The August heat was sultry and oppressive this close to the ocean. Ever since Island No. 6 began seeping oil into the Santa Barbara Channel last January the air had been sticky, reeking with the odor of crude petroleum.
As Patricia Rawlings walked through her mother's empty house, she began shedding her clothing. She felt degraded and used somehow, after tonight . . . she hated to use the word orgy, but none other quite fit. Pat told herself that she still loved Ron as much as ever, but her skin crawled with imagined filth, with the things they had done to each other, and his threat to drop some acid in retaliation.
She couldn't bear anything touching her, not even her silken briefs.
Pat wadded her blouse into a crumpled ball and threw it into the corner of the couch. Reaching up, she unsnapped her bra as she walked through the kitchen, waiting to step out of her mini and panties when she had reached the sanctity of her bedroom.
The old house was strangely quiet. Her mother was visiting in San Luis Obispo, and her new stepfather, Fred, still on shift. Pat felt completely free in her solitude, as she stepped nakedly before the bathroom mirror.
She cupped her generous breasts in her hands, holding, them straight .out, closer to the glass, peering at their nipples and her coral aureoles. They were tender and bruised, portions showing more darkly red with the marks of Ron's teeth, mouthing and gnawing away her gentle resiliency.
Pat was still flushed and confused, with a lingering, slowly dying fire in her loins. The whole scene had been horrible. She had loved Ron Severn with all her heart and mind for over two years now; they were being married in less than a month.
Never in God's world should she have let him talk her into lying with him in the back of his Volkswagen bus.
She could still feel the drying scum of his wasted sperm on her face and neck, and taste its bitter saltiness on her lips.
They had always been so straightforward in their attitudes on premarital sex, both deciding to save this ultimate, rewarding joy for their wedding night.
What demons had entered their bodies tonight, Pat asked herself in shame, making them writhe in the dust like rutting beasts in the field? She knew it wasn't all Ron's fault. As much as she had fought and struggled against her weakening will, wild physical desire had consumed her body and reduced her to a quivering mass of demanding flesh.
Pat turned away, no longer able to face her image in the mirror. She felt the hot flush of shame center between her thighs as she reflected on her sinful wantonness. This was one of the glories of marriage, as the books all preached, saving yourself, remaining pure and untouched for the one man. The phrase, "giving yourself in marriage" would be truly empty, if you had nothing to give.
Tonight she had been as eager as Ron to destroy herself on the huge, massive shaft that thrust at her tenderness from between his hairy legs.
Just thinking about his delicious closeness was enough to start her fires raging again. If it hadn't been for Ron's innocence and immaturity, her sacred nineteen-year-old virginity would have been lost forever.
Pat tried thrusting these disturbing thoughts from her mind as she lay back on her wide brass bed. The heat of her body, coupled with the heat of the surrounding air, made covering impossible. She kicked everything to the foot of the bed, stretching flat, flexing her tired muscles like a cat, lying naked in the moist heat.
Her hungry vagina welcomed her darting, questing fingers, as she soothed herself into fitful tossing slumber.
Almost immediately, Pat's sleeping consciousness was engulfed in a horrendous, nerve-shattering nightmare. It seemed so real, she could have sworn she came awake in downtown Santa Barbara, running naked through the tortuous alleys of El Paseo.
Evil blackness closed tightly around her, and still she ran. Cataclysmic clouds, in flashing psychedelic colors, roiled at the far end of the arched passageway, and out of the mouth of a paper-strewn alley rolled the expected black-and-white cruiser.
Pat's deeply rooted intuition sensed the presence of the automobile before it came into view, and pulled in to the curb beside her. She also knew that the evil, lascivious man her mother had married would be behind the wheel, devouring her with his dirty eyes.
She stopped running in mid-stride, realizing in one horrible instant that she ran naked. There was a dim memory of a shopping trip downtown, and somehow she had lost all of her clothing. It was all such a mystery. She couldn't remember.
Whirling away, she still ran frantically. She glanced down through the valley of her violently jogging breasts, wishing there was some way of protecting the vulnerable triangle, the dark, inviolate center of her life and being.
The heat was stifling, but despite the rivulets of sweat dripping into her eyes, and streaking her creamed, ivory thighs, Pat's vision was sickeningly clear. The police car was so close behind her she could reach back and touch it.
The burning concrete sizzled under her tender bare feet, and she jumped aside as the cruiser slued in toward the curb. Pat cast a frightened glance over her shoulder, and it was Fred Hinson behind the window glass, with his closely shaven head, black, uneven teeth and shattered pug nose. He flung open the door and lunged out to grasp at her naked, jouncing breasts.
"Oh God. Why me?" Pat cried out to herself, as she darted through an alley, eluding the slavering beast once more.
No matter how fast she ran down all the long, dark alleys, his patrol car was always waiting, sealing the exits.
Pat felt the succulent heaviness of her young, innocent breasts as she turned, her long, black hair flying straight around, the warm, swirling air caressing her tortured nipples. She was extremely conscious of the weight of her naked breasts, as she sprinted off in the opposite direction, feeling them jounce almost down to her flat, arching belly, and then bounce back upward in their resilience, nearly touching her chin, always in time and in rhythm with her bounding leaps for protective safety.
These deep, milk-white, exquisitely rounded globes had always given Patricia Rawlings problems. Early in her teens, she'd harbored a secret longing for impressive size and shape; she'd wanted them to be the biggest pair of La Colina Junior High, though she'd rather have died than tell anyone. She couldn't remember how many nights she had huddled on her great brass bed, facing the wall in her adolescent shame, still as a stone, fearing discovery, but still working away, massaging her hardening nipples, kneading her soft, pliable flesh into ever greater prominence.
It was a simple case of overkill. Pat's success was almost more than she could handle. Every male with normal eyesight, even blind studs within sniffing distance, had to handle them, fondle them and suckle them. Her twin beauties had swelled and expanded beyond Pat's wildest expectations. One silly millimeter more, and they would have split the pure ivory skin that encased them, held them upright, and pointed them proudly.
Pat's breath heaved, hot and gusting. Her tongue and lips were dry as desert sand. She could hardly lift her bleeding feet. Thank God, she was nearly at the end of the block.
Even here there was no haven. As she stepped down from the curb, the police car shot in front of her, and Fred Hinson, his lusting eyes feasting on her naked purity, motioned Pat inside.
It seemed the door was made of clear plastic. Fred turned toward her in his seat, rolling on his right hip, and Pat could see him plainly, straight through the simulated metal. His trousers were open and gaping, and his horribly large, red thing, with its blood-filled knob was standing straight up from his crotch.
The thoughts that were jumbling his mind couldn't have been more plain if his brain had been split open on an operating table. Pat caught a vision of herself spread-eagled on the rear seat, with his massive root tearing at her vagina.
"And all because of these," Pat told herself, as she cupped her joggling breasts close to her body, stilling their disgraceful exhibitionism as she turned to run again.
Her last five years had been hell. Every living male, boys and men alike, college professors, gas-station attendants, service men, and for some strange reason, especially milkmen, had insisted on squeezing them, clutching them to their hot, slavering mouths, purporting to use their scented sweetness as a direct pathway to her unsuspecting, quivering clitoris, and the commission of unnamed depravities upon her pure, untasted body.
Or so she believed, because her mother had instructed her in the evil ways of the world.
The face Pat turned toward savage society was one of iron will, which fostered a grim determination to preserve her maiden's hymen for her chosen spouse. This elaborated facade could have been easily breached, because' her truly soft vulnerability was her own well-kept secret. No one but she knew how easily she could be had if proper procedures were applied to her humbly supplicating body at the precisely correct moment.
Her deep, throbbing breasts, with their blossoming coral buds were the sure route to her passionate submission. Inside her secret savage soul, Pat knew that gentle, tender manipulation of her breasts, and smooth, rhythmic salivary suction on her hardening, brick-red nipples could transform her instantly from a shy and modest virgin, into a rampaging, rutting she-beast, insatiable in her lust for protuberant male flesh.
So many nights she had lain alone, lonely in her jingling brass bed, loving herself, and rehearsing the sacred act in pantomime.
Pat's face reddened as this sober truth crossed her mind, and she remembered that just tonight, before she'd been caught up in this stupid nightmare, the man she loved and would devote her life to had coaxed her into lying on the bed of his Volkswagen bus.
She couldn't count the times she had dreamed of glorious, connubial climax. Never had she been so close to achieving her heart's desire, and never had she been so bitterly disappointed.
God made His only creative mistake in His conception of the male and female sexual appetite, Pat mused. Their capabilities should have been reversed. Man should have been granted the durability necessary to cope with woman's insatiability.
