slipping hopelessly out of control. Her breathing was labored, its long wheezing inhales and throaty whining exhales filling the room with sounds of her passion. Her pelvis undulated wildly in a futile attempt to capture his tongue between softly grasping cuntlips. Her hands moved involuntarily, stroking first her own body and then his as she tried in vain to latch on to something solid in her sea of sensual confusion. She tangled her fingers in the wiry hair of his chest, pinching at his nipples and cupping the curves of his powerful pectoral muscles. Then her hands traveled lower, seeking the turgid cylinder which her body craved with such longing.
When she found it, her fingers closed lovingly over its turgidly throbbing circumference, squeezing and twisting desperately as she pulled it up and down. Tony's balls went into second gear, grinding out the cargo of limpid viscosity with which he would soon be drenching her womb. As she jerked on his penis, he buried his tongue in her twat, ramming it home like a swirling volcano. Churning the ocean of juices which flowed in her vaginal chasm, he worked his lingual probe in and out, driving it cock-like to the core of her being. Her clit had lengthened, its shiny pink head protruding completely from the rosy hood which enclosed it. With each plundering stroke of his tongue, he nudged at the sensitive ganglion teasing it with his nose. She responded by filling his nostrils with the fragrance of lust; an aroma of feminine hunger gone wild.
Her smooth and flawless ass lifted high above the surface of his satiny sheets, waving in hopeless figure-eights as his tongue teased and tormented her. Each time her portals opened to him, her vaginal membranes rolling back to accept the onslaught of his tongue, he drew back, denying her the penetration which she now unashamedly craved. Then, just as the tissues fell back in despair, he surprised them by skewering deeper, twisting his probing tongue as he pressed it forward.
Her grip on his penis had become painfully tight, the tension building within her robbing her mind of all awareness of what she was doing. Her face was contorted with lust, a string of incoherent utterings spewing from her lips. She was a woman possessed; her demon, the god of lust. The tendons of her thighs were vibrating like the strings of a cello, her sexual tension acting on every muscle in her body. Her color had deepened, her body flushed with sexual warmth.
She was ready! Ready for anything he chose to give her.
"Don't make me wait anymore," she pleaded breathlessly. "Fuck me now, Tony. Fuck me now."
Tony smiled, licking his lips slowly as his eyes traveled the length of her naked and sensuous form. "On your hands and knees," he whispered. "I want to give it to you from behind."
Rosa hastened to do as he commanded, her body moving swiftly. Tony watched as she posed on all fours. Her tits dangled below her, their pointy pink nipples silhouetted against the stark whiteness of the satin sheet. Reaching forward, he tweaked them while he bit her lovingly on the side of her neck. Then, like a cat, he sprang onto the mattress behind her.
Before him was her ass, its smoothly contoured cheeks full and fleshy, its anal crevasse dark and hidden. Resting his hands lightly on her hips, he guided her forward until her nipples were but an inch above the surface of the mattress. Her cunt was turned back at him now, its excitement-glazed interior beckoning him heatedly. With one hand, he traced the crack which split her loins-starting from its nethermost corner and trailing slowly across her asshole to the juice-moistened slit of her pussy. There he stopped to bathe three of his fingers in the wondrous fluid. Then, with a circular motion, he spread the moisture over her labia and across her inner thighs.
With a swift forward motion, he ground himself against her, his vibrating penis suddenly taking the place of his hand at her vaginal opening. She could feel the rubbery knob as its tip prizing insistently at the fleshy slot, prodding its protective lips as he lunged. She opened to him at once, his prick burying itself one third of the way in her steamy tumescence. Tony paused for a moment, allowing the heat of her vaginal cavity to warm the tissues of his fuck-rod. Then grinding his hips in a spiraling circle, he screwed another inch of meat into her inflamed twat.
Rosa sobbed with delight. He had excited her so thoroughly that she felt as though she were being fucked for the very first time. The experience was a new one, unparallelled and unprecedented in spite of all she had done. She could feel his huge and manly pecker sliding into her, filling her cunt with its majesty. It seemed endless, plunging deeper with every motion of his body. Lowering her face to the satin, she hunched back at him, pressing the softness of her buttocks against the hairy bowl of his pelvis. The thickness of his joint pressed sweetly at the walls of her vaginal sheath. The heaviness of his testicles clashed softly against the backs of her thighs. She could feel the tangled jungle of hair which surrounded his staff scouring at her ass, and she knew that he was in to the hilt.
But when he rolled his hips again, the weapon drove even deeper, its tapering point nudging highly at the mouth of her cervix.
Rosa's orgasm began immediately, its rollicking ripples of sensuous delight spinning her mind through a haze of confusion. Each time he rocked forward, an undulation engulfed her, her climax rising to a climax, her peak reaching a peak of its own. Each level of fulfillment ushered in yet another.
Tony continued his pistoning motion, leading her smoothly from one orgasm to the next. The sounds she was making told him the story. He had won her. She was his. She had tasted the glory of his cock and would do as he told her. No price would be too great to ask of her in return for his skillful ministrations. His mission had been accomplished.
Relaxing totally for the first time that night, Tony allowed his desire to run free. The load of jism which had been boiling in the cauldron of his sack could now be unleashed. He grunted once, and then sighed; the first wad of semen spurting hotly from his cock.
He gave in, now, to the pressure of his own needs. Grasping her hips with his strong and sinewy fingers, he hauled her against him, letting the gush of his ejaculation shower her innards. Again and again he rammed his prick in to the hilt, spattering the entrance to her womb with swampy fluid. Spurt after spurt, he filled her to capacity, long shimmering strands of semen overflowing to drip out each time he pulled back. Her thighs and her buttocks were coated with the sticky fluid, her body sliding slickly against his each time they came together.
With a howl of satisfaction he shot the last of his load into the bubbling receptacle of her sex. When he let her slip from his grasp, she fell forward, sobbing uncontrollably as her naked body hit the mattress. She had never, never, never been fucked so well before. Nothing less would ever satisfy her again.
The rest was easy. The next time Tony saw her, he told her what he wanted her to do. There was never any question about her doing it. Within a week, Carmelo Pima met his fate. Tony's reward came soon after, when Don Vitagliano put him in charge of neighborhood prostitution. He was really getting up there. Later on, when Rosa Ponti was killed by Mancinelli enforcers, he arranged to send a wreath to her funeral.
From then on, he continued moving up. Until he had earned the title of capo-and the affectionate respect of the Don himself. There was even talk of schooling him for a more important spot in the organization. But all of that ended when he met Cricket.
Perhaps he would never understand why. But there was something about her innocence, about her child-like naievete, which made him want to leave his life of crime and violence behind. He tried to go on, of course. But the closer he and Cricket became, the harder it was for him to concentrate on syndicate business. Finally, six months after they were married, he decided to quit.
He knew that they wouldn't let him. Knew it even before he asked the Don to accept his resignation. But he simply had to try.
He promised Don Vitagliano his eternal silence and loyalty. He even tried to explain his love for Cricket to him. "She's changed me," he had said. "I'll never be good for the family anymore. My heart just won't be in it."
The Don had smiled his famous paternal smile, slapping Tony on the shoulder and offering his blessing. But his eyes had been cold, and Tony, knew that there was nothing left for him but to run. Now, as he shoveled the last bit of dirt over Messaria's mutilated body, he realized that he would never stop running. Not until they got him.
CHAPTER THREE
Cricket paced nervously across the kitchen floor. Terrified, her head spun dizzily in the maelstrom of emotions in which she was caught. Tony had told her everything about what he had been when she met him; about what he decided to become after they married; and about how the "syndicate" wouldn't let him.
She knew now why the man in the post office had come looking for them, and she knew what Tony had done to save their lives. She was ready to go anywhere with him, even if it meant that they would always have to live on the run. It didn't matter what he had been. It didn't matter what he had done. He was her hero, and she would always love him. Just as she had from the first moment they met.
She had been lost and confused then, a sheltered country girl alone for the first time on the streets of Manhattan. Born on a farm in Indiana, country life had been all that she knew. But then Daddy died, and when Mamma remarried, she saw that she could not stay any longer. Not quite twenty, she boarded a bus for New York. Carrying a suitcase full of clothing, almost five hundred dollars in traveler's checks, and her courageous resolve, she set out to find a new life in the city.
But things were more difficult than she had ever imagined. Her savings didn't take her very far at New York City prices. In just a few weeks she was broke, with no prospects for employment. She searched the want ads daily in hopes of finding a job, but she didn't seem qualified for anything. With no business experience and no more education than high school, she found doors closed to her wherever she went. In desperation, she even considered going home. But that was impossible.
When she was down to $11.00, she saw an unfamiliar advertisement among the columns of classifieds. "NO EXPERIENCE NECESSARY", it said in big letters. And then in smaller ones, "Figure models wanted."
Everybody back home always said that she was pretty enough to be a model. And even Mama told her what a nice figure she had. Maybe, just maybe, she had a chance at getting the job. Surely, she had nothing to lose. An hour later, she appeared at the Simpson Studio in her prettiest skirt and blouse, a folded newspaper under her arm.
An attractive dark-haired receptionist greeted her warmly. "Hi," she said. "If you've come about the job, Mr. Simpson will see you in a moment," After a short wait, she was ushered into a small well-lit office.
Mr. Simpson was a dark haired man in his mid-fifties. Short and stocky, he was dressed in a grey, double-breasted suit and a sparkling pinky ring. A stubby cigar was clamped in his teeth.
When Cricket entered the room, he rose from his seat and perched on a corner of his desk. "I'm Ted Simpson," he said. "Understand you want to go to work for me."
"I saw your ad in the paper," Cricket began uncertainly. "And I need a job real bad."
"Well you look pretty good from here," Simpson said, punctuating the remark with a wave of his cigar. "Peel and let me have a look at you."
Cricket stared wordlessly at him, confused by his terse demand. "Peel?" she echoed.
"Of course," Simpson said with a laugh. "It's figure models I'm looking for. So why don't you just take off your clothes and let's see what you've got."
Cricket was aghast. "My clothes?" she repeated in a whisper. 'Take off my clothes?" She was astounded. Nobody had ever seen her naked. Not even her Daddy. Only Mama. And Dr. Willoughby.
"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Simpson," she said through dry lips. "I didn't really know what a figure model was. I think I'd better leave."
"Sure thing," Simpson said. "We don't draft anybody to work here. Too bad, though. I think you could have done very well with us."
"What do you mean?" Cricket asked hesitantly.
"Well," he began. "If you look as good as I think you do under those clothes, you could make eight or ten dollars an hour. The work isn't hard."
Cricket was shocked. That was more money than she had ever dreamed of making. "What would I have to do?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
"Nothing much, really," he said casually. "You just pose nude for some art classes that are held here. It's perfectly legitimate and completely above-board. But, of course, if you aren't willing to take your clothes off, you really aren't interested."
"Art classes?" she asked.
"Of course," he answered nonchalantly. "Artists have been painting the human body since the beginning of time. And you certainly look like you've got a body worth painting. Why don't you hike up your skirt a little bit and let me see your legs."
Cricket's fingers and toes went cold, and her head spun in a daze. Why not? she thought. I don't have to show him any more than he'd see if I were wearing shorts. She would never model nude, of course. But she just wasn't ready to terminate the interview. Slowly, almost numb to what she was doing, she lifted the hem of her skirt.
Mr. Simpson's gaze was like a flame, searing the bared skin of her thighs as his eyes devoured her. "Not bad," he said brightly. "Do you think you might be willing to do some semi-nudes?"
"I ... I ... I don't know," Cricket stammered. "What are they?"
Simpson laughed. "Haven't you ever worn a bikini?" he asked her. Cricket nodded dumbly. "Well then, let's see how you look in your under-things."
His tone was so casual, that Cricket felt herself lulled by it. Her bra and her panties would not show any more than a bathing suit would have. So why not let him look? "Can I put this down somewhere?" she asked, her face reddening as she held out her newspaper. She couldn't look Simpson in the eye.
"On the desk," he responded. Simpson's face wore the smile of a man who was getting what he wanted. But Cricket's eyes were downcast and she did not see it.
Dropping the newspaper to the top of his desk, she reached hesitantly for the buttons of her blouse. The garment was tight-fitting, contoured to her body. As her fingers toyed with its fastenings, she felt her breast heaving tensely under her hands. Could she really be doing this? Could it really be happening? Was she actually about to undress before the eyes of this stranger?
She thought again about the money. And about what it would be like to return to Indiana. Her fingers trembling, she undid the button. Staring down, as though she had never performed such an operation before, she opened a second one.
She was painfully aware that her blouse was now open, a strip of her crisp white brassiere visible through its veed front. She wasn't sure that she could make herself continue. Biting her lip, she looked up at him, still trying to make up her mind.
Simpson was beginning to get impatient. "Look Miss," he said testily. "Are you interested in the job or aren't you? I haven't got any more time to waste."
Her heart pounding, thunderously, Cricket rapidly undid the remaining buttons and pulled the blouse from the waistband of her skirt. Simpson remained silent, calmly eying the nervous young blonde. Before her courage could leave her, she pulled the zipper of her skirt open and let the garment drop to the floor. She felt weak and dizzy, her breathing shallow. All that covered her now were white cotton panties and a clinging brassiere. She stared intently at the floor, feeling as though she had taken a step from which there was no retreat.
When Simpson cleared his throat and said, "Not bad at all," she waited for the world to end. But it didn't. She stood for a moment in silence, conscious of the masculine eyes which examined and appraised her with professional coldness. When he said nothing further, she looked up at him, her eyebrows lifted in question. "Am I hired?" she asked softly, her pride drowning in a sea of shame and embarrassment.
"Let's see the rest of you," Simpson said.
Cricket's ears were burning. This time she did not look away. Steeling herself, she said, "What about ... what you said? Semi-nudes?"
"No," Simpson said in a final tone, his teeth clamped tight round the end of his cigar. "You just don't look right for that sort of stuff. It's all or nothing, I'm afraid."
Cricket had known when she stepped out of her skirt that the man would not be content until she had stripped all the way. She had avoided decision then, hoping to put it off by complying just a little further. But now the moment of truth had arrived.
Looking down at herself, she realized that she was already half undressed. All his talk of bikinis didn't change it one bit. She was standing in a strange man's office-a man who didn't even know her name-wearing nothing but her scanties. Her will broken, she reached behind her for the clasp of her bra. Unceremonially she unhooked it, her swollen titties tumbling forward as it fell from her chest.
As she hooked her thumbs in the elastic band of her panties, a tear fell from the corner of her eye. There was no turning back now. There was no privacy left. With a swift movement of her wrists, she stripped the white briefs from her loins, bending at the waist to pull them over her ankles. Her skin was pale and white, its unblemished surface covered with a rash of goose-bumps. She wanted to cover her nakedness with her hand, to hide her breasts and her cunt from his view. But it was pointless. He had already seen her. There was nothing left for her to hide.
"Turn around, Miss," Simpson said, after much clearing of his throat. "I want to see your ass."
His words stung her like a slap. She felt like an animal on the auction block. All resistence gone from her, she did as he asked. Turning slowly in place, she executed a three hundred sixty degree pirouette, giving him a full and unhampered view of her naked pulchritude. She felt his eyes burning into her, singeing her nipples with the heat of his glance. With an effort of her almost-broken will, she made herself look at him. She forced her eyes to meet his.
He was breathing heavily, a light foam of saliva forming at the corners of his mouth. She saw him suddenly for what he was, a middle-aged lecher who was enjoying her discomfort. And she saw herself as she was-a helplessly alone young stranger, desperate for work. She aged somehow as he stared at her.
"All right," Simpson said at last. "Be here tomorrow at nine sharp. Those artists are really gonna love you." Hurrying back into her clothes, Cricket left.
Her spirit strangely calloused by the traumatic experience, Cricket found it remarkably easy to work at Simpson's studio. Even though the eight to ten dollars an hour which he promised proved to be only two fifty until she was "broken in And the art students turned out to be groups of harmless old men with bulging eyes. Instead of paints and easels, they used polaroid cameras.
After a few days on the job, she began to suspect that most of them didn't even bother to use film. The cameras were just props for them to squint through while she struck the simple poses which the other girls had showed her. In a week, she learned to go through them without even thinking about what she was doing. Her body took care of itself, undressing and bending for the "artists", while her mind was somewhere else. It was almost possible for her to forget where she was.
Simpson called her into his office one day after she had been there for a couple of weeks. A little apprehensive about why he had sent for her, she slipped into a robe before going to see him. What if he was planning to fire her? What would she do? She was earning barely enough to get by on, but it beat going home. She was prepared to beg for her job.
But her employer was rather pleased with her work. She had become popular in the short time she had been working there. Many customers were asking for her by name. If she thought she was ready for the big money, he had some good news for her.
Cricket was wary. She had learned not to trust Mr. Simpson. "What do you have in mind?" she asked him. Unconsciously, she pulled the robe securely around her naked body.
"Private sessions," he answered. "It's exactly the same work you've been doing. Only difference is you'll pose for one man at a time. Instead of Studio A, you'll be working in one of the private rooms back here."
She had heard the other models talking about the money to be made in private sessions. And she had been hoping that Simpson would ask her to pose for some.
"When would I start?" she asked, excited at the prospect of increasing her income.
"Right away," he answered. 'This afternoon. I am about to complete an important deal and the man who's coming to see me will probably bring an associate. He can be your first private customer. If he's satisfied with your work, I'll pay eight-fifty an hour."
Cricket shrugged. She had already become used to the idea of posing with no clothes on. Why should details make a difference? In a way, it would be easier with only one man in the room. That would reduce the number of prying eyes upon her, and the number of vivid imaginations in which her body played a role. "All right," she said. "I'll give it a try."
But later, as she sat in Private Studio 1 waiting for her customer to arrive, she began to feel nervous once again. Posing for one man instead of a group would be somehow very personal. Almost intimate. She was not sure that she could keep her mind out of what she was doing; that she could strip and pose automatically as she had learned to do before groups.
She considered changing her mind, when there was a knock at the door. Standing, she smoothed her clothing and called, "Come in." At Simpson's direction, she had gotten back into her street clothes-a new pair of jeans and a tank top. She checked herself quickly to see that everything was in place. The door opened slowly and a hulking dark-haired man entered the room. His face was rough and coarse-looking, with a long jagged scar across one of his cheeks. Something about his appearance frightened her. But his voice was friendly, although gruff, and it put her more at her ease.
"Cricket?" he asked. "I'm Mikie Capella. Simpson said I should come in here with you while he's talking to my boss. He gave me this, but I don't really know how to use it." The camera which he held appeared tiny in his ham-like hands. He extended it helplessly, like a child whose model airplane had suddenly stopped running.
Cricket smiled as she took it from his hands. His ineptitude was putting her at her ease. Quickly she snapped the camera open and checked its film compartment. It was loaded and ready to shoot. Handing it back to him," she said, "Just look through here, and press this little button when you see something you want to snap." Then stepping back and flicking on the studio flood lights, she asked, "Now, how do you want me?"