"Pat, Darling," Ron had crooned softly in her ear, reaching for her breast, sharply outlined under her jersey blouse, as she skillfully fended him away, "it's not as though we were exactly strangers."
He was feeling a slight high from blowing two marijuana cigarettes while they watched Lee Marvin at the Airport Drive-In. She herself sucked in a few drags while sipping Vin Rose' out of a paper cup, but outside of a slightly high feeling they did nothing for her.
After the show they had driven down Las Palmas Drive, through the Hope Ranch, and had parked on a bluff overlooking the ocean.
The silver moon had blazed a pathway from the bird-whitened rocks offshore where seals barked in guttural chorus.
It was too muck like a picture book with the moonlit surf pounding against the cliffs, and the soft music from the radio.
Pat couldn't let Ron know all her secrets.
She'd been exposed to her own mother's shame and degradation too many years to test her honest passion.
She'd learned how to fence and parry, using her tongue and ready wit to protect herself from her own emotions.
Pat lay quietly in Ron's arms, trying to keep a wall of security between them.
"I know what you want, you devil." She laughed into his dark brooding eyes. "Free samples before you buy the merchandise."
"Something like that," he said, smiling, with that flash of sunlight that clutched at her heart. "How do we know we'll be good for each other, unless we try it first?"
His mouth was searching for hers in the darkness, and she stiffened instinctively, placing a warning finger against his lips.
Pat was filled with doubt, unsure of her capabilities; the result of the frightening spectacle of her mother's pathetic submission. She knew it came through in her voice. "What if I'm a failure? You'll hate me, I know." "Oh, honey," he scowled impatiently, shifting his eager hands further down, into the small of her back, and pulling her reluctant loins closer to his. "Stop talking like a wife, and come on. Make love. I'll be gentle. You'll see."
Her whole being was flooded with the warmth of his embrace, but there was this block, deep in Pat's mind, that held her emotions in check, waiting for the secure joy of sanctity.
She stored long memories, hearing Kate Rawlings and her bestial, rutting groan of ecstasy, grinding away in the next room, beyond the lath-and-paper wall, wearing out her damnably noisy bed, under yet another one of the endless stream of nameless, faceless men that came and went, always failing to satisfy her mother's demanding, sexual hunger.
As Pat grew older, and realized the significance of the orgiastic screaming beyond the tissue-thin wall, she massaged her budding breasts even harder, digging pulsing fingers deep into her seeping, sobbing vagina. She was shamed by this compulsive self-gratification, and knew it for the artifice it was; but despite the repugnant squeals of pain and pleasure echoing from the adjoining room, she was driven to release her own inhibited pressures.
Through devious rationalization, she assured herself that whatever she did wasn't the same as having a man.
She was still unsullied, virgin pure.
Ron had been so close tonight. If she had only kept control, he would have given her something she'd have treasured the rest of her life.
The very thought made Pat quiver deliciously.
Ron had made all the right motions, except the last, and most important.
Lying on their sides, with their mouths locked together, his meaty tongue had snaked into her eager throat with an indescribable sweetness. Deliciously aggressive, Ron had slowly worked the buttons of her blouse loose, each delicate flick of his fingers a tender torture all its own.
Her firm resolve melted away like spring snow in the summer sun.
The strong firmness of his hand clamped behind her unresisting head, kept her mouth tightly glued on his as she sucked deeply on his probing tongue. His other hand, free and wandering, was warm against the chill gooseflesh of her jumping, frightened skin.
He unsnapped her bra, so that it flapped uselessly around her neck like deflated water wings.
Pat knew she should never permit these liberties, but it was too late to turn back, lest she should expose herself for a prudish ninnie.
She was filled with a sudden secret joy, as her deep yielding breasts swelled outward in glorious freedom.
Ron pushed the offending brassiere still further' up her neck, as he tore his lips from hers and buried his hungry mouth in the warm, silken valley between her succulent breasts.
His lips came alive like wriggling snakes, as he nibbled his way across her rising whiteness, and his mouth was a ravenous, hungry maw as it engulfed her hardening nipples. Ron's tongue was a bright flicker of flame, darting quickly across her body.
Suddenly, as though doused with burning sulphur, Pat felt the heat from her own banked fires of passion flow the entire length of her spine-to lodge, burning and crackling, in the innermost depths of her tender vagina.
Pat ground her teeth in frustration, fighting an almost overwhelming desire to just relax in his arms and submit to Ron's tender, forcing caresses. But now, so close to their wedding night, she couldn't let him see how easily she could be taken.
Pride lay in a solid lump at the bottom of her heart.
If she was this eager with him tonight, then he'd know there was no sense getting married at all.
Pat tried smothering her flaming emotions, but it was useless. Might as well put out a forest fire with a squirt gun.
In an unguarded moment of blind, unthinking reflex, she tangled her fingers in his black, curling hair, and pulled his writhing, voracious lips tight into her proudly rising breast, reveling in the sweet pain that racked her heaving chest.
Ron's vicious teeth bit deep into one tortured nipple.
"Oh God! Yes!" she whispered into the enveloping night, so low that not even he could hear.
Sensing her need, Ron filled his mouth with her tender beauty, nodding violently, pulling at her resilience like a suckling child.
Behind the deceiving shell of her self-control, Pat's body seethed in passionate agony. Fighting her hedonistic, savage impulses, her hips inched closer to his now-pulsating loins with an insatiably independent life.
A tiny corner of her mind froze into immutable shock as her soft pubic mound flexed against the rising hardness of his crotch.
The abbreviated mini that Pat was wearing barely covered her buttocks when she stood, but now, lying supine beside the man she was soon to marry, the flimsy garment was pushed up beyond her navel.
Oh God! Oh God!
It was so beautiful straining toward him, with his loving, tender hands cupping her trembling buttocks, feeling the thrust of his cock through the hard denim of his riveted Levi's.
She was nearly crying with ecstatic joy.
Pat clamped her mewling mouth tight into the soft hollow of Ron's neck to keep from screaming with delight. She had suddenly discovered heights of latent enchantment lying hidden and stored in the secret glands of her body. The crackling flame in her vagina spread through her raging blood. The jerking stiffness in her nipples matched the rising rigidity of her timidly hiding clitoris, sweetly swelling, pulsing with nervous anticipation, as she pressed closer to his hardness, flexing her corded thighs in an indecisive moment of puzzling quandary, locking her ankle behind his muscled calf, pumping at the warmth in his loins in unguarded abandon for one quick moment before her naked shamefulness struck her smack in the face, causing her to pull away from the tidal force of his body in blushing embarrassment.
She lay hypnotized in his arms for a long moment, not struggling against the tight, clasping grip on her trembling buttocks. He strained close to her in a dry, shameful rehearsal.
Pat knew she had to roll away from him. Call it quits, and save the best part for their special night. She also knew that the flickering flames burning in the tips of her breasts were burning up her defenses.
She and Ron shouldn't be pressing their bodies together like this. Stealing forbidden fruit. But the rapture was so delicious.
Pat sensed a sweet, aromatic dampness oozing from the inner walls of her pussy. Casually she wondered, with warm detachment, whether or not her moment of unrestrained pumping against Ron's throbbing crotch would leave unexplainable traces of herself on Ron's Levi's.
Pat smiled secretly to herself.
She could just hear Ron's laughter if he could read her thoughts.
Spoken like a true wife.
In one last flash of rational sanity, before surrendering to her own driving sense for pleasure, pat lay still for another suspended second, quietly enjoying the cool sensation caused by the chill seepage of her own juices inside the elastic band of her panties, as the leakage crept around the full curve of her right buttock as it rested against bone-grinding steel.
There was one disquieting moment when Ron reared up and away from her, feverishly wrestling with his impossibly tight buttons.
Pat shivered slightly as the cold sea air gushed between their near-naked bodies.
Suddenly, his proud red thing was out, staring at her.
They were so dangerously close to the vital moment that she stiffened into icy rigidity.
He was down against her, and his insistent virility was throbbing against her belly. He had her pinned tight against him, and no matter how she wriggled she couldn't escape.
Pat knew she'd played with matches too long. Ron's short fuse was due to explode any second.
She was being torn apart. One half of her was religiously protecting her virginity, while the other half thrust it toward her lover, desperately trying to throw it away.
Pat found his mouth in the darkness, in order to seal her own. Bright, sparkling flashes invading her vagina and turning it upside down with pyrotechnic sensations, forced her to send her darting tongue probing between his writhing lips.
Words she'd seen scrawled on rest room walls now had delicious meaning, as they tumbled through her mind. She wanted to scream them to the heavens.