Capella snickered at her question. "Naked," he answered simply.
"Do you want me to take off everything at once?" she asked, trying to make her voice sound professional. "Or do you want to shoot me while I undress?"
The man seemed unnerved by her question, as though he hadn't thought about it until then. "I don't know," he said. "Just let's play it by ear."
"All right," Cricket answered, pulling the tank-top off over her head. Her body quit of it, her titties strained to be free, they threatened to overflow the skimpy cups of her bra. Placing her hands on her waist, she struck a standard pose, staring at a spot just over the customer's shoulder. Capella just stood there looking at her, the camera in his hands. When Cricket saw that he wasn't going to photograph her, she undid the snap of her bra, casting the fluttering wisp to a corner of the room.
Capella put the camera down and stepped toward her, his eyes opening wide. His tongue flicked out to lick nervously at his lips. "I like that," he said in a deep and raspy voice. "Let me get a better look." Suddenly, before she knew what he was doing, he reached for her, grabbing roughly at her naked boobs.
Frightened, Cricket stepped back quickly in an attempt to get out of his reach. But for a man his size he was amazingly swift. Throwing one arm around her, he bent her body back while his hand roamed freely over her tits. In spite of her terror-or maybe because of it-her nipples hardened to a pair of pink puckered points. She wanted to cry out for help, but he crushed her lips with his own, silencing her effectively.
"Don't" she tried to mutter. "Let me go." But Capella's fingers were already twirling the nubbins of her nipples, completely heedless of her resistance. He tweaked and kneaded them roughly as he chewed at her lips, his other hand working assiduously at the front of her pants.
His sudden aggressiveness confused the young woman. She had almost become casual about the exposure of her body. Until now, all of the photographers had been meek and harmless gentlemen who got jollies out of staring at her tits through the lens of a camera. But this one was different. She had lost control of the session, and now there was no telling where it would lead.
Half unfastening and half tearing her pants, Capella swept them from her, his fingers going at once to the panty-covered cushion of her cunt. If Cricket had been frightened before, she was panicked now. Undressing to be looked at was one thing, but this was very different. His hands were on her, touching her everywhere. Already, he had taken possession of her bosom, his fingers exploring it as though he was its registered owner. And now he was dabbling with the precious slit of her vagina. If he got her undies off her, her virginity wouldn't be worth a dime. She had to fight him; had to break away.
He was rubbing her pubic mound roughly, now, feeling the pouting prominence of her labia through the softness of her black satin drawers. Involuntarily, its lips were drawing back, the narrow fabric of her crotch-band moistening with her flowing dew. Capella felt it happening and accepted it as a sign of her cooperation. Simpson had told him that she would play foxy and maybe pretend to be hard to get. The cunt juice proved it was only an act, though. Thrusting his tongue deep into her throat, he pressed his palm to her clitoral mound.
Cricket felt her body responding. She feared herself as much as she feared him. Her pussy was tingling; her breasts were on fire. She had never felt this way before, and she didn't know what to do. For a moment she went limp in his arms. Misunderstanding, the man tore her panties from her crotch with a single sweep of his arm. Her blood ran cold.
His fingers were tangling now in the unprotected hair that surrounded her vulva. He was moving freely over the moistening slit of her cunt. In terror she pressed her thighs together, trying to bar him from further progress. But he shoved them apart without effort, her timorous femininity no match for his towering strength. His cock was as hard as a rock, and its pulsing dominated his thoughts. He was a stud bull within scent of a female in heat. Nothing would stand in his way.
Cricket sobbed mournfully as his fingertip entered her vaginal cavern. He was in her now. Within moments her virginity would be lost. The thick and muscular digit burrowed slowly in the warmth of her honeyed slash, spreading the moisture which gathered to the surface of her vulvic lips. Sliding upwards, it deposited a coating of juice on her clit.
Cricket felt a jagged streak of electric current run through her body at the instant of contact. She had touched herself there from time to time when the frustrations of her sheltered life demanded release. But no one else had ever been near it. She had thought it was her secret, a magic trigger which she alone had discovered. But now this brutal stranger was plundering it freely, stroking all of her secret places and touching each of her intimate parts. Enveloped in shame, she wanted to die.
Capella's finger was in to the knuckle now. She could feel it twisting and turning as it gathered more fluid for her clit. Wrenching her hips in an effort to break from his grasp, she bit suddenly on his lip, chewing hard until her mouth was filled with the salty taste of his blood. Incensed with panic, the big man slapped her hard across the face. Cricket screamed.
A moment later the door burst open and Simpson stepped in. "What the fuck's going on in here?" he demanded, glaring at Cricket. "Me and Mr. Santamaria are trying to have a conference inside. Your screams are disturbing the peace."
Cricket fought to hold back the hysterical sobs which were building in her throat. "He's trying to rape me," she gasped. "Throw him out of here."
Mr. Simpson was furious. "Why you stupid little bitch," he spat at her. "What do you think I'm paying top dollar for? He ain't trying to rape you; he's just taking what he came for. So why don't you shut the fuck up and make things easier.
"What do you mean?" she demanded. "You said it was a private photography session."
"What's the difference what you call it?" he said. "It's time for you to grow up. You're gonna put out whether you want to or not. So don't make me get heavy with you." Turning to leave the room, Simpson reached for the handle of the door.
But Cricket's screams stopped him. "No," she shouted, tears of horror gushing from her eyes. "I won't. I won't." Simpson turned to face her again, his hands balling up into fists. As he stepped toward her, Cricket's heart was filled-with terror. He looked like he was going to kill her. The first time he hit her, she flew back against the wall. The second time, she began screaming uncontrollably.
Suddenly the door flew open, and in walked Tony Santamaria. As Cricket thought back on it, she knew that she would always remember him as she saw him that moment. Tall and handsome in his custom-fitted blue suit, he was her knight in shining armor. He had come to rescue her from the dragon.
Turning to Capella, he said, "Mikie, what the hell is going on here?"
Capella looked sheepish, grinning at the other man's question. "The girl was giving me a hard time, boss," he said. "Looks like Simpson's gonna straighten her out."
"Go, wait for me outside," Tony commanded, waiting as Capella walked dutifully from the room. Grabbing Simpson by the arm, he spun him around and pushed him backwards. "What the hell are you trying to do?"
Mr. Simpson looked frightened. "Nothing," he answered anxiously. "I was just trying to be a good host. I thought that while you and me were talking, your bodyguard might like a little action. That's all."
Santamaria's eyes narrowed. "What was all the screaming about, little lady," he asked, looking directly at Cricket for the first time.
Cricket felt truly naked then, ashamed to have him see her that way. "He said that all I had to do was pose," she whimpered, turning away like a shy little child. Her chin was trembling with embarrassment.
Tony took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. "You don't have to stay here any longer, honey," he said softly. "Get dressed and I'll take you out of here."
Turning to Simpson, he hardened his voice. "What the hell are you running, punk?" he hissed. "A white slave operation?" He shook his head from side to side and clucked his tongue. "I don't think Mr. Vitagliano will be interested in doing business with you," he said. "A partnership in a place like this can be a real liability."
Cricket trusted him at once, leaving with him to go for dinner at an expensive Italian restaurant uptown. She answered his gentle questions by telling him the story of her coming to New York. She blushed when she came to the part about going to work at Simpson's Studio, but she went bravely on with her narrative as though he were her father confessor. He seemed touched by her story and offered to help her. A few weeks later, she moved into his apartment. Two months after that, they were married.
She had come to love Tony more than anything else in life, and she knew, without thinking that she would follow him anywhere. Even if it meant running forever.
Glancing out the window she saw movement on the road. Her heart pounded in terror as she watched a car approach in the driveway. Then, as it drew closer, she sighed in relief. She didn't recognize the vehicle, but its driver was Tony. He was back and he was smiling. Everything was going to be all right.
CHAPTER FOUR
"Go ahead, girls," Don Vitagliano said, settling back comfortably in his chair and lighting a cigar. He had told the bodyguards waiting outside his door that he was not to be disturbed, and he prepared himself for an evening of total relaxation. "I want to watch you undress each other. What did you say your names were?"
The teenagers giggled. This was even better than the time they made it with the whole Seventh than the time they had made it with the whole Seventh Heaven, including the drummer and guitarist. This man was no rock-n-roll singer, but they had heard that he was one of the most influential people in New York. Besides, he was paying them lots of money! Not like the singing group they lots of money! Not like the singing groups they usually balled with. Those musicians always acted as though they were doing the girls a favor.
"My name is Christy," said one of the girls. "And her name is Francine."
"How old are you?" the don asked, his cock already stiffening inside his pants.
"Christy's fourteen," Francine answered. "And I'll be fifteen in six months." She wrinkled her nose as she spoke, tossing her long, straight, black hair girlishly. "What's your name?"
Vitagliano puffed thoughtfully on his cigar and blew a smoke ring before answering. "Why don't you just call me Don," he said.
Christy giggled. "O.K., Donnie," she said. Her blue eyes sparkled youthfully, captivating the don and filling him with excitement. She was five foot one, just slightly taller than her friend. But her figure was full; her breasts roundly formed and her thighs curvaceously fleshy. She was dressed in yellow shorts and a contoured, almost transparent, blouse. Through it, the don could see her little pink nipples stiffening as her eyes wandered over his body.
The syndicate leader had seen that look before, usually in more mature women. He recognized it the moment these two set foot in the room. The dark-haired one, Francine, was only fooling around, experimenting with her body and dabbling in the pleasures of sex. But the little blonde one, the one called Christy, was obsessed by it. She would probably end up making her living at it, working for him or somebody in his organization. And to Christy, it would always be more than just her living. It would be her life.
He watched as she turned to face Francine, the childish grin which her face had worn a moment before fading to a smile of solemn serenity. Slowly, like a priestess approaching an altar, she reached for the other girl's shirt front.
Francine was wearing faded denims and a blue cotton work shirt. The youthful lines of her body did little to give shape to the clothing. As Christy's hand undid her buttons, her shirt fell slowly open, revealing the whiteness of her narrow chest. Don Vitagliano looked at the rising contour of her developing bosom and the shapely lines of her ribs. Her conical little titties were still hidden by the fabric. Shifting his position, he tried to get a better view. But, as though she sensed his elevating tension and wanted to taunt him with it, Christy turned slightly, blocking his vision.
She continued to work at Francine's blouse, tugging it enticingly from the belt line of her jeans. Stepping to one side, she threw the garment open to reveal her friend's young breasts in all then-nubile beauty. The girlish mounds were small and daintily pointed. Capping each pale and tender cone was a rose-petal-pink little nipple. As the seated man appraised her semi-nudity, the sensitive nubbins puckered, their pebbled centers rising to become hard.
"Now you do mine," Christy whispered to her friend, turning her body toward the don. She seemed to shudder imperceptibly as she spoke, the mounting excitement of the room's three occupants filling the air around her with a kind of cold static electricity. The taller girl shrugged out of her top, letting it slip to the floor. Then she stepped behind the blonde.
The mobster bit hard at the end of his cigar. He had been enjoying the view, but now it was obscurred again. There was something especially erotic to him about the developing maturity of a teenager's tits. They were fresh and clean, like a pair of spring flowers coming to bloom. They held the promise of pleasures to come. His cock was painfully hard, and his clothes were beginning to stick to his perspiring body.
Francine leaned forward to whisper something in Christy's ear, and both youngsters giggled. Then, reaching around her friend, the dark-haired girl began unbuttoning the blonde one's blouse. She started at the bottom, drawing the front of the garment open after unfastening each button. When none but the top two remained, she stopped to stroke Christy's abdomen, trailing her fingertips slowly over the flawless adolescent skin. Christy moaned softly.
Vitagliano shifted his weight from one buttock to the other. He was enjoying the erotic little demonstration, but he was anxious to see more. His cigar had gone cold, and he dropped it idly into a standing ashtray by his chair. He could see the curving undersides of Christy's pubescent tits, but the shapely contours of their peaks were still hidden from his view. His fingers itched to reach out for the final buttons of her blouse, but he forced himself to be patient, savoring the torment of non-participation.
Her excitement a vibrant hum in her throat, Christy reached for her friend's white-skinned hand and guided it to her blouse's top button. With a twist of her fingers, Francine undid the fastening. Now the garment was closed at only one point. The shadowy disks of Christy's aureoles were still obscurred. Guiding her friend's hands with her own, Christy placed them over her tits. Filling her lungs with air, she thrust the fleshy mounds forward into her girlfriend's cupped palms, moving her body from side to side.
The rustling sound that her skirt made against the front of Francine's denim jeans excited the don. Each time the youngster rotated her ass, he could see it screwing tighter against the adolescent mound of the older girl's pubis. He sighed, leaning back in his chair. The movement brought the point of his hardon pressing more tightly against the front of his trousers. He wanted to be sure that the little nymphs would see it.
At last Francine undid the final button, shucking back the see-through garment to reveal completely her younger friend's tits. They were bigger than Francine's-much bigger. Big enough to fill a size C cup, and as round and as full as a grown woman's. But they rode high on Christy's chest, without a trace of womanly sag. The nipples were puffy and pink, each one the size of a walnut. As they hardened under the gangster's hungry gaze, they gave her breasts a pear-shaped contour. At the center of each turgid pap was a small cylin-
At the center of each turgid pap was a small cylindrical nub, like tiny stems on the pair of sweet and succulent fruits.
"Come here," Don Vitagliano rasped, his throat rough and dry. "I want to taste those little rose-buds." He licked his lips obscenely, rolling his eyes in excitement.
The blonde girl stepped forward, standing in front of his chair, her knees touching his. Slowly she bent at the waist, leaning over him. When her left nipple hung just inches before his face, she shook her shoulders, swinging her firm young boobs briskly from side to side. Their movement bathed his wrinkled coutenance with heat.
Wetting his lips with his tongue, he opened his mouth to receive her thrusting nozzle. Placing her hands on his shoulders, the girl brought her nipple to the opening. Lazily, she moved from side to side, stroking his lips with the quivering pink tip. Then she filled his mouth with the sweetness of her.
When he felt her turgid nipple against his lips, Vitagliano puckered them, sucking strongly at it. His tongue swept repeatedly across the erect little tip, stimulating the teenaged seductress with its roughness. Christy moaned.
"Oooohhh, that's nice, Donnie," she squealed, stepping back to break the contact. "But don't you want to see the rest of us first?" Facing Francine, she began to work at the snap which held her partner's jeans together. Then the zipper.
She began pushing at the tight-fitting pants, working them down slowly over Francine's boyish hips. Dropping to one knee, she tugged them over her friend's thighs and legs. Francine was naked now, except for the narrow band of her bikini briefs. They covered only her cunt and the sparse patch of pubescent hair which surrounded it.
Moving quickly, Christy pulled them from her, revealing everything. The reddened slash of her youthful cunt was clearly visible through the curling fuzz. Its lips were thick and meaty, blushing with the pucker of youth. The twirly knob of her clit was red with arousal. Still on her knees, Christy puffed a blast of air across it, making it swell even more. She moved out of the way to allow the man to feast his eyes.
Vitagliano sucked his breath in sharply at the sight of the youngster's naked cunt. It looked so soft and inviting; so fresh and unused. Her adolescent immaturity went straight to his nuts, putting them on overtime production, production.
Her little pussy was still tight, almost virginal. He could stick his cock into it whenever he chose. The leader of New York's most powerful mafia family trembled before the unclothed little girl.
"Now you," he said to Christy, his hands shaking in anticipation. "Make the other one undress you for me. I want to see everything."
Christy stood and presented the front of her shorts to her friend. "Undo me, Francine," she said. "I want to be naked for Don."
The older girl unclasped the snap, letting the skimpy garment fall from the blonde's narrow waist. She was wearing nothing underneath, and her blonde-furred cunt sprang immediately into view. She looked directly into the seated mobster's eyes as she stroked herself, watching them narrow in excitement.
Her hands moved casually over her titties and midriff, warming her soft white skin and bringing her nipples to even fuller erection. She rubbed the hair-covered prominence of her pubic mound, letting one tapering finger slip lewdly into the slot. She moved it up and down, bathing it in fragrant liquids for a moment. Then, withdrawing it, she brought her hand back to her tits.
With the cunt-moistened fingertip, she traced little circles around her nipples. Then with the palms of her hands, she massaged the fluid into her bosom. Returning her hand to her twat she wet it again. This time she dipped each of her fingers in turn into the well of heated honey. When her entire hand glistened with spunk, she extended it toward the don. "Wouldn't you like to taste me, Donnie?" she whispered.
The fully clothed mobster leaned forward in his chair, opening his mouth for the treat which she offered him. She thrust one finger into it, easing his palate with the spicy flavor of her feminine fluids. He sucked voraciously, the sweet adolescent cream inflaming his senses. Rolling his tongue over each of her digits in turn, he drank the spirited brew of her lust-heated loins. His hands reaching out for her, he gripped her flaring hips and pulled her closer. With his nose, he began to burrow in her pubic bush, nuzzling the sensitive tissues as he blew hot breath across her cuntal opening. The girl took his ears in her hands and encouraged him with the pressure of his fingers.
"Oooooh, that feels good," she sighed. "Do it some more." Arching her back, she pushed her hips forward, pressing her pussy against his stubbly chin.
"What about me?" Francine said petulantly. "Don't I get to have any fun?"
The don sat up in his chair and laughed lecherously. "Don't fight over me girls," he croaked. 'There's enough here for everybody. Why don't you see for yourselves?" With a gesture of his hand he motioned toward the tented front of his pants and the pulsating rod of cock-flesh which pressed urgently against it.
"Ooooh, let me do it," squealed Francine, a note of girlish excitement in her voice. Dropping to the floor between his knees, she shouldered her friend out of the way and fell upon him. Quickly, she undid his belt buckle and unbuttoned his pants. With skillful fingers, she whisked open his fly. The tautly stretched material of his well-filled boxer shorts protruded between the tails of his starched white shirt. Sweeping all obstructions out of the way, the girl pulled at the elastic of his waistband, uncovering the turgidity of his cock.
Assisting them by lifting himself from the chair, the syndicate leader allowed the girls to undress him. While Francine worked at his pants, her friend slipped him out of his jacket and tie. He felt her fingers on the buttons of his shirt, as his shoes were slipped from his feet. Within moments he was naked, his skin stark and white. His bony knees spread wide when the teenagers eased him back into the seat. This time both girls fell between them, their bodies rubbing together as they jockeyed jealously for position. Each wanted to be first to taste the meat of his manly penis. Each wanted her tongue to bring him joy before the other.
The don watched for a minute, smiling as the youngsters battled over him. Then reaching quickly, he filled his hands with the softness of their tits, each palm cupping the breast of one girl. Something in his grip-firm but not painful-conveyed his authority. The pretty teenagers were still at once. "I want you to lick it," he said. "Both at the same time."