"Oh, Ron. Fuck me, please. " She chanted to herself, deep in her mind, beyond the ken of man. "Stuff me full of your cock, Darling. Deep. Oooh, deep. Fuck me now. "
Pat involuntarily spread her thighs, wondering at her sudden enchantment, knowing she could take on a platoon of marines simultaneously.
Ron's rigid prick molded itself into the soft flesh of her belly, and her widening thighs felt the gentle weight of his seamed and wrinkled sac. She hunched down against him so that the rayon-covered mouth of her vagina mothered his pulsing cock.
Ooh, she had to, had to take all he could give inside her aching body, mothering it, smothering it, crooning over the delicious length of it, milking it down for the beautiful, marvelous sperm hidden away in his luscious nest of eggs.
But the day was so close.
Pat loved Ron with single-minded devotion, and she knew she must have strength enough for both of them.
She must hold back.
This was no good. No matter how badly she wanted to rationalize, salve her conscience so that she could just lie back and let him go, allowing the wicked desires that ravaged her body to take control, just to joyfully spread herself wide, watching Ron plunge his huge evil deep into the hungry recesses of her body, she couldn't bear to let it happen.
Pat ground her teeth, and clenched her fists in the darkness, but she might as well have tried riding through an ocean storm in a wash bucket. The rhythm of her bucking, grinding loins quickened, and she grasped Ron's swelling, meaty cock, close to its knotted end, forcing it down from her navel, and wedged it tightly between her gripping thighs.
Instinctively, she knew that if she worked him, worried him like a bone, in the safe, soft flesh of her thighs, his own excitement would finish him, and she would still save her ultimate gift for their honeymoon.
The sweet torture of his nearness was exquisite. She moaned softly in his ear, wrapping her arms convulsively around his neck, as she felt his corded prick push against her silken panties, between the trembling lips of her vagina.
Her reserve was blown away on the hot wind of her animal desire, galvanizing her to quicker action, sliding her rounded, tightening buttocks down his entire length, then flexing back, until just his throbbing glans remained stationary between her aching thighs.
"Ooh, Ron . . . ?" The sparkling words were right there, dancing on the tip of her tongue, bright as fireworks, but she was too ashamed to ask him. She bit into the moist flesh of his neck in a vain effort to stifle her desire.
"What, darling?" he asked, breathing heavily on her naked breasts, pressing her close.
"You're so good for me," Pat moaned, snaking her fingers through the short hair on the back of his head, pulling his mouth close to her own.
Her thighs clutched him tightly to her blooming vagina, and Pat was suffused with the frantic impatience of her passion. Again, she hunkered down the length of him, vainly trying to synchronize her pulsing gyrations with his viciously pounding pelvis.
His entire shaft was sticky with the natural juices that poured from her body.
"Oh my God, Pat..." Ron writhed, panting through his open mouth, as his darting tongue flicked across her nipples.
Pat stiffened, tightening her thighs around his cock, as she felt his scrabbling fingers crawl up between her legs, like tiny hard-shell crabs on an early morning beach, forcing themselves eagerly between the trembling lips of her vagina, and his slickly sliding member. Nipping quickly under the band of her panties, one probing digit found her cunt, as it throbbed with an eternally consuming fire.
She sucked her breath in sharply at the sudden, beautiful shock, and she bit down on her lower lip as she flicked her hips forward without conscious thought.
The palm of his sweating hand slapped sharply against the curve of her buttocks.
She had his whole lovely finger trapped up in there, and would never let it go.
Nothing else mattered in this pregnant instant in time. The center of her life, the one focal point in her entire universe, was being soothingly satiated.
Pat groaned in agony, as Ron's finger slid away, continuing its tender ministrations at the hypersensitive point of her puckered, sucking anus, tracing the swelling hemisphere of her buttocks, and then fingering her jumping labia again, and at long last, tenderly caressing the inner regions of those mouthing lips where her quivering, hardening clitoris jerked upward to sweet anticipation.
"Ooh, Ron, darling . . . ?" she moaned again, trying to mouth her demanding words, as she rolled even closer to his punishing finger, locking her long legs behind his knees, again caught up in her moment of wild abandon. She crowded herself onto his stroking digit in a fitful rhythm, sucking cold air deep into her lungs, almost like a marijuana toke, whispering, whispering, " . . . please, oh, please ..."
Pat could feel him stiffen, easing himself away, tensing against the binding grip of her spare and corded thighs.
He lifted his sucking mouth from her jutting breast, and stared deep into her smoky eyes.
"Jesus, Pat," he breathed, "we can't. We can't do it. I can't fuck you now."
She was in agony, beyond all rational thought.
Ron's use of that word struck fire deep in the folds of her throbbing cunt with as much force as if he were actually performing that act. A mental picture quickly sketched itself on the walls of her mind, and she saw herself skewered to the metal bed of the bus, her legs flailing wildly, with Ron's long, thin snake slithering far inside the insatiable, red mouth that had taken possession of her soul.
"You've got to do something Ron, if you love me." Pat rolled away from his thrusting strength, almost crying as his finger slipped away from her hungry, devouring cunt. She Jay flat on her back on the cold metal floor, her rumpled skirt pushed high up under her naked, quivering breasts. "I don't want to either, but damn, can't you see what you've done?"
Ron tried to be gentle. He inched closer to her, kissing her lips softly and tenderly, with his rejected prick still standing erect between them like a young pine tree.
"I'm sorry, darling," he crooned. "I didn't mean to get you started."
"There's nothing for you to be sorry about. We were playing with dynamite, and it just exploded."
The bittersweet taste of love hung heavy on their lips. Ron reached out in his need, and his hand was warm and comforting on her breast.
That one tender gesture, that one single caress triggered her. She lay in heaven, reaching for him, thrilling delight as steaming fluids filled her vagina, seeping along its stiffening walls, oozing through her trembling lips, soothing the chafed tenderness of her buttocks with its cooling dampness.
Never in her wildest fantasies, in all the years she had lain alone, soothing her aching desires, had she achieved such a satisfying climax, so enveloping, and yet strangely unfulfilling, because deep in her soul she knew she had another, more important purpose.
She was the willing instrument for Ron's complete gratification.
Pat was gripped with an uncontrollable desire to milk the last drop of his eager sperm deep into the haven of her merging body.
"Ron. Oh, Ron." She sighed, thrilling at the cool, silken touch of him, savoring his rigid muscles, and the corded veins that ran the length of his cock.
"Darling. Darling." He was almost sobbing on her breast, as he pushed himself deeper into her nest of constricting fingers.
She hadn't meant to grasp his private parts like this, but it seemed such a natural reaction, reaching and touching, as innocent as a good-night kiss. It was one of God's miracles the way he sprang rigid under her caress; potently powerful in his little nest of tangled hair.
Ron was in complete command again, as he placed a knee between her thighs, and she widened them dutifully. His straying fingers found the trembling source of her raw hunger, and she was helpless before him, sliding her hand up the massive length of his prick, and quickly down again. Slowly at first, with as much natural ease as though she had been doing it all her life, and then with an ever increasing tempo that forced whimpers of ecstatic joy from his mewling lips.
Pat felt his hot blood course the length of him, as it pumped through her quickening fingers. She felt the dominant strength of earth power, mothering him, and suckling him like a newborn baby, guiding his destiny, merging her life and love with his mounting passion.
Ron was devouring her yielding breast, taking a full quarter of it in his sucking mouth, while his tongue flickered around her bursting nipple.
Pat had succumbed completely to ancient, evil desire, repressively sinful in this supposedly enlightened age of plastic contraception, but as old, and as natural as mankind itself.
Pat's hand tightened on him, and her fingers felt his knob once more. Moving spastically, she ground her cunt tightly around his ravaging finger.
Ron hobbled closer, crawling between her upraised knees, nibbling his way to her other hungry breast. There was a groovy Tightness raising her legs, and crossing her ankles in the small of his back.
"Mmm, honey," he purred, forming two fingers in a rigid monolith, and slathering them deep inside her.
"Oh, yes, Ron." Her head was thrown back as she breathed deeply, but the air was thin and never reached her lungs. Everything had turned to steam, and there wasn't enough air in the world to quell the heaving of her chest. "Oh my God, you've got me. You really have."
He leaned into her quickening fingers, almost crying.
"You're wonderful, Pat, darling. Wonderful."
"It's you, sweet. You make me that way."
"Just think. It will always be this way. For us."
"Let it be now. Please, love. Now."
The words had spilled unconsciously from her lips, despite the fact that the opposite sides of her soul were still at war. She had a deeper insight into the sickness of her mother's nymphomania now, but even so she had to have something else filling her yawning crevice beside a psychosomatic, tearing pain.