The two girls giggled, entranced by the idea. When his hands loosed their grip, Christy guided him back into a comfortable lounging position. Then she and Francine moved in closer to his crotch. Deliberately, watching each other for cues, the girls lay their heads on him, each pillowed comfortably on one of his thighs. The softness of their tresses hung whisperingly against his skin, a few of the curling strands tickling at the pouch of his testicles. Narrowing the space between them, they moved closer to his groin.
The don's cock was thick and throbbing, its head ballooning with desire. The shank of his massive tool was twisted and veiny, its blue ridges throbbing with the beat of his pumping heart. A drop of dewy moisture formed at the slot in its tip, sparkling like a seed pearl in the light of the room.
The teenagers began kissing his pelvis, their lips touching delicately at the hollows of his thighs. He could feel their noses trailing through the hairy blanket of his loins, their warm breath titillating the swollen tissues of his cock. His balls rolled about in their sack, the dangling bag of stones shifting position although his body remained motionless. His hairy fuck-rod pulsed and twitched as if it were alive as the soft young mouths approached from both directions.
Suddenly, both pairs of lips were nibbling at its base, tantalizing the againg mob leader with the lightness of their touch. He graoned, expressing his pleasure uninhibitedly. The sound was a signal to Christy and Francine. Immediately they opened their mouths, each enveloping half the circumference of his shaft. Their lips touched, and they kissed each other hotly around his prick. The don looked down to feast his eyes on the precocious display of sensuality.
The two feminine heads were weaving slowly back and forth as the girls devoured his manly tool. Their lips still joined, they moved higher on the quvering shaft. Their tongues fluttered rapidly the quivering shaft. Their tongues fluttered rapidly as they sucked the pole of his fuck-rod, each slithering stroke making him shiver from head to toe. The mobster's hips bucked spastically, his naked buttocks rising off the cushion of his chair as the two nude girls brought his blood to a rolling boil. His pelvis undulated in the classic rhythm of intercourse as their tongues brought his glans to painfully swollen turgidity. When their hot mouths ringed the top of his shaft, nibbling around the girth of its thick and fleshy collar, he gasped in mounting excitement.
These little girls knew how to play, all right. He hadn't felt this hot or this good in months. Exploring their bodies freely, he filled one hand with the softness of Christy's ample young tit while the other tangled in the hair of Francine's bobbing head. He could feel the big-breasted teenager's body go into motion as his fingers caressed the hardness of her nipple. And the rhythm of her swittering tongue seemed to quicken. Pressing his ass down hard against the cushion he tried to manipulate the head of his prick between her lips, but the passionate nymphet continued sucking its swollen cylindrical barrel.
He began to stroke Francine's narrow back, his fingertips caressing the blades of her shoulders and the ridges of her spine. Her skin felt cool and smooth, reminding him that her childhood was not yet completely behind her. He roamed the contours of her hips with trembling hand, caressing the childish curve of her buttocks while his penis filled her mouth with its thickness. Closing his eyes in rising ecstasy, he visualized the points of their girlish tongues meeting as they slithered wetly over the flesh of his pulsing rod. He wondered if their cunts were wet and gooey.
Reaching hurriedly for the pair of feminine crotches, he twirled his fingers in their sparse and youthful pubic patches. The two sets of labia were thick and lubricious, awash in the youthful excitement that the teenagers were experiencing. He smoothed the syrupy juice over the richly throbbing flesh, feeling both orifices pucker invitingly to his entry. With a gentle corkscrew motion of one finger, he penetrated the tighter of the little cunnies. ft was Francine's. The sudden intrusion made her gasp, breaking the rhythm of her mouth upon his dick. Vitagliano liked the sound of her arousal, and worked to bring it once more from her lips. Inserting his finger as far as his second knuckle in her heated cavern of desire, he suddenly withdrew it, carrying a dollop of her fluid to the tip of her vibrating clit. The youngster gasped again.
While he rolled the nubbin of pleasure with the fingers of one hand, his other sought the softness of Christy's little twat. It too was snug and clinging, but its muscles were beginning to acquire the elasticity that comes with sexual maturity. She had obviously been fucked a lot more than her friend. He liked that, also. The juices of her pussy were flowing copiously, wetting the hair-fringed skin of her outer lips. The don could feel the oily slickness of it spreading even beyond her pussy to the place where her thighs joined her trunk. She was a hot one, this little cunt. He wanted more from her.
Jabbing at her cervix with his stiffened middle finger, he said, "You. Suck me off." At the same time he moved Francine away with his other diddling hand.
Christy grinned impishly as she lifted her head to look up at him. His eyes were misted with lust and his nostrils flared with desire. Winking lewdly, she licked her lips with an elaborate gesture of her pointed little tongue. Then, opening her mouth to its widest, she lowered it over the knob of his gland.
The don felt her lips closing snugly around the head of his penis, the warmth of her oral cavity closing in all around him. His cockhead nudged at the softness of her palate, its smooth-skinned underbelly gliding wetly over her tongue. She was fucking him with her head, and doing a damn good job of it!
As the youngster sucked his pecker, the don glanced quickly into the face of her friend. Francine's eyes were lidded as she gazed lustfully at the passionate scene unfolding before her. Christy's blonde hair had fallen silkily over the seated man's loins, its gossamer softness enshrouding the masculine hardness of his genitals. Her lips were wrapped around the bulging knob of his penis, their tautly stretched tissues red with the effort.
Francine moved in closer, and with a gently stroking touch of her fingers she cupped his scrotum. She juggled his balls experimentally as her girlfriend gobbled his prick. The don sighed once again, his consciousness abandoned to the sheer pleasure of dual contact.
The girls were young and they were pretty.
Here they were, both worshipping his cock. Then-presence transformed him from head of a powerful mafia family to king of the world. Tangling both his hands in the hair of Christy's head he pulled her away from his loins. "Let's lie on the floor," he murmured, his authoritative voice soft and almost imploring.
The girls stepped back as he got out of the chair and lay down on his back on the carpet. Christy squatted over his face, presenting her cunt to him immediately. The don looked up into the splayed little cunt, his mouth filling with saliva. The air around his nose was filled with the fragrant mist of her blossoming womanhood. The tang of her fragrance made his nostrils tingle. With a muffled groan of passion, he lifted his head and fastened his lips to the sweet-flowing fountain. Gently, the girl settled down upon him, the roundness of her buttocks perching comfortably across his chest and shoulders. The wetness of her pussy filled his mouth as his tongue bored deep into the gap.
Francine watched idaly for a moment and then straddled his masculine hips. His cock, like a creature with a hunger all of its own, stood up straight, its tip pointing directly at the crack between her legs. The tumescent organ throbbed as her cunny moved closer. Arching his back, the don drove it upward toward the root of her core. He felt the softness of her moist and syrupy membranes kiss the skin of his swollen penis, and he sighed.
The sound of it made his tongue vibrate in the sweet-scented slash of Christy's loins. Her membranes tingled hotly with the contact. Rocking forward, she brought the bud of her clit against the tip of his nose, stroking herself with him as he lapped at her pussy. He could taste a change in her, the flowery flavor of blossoming youth giving way to the headier savor of a woman in heat. He lapped at the rolling flesh of her iner ulva, sucking mouthfulls of it into his teeth, and biting playfully. Each time he scraped at the sensitive membranes, the girl groaned in pleasure. Each erotic sound increased the tempo of his pounding blood.
He could feel the gentle kiss of Francine's little pussy as its lips opened timorously to the point of his sphere. When it slipped gingerly between them, she seemed to come alive. Short, staccato grunts of pleasure spewed from the throat of the dark-haired young beauty as Vitagliano's penis wormed his way into her. For a man of his age, the weapon was amazingly hard, its iron-like thickness gently bruising her inner cuntal sheath.
"AAaaaagggghhh," she gurgled as she lowered herself quickly onto him, her tender young pussy swallowing the head and throat of his dick. She could feel it pushing at her vaginal folds, ironing out all her wrinkles as it drove itself deeper into her body. It felt wonderful.
With a grinding rolling bump, she dropped lightly against him, her boyishly slim ass coming to rest on the hairy plain of his pelvic bowl. His cock was hilt-deep in the tender softness of her pussy, reaming the snug little opening and stretching the girlishly resistant tissues. The excitement of total penetration uplifted the don, carrying the level of his delight to a rising, spiraling peak. He thrust his tongue steadily in and out of Christy's twat, anxious to bring her to his level. He was no longer young, and his climax was fast approaching.
His tongue swirled around in the dank little cavern, whipping her free-flowing juices to a sizzling froth. The blonde began to pant, her entire body quivering like the plucked string of a mandolin. The don was nuzzling her now, rubbing the shaft of her clitoris with the tip of his nose while his tongue fucked into her pussy.
"Oooooooh, Donnie," she wailed helplessly. "I'm going to get off! Ooooh Donnie, suck my cunt and I'll really give you a mouthful! Oh suck me! Suck me good! Ooooh yeeesss. I'm going to cum!"
The aging gangster tasted a change in her syrup once more. This time its aroma was acrid, the taste of her burning his mouth. He knew that she would soon be bursting into orgasm. He longed to drink of her juice. He could feel the tempo of her fuck-rhythm increasing as her body moved more quickly in her passion. "I'm going to cum," he screamed. "I'm going to cum!" And then it began!
Wave upon wave of the sweet-flowing liquid rolled across his flapping tongue-tip. Greedily, he sucked an ocean of it into his throat. She was bucking and rolling in the tremors of her climactic explosion, the sound she was making conveying her lust to the world.
With the first shimmering taste of her, his ejaculation began. Shot after shot of hot, whirling joy-juice burst from the tip of his organ, inundating Francine's pussy with searing heat. He spurted temptestuously, his cock rearing back to swell and spit with each stroke of his rollicking hips. He was young again; a man whose balls were on fire.
The flowing stream of his semen triggered Francine's response, and her cunt began pouring its sauces over his penetrating prick. She sobbed and panted as he filled the vibrant receptacle of her womb with his sperm, the generation gap dissolving in the mingling of their heated sexual juices. The three came together, a single passionate unit climbing straight for the heights of total satisfaction. When it was over, they all remained in place, nothing audible but the labored sound of heavy breathing. At last the girls rolled off to his sides. It was early. There was still a lot of fucking to do.
The don's face contorted with anger when his phone suddenly rang jangling him abruptly from sweet sexual reverie. Getting up off the floor, he went to answer it, his flaccid cock dangling limp between his legs. He snatched angrily at the receiver and pressed it to his ear. "What is it, Rizzo?" he barked. "I told you I was going to be busy today."
The voice on the line was apologetic, but efficiently business-like in its tone. "I just got word from the coast," Rizzo said. "Messaria's disappeared."
The don was instantly alert. "What about the honeymooners?" he asked, careful not to say anything that might have meaning to his pretty young guests.
"They're missing too," Rizzo answered. "Their goats are running wild all over the countryside. It looks like Santamaria got wise and moved on. Maybe he's even iced Messaria."
"Find him, then," Vitagliano commanded coldly. "Do whatever is necessary. And when you do, send three men. Make it Giannini, Manno, and Red. No mistakes this time. I want them both." Then, the edge gone from his voice, the gangleader laughed raucously. "And for the rest of the day, don't bother me with details. I got a lot to do." Eyeing the pair of naked teenagers, he stroked the hair of his loins as he hung up the phone.
CHAPTER FIVE
Cricket crossed her legs, smoothing the hem of her skirt as she glanced around at the tastefully modern furnishings of Bev Morgan's office. Without looking at Bev, one would think that the room belonged to a pin-striped conservative master of industry. Only the woman's expression-her puffy, painted lips and frowzy, blonde hair hinted that it was, instead, the nerve center of Nevada's most popular legal brothel.
"I used to work for Tony, you know," said Bev, lighting a gold-tipped cigarette. "Back when he was a big-shot New York tough-guy, and I was a street walking hustler."
"Yes, he mentioned it," Cricket said, as tactfully as possible. "And I thank you for helping him now."
"Well, your husband was good to me," Bev explained. "When I wanted to better myself instead of filling syndicate pockets, it was Tony who helped me get out. I owe him a lot. If it wasn't for him, I'd still be walking the streets in New York instead of owning this place. That's why, when he called me and told me what was happening, I had to hide him out.
"Again," Cricket said humbly, "I want to thank you."
"Well, never mind that. It's neither here nor there," Bev said. "I called you to my office because there is something I have to tell you. But first I want you to see something." Rising from her swivel chair, the full-bodied madam walked to a bank of switches on her wall. She flipped one of them, plunging the room into semi-darkness. Then she pushed a button to slide back a small wooden panel on the opposite wall. Behind it was a heavy glass window which looked into another room. From where she sat, Cricket could see its occupants.
At first, she couldn't believe her eyes. There were three people in there, all seated on a huge bed. None of them had any clothes on. With her back against the headboard, a woman sat in the middle, her thighs spread wide and her hairy snatch pointing directly at Cricket. Beside her, one on each side, were two men. Each was holding his own erect prick.
Her mouth open in astonishment, the young blonde looked up at Bev. "What ... What am I...?"
The madam interrupted her. "They can't see or hear you," she said. Looking at her watch, she added, "I've got to step out for a couple of minutes. I want you to stay and watch this." Her tone was authoritative, as if she was disciplining one of her girls. "When I get back, we'll talk."
Before Cricket could say another word, Bev walked from the room, closing the door securely behind her. Not knowing what else to do, she looked back at the window. On the other side of it the dark-haired woman was fingering her own cunt, while the two young men pulled up and down on their massive rods. The middle finger plunged deep, pushing right to the palm on the instroke inside her cunt; and pulling all the way out on the return. Her wide pelvis rocked back and forth and side to side as her dark hairy snatch bobbed up and down.
In the open slash of her puss, Cricket could see the woman's clitoris, large and throbbing. It looked exactly like a miniature penis. The tip had a small head of its own, which was heavily coated with her thick womanly fluid.
For some reason, Cricket just couldn't tear her eyes off it. She watched as the woman pressed one finger directly against the head of her pleasure-button, rolling it till her pussy flowed like a river. Drops of her fluid were even beginning to stain the flowered sheet.
Cricket felt her own body warming up inside at the lewd sight. She too was spilling cunt-juice all over the material of her panties. She could feel her own clitoris pressing against the honey-coated underwear as her body began trembling with excitement. Her nipples were hardening inside her bra, becoming so stiff and turgid that they ached.
As the tingling sensations spread through her breast's, Cricket's eyes focused unconsciously on the naked woman's tits. They were huge and majestic in their ripe, erect fullness. The aureoles which capped them were large and dark, punctuated by brown, marble-sized nipples at their centers. While the hidden spectator watched, one of the men in the room reached with both hands for the heavy mounds of flesh.
He was tall, at least six-foot-four, with the broad, muscular shoulders and bulging chest of an Olympic athlete. His skin was fair, almost pale, and his hair gold and curly. Modishly long, it fell about his muscular neck and touched his shoulders. His fingers, long and well-shaped, curved possessively around the woman's tits. He seemed to be squeezing gently, rolls of her flesh protruding from between his fingers.
Cricket felt guilty about watching this way, but she couldn't tear her eyes from the sight. She had never seen such blatant sensuality. Had never even known that it existed.
The other man was still stroking his cock, his eyes glistening as he watched the goings on. He was shorter than his friend, and stockier. His skin was dark, his body covered with a thick coat of wiry black hair. Although his cock was not as long as the blond man's, it looked almost twice as thick. Seeing it filled Cricket's heart with a vague kind of fear.
Why had Ben Morgan asked her to watch this? Was the big-breasted woman one of her "girls"? Where was all this leading? Somewhere in the young woman's consciousness lurked a horrible suspicion. The owner of this Nevada whorehouse had gotten Tony out of a jam; perhaps even saved his life. Could she be preparing to demand that Cricket reciprocate by prostituting herself in one of the rooms? The thought was disgusting!
She shuddered involuntarily as she turned to look back at the window. Both men were in action now, each holding one mountainous boob with two hands. The woman between them appeared to be beside herself with pleasure. The four hands that pawed at her bosom were lifting her high on a cloud of arousal. Her nipples were like stones, their hard little surfaces rough and puckered under the touch of two men.
Reaching out for them, she took their swollen organs in her hands, pulling and tugging at them passionately. As she stroked their pricks, the men worked harder to bring her satisfaction. One was sucking on a nipple, the motions of his mouth making obvious the movements of his tongue. The other was nibbling away at the smooth skin of her breast, his teeth leaving little red marks around its sample circumference.
Cricket heard the sound of heavy breathing, and listened intently before she realized that it was her own. The thought of this was having a strange effect on her mind. It-frightened her, because of its possible implications. But it more than aroused her as well. She could feel the heat of her vaginal juices staining the fabric of her panties. In a futile effort to relieve her discomfort, she ground her buttocks against the seat of her chair, trying to work the dampened material free of her puckering vulva.
But instead, the panties crept up on her, pulling tightly across the swelling prominence of her clit and irritating it in a tantalizing way. Her forehead was covered with beads of perspiration. Her clothes were beginning to feel tight and constricting. How free the woman on the bed seemed in her total nudity. Something inside Cricket envied her. Subconsciously, she chastized herself for the immoral thought. Then, her bosom heaving, she returned her attention to the window.
The woman was lying on her back on the mattress, the two men kneeling at her sides by the bed. One of them, the blond, was stroking her inner thighs with his fingertips. The other continued to play with her titties. Her mouth was open wide, as though she were wailing like a banshee. But Cricket heard nothing. The dark-haired man sucked the woman's nipples, moving his head from side to side as he covered each in turn. His tree-trunk of a cock was pressed insistently against the side of a mattress, leaving silvery trails of goo as it slithered over the sheet. When the woman's body arched, her passion increasing, he thrust his tongue out all the way to lick lovingly at her breasts. A sheen of his saliva soon coated the tender white skin of her bosom.
The blond Adonis was busy at the fulcrum of her sex, his fingers tugging the lips of her vulva apart. He seemed to be smacking his lips as her cuntal interior was revealed both to him, and to the woman who observed unseen, from the other side of the wall. An ocean of fluid was rising in the well of the nude woman's cunt, rivulets oozing from its ragged-edged slit. Cricket could see the shimmering moisture coating the wrinkled skin around her vaginal mouth.
The man dipped his fingers in it, carrying them to her navel. He drew a little circle around her belly button and then plunged his fingertip into the little hole. Withdrawing it suddenly, he fell forward, the broad blade of his tongue lapping the tangy substance from her belly. Then, his lips pressing tightly against her hairy mound, he began kissing her genitals.
Cricket shivered as his lips made contact with the writhing woman's pussy. She was shocked to see him do such a thing. It was so unnatural; so unreal. She had never heard of anything like it, although she knew that some men liked to have it done to them. How could he stand to kiss her there. How could she let him-even if she was only a prostitute.
Yet as she watched the nibbling lips move closer and closer to the woman's vital slit, she felt her own pussy salivating. She couldn't help wondering how it must feel to be kissed on the cunt. Without realizing what she was doing, she began petting her own trembling crotch. But her touch did little to relieve the aching heat which was building there. Breathlessly she watched as the trio on the bed went on indulging its passions.
The woman's legs were thrown wide apart now, her pussy pulled open to allow the man's tongue to make entry. Her heels dug into the mattress, her body arching to lift her buttocks into the air. Approaching the orifice slowly, the man laved lingually at her cuntal tissues. The tip of his tongue hovered over her clit, bathing the sensitive nubbin in heated saliva. Then it flapped downward, spearing the quivering ganglion with a series of staccato jabs. The naked, feminine body shook, the dark patch of hair which surrounded her twat fairly sparking with electricity.
As the fair-skinned man lapped at her genitals, his hirsute partner clambered onto the bed, straddling the woman's midriff on his knees. His cock, throbbing thickly, lay like a rope on the skin of her belly. A little at a time he moved up until its head nudged at the bottom-most curve of her bosom. Cricket could almost feel the heated friction of the contact which his organ made with the twin fleshy globes. One of her hands moved slowly over her body to cup her own breast in the material of her man-cut blouse. Then, shaking her head suddenly, she pulled it away. What was coming over her? What was she becoming?
The darker man's ass was resting on the woman's belly now, his cock nestled snugly in the cleavage of her breasts. Cricket watched as the stimulated female pressed her two tits together around the pulsating organ. She was truly on fire.
Below her waist, her blond lover slaved on, his tongue slurping unctuously through her vaginal slash. The puffy labia majora half closed over his face, as though her cunt was trying to suck him totally inside. His hands slipped under her body to cup and stroke her buttocks, his fingers slithering about in the oozing slime which coated her genital plane.
The woman's body rocked, torn between pleasures which the two men were giving her. For a prostitute, she seemed to be very happy with her work. In a dream-like way which made her feel guilty at once, Cricket almost understood why. She herself had experienced the utmost in bliss at the hands of her only lover-Tony, her husband. And though she had never consciously allowed herself to face the question, she had always wondered deep down how much better it would feel to have two men at once. It was obvious that having two men play with her body simultaneously was fantastic for the woman on the bed.
The dark-haired man had climbed higher, his scrotum pillowed in the softness of the heaving breasts beneath him. Cricket could see his penis moving closer to the woman's lipsticked mouth. She held her breath as she waited to see what would happen. Unbelievably, the woman parted her lips and thrust her tongue out at the masculine organ. Cricket couldn't believe her eyes. She was licking it! Actually licking it! A moment later, the sensuous-lipped mouth opened wide, and the woman sucked his peter into her throat.
Her naked body was galvanized now to desperate movement, buffeted between the tongue in her pussy and the cock in her mouth. She moved down against the lingual penetrator at her crotch and rolled her hips from side to side. Then, lashing at its thickness with her tongue, she gobbled the huge hunk of meat in her mouth. Her ass was undulating, rising high above the sheet and then falling heavily back into place. Each heave of her torso buried the tongue even deeper. Each swallowing contraction of her throat sucked the penis closer to her center.
Her thighs wrapped around the head of her blond pussy-licker as she glued her loins to his cunt-lapping mouth. Her hands moved jerkingly as they flitted from man to man, first caressing the ass of the one fucking her face and then stroking the blond head which slaved at her groin. Her tension was building, the skin of her naked body flushing a deep and rosy pink.
Cricket's cunt was on fire, searing tongues of lustful desire licking at her vitals. Her nipples were so hard that they hurt her. Her throat was dry, and her lips felt as though they would crack. Her eyes were glazed at the intensity of her concentration on the lewd menage-a-trois.
She saw the woman's hands tangle in the shock of blond curls, pulling the hungry mouth away from her cuntal cornucopia. At the same time, she let the thickly swollen penis slip from her lips. Cricket waited breathlessly to see what would happen next. The woman seemed to be saying something. The men were listening intently, lustful smiles on their faces.
Suddenly the blond one got to his hands and knees on the mattress. His head was toward the headboard, his well-shaped and muscular ass facing Cricket. She could see the swollen pouch of his testes dangling down toward the surface of the bed. She could see the rigid staff of his cock pointing straight out before him, parallel to the line of his smoothly muscled belly. The wrinkled brown nut of his anus peeked out at her from between the half moons of his buttocks.
A look of lustful anticipation on her attractive face, the woman positioned herself behind him, also on her hands and knees. Her face was just inches from the flesh of his ass. Her breasts were full and ripe, their marbeled brown nipples pointing down at the bed. Her ass was upturned, bringing the drooling slash of her cunt completely into view, its lips drawn back in silent but pointed invitation. The inner walls were coated with a shiny glaze of fluid.
Cricket found herself breathing deeply in an attempt to satisfy her oxygen-starved body. Her heart pounded wildly when she saw what the naked woman prepared to do. Creeping forward on all fours, she began kissing the smooth asscheeks which spread out before her. Cricket could see her pointed pink tongue skipping lightly over the curving flesh. Her white even teeth bit playfully at his skin, and the man seemed to shudder. Rocking back on his knees, he pushed his ass against her.
The woman continued nuzzling him, her lips trailing lower over the sculptured line of his rump. Reaching the point where his thighs came together, she stopped to puff her hot breath across his swaying scrotum. Then opening her mouth, she sucked voraciously at the loose and wrinkled flesh. Cricket watched in disbelief as she filled her mouth with his testicles, rolling them about on the tip of her fluttering tongue.
While she massaged the blond one's balls and hindquarters with the warmth of her oral caresses, the other man watched. He remained on his knees, off to one side, a look of pleasure playing over his face. He reached over with his hand occasionally to pluck at his prick, squeezing its turgid shaft between his thumb and index finger. His hand, closing completely around its girth, began to slide up and down when he saw her tongue slip suddenly into his partner's asshole.
Cricket gasped, fearing they would hear her before remembering that they coud not. This was simply incredible. The woman's tongue was inside him. He was licking his anus. The attractive young fugitive had never even imagined such a perversion. She felt somehow that it should disgust her, that her stomach should be turning with revulsion at the obscene and unnatural sight. But it didn't. Instead, it inflamed her, raising the temperature of her loins to a steamy, sizzling zenith.
Her own little anus was convulsing in sympathetic response to the woman's strange behavior. Her pussy was atingle, as though powerful electric currents were coursing uncontrolled thru its fibers. Her undies were all twisted and wet. They exerted a painfully pleasurable pressure on her vulva, driving her half insane with desire. She wondered again, why she had been asked to witness this spectacle of lust, and her excitement was mingled with fear.
On the bed, the lewdly coupling duo was writhing savagely. His hips rotated drunkenly while her tongue burrowed deeper in the dark, dank cavity of his ass. Balancing herself on one hand, the woman reached for his hairy bag of nuts, jiggling the swinging stones between tapering feminine fingers. The more she sucked and the deeper she probed, the wetter her own cunny became. Cricket could see little rivers of joy-juice seeping from her splayed cuntal gash. A spreading puddle of the stuff darkened the bed sheet between her knees. As she reamed her lover's asshole, her pelvis rocked rhythmically. She was signaling for the other man.
His hunger awakened by her sensuous suggestion, the hairy man leaned forward to lap at her back-turned openings. He started low, the tip of his tongue stabbing the softness of her mid-vagina. Then he waggled it slowly from side to side as he brought the moist pink organ upward. Drinking her copious juices, he burrowed through the slash of her passion-heated snatch. Then, without breaking the tempo of his lingual maneuvering he sailed on to her asshole.
The minute his tongue-tip thrust home, she bucked like a prodded bronco, driving her face deeper into the valley of the blond man's ass. The dark one tormented her a bit longer, his tongue exploring her twin caverns of desire until it knew every nook, every cranny, every wrinkle. But he was only preparing her for what was to come.
When at last he was satisfied with the state of her vaginal lubrication, the man drew back on his knees. His long, swollen prick jutted out in front of him, its shaft curved slightly upward, like the blade of a Samurai sword. Its head was ripe and swollen, a plum about to burst with sugary juice. Dripping from the slit at its tip was an oozing strand of silvery goo. It hung thickly below the massive member, sticking to the skin of her bobbing weaving ass.
With one hand he stroked it, spreading the viscous liquid over his complete expanse of cock flesh. With his other hand he rummaged in her cunt, spreading the puffy lips far enough to reveal the round, ragged opening of her vulva. Shifting his weight from one knee to the other, he edged forward, stabbing the backs of her thighs with his rigid pike. Then, guiding the ram-rod with his finger, he aimed it at the hole of her cunt. A hair's breadth at a time, he penetrated her. At first the tissues rolled back to accept the tapering point of his swollen purple cock head. Then, with an elastic pop, her pussy swallowed the knob, closing tightly around the ring of flesh just below its bulbous tip.
He rotated his pelvis without moving forward, screwing the organ in deeper between the clinging cuntal membranes. She worked her body with his, rolling her ass in the opposite direction. As his prick slid in deeper, its head scoured bluntly at the walls of her vaginal tunnel. Cricket stared open-mouthed as the thick rod of flesh plundered onward. Soon half of its length was buried in the softness of the womanly crack. He stopped for a moment to give the vaginal muscles time to relax. Then, while the fit was still snug, he humped forward, driving another inch of meat into the breach.
The woman's tongue was plunging in and out of the blond man's asshole. Each driving thrust of the prick in her pussy, increased its rim-licking tempo. Her body pistoned back and forth as the two men joyfully used it. While she tongue-fucked the sweet brown anus, her hand reached beneath to grasp at the blond man's prick. She pulled it while she lapped him, matching the rhythmic jerking of her hand to the pounding of the cock in her pussy. It was inside her all the way now, the curling bush of pubic hair at its base pressing flat against the softness of her creamy white buttocks.
With each heaving stroke, his swinging sac of stones slapped erotically at the moistened slit of her back-turned pussy. His hand was roaming her pelvis in search of her clit. When he found it he began to diddle, rolling the rigid love-button between scissoring fingers. He stroked and pulled at it, doubling its length with his adoration. The tiny head was thick with pleasure, vibrating beneath his silken stroke. The driving piston which thrilled her vagina stretched her membranes with its swelling circumference.
It was growing even thicker, propelled by the excitement of the woman in whose body it was buried. The heat of her soaked through its silken skin, warming even the coiling tubes within its cylindrical shaft. His muscles strained with Herculean effort as he prodded her to the very core of her femaleness.
The combination of erotic sensations was lifting the woman's excitement to an irreversible peak. Her mouth was filled with the nut-like sweetness of the roiling asshole that she was tonguing. Her hand was filled with the masculine virility of his pulsating pole of fuck-flesh. The fingers that toyed with her clitoris were skillful. The cock which worked in her pussy was thick and richly satisfying.
Cricket tried to comprehend the pleasures which the writhing woman was obviously feeling. But they were foreign to her; not part of her realm of conception. She was obviously not in love with the men. Their relationship was crass and commercial. But she had shamelessly abandoned herself to the totality of hedonistic sex.
She disported herself with the men like some she-animal in the throes of uncontrollable heat. The things she was doing were depraved and perverted; the things being done to her shockingly obscene. But they obviously pleased her. And the sight of her reactions was lifting Cricket high on a cloud of lustful excitement.
The participants in the sexual melodrama which she witnessed appeared to be undergoing a change. Their tempo had quickened, all three of them losing whatever modicum of control they had left. The woman's body contorted wildly; her ass whipping back and forth like a runaway steam engine, her mouth bobbing rhythmically up and down. Her muscles were trembling, the spasms clearly visible even through the window. She was nearing the brink of her sexual climax. She was about to go off like a case of dynamite.
The two men were also reacting with greater intensity. The one who had mounted the woman was humping furiously against her, burying his cock to the hilt with each surging instroke. Cricket could see that his organ was coated with the sheen of sexual fluids. Its shaft was beet-red, and it looked about to burst.
Then, suddenly, the blond man, first in the quadruped line, threw his ass back even harder at the woman. His cock began to rear, filling its barrel with heated seminal fluids. Then it spat, again and again. Cricket saw the spermatic dervishes whirling hotly as they flew from the tip of his dong. Spattering against his belly and breasts, the jets of gism coated him with a sticky syrupy liquid. He appeared to be howling with glee.
As soon as the man's orgasm began, the woman joined in it. It was clear from the way her hips were moving, from the way her belly recoiled in a rhythmic pulsing beat, that she, too, was popping her rocks. It didn't take long for the flow of her juices to bring her fucker into the fold. His penis spurting like a fire hose, he filled her cunt with semen. The three revelers rolled and bucked on the mattress until their pent-up passion was spent. Then all fell forward, face-down on the bed.
Cricket didn't know what to make of it. Her whole body was tingling with the glow of sexual excitement, and she wished Tony was with her to relieve her building tension. But, even more, she wished she understood why she had been asked to witness the depraved demonstration. She didn't have to wonder for long, though, for Bev Morgan entered the room just a moment after the group fuck had ended.
Switching on the light and reclosing the secret peep-window, the madam turned to her young blonde guest. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting," she said. "I trust you weren't bored."
Cricket was flustered. Her knees were trembling uncertainly, and her twisted panties were still a source of discomfort. Wiggling about in her seat, she looked at Bev's shoes. "Was that woman one of your ... girls?" she asked timidly.
Bev laughed heartily. "Hell, no," she responded "though I wish she was. A couple of hustlers like that one and I could be a millionaire." Crossing her legs, the madam sat on the edge of her desk and looked Cricket right in the eye. "She's a customer here," she said soberly. 'Those two men are my employees."
Cricket's eyebrows lifted in surprise.
"Don't let it shock you," Bev continued. "I've got quite a few lady clients. But this is the one I wanted to talk to you about." She paused for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts. Then, never one to mince words, she plunged right in. "That broad's a newspaper reporter," she explained. "An important one, too. She's Amy Applegate of the New York Chronicle."
Cricket was impressed. She had heard the name before.
Bev Morgan continued speaking. "She always spends her vacation here," the madam said. "She's got freaky tastes, and I know how to cater to them. But she's seen Tony, and she knows who he is." Stopping to allow her words to sink in, she went on very slowly and deliberately.
"She's given me two choices," the madam explained. "Either I get her Tony for the night-this night. Or tomorrow morning's Chronicle carries the story of a missing New York syndicate lieutenant who's been spotted at Bev Morgan's cat house in Nevada."
Cricket was speechless. "Does Tony know?" she blurted at last. Her eyes were brimming with tears.
"No," Bev answered thoughtfully. "The guy loves you. He'd never go for it."
Cricket seemed somewhat relieved.
"But it may be a matter of life and death for him," Ben vontinued. "And that's why I decided to talk to you first. Maybe if you tell him about it; maybe if you ask him to do it; he'll give her what she wants. You've got to talk it into him. It's his only real chance."
Cricket's cheeks were stained with tears as her horror openly expressed itself. Could she share her husband Tony with another woman? Especially that one? Was it really the only way? She had lots of thinking to do. And not much time.
CHAPTER SIX
Tony hesitated a moment before knocking on the door. He didn't like this. Didn't like it one bit. But even Cricket had seen that he had no choice. At her insistence, he agreed.
He had met the Applegate woman once or twice in New York, and he never liked her. She was one of those so-called classy dames who got off on making it with highly placed members of the underworld. Her type had always turned Tony off. He had ignored her whenever he ran into her in New York although, physically, he found her rather attractive. But now she had him over a barrel, and there was nothing to do but give in. Shrugging to himself, he rapped on her door with his knuckles.
It swung open at once, and in the doorway stood Amy Applegate. She was dressed in a transparent black negligee, the roundness of her tits clearly visible through the diaphanous fabric. The garment was tight around her waist and midriff, giving her body a statuesque appearance. Her long dark hair had been brushed until it shone like silk. Her eyes were lidded with desire.
Tony thought of his reason for being there, and in spite of himself felt his penis stirring in his pants. She looked beautiful, in an erotic sort of way. It was as though the word SEX was indelibly stamped on the skin of her forehead.
"Hello," he said huskily. "It's been a long time."
She smiled smugly. "Yes," she drawled. "I was wondering what became of Tony Charmer. And so were a lot of other New Yorkers!" Her words sounded ominous, intended as a reminder of the power she held over him. She wanted to establish, from the start, her position of superiority.
"Can I come in?" Tony asked, attempting to ignore her veiled threat.
"By all means," she said, her eyes boldly appraising the masculine shape of his body. She stepped back to let him pass, but as he entered the room she moved against him. Her ample breasts brushed hotly across his arm. Tony pretended not to notice. "If your cock is as hard as your elbow," she said cunningly, "it's going to be a beautiful evening."
When both of them were standing inside, she closed the door and locked it. "I've been waiting a long time for this," she said triumphantly. "And I want to make it last."
Tony's eyes flitted nervously about the room, evading her penetrating stare. The furnishings were simple-a bed, a chair, and a chest of drawers. After all, it had been designed for one purpose-sex. On the dresser was an ice bucket in which two bottles of champagne were cooling. Stepping toward it, Tony looked at the labels. "I see the lady has class," he said, turning to smile at her. "Shall we drink some before we get started?"
"I'll decide when to drink it!" Amy Applegate snapped. "I'm in charge in this room. You're here to please me."
Tony's smile froze to his face. "All right, lady," he said icily. "What's your pleasure?"
"Stand over here in the light," Amy commanded. "I want to look at you a bit."
The former gangaster's face reddened, but he fought to hold back his anger. Obediently, he did as she ordered, walking to the center of her room. He stood motionless while she walked around him, obviously reveling in her control over him. "You've got a nice body," she said lasciviously. "I want to see more. Start taking your clothes off."
Tony felt uncertain. He was not accustomed to the role she was making him play. It didn't suit him. He wasn't comfortable in it. But he remembered the power that she had over him, and he forced himself to be calm. A few hours in her hands could mean his life. And Cricket's.
Docilely, he reached for the buttons at the front of his shirt. He'd do whatever she asked, and then he'd be finished with her. One at a time he opened them, allowing the front of his checkered top to fall open. His chest was strong and smooth. He felt her eyes boring hotly into it.
She stepped up in front of him and placed one hand inside his shirt. Her fingers were cool as they traced the-lines of his thorax. She plucked at each of his nipples, bringing them to involuntary erection. Then she stroked his rippling belly, tangling her hand in his hair. Quickly, she pulled the shirt from his pants, stepping back again. 'Take it off," she said. "Then turn around."
Her eyes sparkled lustfully as the well-built man followed her instructions. Removing his shirt, he tossed it over the chair. Then, slowly he rotated in place. She devoured him with her gaze, her eyes roaming hungrily over his broad and muscular frame. His back was strong and manly, his shoulders broad and powerful. The woman's cunt was beginning to moisten.