She arched her hips, forcing her pussy to follow his disappearing fingers, as he wriggled from her grasp, and sat upright.
"Yes. Now, darling," Ron whispered in the darkness. "I'm going to be good to you right now."
As soon as her stroking hand was empty, and he leaned away from the heat of her body, the old doubts and fears crept into her mind.
"God. God. What should I do?" Pat asked herself in true agony. "I want him so badly, I know I'll die without him. But we've waited so long . . . just a few more days. "
Remembering lonely times past, and secure in the enveloping darkness, she dug her own two fingers deep inside her yawning cunt, stroking boldly to keep her fires banked, until Ron could slip out of his Levi's, and care for her the way a husband should.
Ron knelt beside her, almost in an attitude of prayer, as he slid his hand under the elastic band of her panties, caressing her buttocks as she arched them upward, helping him, as she felt the flimsy silk trail the long length of her leg, before he crumpled them into a ball and threw them into a corner of the bus.
Pat reached for him again, as he leaned between her widened thighs, which flexed and tightened in anticipation, and his searching fingers soothed the tortured depths of her shivering vagina. On each outstroke, his delicate touch never failed to titillate her tiny, pink, throbbing clitoris, as it jerked up wildly to meet his touch.
"Man, oh man. What a groove." Pat sighed happily, pumping him quickly, as she cradled his fuzzy wrinkled sac with her free hand.
Unbridled joy shot the length of her arm, as she felt him wince under her pressure, and then settle deeper into her cupped hand for satisfaction.
"Pat. Faster, faster ..." Ron cried, as he rocked tighter into her crotch, pumping his fingers swiftly down the full length of her bubbling pussy, slamming his palm against the bone of her pelvis, and his bruising fingers into her cervix, then quickly slipping out, until Pat felt the cool rush of air soothing his fevered roughness.
Under a compulsive spell stronger than life itself, her fingers crept across her flushed thigh, to the silken slit of her cunt, and with practiced agility, spread her hungry lips. Pat felt a cold, unreasoning fear, because she had never manipulated herself for a man before, but she shrugged it off in a certain sure instinct that flushed her face with shame.
But in the last possible instant she couldn't do it. She could feel him throb and shudder in her hand, as he surged forward in all his proud manhood, seeking desperately to thread his glans between her rich, sucking lips. But she held him back, back, even as her undulating hips rose to meet his thrusting madness.
She bit deep into her tongue, clutching him in a grip of death, not giving an inch, because even an inch would be fatal.
His great clubbed sweetness had just peeked inside her starving maelstrom, and her ravenous mouth fluttered wildly, trying to swallow him whole.
But no. No. His perfect driving force was to be denied.
She was dying inside, as he swelled and grew within her tightening fingers, and she pushed him even farther along the line of her clenching thighs.
"Oh my God ..." Ron moaned, bucking wildly, as Pat relented in that last soul-tearing instant, and his throbbing head slid slickly inside her thick, wet, red mouth, with her steaming heat, and her wiry pubic hair framing their innocence. "I can't . . . My Christ, I can't. . . I've got to . . . Got to . . . Shit, Pat, darling, I'm sorry ..."
Gloriously, he was just inside her, and her ravenous cunt sucked every detail of his goodness ever deeper. Pat's whole harmonious being responded to his entry into her body with the wild joy. She flexed quickly under his crushing weight, in a spastic effort to consume his entire length, but in that one chaotic instant he whipped his glory away from her, fearful of the demanding strength of his potency, stripping her soul in cheap degradation, falling weakly across her arching stomach, the whole bony length of him belching useless, burning spurts of sperm, coating her naked belly, the lower curves of her heaving breasts, and even lining her neck and chin with the slimy strings of his wasted viscous fluid.
One clinging strand of yellow mucus stretched stickily from her surprised lips to the end of her nose.
"Oh, Pat. Goddamn it, darling," Ron whined, awash in self-pity, as she rolled away from him, hiding her slimed face in her hands, feeling the tears of shame and degradation start in the corners of her hot, burning eyes, and roll down the length of her defiled nose.
The close, stifling air was gamy-rich with their mixing juices. They lay apart, as though each suspected the other was a leper, breathing heavily, descending painfully from the glorious heights of their passion.
Ron leaned toward her, clumsily stroking her now flaccid breast, but his caress lacked the necessary fire. It was as though he was dragging a dead fish across her burning flesh.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, with the hysteria gone from his voice, "I couldn't help it. You were so wonderful. I tried to hold back, but all of a sudden I was just there."
He leaned forward, arms wide in supplication, seeking to enfold her tight in his arms, and beg for forgiveness.
A sudden fit of blind rage shook Pat's body, and in an enveloping red haze, she raised her foot, and kicked him viciously in the stomach, sending him crashing against the wall of the bus.
"You son of a bitch." Unknown, unbidden words boiled out of her agony. "How could you do that to me?"
Ron's head crashed against the metal door. He shook himself for a moment, clearing the sparkling lights before answering, still contrite.
"I'm so damned sorry, darling." His puerile words only fanned her flame. "This time just wasn't meant to be, that's all."
The raging fire of her all-consuming passion blazed even higher, now that there was no chance of fulfillment. Their love was no longer a thing of beauty, merely degradingly shameful.
"You're a messy, stinking failure, that's what you are." Pat breathed painfully. "Well, just don't sit there. Give me something, your T-shirt, anything. You've fucked me all up."
"I'll make it up to you, honey. You know I will."
She couldn't bear to look at him. It was as though Ron had deliberately smeared her with filth. Flushed with shame, she scrubbed the scum from her face and neck.
The tender submission of her one precious gift had been distorted into a writhing torment of unbelievable degradation.
Pat had known shame before. Never for herself, but for her mother's compulsive sin. How many nights had Pat lain stretched out on her massive brass bed in tortured sleeplessness, listening to her mother being driven through her own mattress, by a succession of meaty, heavy ramrods; sometimes as many as five in succession.
Young as she was, even now, Pat knew she was the target of the licentious leers of her mother's latest lover; Fred Hinson, patrolman, cop on the beat.
Ron wheeled the van sharply, kicking dust all the way up to the main road. He didn't speak a word on the way home.
Pat knew his belly must ache from her spiked heel, and he probably burned with impotent shame, after he'd had to give her his shirt to dab away his wasted ejaculation.
She could live with the lingering dampness on her breasts and tender stomach, which still cherished the imprint of his throbbing root, but scrub as she might she couldn't seem to rid her face of his gluey fluid. It left an unpleasant salty-rich taste in her mouth, which did nothing to quell the sharp, piercing hunger dwelling deeply in the upper reaches of her cunt, and continued to stiffen her tender clitoris with sweet memory.
Just before her perfunctory good-night kiss, cramped in the high front seat of the VeeDub bus, Ron had reached his hand across, squeezing the inside of her thigh just under the short hem of her skirt.
"I'm sorry, Pat, darling. About back there . . . I'm better now, if you want ..."
"No, Ron," she answered solidly, still feeling his wasted stickiness matting the hair under her soiled panties, "let's leave it for now. Like you said, it wasn't meant to be. Through no fault of my own, I'm still a virgin."
There was a sad despondency in her voice that made Ron laugh.
"Oh, no," he argued lightly, "I may not have stayed long, but I do know that I was there."
It was Pat's turn to laugh, but this time in scorn.
"Oh, sure. Bug me with details. Half an inch for half a second. You're a poor excuse. Until I've been had by a real man, I haven't been had."
Pat was amazed at her own licentiousness. Frustration forced filth from her mouth, dragging her to the lowest depths, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Ron drew away as though she'd burned him with a match. Without a word, he reached across and opened her door.
She kissed him under the right eye, filled with contrition, and he didn't move a muscle.
"Maybe I can't fuck too good," he said, fixing her with a steady eye, "but it doesn't take genius to drop a little L and trip out for the weekend."
"Ron, you wouldn't. You promised."
"Want to bet?"
Pat stepped down on the street, and she half-expected him to come around and walk her to the door. But he just tromped the gas, gunning off down the street, burning rubber making the corner into Le Cumbre, without looking back once.
Before daylight Pat would lose her virginity many times over.
TWO
As Pat turned the key in the little house on Calle Cita, her every nerve was raw and tingling; Ron's precipitous orgasm, coupled with his threat to freak out on LSD, had stripped her defenses.
The fire deep in her throbbing vagina, was still raging. She could hardly bear the light, lacy clothing to touch her body in this sultry heat.