When they stood face to face again, she licked her lips elaborately. "Now take off your pants," she directed.
Tony wanted to flatten her nose with the knuckles of his fist, but he struggled to control himself. A muscle in his temple twitched as he glared into her face. Knowing he had no choice, he began to unbuckle his belt. He looked her right in the eye as his fingers worked with the fastening, trying to make her uncomfortable with the coldness of his stare. But it only served to excite her more. Her nostrils flaring with the rising of her passion, she looked intently at the work of his hands.
When the belt was undone, he pulled at his zipper, opening the trousers and letting them slide to the floor. His cock and his balls filled the pouch of his briefs, their obvious silhouette inflaming her still further. Stepping out of his pants, he placed them over his shirt on the chair. All that covered him now were his white cotton briefs. And he could almost feel her vision creeping inside them.
His scrotum was damp with perspiration, his penis annoyingly semi-erect. He wished that it would stay soft, to deny her the pleasure of his arousal. But he was too much a man for the wish to come true.
"Naked," she said. "I want you totally naked."
Her words stung him like a whiplash. Unable to face her in his wrath, he looked down at himself. Hooking his thumbs in the elastic of his shorts, he pulled them slowly over his loins. First, the wiry bush of his pubic hair was revealed, the sight intensifying the lewd woman's excitement. Then, as he tugged it lower, his thick cock sprang from under cover. It was partially hard, dangling out in front of him like a length of stiff new rope. He tugged the undershorts even lower, and his balls were naked too. Pulling the white cotton garment over his feet, he tossed it to the side. Now she had what she wanted.
Amy Applegate pursed her lips, whistling soundlessly at the sight of his prick. It was magnificent-long and thick enough to fill her. And it wasn't even erect yet. Her breathing quickened as she caressed it with her eyes. "I like that," she said softly. "I'm going to have lots of fun with it."
Moving slowly, she walked around him again. She feasted her eyes on his nudity, exploring each of his bulges and hollows with her visual examination. When she was standing behind him, she reached out to pinch lightly at the cheeks of his ass. When his buttock-muscles tightened, she drew her breath in sharply. Completing her circumnavigation, she faced him once again. 'Turn it into a hard-on," she said curtly, indicating his partially flaccid penis. "I want to see what you've got."
"It's getting there," Tony said, softening his voice by a deliberate effort of will. She was in command, and there was no point in alienating her any further. He tried to appear friendly, anxious to please. "All you've got to do is touch it," he whispered.
Applegate laughed harshly. "I'm not ready to touch it," she sneered. "You touch it for me. Make it as hard as it will get."
Realizing that she meant to irritate him with her manner, Tony resolved not to let her. Smiling sexily, he did as she ordered, reaching down to stroke his genitals. With one hand he cupped the bag of his scrotum, feeling its warmth permeating his palm. With the other, he began stroking his dick.
As his powerful fingers closed gently over the tumescent organ, it stirred to fuller erection. With a light and fluttering touch, he rubbed it up and down. It grew steadily harder as he stroked. He felt embarrassed at first to be performing like a seal for this cruelly dominating woman. But something about the situation aroused him as well.
He was helpless, rendered powerless by his peril, and he had no choice but to please her. He was her slave; a sexual servant who was bound to cater to the most perverse of her whims. It was a new role for him to be playing; an exciting one in a strange kind of way. As he toyed with her pecker he looked up at her, anxious for signs of pleasure in her expression.
She was trying to hide it, but she couldn't keep the excitement from showing in her eyes. They were heavily lidded and glazed with desire. Her lips were dry and parched, and her tongue snaked out repeatedly to misten them.
Tony tightened his grip on the rod of his prick and pulled it more briskly up and down. It was beginning to feel good, and he wanted Amy to know it. Letting his eyelids droop, he moaned softly through teeth that were clenched.
"How does it feel to pull on that cock?" she asked him, her voice a bit warmer now as he performed for her amusement. "It sure fills up your hand."
"I'd like to fill up your cunt with it," Tony said, his eyes rolling significantly. For the first time since he arrived in her room, he examined the woman who was giving him orders. She wasn't unattractive by a long shot. Her tits were big and shapely, the dark nipples at their peaks pressing erectly against the material of her negligee. As he played with himself and she watched, he saw her breathing deepen, her boobs heaving under the gown. The folds of diaphanous cloth obscurred his view of her cunt, and he found himself wanting to stare at it.
As though she had been reading his mind, Amy reached for the hem of her negligee and drew it up over her head. "Now you look at me," she murmured, standing naked before him. "And tell me if you like what you see."
Tony's hand stopped in mid-stroke as he stared appraisingly at the naked woman's body. He had been living with Cricket for so long that he had forgotten about females like this one. He had known dozens. There was something special about them. Their bodies were made for sex and their minds seemed to dwell on nothing else.
Amy Applegate's hips were erotically flared, her cunt a mysterious dark shadow at the inverted vee of her tapering thighs. Unashamedly, he studied her. His eyes moved liquidly from the tips of her rising titties to the patch of curling hair at her pubis. His cock still in his hand, he took a single step toward her.
"No," Amy stopped him. "Now it's time for champagne. You open a bottle." Turning away from him she went to the bed.
Still naked, Tony walked to the dresser and untwisted the wire on the neck of one of the wine bottles. He worked at the cork with his fingers until it popped. Then, foam bubbling from the mouth of the bottle, he turned to look at her. "Where are the glasses?" he asked, his hands wet with the overflowing bubbly.
"Never mind that," she said. "Bring it here and let's get started. She was lying on her back with the soles of her feet pressed flat against the mattress. Her knees pointed at the ceiling, her thighs forming a deep vee with her hair-covered cunt at its vertex. As Tony stared at her, his cock twitching up to total erection, she pulled her twat open with her fingers.
A deep and shadowy tunnel winked out at him from between the pouting cuntlips. The sight of it made his pulse beat quicken and brought pounding blood to the veins of his penis. In spite of all resolutions, he was turned on to her, the maleness in him aroused by her frank and unabashed sensuality. Amy was a she-wolf in heat, and the scent of her musk brought out the stud in him. Stepping forward, he leaned over to place the champagne bottle on the floor by her bed.
"No," she said impatiently. "I want you to drink some of that."
Tony shrugged as he continued approaching her nakedness. "No glasses," he said grinning slyly. "We'll just have to find something else to get drunk on."
"I've got a cup for you," she said, gesturing toward her pussy with her eyes. "Pour a little in my cunt and have a taste."
The idea appealed to Tony. It was different-just kinky enough to help him forget the hold she had on him. Carefully, he held the bottle near the opening to her loins. Then, tipping it, he let a few drops of the naturally carbonated wine drip over her pussy.
The liquid was cold, a steamy vapor rising as it trickled from the bottle. The warmth of her tissues made it foam, the bursting little bubbles tickling the nerves of her twat. Bending forward he sniffed at the wine's delicate bouquet. Its fragrance mingled with that of her passionately juicing cunt to intoxicate him with its spicy aroma. The tip of his tongue darting out between his lips, he licked experimentally at the bubbly mixture. It tasted good, the fresh clean taste of the bubbling champagne setting off the heavy sensuality of her vaginal brew. He licked the opening clean, then began to delve deeper.
"No," she ordered, her voice rising in pitch with her heightened excitement. "Fill me up," she instructed. "Fill me up and then drink me."
Her tone was urgent, her breathing raspy and irregular. The irony of her situational superiority over this tough guy from New York was having a profound effect on her emotions. She wanted to degrade him; to make him perform some humiliating task. But her scheme was backfiring, the sensation which his tongue was bringing to her pussy having robbed her of all vitriol.
Entranced by her erotic idea, Tony tipped the bottle again, this time pouring the wine into the depth of her vaginal opening. For a moment it seemed as though she was bottomless, the liquid draining into her with no end in sight. Then, suddenly, its level reached her vulvic slit, and overflowed to the crisp sheet below. The bubbling beverage titillated her pussy's interior, the million exploding droplets stimulating her like a potent electronic message. Her hips began to rotate even before his mouth made contact with her twat. When his tongue plunged inside her, he heard her gasp with delight. The taste of the champagne and the sound of her elevating passion combined to inflame his masculine lust. For the first time since he had gotten there, he was enjoying himself.
Burying his face in the effervescent fountain of her snatch, he began lapping the alcoholic fluid. It intixicated him at once, his head spinning at the taste of the tangy erotic mixture. The woman's pelvis began to move, a river of overflowing wine bursting forth from within as her pelvis churned intensely. Tony's nose was nudging at her clitoris while his mouth sucked thirstily at her cunt. Her excitement was bouying her up, carrying her on a wave of emotion which threatened to drown them both in its intensity.
"Oooooohhh, yyyeeess," she hissed, the sounds of her passion issuing sibilantly from her constricting throat. "Suck me there! Lick me there! There! There!"
Tony's cock was on fire, its taut membranes humming with the heat of his rising arousal. As he lapped her sweet-flowing pussy, he ground his erection hard against the mattress, trying to stifle the desire which was building inside it. But the friction of her sheets against his silky penile underbelly only heightened his lust. He humped her bed while he sucked at her pussy. It felt good!
Placing his hands under her knees, he pushed her legs up and back, until her thighs were pressing tight against her belly. Then, scribing long, graceful arcs with his tongue, he licked her loins from one end to the other. He began at her asshole, his tongue-tip drilling past the sphincter muscle to tickle the inside of her anus. Then he drew it across the thin band of flesh which separated her ass from her cunt and returned it to the wine-filled cavern of her vulva. Amy sobbed as he worked her over, her clitoris throbbing with desire.
Grabbing at his ears, she pulled his face away from her and looked into his eyes. All the hostility was gone from her expression. The cold look of superiority which she had worn only moments before had been replaced by an expression of lewdness and hunger. "Put your cock in my asshole," she pleaded, "I want to feel it up in my belly when I cum."
Tony's penis throbbed at the prospect. It was something he never did to Cricket. And that made it over a year since he had done it to any woman. Looking down at her loins, he pressed her knees into her breasts.
Her asshole pulled around and winked up at him, its glistening donut lips curling tautly shut. With an involuntary grunt of bestial desire, he humped forward, bringing the tip of his prick to within an inch of her exotic nether opening. He thrust at it clumsily, trying in vain to make entry. But her tightened anal sphincter succeeded in repulsing his advance. Holding her legs up with one hand, he used the other to guide his cock into place, looking down at it to witness its erotic entry into her bowel.
The tapering point of his rod jabbed at her anus, pressing snugly against its obstinate lips. He pressed forward, assaulting the rubbery barrier. It resisted for an instant longer and then surrendered to his attack. As his glans entered her anus, the orifice enlarged. He felt the muscles of her rectum straining to exclude him, but he pressed pugnaciously and steadfastly against the resilient tissue. Finally, his prickhead popped inside, burying itself in the steaming warmth of her asshole.
Amy sobbed in pleasure-pain as her rear opening adjusted to the size of the mammoth intruder. It felt wonderful. She was relieved. She no longer had to be dominant. She could surrender completely to the strength of his embrace. "Ooooh yes," she sighed meekly. "Make me feel good."
Tony hunched his loins forward, bucking against her as he drove his cock into her belly, a fraction at a time. She was tight and elastic inside, the heated slickness of her rectal walls pulling and stroking at his pulsating cock. He continued poking it deeper until his cockhair scoured at her buttocks. He was in all the way now.
The woman rolled her ass from side to side, skewering herself tighter onto his shaft. The pressure which his anal penetration exerted on her cunt brought her juices to a billowing boil. She rocked her body anxiously, the tightness of her anus sliding up and down on his rod. "Ass-fuck me," she whimpered imploringly. "Pop your nuts in my butt-hole!"
Tony shuddered at the lewdness of her words. He was far more excited than he had planned on allowing himself to become. But it felt too good to worry about. He rocked and rolled, the tightness of her recoiling anal tendons giving his prick an uncanny massage. Her ass bobbed wildly in an effort to milk the juices of lust from his scrotum.
His testicles bloated heavily with the gurgling cargo of sperm which their churning produced. He felt his cock swell even larger inside her asshole, the elasticity of her tightened sphincter pressing painfully along its shaft. Like an animal, he grunted as he rutted deep in her belly. It was building; climbing higher. His orgasm was but an instant away. With his fingers he searched for her clit while his cock beat a tatoo in her anus. When he found the little love-bud, he rolled it gently, switching its head from one side to the other.
She was beginning to wail, the rising of her climax a gurgling cry in the back of her throat. "I'm going to cum," she bawled. "I'm going to bust."
Tony sighed, letting go as soon as she issued her lascivious announcement. His climax began almost at once, the thick river of his semen filling the tunnel of her rectum and drenching her belly with its heat. He groaned bear-like as his penis drove deeper, the ejaculating fluid spilling over her guts. By the sound of her whimpering hysteria, he knew that she was cumming with him. He didn't stop moving until his cock, soft and flaccid again, plopped obscenely from her ass.
Stretching out on the mattress beside her, he sighed, glad to be finished with her. "You're quite an exciting woman," he murmured. "I'm glad I got the chance. Now don't forget your end of the bargain."
"Of course not," she said righteously. "With Amy Applegate, a deal is a deal. So as soon as you finish performing, I'll promise not to reveal your secret."
"Finish performing?" Tony echoed incredulous. "I've given you my best. What more do you want?"
The reported smiled seductively. "Why, your wife, of course," she said sweetly. "I've seen her around too, and she looks like she'll be dynamite."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cricket wasn't sure that she would be able to go through with this. But she knew she had to try. Tony's life depended on it. And maybe her own.
She was haunted by the knowledge that her husband had spent last night in another woman's arms. That while she sat helplessly in her room, weeping, her beloved was locked in intimate embrace with that vile newspaper reporter from New York. What had hurt her the most was the fact that their situation had made it necessary to urge him to do it.
His arms, the strong and comforting shelter in which she loved to nestle securely, had encircled Amy Applegate's body. His hands had stroked her naked skin. His fingers had bathed in the moisture of her pussy. His cock-Cricket's own towering pillar of strength-had been buried in the warmth of her being. The very thought of it all made her flinch.
But when Tony returned to tell her what else the woman was demanding, Cricket knew that the ordeal was just beginning. He was reluctant to say it at first. But he knew that it had to be done. He and Cricket needed time; just a few days. It could be worth everything to them.
Bev was trying to make contact with a friend, south of the border. Soon they would be on then-way to another country and, hopefully, safety. For now, though, they had no choice but to cater to the New York bitch's whims. And that meant doing things that had been inconceivable up to then.
Tony had tried to be gentle, explaining that he had something heavy to tell her. But when he saw the look of terror in her eyes, he knew that there was nothing to do but get it out. "She's had me," he said simply, "and now she wants you."
Cricket was stunned into disbelieving silence. Wanted her? What kind of a pervert would shift unhesitatingly from one sex to the other? And what could she possibly want from Cricket? the frightened young wife had heard, of course, about women having sex with each other. She had often wondered what they did. Now, realizing that there was no choice but to surrender to the evil woman's demands, she knew she would soon be finding out. Her knees wobblings, she knocked at Amy Applegate's door. Then, afraid that her timid rap hadn't been heard, she knocked again, this time much harder.
"Just a moment," called a melodious feminine voice from within. "I'll be right there."
Cricket was surprised at Amy's tone. She had expected some kind of a growl, like the voice of an ogre. But she sounded rather pleasant. An instant later, however, when the door swung open, she was graphically reminded of the woman's deviate desires.
Amy Applegate was dressed in a nightie so short that the crotch of her panties showed beneath its lacy hem. It was made of a gauzy transparent material which did little to hide her naked body from view. As Cricket stared at the roundness of her boobs, the reason for her visit flashed vividly through her mind. She felt her toes and her fingers turn to ice, the acrid taste of fear rising in her throat. "I ... I'm Cricket," she stuttered, not knowing what else to do.
"Yes, I know," the older woman answered, smiling. "Won't you come in and sit down?" Closing the door, she took Cricket gently by the arm and led her to the room's only chair. "What would you like to drink?" she asked cordially.
"Anything at all," Cricket said nervously. "Preferably something strong."
Perching on the arm of Cricket's chair, Amy handed her a glass of amber liquid. Sipping a similar one herself, she said, "Here, drink this and relax."
For the moment, Cricket forgot the woman's near-nakedness and the obscene purpose for their getting together. Amy wasn't acting at all like what she had expected. She found herself becoming comfortable. Soft music came from speakers hidden in the ceiling. The light was muted and dim. In spite of the fears which possessed her, the young wife was lulled into a state of relaxation. She sipped at her whiskey, feeling its potent effects ease the tension out of her muscles. Amy's hand stroked the silken softness of her long, blonde hair.
Draining her glass, Cricket turned to look at her. The woman was quite attractive, really. She looked even better up close than she had through the hidden window in Bev Morgan's office. Cricket found herself admiring the voluptuous fullness of her bosom and the smooth, clean line of her belly. She found it hard to understand why so good-looking a woman would resort to a house of prostitution for her sexual pleasure. Then, suddenly embarrassed about looking so openly at her, she cast her eyes downward, staring at the rug.
Sensing her uneasiness, Amy took the empty glass from Cricket's hand, rising from the arm of her chair. "Let me get you a refill," she said crossing the room with the glasses. Her back was to Cricket, and the young woman was able to look openly at it.
Amy's ass was curvaceous. Her firmly rounded buttocks were like the halves of an oversized melon, split obscenely by the shadowy crack of her anus. When she turned with the drinks in her hands, Cricket looked directly at her cunt before turning away.
She had a very sensuous body, and Cricket couldn't help wondering whether a man would see in it what she saw. She didn't know why, but she felt her own body awakening in response to her vision of Amy's. Her nipples were hardening inside of her bra, and her groin was becoming uncomfortably warm. She tried to think of Tony, but the feeling wouldn't leave her.
When Amy sat on the arm of her chair once again, returning her refilled glass, Cricket lifted it to her lips at once. She took a long and thirsty swallow, hoping it would help her to regain control of herself. For a moment it felt good going down. But then a fire burned at her belly and she had to struggle to keep the whiskey from bubbling up out of her throat again. Her eyes filled with tears and her vision blurred. She felt giddy and dizzy. As though struck in the face, she fell back in the chair, her head lolling against its cushioned upholstery. She stared up at Amy, her eyes roving curiously over the woman's barely clad figure. This time she felt no shame or embarrassment. The woman's hand was stroking her hair again-idly, casually. It felt good. It made the back of Cricket's neck tingle.
"You've got lovely hair," Amy said. "And a beautiful figure. How old are you?" As she spoke, her fingers moved caressingly over Cricket's neck and shoulder.
"Twenty-one," Cricket answered, enjoying the experienced woman's sensuous touch.
"You look even younger," Amy whispered. Her fingers toyed with the lobe of Cricket's ear, and then slipped under the collar of her vee-necked blouse. Cricket leaned back comfortably against the chair, flattered by the other woman's words. She felt Amy's fingers gliding under the shoulder straps of her bra, but she was no longer frightened. The touch was soft and gentle. Surely no harm could come of it.
Then, suddenly, Amy turned and moved toward her, her lips caressing the skin of Cricket's face. She felt them brushing at her forehead and cheeks, and closed her eyes as they pressed gently to her lids and her brows. A moment later, Amy's mouth was pressed hotly to her own, and she experienced difficulty in catching her breath.
The newspaper-woman's lips sucked gently at Cricket's, the heat of their contact warming both women. Amy's tongue darted forward, tracing the sensuous lines of Cricket's gums and teeth. Surprisingly, it felt good. Cricket hesitated for a moment, uncertain of what was expected of her. But then, instinctively, she began to return the lip pressure.
She kissed Amy's lips in a way she had never kissed Tony's. Something about it made her worry guiltily. Was it possible that she would experience, with this woman, sensations she had never known when making love to her husband? Perhaps this was the fear that had been at the root of her horror when Tony explained what she was to do.
Heedless of her fear of self-discovery, her tongue began fencing with Amy's, a being with a mind of its own. In an erotic ballet, their lingual organs pranced lightly from one mouth to the other, each tasting the pleasure of the other's salivary secretions. Cricket felt the woman's arm encircling her shoulders, drawing them closer together. The intensity of their lip contact increased.
Then Amy's fingers began working at the buttons of her blouse. Suddenly the heat was gone from her spirit. She felt as though she had been plunged into an icy bath. The woman was beginning to undress her. From here on there would be no turning back. Their lips broke contact for an instant as Cricket gasped to flush her lungs with air. Then their faces came together again as the kiss somehow renewed itself.
The fear which the young blonde was experiencing seemed to transform, a tremulous kind of excitement taking its place. No one but Tony had ever undressed her. And now here was this woman; doing it coolly, casually, as though nothing mattered but lust. As Amy slipped her blouse over her shoulders, she felt a strange kind of freedom. She was committed now. There was no longer a choice. No point in fighting the arousal which she was beginning to feel. No point in resisting the inevitable result of her consenting to come here.
Leaning back, she looked into Amy's eyes. They were blue and expressive, glazed with the shimmer of lascivious desire. Perhaps "desire" was the name for the feeling which heated Cricket's body too. Without trying to understand it, the young wife abandoned herself consciously to its urges.
She looked down as Amy worked at her bra, watching the ripeness of her own well-rounded boobs spring free of the undergarment's confinement. As the older woman pulled it from her, leaving her totally uncovered above the waist, she felt her body shudder, titillated by the forbidden experience in which she had become involved. Before her lidded eyes, the woman began to stroke and pet her naked tits, gentle fingers twirling knowledgeably around the swollen aureoles. Cricket watched in disbelief as her nipples hardened under the feminine touch. Amy seemed to know exactly what to do, lingering at each erogenous spot just long enough to raise her temperature before moving on to an even more stimulating locus.
The twin discs of pink distended and rose, puckering up from the surface of her smooth and powdery titties. They seemed to be asking for stimulation, standing up to draw attention to their hungering presence. Amy didn't neglect them long. Like a cat stalking prety, she inched closer to the rubbery prominences, her fingertips straying teasingly to their edges before retreating once again to the softness of the surrounding white flesh. While Cricket watched in rising excitement, she gripped them both, grasping the cylindrical nubbins in thumbs and forefingers.
Slowly, with a skill born of long hours of self-stimulating practice, the dark-haired woman rolled the tender pink caps. At the first caressing stroke, Cricket's breath hissed sibilantly. Tony had played with her nipples many times, and she had never believed that anything could ever feel quite as good. But Amy's technique was totally different. She approached Cricket's body with a special kind of knowledge; an understanding that Tony could never have. That no man could ever really have. It felt wonderful!
When the nubbins had stiffened to the hardest possible degree of rigidity, Amy's fingers retreated. She stroked the globes of Cricket's bosom with a spiraling motion, her long, fluttering caresses beginning at the disks of her aureoles and radiating outward. Occasionally, a silken-skinned digit slid calculatingly over the nipples, making them quiver with burgeoning desire.
Cricket's hands longed to reach for the woman's body; to cup her mountainous breasts in passionate reciprocation. But, frightened by her lack of experience, she remained motionless while Amy pleasured her. While one of the older woman's hands toyed with her breasts, the other fumbled at her side for the zipper of her skirt. For an instant, Cricket's fear was revived by the sound of it zipping open. Then, as Amy's fingers crept over the trembling plane of her abdomen, she rose above fear.
Without thinking, she lifted herself slightly from the chair as Amy worked the garment down over her hips. She felt the cloth of her moistened panties digging into the membranes of her cunt as she settled back down against the cushion. But Amy began working at them immediately, tugging the wispy bikini briefs off over Cricket's hips to expose her moistening twat. Cricket's eyes were closed now, shielding her self-consciously from the excited woman's glance. She felt herself stripped naked, and knew that she was now totally available to Amy's every sexual caprice. Her cunt was unprotected, obscenely visible to the older woman's eyes. The fluid which coated its exterior gave evidence of her unwilled state of excitement.
Amy stood up in front of Cricket and filled her lungs with air. When she was certain that the young blonde's eyes were focused on her, she pulled her nightie up over her head. Her massive breasts swayed heavily from side to side before settling back into place. Their rich brown nipples were swollen and distended, the spheres at then-centers full and rigidly erect. Licking the tips of her index fingers with an elaborate motion of her tongue, Amy wet the points of her boobs. The dark nipples sparkled under a sheen of saliva.
Then, while Cricket watched breathless from the chair, Amy stripped her own panties off over her thighs, exposing her darkly furred snatch. Its lips were thick and convoluting, their surfaces dotted with dewy spatters of foam. Unable to stop herself, Cricket stared openly at the womanly gash.
It looked so big and soft. She could understand why a man would want to plunge his penis in there. As she looked, her hand moved automatically to her own vibrant cunny. How small and how tight it was by comparison. It felt so tingly; so alive. Mechanically she rubbed it up and down, the tip of her middle finger insinuating itself slightly between the puffy lips.
Amy sighed at the lurid vision. The young blonde was hot, like a virgin at the altar. Her tits bobbing as she walked, Amy returned to Cricket's side. Leaning over her, she brought her lips to the attractive blonde's nipple. She sucked voraciously, allowing the slurping sounds of her lust to tickle Cricket's blushing ear. Her huge pendulous breasts hung down beneath her. The dark and rubbery nipples grazed lightly across Cricket's arm.
Motivated by simple curiosity at first, the younger woman reached for them, clutching ineptly at the twin bolls of fluff. Amy's tits were so heavy, so full and so very female. The touch of their softness made Cricket's cunt water. She had never imagined that another girl's boobs could excite her so completely.
All embarrassment gone, she began to explore the womanly surfaces without inhibition. The skin was smooth and satiny. When she encountered the pebble-grained disks at their centers, she knew instinctively what she had found. She had stroked her own breasts on accasion when powdering after a shower, and was amazed at how much bigger the other woman's felt. The nipples were like plums, filling her inquisitive fingers with their thickness as they swelled even larger under her tremblingly inexperienced touch. When Amy let Cricket's nipple drop from her mouth to stand upright, the younger girl's hands remained glued to her breasts. She wanted to lick one of them, to pop the puffy nipple into her mouth. But Amy seemed to have other ideas.
Running her hands quickly over the naked contours of her own voluptuous body, the dark-haired woman stepped back, breaking all contact with Cricket. Then, taking a position between her bare feet, she sank to her knees before the blonde girl's chair. Cricket watched in dazed silence as the woman reached for her hands. Making herself supple, she allowed Amy to place them on her shoulders. Knowing instinctively what the woman was preparing to do, she watched as Amy lowered her face to the fragrant site of her blonde-fringed sex.
She sighed when Amy Applegate kissed her there. The warmth of the kneeling woman's breath bathed her genitals in the glowing heat of passion. She felt soft lips nibbling at the skin of her groin, tracing teasing little circles around the vibrating slit of her vulva. She thought she would be horrified by so base and so primal an act, but she was not. She found herself responding with pleasure, applying gentle pressure to the older woman's shoulders to guide her head nearer to her aromatic vaginal cavern.
Amy's tongue was lapping hungrily at her pubic tissues, stimulating the softness of her pussy's lips. Invitingly, they rolled back to accept the entry of the flitting pink probe. Amy's tongue-tip waggled lower.
Cricket felt it playing erotically about the trembling nubbin of her clit. She longed to know the sensation of contact with that sensitive organ.
The pleasure-button was stiff and throbbing, the repeated lapping strokes of Amy's tongue making it steam with forbidden desire. With a passionate push of her hands, Cricket pressed Amy's mouth against the sweetness of her hotly flowing vagina. She sobbed in excitement as the other woman's tongue drove inside.
She looked down in dizzy arousal at the erotic Lesbianic sight. Dark hair cascading about her feminine face, the big-breasted woman who knelt at her feet was nuzzling her vagina. She could feel the stiffened tongue plowing between her rolls of cuntal flesh. She could feel lips sucking voraciously at her clit. She grabbed desperately, in an attempt to place her hand on Amy's pussy, but she wasn't able to reach from her sitting position. Contenting herself with the softness of the other woman's breasts, she kneaded and squeezed them. She felt her passion mounting as she abandoned herself lewdly to the bliss of sapphic embrace.
From his observation point in Bev Morgan's office, Tony Santamaria looked on in silent astonishment. When he and his pretty young wife had discussed Amy Applegate's perverted demands, neither of them thought that anything like this could possibly happen. Cricket actually looked like she was enjoying herself, her face distorting lustfully as the kneeling reporter lapped at her twat. She had even taken the initiative a few times, reaching voluntarily for the older woman's flesh. Tony couldn't be sure, but it even looked like Cricket had guided the woman's tongue into her sweet young cunt.
It upset him to see her carry on this way. She was wanton and she was lewd, not at all the innocent girl he had married. As he watched her taking pleasure in the deviate embrace of the Applegate broad, he felt cheated-robbed of her faithful devotion and her child-like naivete. He felt fury rising within his masculine ego. He longed to make her aware of his presence; to let her know that he was monitoring her in her moment of weakness. But then he thought about the orgasm which he had experienced the previous night, and he forgave his young wife at once.
Amy Applegate was no ordinary woman. She was a passionate sex bomb completely devoted to the pleasures of lust. And she had a mystical way of spreading her passion to whomever fell into her clutches. He had gotten off last night in a way he had forgotten was possible. How could he blame Cricket for not being stronger than he?
As he watched her features contort in a lewd mask of sensuality, he felt his cock growing harder. There was something exciting about seeing his wife making love to another woman; to a woman that he himself had fucked only hours ago. It was taking its toll on him, his passions rising to a soaring level of excitement.
He could tell from his young wife's expression that her climax was approaching. Her eyelids were squeezed tightly together and her lips pressed into a thin line of tension. He had seen that look on her face a thousand times and he knew that it heralded her orgasm. Glad that Bev had left him alone at the window, he began rubbing the swollen hardness at the front of his pants.
Cricket's legs were wrapped tightly around Amy's head, her mouth was thrown open in sensuous abandon. He knew she was about to cum. He unzipped his pants and slid his hand inside trying to comfort the ache hi his swollen and pulsating cock. To free it from the constricting tightness of his trousers, he pulled it out, hoping that the coolly conditioned air of Bev's office would lower its temperature.
But the exposure of his organ had exactly the opposite effect. Frantically he began jerking his cock up and down, his fingers closing gently around its thick and throbbing shaft. He watched his wife climb the ladder to glory as he masturbated furiously. Her hair was whipping the air around her as she thrashed out her monumental climax. His own was just a stroke or two away.
Then suddenly he heard a commotion in the hall, and the door of Amy's room burst open. Three tough-looking hoodlums rushed in. Tony recognized them at once. The first two were Ed Giannini and Sally Manno. The other was known as Red. All were syndicate hit-men. He and Cricket had been discovered.
Helplessly, as though he were viewing a television screen, he watched the gangsters reach for their weapons. Sally Manno opened fire, and Amy Applegate's lifeless body jerked to the floor. Her blood spattered over the rug and his beautiful, naked wife.
A scream of desperation tearing from his throat, Tony whipped out the revolver which had become his constant companion. Without stopping to think, he began firing through the glass, unconscious of the shower of slivers which struck him in the face. He fired automatically, without taking aim. Like it had been in the old days, the gun became an extension of his hand-even of his mind. The bullets went where he willed them to go. When the clip was empty, he stopped firing. There were three dead gangsters on the floor. And, miraculously, Cricket was safe. "Get your clothes on," he ordered through the shattered glass. "We've got to get the hell out of here!"
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cricket stirred as the luxurious motorhome lurched along the bumpy back road. When she lay down on the gaucho cot in the back of the recreational vehicle, it was with the hope of getting some much-needed sleep. But the newlyweds' activity in the bed across the aisle made napping impossible.
It had been a lucky break which brought her and Tony into the southbound vehicle. It seemed that Debbie, a former employee of Bev Morgan's, had just gotten married to Tim, a former client. They had come for Bev's blessing immediately after leaving the wedding chapel, and were heading south in Tim's RV for a Mexican honeymoon.
Bev had prevailed upon them to take on the passengers, telling Debbie that she would consider it a tremendous personal favor, but offering no further explanation. Tim was reluctant at first, but when Tony offered to do all the driving he had a change of heart. Now he and his bride were "resting" in the vehicle's double bed while Cricket's husband was at the wheel.
But resting hardly seemed an appropriate word. For almost as soon as they slipped into the bed, Tim began playing with Debbie's body. Because it was warm in the vehicle, they lay on top of the covers. In the light of passing headlights, Cricket could see clearly what they were doing. Embarrassed, she feigned sleep, but knowing what the newly married couple was up to made it difficult for her to keep her eyes closed. Through slightly parted lids, she watched.
The plain white dress which Debbie was wearing fit tightly. In order to lie down in it, the former prostitute had hiked its hem to her mid-thighs. Cricket could see the tops of her stockings, and the lacy red straps of her sexy garter belt. Tim's hands were all over her thighs.
Like a couple of virgins, the newlyweds approached each others bodies with desperate cravings. Tim's fingers explored the silken-sheathed luster of his new wife's legs, his hands running possessively up and down over their contours. As he stroked her, her legs parted, opening to him.
Debbie was lying flat on her back. But as he touched her, she arched her back slightly, lifting her skirt higher. Bunching its material around her waist, she settled down again, spreading her thighs. Tim responded at once by petting the mound of her pussy. Then his hands returned to their teasing caress of her legs.
Cricket stared in silence at the former prostitute's body. She was long and lean, with thin but shapely legs and a heaving contoured breast. Her torso was poised in an attitude of total surrender, all of its lines centering at her groin. Her loins were girdled in lingerie which had been designed with titillation in mind. Beneath the lace of her red bikini briefs could be seen the scarlet straps of her seductive garter-belt. The bands stretched tightly across her thighs, rays of sensuality radiating from her pelvis.
Her husband was rubbing his fingers across the crotch of her diaphanous drawers, the thin red fabric darkening with the spreading seep of her vaginal juices. Cricket felt her own cunt warming in sympathy. Debbie's muffled sobs aroused her imagination, occupying it with vivid fantasies of erotic sensation. Slipping her hand beneath the thin sheet which covered her, the breathless voyeur petted her pussy gently.
Ever since her encounter with Amy Apple-gate, she had been walking in a daze. The reporter had been murdered before her very eyes. And the men who did it would have shot her next if not for Tony's intervention. The fact that he had been there to prevent it was proof that he was watching while her body fused with the other woman's. She wondered what he must think of her. They hadn't spoken of it, but she knew it was troubling him. She couldn't understand the feeling which had come over her in Amy's room; the wanton abandon which had suddenly seized her senses. And if she couldn't comprehend it herself, she'd never be able to explain it to Tony.
Ever since it happened, however, she had felt a heightened sexual excitement bubbling just under the awning of her consciousness. Now, as she watched the newly married couple making love, the feeling came to the fore. She was frankly excited by what she saw. She tried to make her breating heavy and regular so that they would think she was asleep. But her eyes were wide open and trained on the lewdness of their sexual foreplay.
Tim was peeling the skimpy red panties from Debbie's hips, leaving only her garter belt as security around the fortress of her cunt. As he pulled the underpants off over her feet, he pressed his lips to her nylon-encased ankle. Drawing his face across her calves and thighs, he planted a series of wet kisses on her smoothly sculptured legs. Then he bussed her loudly on the pussy.
Cricket unfastened the front of her jeans and slid her hand inside. Her twat was clammy and moist, the soft hairs which surrounded it damply matted. She ran her fingers through them lasciviously, her fingertips seeking the vibrant wet slit of her tender young vagina.
The membraneous opening was soft as down, its beefy flanges coated with the honey of her desire. Without hesitation, she plunged her middle finger inside, burying its tapering length in her own feminine softness. When she felt her cunt-lips close around her self-loving knuckles, her hips began to rock ever so slightly.
She was acutely conscious of what she was doing, but she felt no shame or guilt. The rapidly unfolding events of the past few days had left their mark on her, changng her from a timid, uncertain young bride to an openly sensuous woman. Careful not to allow her movements to give her away, she masturbated rhythmically while Tim licked his bride's sweet cunt.
Debbie was whining softly as the tongue skewered her slit. Her legs were still sheathed in nylon, her womanly portal still surrounded by the lacy tentacles of her garter belt. Like the border on a photo, the red elastic straps framed her hairy gash and the head which slaved to pleasure it.
Tim's cock was hard and erect, its rigid length lifting the front of his pants. As his wife writhed bestially beneath his oral-genital caresses, he shifted the position of his body so that his knees were next to her shoulder. Reaching for him, Debbie began stroking his rod through the fabric of his trousers. She had been a prostitute for years and had fucked hundreds of men, but she was his now. She had resolved to save all that she had for him and him alone. The knowledge she had acquired in the course of her profession would be used only for his pleasure. Her skills as a lover would be directed solely at his satisfaction.
Her fingers worked expertly at his belt and his zipper, opening his pants without difficulty. Within instants, she had succeeded in removing them, leaving him totally nude from the waist down. As he licked her clitoris, she filled both her hands with the flesh of his manhood.
Cupping his hair-covered scrotum, she pulled and squeezed it gently, his heavy, sperm-bloated testicles rolling out from between her fingers. Her other hand gripped his penis loosely, working its thick, fleshy collar up and down over the bulbous knob of his glans. Her fluttering fingers brought a sigh from his throat. The vibration that it caused in his tongue and his lips massaged her pussy delicately.