The house held her in close, velvet darkness, as she walked carefully through the living room, switching on the lights.
Pat was alone.
Voraciously she drank a glass of cold milk, standing barefoot in front of the refrigerator, with her brassiere balled in one hand.
Minutes later, she was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, studying her naked, voluptuous form and reveling in its lush perfection.
She was bringing Ron so much, Pat told herself in natural conceit. With the self-consciousness of vivacious beauty, she was aware that she possessed slender, delicately boned ankles, fully-rounded, tapering thighs, that were firm yet gentle, veeing into the glossy black of her tender mound, that was now so ravaged and bruised.
Her heart suffered in its solitary desolation.
She dreaded the thought of him buying caps and then driving off into the lonely hills to be swallowed up in some strange psychedelic universe, where he might be lost to her forever.
Ron had left her finally, spurning her offer of forgiveness, deserting her in aching pain.
Almost hypnotized by her frustration, Pat pushed her naked pelvis forward, peering closely at her rounded apex, trying to view her smoldering fire.
If anyone held a roach within ten feet of her poor puckered slit, she would shoot pure blue flame, giving him a perfect toke.
Throwing the window wide open and kicking the unbearable sheets to the bottom, Pat spread her tender deliciousness on the massive bed, the last remaining memento of her beloved, vanished father, who had made and lost a fortune in oil, before being lost at sea on a fishing trip. More than any other possession, she cherished this jingling brass bedstead, with its ancient, twisting curlicues of burnished metal.
As though they were independent beings with life of their own, Pat watched her kneading palms rise, and gently massage, tweaking at her budding nipples, until they hardened into vibrant life. Even the tight curves of her sweetly rising breasts jerked higher, until those precious golden orbs stiffened under her fingers, fleshing tight under their delicious russet tips, with an expanding heat that was flooding her body.
She lay in rigid silence, with her thighs flung sensuously wide, her ankles just touching the chill metal of the bedposts. She thrilled at the wicked sensations permeating her body, as she reflected on the sadness of tonight's fiasco. The things she had said, and his threat of narcotics. She had really chopped him.
She hated herself for hurting him. She loved him too much to drive him into the half-world of LSD and heroin.
She knew Ron's sister had experimented with drugs, and one addict in the Severn family was enough.
Pat rolled onto her side, closing her eyelids tightly, seeing a vision of his wretched sadness, begging her forgiveness on the floor of the VeeDub.
She had been mean, because she truly loved him.
Her mind held a vivid picture of him. He was tall, and almost as dark as she was. So much a man. Really everything a girl could ask for.
Going steady almost two years now, and since Ron had gotten his induction notice, they were both eager to be married and spend some time together before he had to report to Fort Ord.
But if tonight's performance was Ron's idea of married life, forget it!
The throbbing ache, deep inside her body, gradually faded, as tiny rivulets of glowing incandescence ran the length of her coiling nerves, centering in the tips of her fingers, and in the ends of her toes. Raging flash fires blazed and died intermittently in her nipples, prodding them upward with increasing rigidity, spreading into the sweeping majesty of her breasts, with a commanding intensity that forced Pat to dig sharp nails into her softly yielding flesh, instantly raising angry red welts that slowly faded into their original milky-whiteness.
Pat's eyes clouded with pleasure, almost as stultifying as the swirling smoke of marijuana, as she fastened her mind on Ron's muscled length. It had been so nearly hers tonight. Breathless, she fought for air. She opened her mouth, sucking hotly, pretending mindlessly, picturing his huge, rutting prick that she knew only she could satisfy; counting the years ahead, the millions of tours that she would spend staring at ceilings, with his gnarled and knotted root tearing away inside her.
She sadly pondered the impetuous kick that had triggered his threat of acid. With his stupid stubborn streak he could be dropping a cap right this minute.
They were so much alike. Any little slight could set either one of them off. Pat knew her failing well, and always tried to bottle her uncontrollable rage deep within herself.
Lying alone in the dark, horribly lascivious thoughts roared through Pat's unprotected mind. Memories of Ron's gently stroking fingers, coupled with more distant reflections of time past when she'd been able to soothe her own tortured body caused her creeping fingers to steal through her soft black wire and find her widening crevice, still softly seeping with aromatic dampness.
"In spite of his near miss," Pat humored herself, flexing her thrilling hips, enjoying a sudden froth of a breeze that cooled her naked body, "he still hasn't had me. I'm still virgin. It will be so special the night we go away. I know it will."
Levering her thighs even wider, her head writhed on her pillow as Pat ground her hips tight against her punishing fingers, pushing them deep inside the walls of her red, weeping cunt, and then sliding them out into the bright wetness of the stifling moonlight. In one brilliantly sparkling instant, she was in the center of the rainbow, with all the roaring sensations of her flesh tightening into one flaming knot. Violent shades of purples, yellows and blues flashed behind her closed eyelids.
Pat tightened down spastically, bucking, fucking herself wildly.
Now, in one heart-stopping instant, her life fluid gushed through the pulsing walls of her weak and tormented flesh, flooding over her pumping fingers, seeping so deliciously, soaking the mattress under her clenched and tightened buttocks.
At last she was granted the sweet fulfillment she had given Ron.
Pat raised herself four inches off the crumpled sheet in the final throes of her self-induced orgasm.
In this gorgeously satisfying instant, her every nerve and muscle, every sense and feeling in her body loosened, relaxing into delightfully satiated peace.
She lay still, at long last, sighing heavily, subsiding into a warm, golden glow.
All trace of lonely longing and aching pain were gone from her tired body forever.
Despite the sticky mess she'd made of her bedding, Pat lay flat, legs widespread to cool her dying vagina.
After staring contentedly at the moonlit ceiling for long, restful minutes, she drifted into the fitful nightmare that seemed so terrifyingly real.
Running endlessly through city streets, buck naked, she was relentlessly pursued by Fred Hinson in his black-and-white cruiser.
It seemed she ran mindlessly terrified for hours. No matter how many corners she turned, how many alleys she darted into, Fred was always there, waiting, grasping, reaching for her naked, dancing breasts.
He was a massive monster of a man, with bushy, untrimmed eyebrows; a natural cop. His high was standing in formation in front of his police sergeant, wishing that clean, sterile Santa Barbara had black, rioting ghettos so he could wear his bubble hat and smash kinky heads.
Pat knew Fred was huge everywhere. She'd heard Kate Rawlings screaming in painful ecstasy the first few nights he had bedded her, until she could adjust and stretch herself to his gigantic size.
But Hinson was just what Mom needed to bring her peculiar brand of sickness under control.
Instinctively Pat knew Fred wanted to tumble her on her back and ram his terrible thing into her. And he would if he thought he could get away with it. All the time he was staring at her furtively, running his fat, pop-eyes up and down her body, as though he was undressing her. He'd do this even if Mom was sitting right next to him on the couch, with her dumb eyes glued to the television set.
She could see him now, bending his eyes at the sharp points of her breasts, especially if she was wearing a tight sweater.
Pat was careful never to be caught in a room alone with Fred, but still he dogged her tracks, smiling and winking whenever Mom had her eyes turned.
She did everything she could to give him the message, scorning him, never looking into his face, chopping him with sarcasm, doing everything but spit in his face to show her true feelings.
That's what made this nightmare so freaky. Fred Hinson, the cop-pig, dominated the whole scene. Popping up out of the pavement at every street corner, beckoning her inside his car, unzipping his fly, confronting her with that monster he had stuffed inside.
Its very size made her gasp in fear. Rammed up inside a woman, it could split her in half. No wonder Mom screamed.
It seemed to Pat that she had been running these straight and mysterious streets for hours, in voiceless, mindless terror.
She rounded the final corner, and stumbled into Fred's waiting arms.
Hinson was big as a mountain, and his sinewy arms wrapped around her closely, his fists knotting cruelly into the base of her spine. Her flowering breasts were mashed tightly against the harsh abrasion of his heavy blue uniform. The sharp edges of his brass badge cut sharply into her tender flesh.
Pat struggled helplessly, like a fly with its wings torn off, wriggling frantically as his exploring hand reached lower, cupping one of her white, curved buttocks, straining her retreating loins close against the filth of his crotch.
She plunged vengeful fingers deep into the sockets of his bleeding eyes. As he screamed in agony she was horrified to find that Fred Hinson had no face at all, just a bony, gaping symbol of a death's head, with the blackened flesh riven away, grinning at her through rotten, decaying teeth.
Whirling away from this fearsome travesty, Pat screamed, running again.
She exulted in the nearness of freedom, but his right hand shot out, circling her wrist in a bony band of steel.
In one blinding flash, her nightmare was over.