Cricket was having a difficult time keeping still on her narrow mattress. Part of her wished that Tony was lying with her, stroking and pleasing her instead of driving the bus. But another part of her was grateful for her solitude, and the opportunity which it presented for secret observation of the newly married lovers. She reveled in the forbidden pleasure of self-stimulation as her fingertips continued discovering hidden wrinkles and niches in the super-hot channel of her vulva.
She remembered the tenderness of Amy Applegate's tongue, and she tried to approximate it with her plunging digit. Her finger was flitting in and out of her pussy with the rhythmic regularity of a copulating cock. She felt her clitoris quivering with excitement, and she pum-meled it gingerly with the palm of her hand. The pleasure was so intense that she bit her hp to keep from crying out.
Debbie's moans had become louder now, as her husband's tongue plundered the depths of her hidden channel and carried sweet-flowing moisture to the tissues of her labia majora. Her clit was swollen and distended, desperately craving his tender, titillating touch. Although she had fucked for eight hours a day while working at Bev's, her trembling little pleasure-button had been a much neglected focal point. Most of the men she met there were interested only in her tits and her pussy. Their interest was always a selfish one. They craved only their own satisfaction. Any attention which her clitty received usually came from her own hand.
But Tim was her husband now. Her pleasure was as important as his own. Tenderly and with love he rolled his tongue across the puckering hood of cunt-flesh which housed the vibrant nerve center. Debbie's sobs were audible over the roar of the motorhome's engine. Cricket found herself wondering if Tony could hear them.
Her own fingers were whipping frenziedly across her sensitive love-nub. Her breath was beginning to come in short bestial pants. Again and again she knuckled her clit, bringing her love-juices to a boil. She echoed the eroticism of the scene which she was witnessing in the mounting pleasure of her desperate masturbation.
Although the light in the vehicle was dim, she could clearly see Tim's penis gleaming white against the darkness. It was rather thin, its head tapering to a narrow snake-like point. But it was the longest male organ she had ever seen. Each time Debbie's hand stroked its full length, a rivulet of lubricant oozed from the cum-slit at its head. With an experienced touch, the bride massaged the fluid into his cock's sensitive skin. The organ swelled to twice its size, and for a moment it looked like he was going to pop his load in her hand. But then he seemed to regain control once again.
He redoubled his efforts at her snatch, his wig-wagging tongue and nibbling lips bringing cries of passion and pleasure from her throat. He sucked her clit into his mouth, nipping gently at it with his teeth. Then he dragged the inside of his lower lip across its vibrating surface, the friction of their contact bringing a rush of fluid from her vaginal well.
"Oh yes, suck my clit," Debbie moaned. She was beyond caring about whether or not Cricket overheard her. Only sex existed for her now. Only sex, and physical stimulation. Her hips were bucking wildly, throwing her ass repeatedly against the blankets. Her hand was pulling wildly at his swollen staff of life. Using his prick like a handle, she pulled his body closer to her, her lips kissing softly at the skin of his muscular thigh. Guiding him with the touch of her fingers, she made him straddle her face.
His wrinkled bag of nuts hung down in front of her nose, filling her nostrils with the musk of his genital perspiration. Thrusting her tongue out from between her lips, she licked at his scrotum, caressing the hairy sac gently with her pink lingual strokes. Then, taking hold of his cock with her hand, she guided its swollen head into her mouth.
It was the most erotic thing Cricket had ever seen! She had only begun to discover oral sex in a few of its forms. But now she was watching a man and a woman mouth each other simultaneously. Her imagination went wild in an attempt to conceive of the pleasure.
Debbie was sucking her husband's dick as though it held the secret of life ever lasting, while his tongue penetrated her pussy to the core. Cricket saw their union as a perfect consummation of their nuptial promises. She regretted that she and Tony had never tried a similar act. As she watched them sixty-nining on the bounding motorhome's bed, her little cunt flowed copiously, coating her self-loving hand with a sheen of eroticism. Guiltily, she found herself fantasizing a three-some, with her and the orally copulating couple all sucking each others' genitals freely and without inhibition.
The lustful vision made her nipples harden to painful rigidity. With her free hand she stroked her tits trying to comfort them. It was becoming increasingly difficult for her to catch her breath, and she feared she would be detected as she spied on the lovemaking newlyweds. But she was too far gone to stop now. The sight of their obscene union captivated her, making it impossible for her to tear herself away. Her own body's demands had mushroomed until it was no longer possible for her to deny them. Her finger fairly flew as it fucked frantically into her fluffy fountain of pleasure. Her hips churned uncontrollably as her body's responses quickened.
Tim's ass was bobbing rhythmically as his cock slid in and out of his pretty wife's mouth. Her tongue fluttered lovingly over its surface in an attempt to bring him the fullest pleasure available. If Debbie knew anything, it was how to please a man. She had promised to spend the rest of her life pleasing Tim, and she was beginning right now.
Her mouth worked his penis like the cunt of a cock-hungry woman, sucking the sperm up out of his balls and into his long curling tubes. Her own passion-juice was flowing richly, oiling his throat with its cloying viscosity. The taste of her was sharp and pungent, as though richly spiced and laced with intoxicants. It went straight to Tim's head, galvanizing his pubis to fast and furious action. He rocked rhythmically up and down, burying the distended fuck tool in the tightness of her throat. Debbie sucked him as she had never sucked anyone before.
Under the covers, Cricket's hips were undulating wildly. She was beyond caring now about the possibility of being discovered. She was staring openly at the passionate pair, her hands working to bring release to the building tensions of her arousal. She had managed to get her blouse open and to work her boobs free of her bra's confinement. Rolling her nipples in her fingers, she kept her heat at a peak while her other hand fucked into her pussy. She was beginning to groan audibly now, the sound of her arousal carrying easily across the aisle which separated her from Tim and Debbie.
Suddenly, the young couple froze, both listening intently for the sound which had disturbed them. Tim's mouth remained glued to Debbie's twat, but she allowed his prick to slip from between her lips. "Is that you, Cricket?" she asked softly. "Are you all right?"
Cricket held her breath and tried not to make a sound. But the sudden silence was as disturbing as her groaning had been.
"Cricket?" the new bride repeated. "Are you awake? Have you been watching?"
Cricket's hands froze where they were, one palm stuffed with the meat of her breast, and the other hand buried in the softness of her twat. "I'm ... I'm sorry," she stuttered uncertainly. "I was sleeping. I juess I just woke up."
"That's all right," Debbie said, her voice hoarse and lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "I don't mind if you watch. And I'm sure Tim doesn't either. Doesn't he have a beautiful cock?" As she spoke, she took the hairy organ in her fingers and held it for Cricket's "examination. Then, as though the thought had just occurred to her, she flipped a switch on the wall over her bed.
Suddenly, the semi-nudity of the newlywed couple was illuminated by a flood of yellow incandescent light. Cricket squinted, embarrassed by the suddenness of the confrontation. She wanted to turn her face to the wall, but she was totally unable to tear her eyes from the sexy sight. Numbly she stared at Tim's big cock. In the light it looked paler, but she realized that it was even longer than she had thought.
"Tim is a wonderful lover," Debbie said.
At that her husband came up for air, looking over his wife's hairy cunt at their one-girl audience. Grinning obscenely, he winked at her. "If you like what you see," he said, "clap your hands. Unless they're busy, of course." His mouth wide open, he returned to Debbie's puss, licking its swollen lips with an elaborately exaggerated guesture of his fully extended tongue.
Cricket shuddered at the overt sensuality of the newly married pair. For a moment, her embarrassment paralyzed her hands, keeping them in motionless contact with her heated erogenous zones. But when Debbie took her husband's penis into her mouth once again, deliberately sucking it into her throat for the young blonde to see, Cricket's fingers began massaging her clitoris once again.
This time she stared openly at them, no longer straining to make out their activities in the dim light. While she watched, she gave conscious attention to the movements of her masturbating hand, seeking out the most sensitive corners of her cunt and stimulating them deliberately. Her own cries joined with Debbie's in a symphony of sexual excitement, her orgasm only inches away.
She watched Tim's massive penis disappear gradually into the waiting cavern of Debbie's mouth. When its tip crashed dully against the former prostitute's tonsils, only an inch or two remained unswallowed to separate the hairy patch of his loins from the sensuous softness of her lips. His head was flailing wildly at her crotch, the red straps of her garter belt framing its lustful activity.
Cricket's clit was bathed in moisture as the heel of her hand rubbed repeatedly against it. Her index and middle fingers were scissoring inside, giving her pussy a powerfully stimulating internal massage. As the climax bubbled under her dissipating consciousness, she began to groan louder and less inhibitedly. She wanted them to know where their sensuous antics were taking her. She wanted them to know that she was almost ready to cum.
When it hit, it hit all of them together. Debbie's cries of fulfillment joined with those of her husband to fill the back of the bus with the sound of sexual ecstasy. Cricket's sobs of billowing lust announced her self-induced orgasm to the night. Although three feet of space separated her from the gyrating pair on the bed, she felt that she was part of a menage; that the triple climax had resulted from a troilistic encounter. The fantasy excited her, arousing her passions even further. When it was over, she felt totally relieved.
Tim and Debbie settled down into an exhausted sleep, still partially undressed and enfolded in each other's arms. Cricket dozed fitfully, never quite losing consciousness of her surroundings, or of the reason why she was in them. When she had lost all track of time, she felt the vehicle being brought to a stop.
Sitting up abruptly, she looked out the window. They were parked in a small graveled turn-out by the side of the two lane highway on which they had been riding. The night was dark, the road devoid of any electrical illumination. Somewhere in the distance behind them, the headlights of a car could be seen. But they were little more than pinpoints and probably miles away.
"Tony," she called softly, careful not to wake the sleeping newlyweds. "Is everything all right? Why have we stopped?"
"Got to take a leak," her husband called from his seat at the wheel. "Care to join me?"
"O.K.," Cricket answered. "I'll be right there." Hastily she adjusted her rumpled clothing under the cover. When she was reasonably decent, she threw off the blanket and got up from the cot. Tim and Debbie were still sleeping soundly across the aisle.
On unsteady legs, she walked to the front of the bus and kissed Tony on the mouth. "How far from the border are we?" she asked.
Tony opened the door and led her from the vehicle, closing it quietly behind them. "Just a few miles," he answered softly. "We should be there very soon." Taking Cricket by the hand, he headed for a clump of trees about two hundred yards off the road.
Suddenly the night was shattered by a resounding explosion. For an instant, the woods were bathed in a blinding light. They heard the squeal of tires and the sound of an engine being gunned. Cricket looked up to see the motorhome completely engulfed in dancing yellow flames. She thought, horrified, of Tim and Debbie. They were trapped inside with no chance of escape. She wanted to run to them, but she knew that nothing could be done. Her lips trembling, she began to cry.
Tony put his arm around her shoulder. "Vitagliano's torpedoes." he said, spitting venomously on the ground. 'They must have been following the bus. Bombed it, thinking we were still inside." His tone was flat and unemotional. He was scheming, now, thinking only of his and Cricket's survival.
"In a way it works out for the good," he said. "They'll think that they got us. It will probably be days before the police can make an identification of the bodies. That will give us time to get to Mexico and look for Bev's connection."
"Oh Tony," Cricket wept. "Do you think they'll ever leave us alone?"
"Don't worry, baby," he said reassuringly. "We're only inches away from safety now." But in his heart he knew that it was hopeless. No one ever broke away from the grip of the syndicate.
CHAPTER NINE
Tony sipped his Margarita, eyeing his pretty wife over the rim of his glass. He and Cricket had been in Mexico for almost three days, but had not yet encountered Senor Gonzales. Bev had been unable to reach him for them before they left her establishment, so all they had to go on was a name and a phone number.
They had called it immediately upon arriving in Nogales. But the person who answered gave them a very cautious runaround, directing them to the first in a series of other locations. Tony had the feeling that they were being screened each time they made another contact. He was quite impressed with Gonzales' security. But since time was of the essence, he wished that it wasn't quite so secure.
The last person he spoke to had instructed them to be at La Casa de Placer tonight, saying nothing more. Its name-House of Pleasure-was appropriate. And so were the tapestries which adorned the walls, all of them depicting animals in varying stages of the mating process.
It would only be a matter of time before Vitagliano learned that he and Cricket hadn't been killed in the motorhome. And Nogales was too small a town to lay low in for long. Their only hope was Central America, where impoverished conditions and steadfast Indian ways had kept the syndicate from making the inroads which it made in other parts of the world.
If this Gonzales could fix them up with false identities and get them as far as Guatemala, there was a chance. A slim one, to be sure, but at least a chance that they could make a new life and be free of the haunting of Tony's past.
"What are you thinking about?" Cricket asked, disturbing her husband's thoughtful silence. "You haven't heard a word I was saying."
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, smiling. "I was just trying to decide whether we should leave here or wait a few minutes longer."
"By all means wait," said a richly accented voice behind him. "You should not miss the show."
Tony turned to see a short stocky man with dark Mexican skin and a black, pencil-thin moustache. He was wearing a traditionally wide-brimmed sombrero with a little tassel in the back, but his suit was custom made, obviously European in cut.
"Good evening," Tony said, rising politely from his chair and extending his hand. "May we offer you a drink?"
"Thank you," the Mexican answered, pulling out a chair with the toe of his hand-tooled leather boot. "I am Senor Gonzales. I understand you've been looking for me."
Cricket's face lit up in a smile of surprise. But when she looked at her husband, she instantly let it fade, trying to imitate his expressionless countenance. "Yes, we have," Tony answered, signaling for a waitress. "For quite a few days now."
A shapely young woman clad in a brief bikini bottom and spangled pasties came to take their order. She stood by the table for a moment, allowing the eyes of its occupants to appraise her near-nudity. Then, shaking her unfettered breasts pertly, she said, "Su placer? You're pleasure, senor?"
"Two more of these," Tony said, indicating the glasses which stood before Cricket and himself. And...." he turned to Gonzales, his eyebrows raised questioningly.
"She knows what I drink," the Mexican answered dryly.
The waitress turned and flounced away, her scantily attired derriere weaving erotically from side to side as she walked. When she was out of earshot, Tony turned to face Gonzales once again. "I've been trying to find you ever since we got to Nogales," he began. "Your people protect you well."
Gonzales ignored the patronizing remark. "Your story had to be checked," he said without apology. "If you had not mentioned the name of Bev Morgan, you would not even have gotten past the first call. But I have spoken with her. I understand your problem."
Tony tried not to let his excitement show. "Will you be able to help us?" he asked.
Gonzales smiled. "All of you gringos are in such a hurry," he said with amusement. 'There is only today; never manana."
"But there isn't time," Tony said, exasperated.
Gonzales laughed. "Hay tiempo," he said. "There is always time." He continued chuckling as the waitress returned with their drinks. After serving Tony's Margarita and Cricket's vodka collins, she placed a bottle of tequila on the table in front of Gonzales.
"Enjoy the show," he said unctuously. "It is the best in Nogales. Then we can talk business."
A moment later, the house-lights dimmed and a single spot illuminated the elevated stage in the large lounge's center. A master of ceremonies appeared in the light to introduce the first act. There was a sprinkling of applause as he stepped from the stage. After a brief interval, a dark-haired young woman took his place.
She was tall and lean, with a lithe graceful figure and the dark skin of an Indian. Her raven tresses were pulled back into a pony tail which hung loosely behind her, reaching almost to her waist. She was dressed in a flowing purple robe, its edges trimmed in white fur. Cricket could tell by the way her body moved beneath it that it was all she was wearing.
The girl spoke for a moment in a soft, husky-throated Spanish. Then without any fanfare, she threw open the robe. Cricket had been right. She was stark naked under it.
Suddenly the girl turned and headed for the wings, and Tony wondered what he had missed. Surely her act wasn't over. Then she returned to the stage, a long rope in her hand. At its other end was a donkey, following docilely behind her.
Standing beside the animal, the woman reached down to stroke its hairy belly. Her hand was moving backwards, towards his hind legs. And she was crooning softly in his ear in a language which was neither English nor Spanish. Although the beast was rather small, its cock was long and massively thick. As his human partner scratched his abdomen, it began to protrude from the sheath which encased it. Gradually it grew longer until, at last, it was hanging almost to the floor.
As soon as the donkey's prick was fully extended, the girl wrapped her fingers loosely around it's shaft. Immediately it began to stiffen, rising from its drooping position to lie parallel to the line of the panting burro's belly. The organ's shank was black and throbbing, but its swollen bulbous head was ringed with mottled pink. Before Cricket's astonished eyes, the woman began to stroke it up and down, her fingertips moving ever closer to the richly moistened head.
Still holding on to the donkey's mammoth prick, the naked woman bent backwards at the waist, her long hair trailing on the floor behind her. Shuffling sideways on the balls of her feet, she limboed her body under the animal's belly. His long rod of thick and tumescent cockflesh brushed against her upturned breasts as she moved into position. Guiding its direction with her fingers, she cradled it between the soft fleshy mountains. Her nipples were darkly distended, their quivering points stabbing upward at the beast's underside. Swaying lewdly from side to side, she stroked the throbbing rod of fuckmeat with her rigid nubbins.
The girl was stroking the animal's penis more vigorously now, her body moving up its length until the scarlet prickhead itself was held captive between the mounds of her bosom. Bending her neck, she brought her mouth to its pulsating tip. Cricket was mortified. The woman was going to suck the smelly thing off. It was terrible. It was repulsive. It was disgusting.
The woman's lips were nibbling lightly across the mammoth rod, bringing vibrant quivers of excitement from the burro's tense-muscled body. She enveloped the tip of his dong in her throat, closing her mouth over as much of the swollen staff as would fit. The audience howled with delight.
The woman began to suck the cock like a thick peppermint stick, her tongue fluttering rapidly from side to side as she licked. One of her hands was wrapped tightly about its base, her fingers jerking vigorously up and down to hasten the equestrian orgasm. The donkey was snorting, stamping its feet in excitement at the glorious human blowjob. Then, with a bellow, it began shooting its load.
The woman sucked greedily, swallowing billow after billow of the richly spurting cumjuice. Her cheeks bloated with the syrupy mouthful, her throat constricting compulsively in an effort to stay one swallow ahead of the river of semen. But she was losing the battle. Drops of the creamy liquid squeezed from the corners of her mouth. Her chin glistened obscenely with the sheen of donkey sperm.
Finally, she surrendered. Letting the spurting organ slip from between her lips, she caught gob after gob of the gushing torrent of sperm on her face and her throat. Then she aimed the hose-like member at her breasts, inundating them with the erotic flood. When the beast was sated at last, his softening prick no longer shooting its precious load of lifejuices, she let the penis slip from her grasp.
Stepping out from under the creature, she stood with her hands extended majestically to the sky. Her cum-smeared body bending at the waist, she bowed. Then she ran from the stage. For a moment all was dark. When the house lights came on again, the audience went wild.