Like that.
Pat knew she was awake because of the different sense of time. Her screams still echoed through her mind from that other continuum, as she lay quietly in the close, humid darkness of her own room.
Lying still, without moving, she felt the tensions of her nightmare drift slowly away, and she knew thankful relief without opening her eyes.
The dream had been so vivid, so real. She could almost feel that tight ring of steel around her wrist.
Suddenly, there was a shift of weight on the mattress beside her, and she shrugged it off as an illusion; possibly a momentary loss of equilibrium due to her nightmare.
Something tickled across her nose and lips, moving light as a feather. Without opening her eyes she wrinkled her lips, trying to chase it away; perhaps a ball of lint, or possibly a floating feather from her pillow.
Pat dismissed it from her drowsing mind, and tried bringing a sleepy hand from somewhere over her head to whisk it away.
She came instantly awake, writhing helplessly.
The bands of metal shackling her wrists, and her ankles, were only too real.
Pat was spread wide open on her bed. Her wrists and ankles were manacled to the four bedposts of the ancient brass relic.
Her head twisted helplessly on her pillow, and she whimpered in nameless fear.
The tickling under her nose was no innocent fluff of lint.
Fred Hinson knelt nakedly on the mattress beside the bare, helpless form of his stepdaughter, Patricia Rawlings. As she started into full wakefulness, realizing that she was handcuffed securely, he grinned down at her, reaching across to the far side of the bed, and switching on the light.
Fred rocked back on his haunches, and then moved slowly forward. His meaty prick stood out from his body like a forest giant, with a blood-red pine knot at the end. Swaying softly, he stroked its entire length across Pat's trembling lips, tickling her nose with its wiry strands, his mouth tightening into a sadistic smile.
Reality was worse than nightmare.
Her eyes widened in terror, and her nostrils flared, and she screamed and screamed again in the dark and empty night.
THREE
The day Kate told him about the trip to San Luis, Fred began scheming. He shoved four pairs of handcuffs in the glove compartment, and just waited.
He'd fix this proud-assed bitch so she'd never forget him. She'd never spit in his face again.
Kate's tired, slackly quivering cunt gave him the jaws. Begging, always begging.
Now Pat, with her high, juggling titties and her tight rabbit's ass was something else.
He had to have some of her yum-yum.
After punching off shift and easing his Plymouth into the driveway on Calle Cita, it was some time past two. The old house was dark and silent, as he turned the key and stepped inside, smiling in anticipation as he saw Pat's crumpled blouse on the couch.
Shit on Kate in San Luis.
Tonight he was going to crack himself a virgin.
He'd been prepared to smash the dumb cunt in the mouth and fuck her unconscious. As long as he got his prick home, he didn't care. But she'd made it easy, leaving her door open, thinking she was going to find breeze in this hot box.
He pushed quietly into her room, feasting his eyes on her bare and gleaming contours, lying so still she hardly seemed to breath in the streaming moonlight. She was the essence of perfect beauty, Fred decided, as he quickly shed his clothing, and laid his .38 Special on the nightstand beside her head.
Pat slept deeply, in the same pose of wild abandon she'd been in when sleep first found her.
Pale, rounded thighs flung wide, accentuating her softly fanning thatch of black hair.
Fred stared with a wild hunger at her high rising mounds of tender, succulent flesh, capped with rosy, pink buttons, good enough to eat.
He hefted his cock with one hand, while his salivating tongue darted across quickly drying lips. Tearing his eyes away in visible effort, he padded nakedly through the silent house, collecting the four pair of cold steel handcuffs.
Gently, oh so gently, Fred moved Pat's hands up over her head, shackling her wrists to the bedposts, and then moved to the foot of the bed, staring transfixed into the apex of her converging thighs, at the black, hair-ringed tuck and fold of her beckoning vagina.
He had to steel himself for his task, to keep from leaping onto its full softness, and devouring it at a single gulp.
Despite his iron control, he reached out, laying his hand softly on her scented mount, he started back quickly as she groaned mournfully in her sleep, as though she was suffering a nightmare.
The way she'd spread her legs, as though she was trying to suck coolness inside her body, fit into his design naturally. It took only a second to lock her ankles tightly against the brass studs.
"What a perfect piece," Fred thought as he knelt on the bed beside her, feeling himself swell and grow. "A beautiful nineteen. Time she knew a real man."
Tentatively, bracing himself for the shock of her first waking moment, he reached across, rolling her exposed nipples between his fingers, sensing his mounting joy. Her little nubbins were like tiny, dark marshmallows with hard centers, that grew ever harder under his manipulations. He twisted them savagely, grinning widely as he tweaked them upward, watching Pat with his beady pig-eyes.
She began to moan, twisting her head, on the verge of wakefulness.
Fred felt his hardness strong now, and he hunkered closer, laying the length of himself in the trough of her rosy, pouting lips. His dark, callused hands covered her breasts, cupping their heaviness, mashing them together like lumps of pliant molding clay, before flopping them back to her chest.
Her sleeping lips were so soft against the underside of his throbbing rod, he just had to rock it in, rub it in.
Pat's eyes became suddenly wide and popping as she jerked away from him, bucking against her shackles, wildly screaming, humping herself in the bed, twisting and writhing, like a lizard with its tail torn off, almost climbing the walls, in her quickly awakening terror.
Fred smiled as he switched on the bedroom light. He wanted this bitch to get a good clear view when she got her dose.
Let her scream her ass off. There wasn't another house within a half-mile of this barn.
Viciously, Fred timed his next move with Pat's recurrent screaming. As she started awake, Pat's mouth had opened in sudden horror, screeching until all of the air had been pumped from her lungs.
As she sucked deep for her second breath, Fred swung his two hundred pounds across her prostrate body as lithely as an acrobat, hunkering his tightly bunched buttocks into the straining resiliency of her shuddering breasts, straddling them cruelly, as he dug his fingers into the tangle of Pat's dark hair, spreading wide across her sweat-dampened pillow.
With a single jerk, he snapped her head upward, off the bed, up toward him. As her mouth widened in pained surprise, startled at his sudden sadistic cruelty, he ground his pelvis into her face, slamming his hardened log between her quivering lips.
Pat groaned, trying to shake her head free, as her dry and cracking lips stretched around Fred's knotted head, and nibbled their way down the entire rounded length of his member. Tears started in the corners of her eyes at the splitting pain that threatened to rend her mouth into bleeding tatters.
"You feisty, stuck-up bitch." Fred laughed, riding her breasts, boring deeper into her convulsing throat, as he seized more of her hair, and pulled her head forward another painful inch, forcing her to swallow his last little bit. "This will fix your red ass. Get your lunch. You know you love it."
Pat squirmed, pulling her head down into her pillow. Her mind was busy slamming doors, blocking out this horror. Screaming pain ripped at the roots of her hair. Excruciating agony racked her body everywhere. Fred's two hundred pounds mashed and mauled her breasts, as he teetered back and forth.
Shackled to the brass bedstead, her buttocks tightened as she fought against restraint, bucking upward, trying to unhorse his great weight, vainly attempting to escape this terrible indignity, but she was trapped as surely as if she had a railroad spike driven through her mouth.
"You've had this coming a long time, bitch," Fred snarled, spattering drops of spittle in her face, as he rolled forward on his cushion of aching breasts, and once again sunk his entire length into her gagging throat. "Spit on me will you, bitch-kitty? I'll split you on this cock. I'll turn you every way but loose."
Again Pat tried flailing her head from one side of the pillow to the other in an effort to escape his probing prick, but she was impaled, her arms and legs handcuffed to the four corners of her bed, her glossy, black mound pumping high, with her vaginal slit pulled wide, pink and softly tender, gaspingly awaited his attack.
It had to come. She knew it.
Her mind raced helplessly. Fred had executed the perfect ambush, with Kate out of town, and the nearest neighbors a half-mile away.
What a stupid fool she'd been tonight. It would have been far better to give herself gladly to Ron Severn, no matter what his shortcomings were; spend the whole night in his arms, under the trees, than be a helpless victim to a sadistic madman's oral rape.
Fred must have been planning this for days, considering the sets of handcuffs he had used.
Pat's mouth was filled with eight inches of thick, red, quivering meat, rammed deep into her throat. Strangely enough, now that the initial shock was over, her mouth had mysteriously filled with saliva to relieve the chafing pain.
His cock had a wild, gamy taste, and now that he had spent the force of his opening attack, Fred was just sitting up there, crushing her into the mattress, rocking slowly, inching it deep, and then pulling it out into the open air, so that just the rigid knob of his reddened glans was behind her teeth.
Her mind played tricks on her, and she found herself pretending Fred's crushing weight was really Ron, and he hadn't rushed off on his acid trip, and for one blithering moment in the dark she actually enjoyed sucking on the rubber resiliency that filled her mouth.
Oh God. What can I do? she cried to herself, her neck almost breaking under his muscular straining, as her soul screamed out in ravished agony.
Pat knew she had the weapons to fight him, had them right in her mouth, if she had the courage to use them. Her sharp, white teeth. She knew she could bite down, and probably sever the rutting knob from its shaft. But where would that get her? She was still manacled to the bed; helpless, and at his mercy.
Fred Hinson would probably kill her in one blinding moment of pain.
Her mouth was filling so rapidly with saliva that she had to swallow convulsively to keep from drowning. Forcing the rising spittle down her throat caused her tongue to ring his prick briefly. In one flashing instant, she became sharply aware of the veined convolutions of his pulsating shaft. Every detail of his sharply tapering knob, spearheading his driving force, with its peeping eyehole, dead center, which even now was flecking with his bodily fluid, was sharply etched on her mind.
Unaccountably, Pat felt the familiar tingling of growing warmth in the uppermost reaches of her vaginal canal, much the same as that kindled earlier tonight when Ron had worried her nipples with his hot sucking tongue.
But this was crazy.
With her mind recoiling in nameless, unspeakable horror under the onslaught of Fred's obscenities, while he tried splitting the corners of her mouth with his depravity, inflicting excruciating pain, as he crushed her breasts into unrecognizable jelly, it seemed impossible that she might feel any stirrings of slavering animal lust in her own body.
Her mind tried thrusting this stirring passion aside, as it sought means of breaking free, but Pat's stubborn emotions were not to be denied. They were unmistakably there. A hot, burning match had been struck deep inside her cunt, up past the point her fingers could reach, and the flame was quickly spreading, pouring a steady stream of molten lava through her puckered rectum, down along her quivering thighs, and up across the flat, creamy arch of her convulsing belly, centering finally in the chafed aureoles of her harshly bruised breasts.
The most impossible miracle of all was that independent life still blossomed in her hardening nipples. She felt them pushing against Fred's massive weight, digging back into the curve of her breast, rather than perking proudly upward.
In an expanding moment of feminine instinct, Pat found strength and momentary salvation. As though someone had turned a tap, thoughts and ideas poured into her mind with such a raging, obscene torrent that the twin halves of her consciousness were torn asunder.
She gagged in unison with Fred's thrusting flesh, detesting her own sudden depravity, still knowing secretly that only through debasing herself still further could she ever break free of this horrible bondage.
If Fred would not voluntarily set her free, then her only other alternative was to force him to a climax as quickly as possible. She recalled Ron's shameful performance earlier tonight. Fred would subside as quickly, before he had time or thought enough to commit further obscenities on her helpless, ravaged body.
Drain him dry. Leave him a useless, shattered shell, with scarcely enough strength to unlock her handcuffs, and mumble an apology.
Of course the unbearable fire tearing her loins apart had no bearing on Pat's thinking.
It was just another legacy of Ron's premature ejaculation.
At Fred's first onslaught, Pat tried keeping her tongue peeled away from his slamming root, vainly endeavoring to keep her taste buds pure, but this had become impossible with his stiffening rod billowing her cheeks.
Now, in her insanely conceived strategy, Pat allowed her flicking tongue any license it liked. Animal instinct and subtle lusting desire gained dominion over her weakened will.
Her flashing red tip found the eyelet in his glans, and reveled in the native saltiness in the tiny streamers that were even now stringing down into her throat.
Pat's buttocks tightened into hard balls of muscle, as she levered herself off the mattress, plunging down again into its depths, feeling the sharp metal dig into her ankles, as she began a pulsating rhythm that matched his sawing motion into her mouth.
Sensing her spirit of cooperation, Fred loosened his painful grip on her hair. He leaned forward, closer, as Pat began moving her mouth in and out, in perfect time with his rocking movement on her breasts.
Her lips corded down on him, as her tongue danced and leapt around his hot, throbbing length, curling and caressing, sucking and siphoning, dabbing away at the clots of sperm as quickly as they formed in the blinking eye of his hurricane.
My God! I'm on fire! Pat moaned silently to herself.
Her vagina was beginning to weep in its emptiness, as her molten juices seeped wetly through the crevices between her thighs, moistening the tiny brown wafer that was her anus.
The tender lips that framed her quivering clitoris opened even more widely, as Pat continued her fucking motion. If she could only stroke it herself. Her cunt needed immediate attention, but she was shackled, helpless.
Her tiny, pink bud, jerked proud and tall, a living counterpart of her madly gyrating tongue.
Chained as she was, Pat did the only things left to her. She surrendered completely to her base and evil subconscious, bucking and writhing as her skin grated away, shredding from her wrists and ankles, and she sucked deep and hard on the raw, red thing that was coming alive, far in the guttural reaches of her throat.
The blind, driving animal instinct, that powerful will to rut and lust with the mindless desire of the beasts in the field, that exists in all organisms, had consumed her completely.
Pat's cheeks, with their sensitive, tender inner surfaces, hollowed, as she raised her head from the pillow, sucking deeply.
Fred drew himself back in perfect rhythmic beat, gently trying to escape the pain of her furrowing teeth. He pulled her lips with him, in a swelling, sensual pout, as he allowed himself to drop back onto the softness of her supporting breasts.
"Jesus. Jesus, Pat." Fred sighed, almost crying in brutish ecstasy. "I never thought you'd come around. You're really getting the fucking message."
Pat's entire body was now one mass of roiling, boiling flame. The widening, steaming cavern between her legs, and the driving force of his vibrant meat were her sole contacts with the living world.
Her tortured mind still contained one seed of rationality, and it cried for release from the raging tongues of crippling fire. At the far shadowy end of the darkening convolutions of her brain, a sad, tattered remnant of her shifting sanity found a silent, sheltering alcove, rushed gratefully inside and slammed the door.
The depths of her degradation found expression in the remembered scrawling on rest room walls.
"You'd better fuck me to death while you're here, Fred Hinson," she gasped, as she momentarily pulled her mouth free of his incessant thrusting, "because if I get loose ..."
"You'll what? You'll shit, that's what." Fred laughed down at her, as he kneeled forward again, his knees digging deeply into her shoulders, forcing her down into the mattress, peeling another layer of skin from her painful, bleeding wrists.
Her head was pressed back into her pillow with the force of his probing, and she could feel his wire-covered sac bounce softly against her upturned chin, as he bored straight down into her mouth.
For a split second, Pat considered keeping her lips tight shut, but his sperm-slick head glinted in the lamplight, soft as velvet against her mouth, and her firm resolution melted away.
Eagerly now, she stretched her mouth upward, like a feeding fledgling, and took the full joyful length of him inside. Her hot, hungry, carnal canal wept in silent anguish at this mean substitution, punishing Pat for her sin by forcing her to heave her bunched and quivering buttocks still higher off her damp and wrinkled sheet, moist with her own juices.
Fred's testicles tightened, jerking wildly against the silken hollow of her throat. He was almost incoherent as his fingers grasped the root of his shaft, pumping it in his frustrating agony, babbling his joy, as he stroked himself deep into her throat, twitching his great, hairy buttocks in rhythmic spasms.
"Ooh yes, Patty! Yes, yes! Lick me just there. Ooh God! Suck it, you tight-assed bitch!" Fred's scrotum clenched like an angry fist, pulsating, throbbing, with an unbearable electric heat.
Pat tightened her lips around him, and quickened her beat, drawing, sucking all of him inside her steaming, breathless mouth. As he swelled and grew, he trembled deliciously.
Her vagina had puckered tight, feeding on itself, eating itself alive.
Suddenly, without gasp or sigh of warning, Pat felt the raging torrent of his bursting, boiling sperm spurt thickly into the back of her throat, and in that same consuming instant, her own roaring conflagration deluged her with gushes of sweet, redolent juices, filling her, pouring forth from her, dousing her matted streamers of wisping hair, as she dropped her loosened buttocks to the sinking mattress, concentrating on milking the last drop of viscous, creamy substance from his withering, limply hanging sac.
Pat gulped wildly, almost drowning, hardly stopping to savor his bitter saltiness, just eager to get his clinging mucus down, out of the way, for the rest to come.
Fred's massive buttocks fluttered away from the rise of her bruised breasts, teasing her aching nipples. With one quivering reflex, he rammed his entire spurting length deep inside her mouth, saving one precious half-inch which he held between his thumb and forefinger, using that to pump the last precious drops of his spent manliness onto her weaving tongue, and into her spastically gulping throat.