Cricket struggled to catch her breath before turning to look at her husband. His face wore a harried expression, as though the excitement of the obscene performance had barely penetrated the barrier of worry which clouded his brain. From the corner of her eye she saw Gonzales, his gaze still burning into her face. He hadn't stopped staring at her since the performance began.
"That was excellent," the Mexican exclaimed. "The girl has talent." Looking quickly at Tony, he added, "Now we are ready to talk business. I see that you are impatient." Rising, he led the fugitive couple from the table and across the crowded lounge. "I have a little office in the back," he explained. "We can talk there."
Before stepping through a doorway marked "Halto. No Hay Paso," he turned to speak to the tough looking man who stood beside it with arms folded across his chest. "Send her to me," he said in English after a brief and hurried conversation. Then, taking Cricket by the elbow and draping his arm familiarly around her husband's shoulders, he brought them into a small cluttered office.
"Make yourselves comfortable," he directed, indicating a couple of chairs which stood against a wall. "Your problem is a difficult one, but I think that I can help you." He perched casually on the edge of a desk as he spoke. Cricket could see the bulge of his hard-on pressing against the front of his well-tailored trousers.
Noticing her attention, Gonzales smiled. "I must excuse myself," he said unashamedly. "The performance was rather stimulating. It has left its mark." There was a knock at the door. "But help is on the way. Pase," he called.
Cricket was shocked to see the girl who had performed with the donkey entering the crime boss' office. She was dressed in her robe once again, but her feet and legs were bare. She stripped off the robe and dropped it to the floor.
Without a word, the woman walked naked to where Gonzales sat, as though no one else was in the room. Quickly, she opened the front of his pants, extracting his swollen penis.
Gonzales looked from Cricket to Tony and then back again, smiling. Tony appeared quite uncomfortable, but said nothing. "A man in my position," the Mexican explained in a rational tone of voice, "can enjoy whatever pleasures he likes. Wherever and whenever. The young lady's act has amused me. Why should I not enjoy her attentions while I remain in the mood. Surely you don't object."
Tony's lips were pressed tightly together. "It's your office," he said noncomittally. "You do whatever you want. I really couldn't care less."
Leaning back, Gonzales rested his weight on his hands as the naked woman caressed his rigid penis. It was long and thick, its slime-coated head tapering to an obscenely pointed nozzle. Each time the woman's hands slid up its length, the head vibrated and another drop of goo oozed from the cum-slit which bisected it.
A shuddering tremor passed over the stocky Mexican's swarthy features as the girl knelt suddenly to lick at his hammer. Then, opening his eyes to look directly at Tony, he began to speak. His voice was slightly strained, short gasping inhales and sibilant sighs punctuating his words.
"I can get you both to Guatamala for a start," he said softly. 'There you will receive Canadian passports and new identities. Then you move on. There is a possibility of getting you into Brazil. But if that fails, I have powerful friends in Uruguay. Either way, your past will soon be behind you."
The woman was slaving diligently at the Mexican gangster's prick. His shock of blue-black pubic hair contrasted sharply with the red of her lips. Her back was to Tony, and his eyes couldn't help straying lustfully to her magnificent ass. As her body swayed in time to her mouthing of Gonzales' dick, the muscles of her buttocks rhythmically clenched and unclenched. She really loved cock, this dark-skinned broad. It didn't matter whether it hung from the loins of man or beast.
Tony thought of the way she had licked the donkey's prick, and his own penile muscle flexed erotically. But he fought to regain control of his emotion. "I don't know about Brazil," he said thoughtfully. "The people who are trying to find me have lots of connections there. But Uruguay sound all right."
"All right, then," Gonzales said. His respiration was heavy and rasping as the excitement of the blowjob whisked the breath from his lungs. "Uruguay! You can be there within the week."
"Now the kicker," Tony said. "What's all this going to cost?"
Gonzales' face wore a mask of mock indignation. "Money?" he said. "Would Gonzales take money from a friend of Bev Morgan's?"
"I don't know," Tony grunted in answer to this question. "Would he? Is there nothing he demands?"
Gonzales placed his pudgy hand on the forehead of his lovely cocksucker, pushing her roughly away from his loins and breathing deeply four or five times. He had been close to the brink of explosion, but he was not willing to cum so quickly. "Well," he said rolling his eyes obscenely.
"Maybe one little thing." He glanced at Cricket before his eyes came to rest on her husband.
"And what might that be?" Tony asked.
The nude woman returned her lips to his cock, but Gonzales slapped her roughly across the face. "Vete!" he barked. "En seguida!" The girl left the room in a hurry, grabbing her robe as she made for the door.
"That woman bores me," the Mexican crime leader growled. Then he looked at Cricket again and licked his lips, his eyes pawing rudely over her body. "Now your wife," he said wistfully. "There is a woman of excitement."
His tone hardened and his eyes narrowed to slits. "I want her," he said. "I want her to finish what that puta started. I want her to suck my cock until I cum."
Tony sprang from his chair, his face a mask of fury. "Why you greasy little mother fucker," he exclaimed as his hands reached for the Mexican's throat. But as his fingers tightened around Gonzales' neck, he felt Cricket's hand on his shoulder.
"Tony, don't" she said softly. "He's our only way out. We've come so far already, we can't stop now."
Tony reeled with the shock of her words. He couldn't believe it. Then, he thought about the smile which had not left Gonzales' face for an instant. The Mexican had known it all along.
The former New York syndicate lieutenant fell stunned into his chair. His shoulders slumped, all the strength gone from his body. Glassy-eyed, he stared at his wife.
Cricket had fallen to her knees before the slimy gangster's naked loins. She remained motionless while his fingers pulled at the buttons of her blouse. She looked downward when his hands cupped her tits roughly. She knew that Tony was watching, and wished that this could somehow suddenly end. Struggling to keep down the revulsion that she felt, she opened her mouth, accepting Gonzales' prick between her lips.
It was the first time she had ever done anything like this. She knew that Gonzales had the power of life and death over Tony, and she wanted to be sure he was satisfied. She did her best to imitate the things she had seen Amy and Debbie doing.
The Mexican was growling now, a lustful sound that bubbled deep in his throat. His cock was halfway inside her now, a dark cylindrical span of three or four inches separating the hair which ringed its base from her penis-caressing lips. Tony hated him.
With a strangled groan, Gonzales pulled Cricket's face against his loins, his prick driving into her mouth hilt deep. Its slime-coated head pressed against her larynx, almost gagging her with its blunt heaviness. To keep herself from choking Cricket pulled backward, her lips stroking the skin of his cock as it slowly withdrew. When all but the head had slipped out, she stopped to scrape her teeth lightly over the finely textured penile membrane. Rolling her tongue across the blood-engorged knob at its distal end, she massaged the throbbing organ.
The Mexican suddenly flinched, his ass lifting high above the top of the desk as he rammed his cock into Cricket's throat. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, his face distorting grotesquely in mounting arousal.
His cock swelled inside her mouth, like a syringe filling with liquid. Abruptly, it began to spurt, flooding her throat with the steaming heat of his seminal fluid. From the corner of her eye she saw Tony. He was sitting on the edge of his chair, bent forward with his head in his hands. His eyes were open, gazing fixedly at the sight of his wife's dishonor.
Gonzales continued puffing hard for a minute or two, enjoying Santamaria's torment. Gradually, he caught his breath and returned a supercilious smile to his face. Reaching into the pocket of his suit-jacket, he took out a key and tossed it into Tony's lap. He quickly scribbled an address on a white slip of paper and held it out to the shattered fugitive.
"You can stay at this cottage," he said. "A car will pick you up sometime tomorrow. Everything you need will be provided."
"How about a gun?" Tony asked bitterly.
"I said everything you need," repeated Gonzales. "You'll be needing no gun now that you're under my protection." His gold tooth flashing, he looked at Cricket once again and licked his lips. Tony rose wearily from his chair and led her from the room.
CHAPTER TEN
Cricket had an ominous feeling that all was not right. Tony had gone out nearly two hours ago, and she felt that he should have returned by now.
After leaving Gonzales' office, Tony had said nothing about what went on inside. But she knew it had come between them. She wanted to beg him to forget what had happened. But she knew that he never could.
All that he talked about from the time they left La Casa De Placer was the fact that he needed a gun. This morning, when the crowing of roosters awoke them from their fitful and restless sleep, he decided to go out in search of one. Now, the longer he was gone the more she worried about him.
Her thoughts were interrupted by sounds of footsteps outside the barraca. It must be Tony.
He was back. She was safe. Running to the crude wooden door, she threw it open, ready to greet him with warm and loving kisses. Standing outside were three men-all of them strangers. They had the dark hair and swarthy skin of natives, and wore the typical clothes and expressions of locals. But one of them spoke in English, with only the trace of a Latin intonation.
"Inside, Senora," he ordered through clenched teeth. "Or we shall have to kill you out here." He was tall and slim, with even white teeth and eyes that were colored with the slightest trace of green. As Cricket stepped backwards into the cottage, the three followed her in.
"Paco, the door," the tall one commanded.
"Si, Jefe," one of the others said, turning to secure the entrance.
She was speechless with terror, not knowing what to do or what to think. Were these syndicate men, coming after Tony? Or were they just local bandidos in search of gringo plunder? If only Tony were there to protect her.
"Where is your husband?" the one called Jefe asked.
"He isn't here," Cricket stammered in fear. "But when he comes back he'll...."
"Guillermo," Jefe spat turning to his second henchman. "Check the other rooms."
"He isn't here," Cricket repeated, her voice trembling in hysteria. "I swear he isn't here."
Guillermo nodded in agreement when he returned from the bedroom.
Jefe smiled lasciviously. "Then we will just have to amuse ourselves until he returns," he said. "Take your clothes off!"
"Now look here," Cricket bluffed righteously. "If Mr. Gonzales hears about this, he'll be furious. My husband and I are under his protection."
The three thugs laughed raucously. Cricket was shaking all over, unable to control the volume of her voice. She shouted, "I mean it. He'll kill you. Mr. Gonzales will kill you."
"I said strip," he repeated. Impatiently, he turned to one side. "Guillermo," he ordered. "Help her."
Cricket shrank back as the stocky Mexican approached. But after taking a few steps, she felt the wall pressing tight against her ass. The hool-lum's hands gripped the front of her blouse, tearing it open with a swift and twisting pull. With powerful hands, he tore the garment from her back, leaving her totally nude above the waist. The trembling woman felt the lewd stares of the three cruel-faced men exploring her bare flesh. Laughing bestially, the one called Guillermo filled his hand with the softness of her boob, pulling and twisting at the tender globe of pale trembling flesh. She felt like an animal being appraised before slaughter. She wanted to bite him and scratch at his eyes. But she only whimpered and shrank timidly away from his touch.
Paco, the one with the limp, grinned toothlessly. "Nice chi-chis," he said.
At his words, Cricket broke down and wept, her shoulders wracked with sobs of despair. Paco and Guillermo had their hands on her now and were freely exploring the curves of her breasts. Occasionally one of them would bend forward, nipping viciously at a nipple with his teeth. Her boobies bobbed and heaved as she cried in futility. As the brutal fingers bruised the tissues of her tender breasts, something snapped in her head. Her tears continued to flow, but she no longer felt anything. Her body went limp, slumping backward against the wall.
Stepping forward, Guillermo rammed his knee between her thighs, holding her up as his hands rummaged in her bosom. Then, he began pulling at the clasp which fastened her skirt. Finally, in frustration, he broke it. In shreds, he removed it from her body, leaving nothing but a thin band of tricot to shield her pussy from view. He was about to remove her panties the same way when Paco stopped him with a touch of his arm.
"Leave those to me," he said, chuckling. With a lightning-fast movement of his hand, he whipped a knife from his pocket. With a flick of his wrist, he snapped it open. The grinning Mexican drew the weapon's blade lightly over her throat, leaving a faint, thread-like red line across the whiteness of her skin. Then he moved it lower in a zigzagging pattern. He caught the elastic band of her panties with the gleaming silver point and pulled it down to expose the top of her hairy pubic triangle.
He drew its point across the pantied mound of her pubis, tracing the crack of her vagina through the tight and flimsy drawers. Holding the knife in front of his loins like a penis, he pressed its point against her vaginal openings.
The sharpness of his blade's razor edge pierced the fabric, allowing the cold steel to rest directly on the warmth of her puffy cuntal lips.
With the flashy skill of a practiced knife-artist, Paco inserted the point of his blade into one of her panties' elastic thighbands. Cricket felt its cruel edge resting against the moist softness of her twat. Twisting his hand carefully, the Mexican brought the weapon's point out through the opposite opening. Slowly he turned it, the blade's razor edge biting through the strip of cloth which shielded her cuntal slash. Severed silently, the crotch line of the garment fell open revealing the tremulous woman flesh inside. Turning the point of his knife upward, Paco slit the undergarment's front in the same deft fashion. It fell from her in shreds, leaving her totally nude.
With an elaborately threatening gesture, Jefe held his knife up for her to see. Then, licking his lips significantly, he brought it down to her cunt. Cricket gasped as she realized his intention. Turning the weapon around so that its blade pointed away from her, the gangster placed the butt of its handle against her soft-lipped vaginal opening.
"All cunts are the same," Jefe snarled, burying half the length of his knife's handle in her slit. He could see her clitoris reddening, its erectile tissues stiffening against the back of his hand. Letting go of his knife, he stepped back.
Cricket trembled in humiliation as she posed obscenely before them. She was stark naked and had a cruel looking knife sticking, blade first, out of her pussy.
Finally Jefe stepped forward, pulling the weapon from her pussy. Its handle was coated with a thick sheen of cuntal lubricants. Sniffing it first, he wiped it off on his pants. Then he pushed his henchmen to the side. "I think I will fuck her now," he said casually. "You may have her when I'm done."
Cricket throught of running from the hut but realized that they would stop her before she was halfway across the room. Before she knew what was happening, however, Guillermo and Paco grabbed hold of her. Each grasped one of her ankles and one of her wrists in his hands. Effortlessly, they swept her from her feet and threw her down to her back on the floor. Her head hit the tile with a thud, and for a moment she almost lost consciousness.
Jefe waited until he was sure that he had her attention. Then with slow and deliberate movements of his hands, he opened his pants and let them drop around his knees. He stood between her splayed knees, jerking his organ with his hand. Then he dropped to the floor, its swollen shaft only inches from her cunt.
Humping brutally forward, Jefe drove the point of his rod against her loins. It missed her cuntal opening at first, painfully bruising the membranes of her outer lips. "Oooooooww," she wailed futilely. But he only drew back for another attempt.
This time his cockhead thudded heavily against the hood of her clitoris, tearing the sensitive fibers of the passionate lovebud. Jefe laughed and tried it again. This time, miraculously, his organ found the mark and slid smoothly inside her helplessly exposed pussy. She was almost grateful. He thrust his dick inside her, burying it in the warmth of her recalcitrant vulva. She writhed in frustration, unable to break from the grasp of his compatriots. Her subjugation was all that it took to bring him off. Within seconds she felt her vulva filling with his fluid.
When he was done with her, Guillermo took his place, stuffing her cunt with his fat and meaty penis. Paco was right behind him in line, his cock spurting hotly even before he succeeded in inserting it. When all of the men and spent their passion in her helplessly-pinned body, they let her up off the floor.
Then Cricket heard something that made her heart swell with hope. There were footsteps approaching the door. Maybe it was Tony.
The bandidos heard it too. Jefe put a finger to his lips and with a movement of his head, signaled Paco and Guillermo to positions on either side of the door. Stepping behind pretty Cricket, his arm snaked tightly around her neck. The knife which he held in his hand rested menacingly against the whiteness of her throat.
With sinking heart, the woman realized that her husband hadn't a chance. Even if he did have a gun, he would be unable to defend himself against attack from both sides. When she saw the doorknob turn, she knew that she had to act.
"Tony," she screamed frantically. 'They've got knives. They're going to kill you."
The last thing she saw was Tony's face as he kicked the cabin door open. Then Jefe's knife slashed deeply into the flesh of her smooth white throat, severing both her jugular veins and cutting her windpipe. As her life gurgled away, she heard the sounds of Tony's gun. Then she heard nothing.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Don Vitagliano relaxed atop the thickly padded massage table. "You got nice tits," he said gruffly. "Why don't you open up your shirt so I can get a better look?"
"Maybe later," said the sex-kitten coquettishly. "If you're a good boy."
"I'll try to be good," he said. Closing his eyes, he prepared to enjoy the massage.
The girl took a tin of scented body-oil from a stand on which it had been warming over the flame of a candle. She poured little puddles of the lubri-cious fluid over his chest, his belly, and his loins.
Her skillful feminine hands stroked his pectoral muscles, massaging the heated oil in deelpy to relax him.
"You got nice hands," the don muttered, opening his eyes to look up into the girl's pretty face. His cock, which lay coiled like a snake, began to respond to her tantalizing touch. It came slowly out of its hibernation, rising instantly to semi-erection. The head, like that of a serpent, sprang from hiding. Its rubbery skin was almost maroon with the pressure of hot pulsing blood.
She massaged oil into the silvery hair at the base of the don's belly, always keeping an inch or more between her hand and his rod. The teasing strokes had an immediate effect on him, bringing his rod to full, quiveringly rigid erection. She continued running her fingers through the tangled mat of his pubic hair, without coming any closer to the imploringly pulsating member. Then, without warning, she wrapped her fingers around it, pulling it briskly up and down.
The don's body stiffened, his back arching to lift his throbbing penis high in the air. The muscles of his legs vibrated like violin strings. His heart skipped a beat.
With her other hand the girl reached underneath him, cupping the sac of his balls and easing him down. She rubbed heated oil into the skin of his organs, drawing her hand up the length of his cock and twisting slowly as she brought it down again. Her fingers stroked his scrotum flutteringly, making his body rock. He began to ejaculate immediately and the thick wads of semen arched through the air. His rasping voice groaned in ecstasy as he shot his tumultuous load.
Sighing, he opened his eyes.
"Did you like that?" the pretty masseuse asked.
"Very much," the don answered.
"Why don't you lie there and take it easy for awhile," she said. "I'll be right back." Gathering sperm-spotted linen and covering Vitagliano with a fresh towel, she walked from the room. A moment later there was a knock at the door.
"It's me, Rizzo," a muffled voice called. "Could I talk to you for a minute?"
"Rizzo, Rizzo, Rizzo," the don said with mock drama. "May a don have no peace?"
"I just got a report from south of the border," the gangster's aide explained as he stepped into the room. "They got Santamaria's wife. But it looks like Tony escaped again."
"That Santamaria must love to suffer." the don said. "He knows that all he's doing is prolonging his own agony. He should have the sense and the honor to let us put him out of his misery quickly." He shook his head sadly. "Put some more men on him and finish it off. And tell Gonzales that his don is displeased with him.