His fleshy knees gripped the sides of Pat's head painfully, crimping her ears against the bone of her skull. She lay still, as his onslaught subsided, gasping, and as breathless as a dying fish on the beach. The cooling traces of his seminal fluid coated the insides of her mouth, her throat, and the passage into her stomach like hardening bacon fat.
Fred was through, finished, but still he was an unbearable lump on her sorely chafed breasts. His slowly softening meat hung slackly between her lips.
Pat's inner fire raged even higher as the ragged remnants of her mind flashed on Ron's earlier imperfections. Here, suffering this final degradation, the tottering equilibrium of her sanity went glimmering. The full impact of her oral rape slashed at her soul.
She jerked her head violently to one side. Fred's cock trailed slowly from her widened mouth, sliding across her cheeks, and fell into the hollow of her throat, drawing its sliming strings of spent sperm behind it.
In the throes of her mental extremity, filthy that she would never have known rolled effortlessly off her tongue.
"You miserable bastard!" Pat cried, with sudden tears of shame forming in her eyes. "God, you are a shitty son of a bitch!"
Fred gloried in the richness of her profanity. His eyes widened, as he held the tender end of his dripping cock out before him, as though it were a shattered and broken egg, seeping whitely.
"What's the matter, Patty?" He grinned, rolling off her bruised and shackled body. "Didn't I give you enough? Could you have used this beauty some place else?"
"Oh, Jesus. Just leave me alone, please." She was sobbing bitterly now, the tears streaming down her cheeks, as she twisted her head further down into her pillow. "Unlock these things on my wrists, and get out of my life."
Fred knelt on the bed beside her, and allowed his eyes to run the length of her naked tenderness. He noted, smiling, that her loins were still grinding, devouring the mattress in her frustrated passion. He grasped his still-throbbing length, and ran his clenched fist down the reach of it, slowly generating new life. Leaning over Pat's flushed and reddened body, he sent the tip of his quivering tongue circling the aureole of her right breast, as it lay rising heavily on her chest.
"You don't mean that." He laughed, raising his devouring mouth, and searching for the lust hidden in Pat's eyes.
Fred toyed with her, flicking her straining nipples as though he was shooting marbles, and then he reached quickly down, cupping the softly steaming center of Pat's universe.
Gently, so gently, his caressing fingers parted her damp and trembling labia, and two of them crawled slowly up into the upper reaches of her seeping, constricting pussy.
Pat bit down on her lower lip, vainly trying to contain her sudden joy.
"Oh, yes." She screamed suddenly, thrusting herself tight against his damaging hand, and hating herself for her crying need. "There. Put it right there."
"Tell me about it. Tell me what you want, Pat," Fred said, stroking his fingers in and out, trying not to lose his grip, as she rotated her buttocks in a tight, circular motion over the damply crumpled sheets. "Tell me now, and maybe I'll give it to you."
Her nipples were jerking madly in a frenzied fire dance, as her tortured breasts jounced from side to side. Her head twisted ecstatically, as her straight black hair swept the pillow.
She couldn't Not when he demanded it.
"I won't. I can't. You know."
"Not until you ask me nice."
His beautiful fingers slipped outside, dragging part of her into the open air, leaving a vast hungry void. Fred smiled coldly at her efforts to follow him and suck those fingers deep inside her once again.
She pointed her hips at them in crying sorrow.
Fred felt the tenderness of his wiry sac brush against her quivering thighs, as he crawled over her supine body, kneeling between her spreading legs, feeling a secret joy as she raised her knees almost to his armpits.
Her thighs corded against his meaty ribs, and he touched the burning tip of his glans to the upper end of her voraciously widening slit. Her fluorescent red clitoris jumped out to meet him, as he stroked the last remaining drops of semen clinging to its blinking eye.
Pat threw herself against the handcuffs binding her wrists to the antique brass bed. Cold steel bit into her flesh, and rivulets of blood trickled down her arm.
Her hands could have been sliced off completely, and she'd never have known. Her very life and soul existed only at Fred's hated, yet loved, points of contact. Pat's essentially animal body had betrayed her innocence once again. Each nerve imbedded in her woman's flesh cried out for the solace and the satiation inherent in the massive root that was once again swelling in the cradling devotion of Fred's hand.
Thrillingly, the little man, the center of all manhood, was caressing the tip of her pulsing clitoris right now, this instant, and he could bore deep into her hunger with his unique, damaging, slavering lust-if only he would.
Pat couldn't hold on a second longer. No matter what Fred's massive, corded prick did to her, split her, killed her, she had to surround its glorious beauty now.
She knew that giant root had already ruined any possible happiness with Ron, but right now she couldn't care less.
She had to have it deep in there, soothing the fevered walls of her flaming cunt.
Oh, just the thought of it, stroking in and out of her oozing vagina, started her hips bouncing off the mattress again.
"Yes. Oh yes," she breathed, her words tumbling. "Please. Right in there. Right there."
"That's my girl." Fred smiled, with traces of spittle, crowding out the corners of his mouth.
Gripping his cock ever more tightly, Fred slipped it down the length of her moist lips, until he found her tightly clutching entrance. Swiftly, with the deft agility of a striking snake, he slithered the entire swelling length of it deep within her loins in one swift dash.
Pat screamed again, bucking madly with the sudden rending pain. It was as though he had unhinged her pelvis from her swinging hips.
Squirming her tightly bunched buttocks in the sheets, she quickly adjusted herself to the monstrous root she held deep within her loins, and came grinding back up at him, with the hungry mouth of her strained pussy still sucking for more of him, like a brook trout flashing to the surface for a dry fly. The quivering walls of her crying cunt were folded inward, clinging, fastening to him, wet and pliable.
Before she peaked out on her upstroke, Fred was out and gone, standing beside the bed, grinning down at her helpless, agonizing frustration.
Pat's mouth hung slack in her distress, and her tongue lolled uselessly between loosely slavering lips. Her large dark eyes hungered as she stared up at his pink blooming organ, held gently between his sheltering fingers.
"Ask me some more," he commanded, his evil smile tilting his ugly face. He twitched his member in the direction of her thrusting pelvis, savoring the depths of her depravity. "I do like those words. Especially out of you sister-sweet."
Filth from the rest-room walls came tumbling through her brain and out of her mouth.
"Oh, Fred. Please fuck me. Fuck your thing inside my cunt."
He didn't answer. Just stood there nodding, thinking to himself, with a mysteriously savage smile on his face, before turning to leave the room.
Pat knew the desolation of abandonment for the second time that night. Before she could still the revolutions of her naked buttocks, Fred was back, a softly jangling key chain in one hand, and a .38 Special, with cylindrical silencer, in the other.
Pat's eyes widened in mute, mindless terror. She knew Fred was a fiend for guns; he had them in every closet in the house.
What madness warped his fevered brain now?
"You're going to get it, Patty-Baby. Don't worry about that," he said, busily unlocking the handcuffs that fastened her ankles to the foot of the bed, after he had thrown the pistol against her prostrate body. "But maybe not in the way you're figuring."
FOUR
Pat shuddered as she felt the hard metal of the gun barrel dig into her tender ribcage, but the urgencies of her depraved passion stifled her fear, and made her bold.
"I don't care." She groaned in desolation. "I'll take it standing on my head if I have to."
"You think you're kidding." Fred laughed, grasping both Pat's loosened ankles, as he crawled up behind her, forcing her legs up over her head, so that her knees ground into her flattened shoulders. With a deft flicking of his hands, he clicked the cuffs shut around the upper section of the bedstead.
Her thighs were spread wide, framing the sudden agony of her contorted face. The full roundness of her buttocks strained upward.
Fred looked down into the puckered ring of her anus, as he hunched forward, and laid the length of his protruding meat along the forcefully widened slit of Pat's vagina, which stared wetly at the ceiling.
"My God, Fred, what. . . ?" Pat stammered, the burning passion in her loins immediately quenched by her overriding horror.
She trembled uncontrollably, as though she'd been drenched with a bucket of ice water.
"You said you didn't care how you got it," Fred said, the vacuous, grinning smile gone from his face now, and replaced by a sadistic leer. "Well, you proud little slut, I'm going to give it to you in a way you'll never forget."
Her head was imprisoned between her shackled calves. She was trapped and helpless as she felt his harsh forefinger probing her folded anus.
Her muscled buttocks contracted sharply, as gooseflesh rippled across her breasts.
"Oh, no!" she screamed. "Not that. I couldn't. You'll kill me."
"How do you know? Have you tried me."
"Oh don't. I can't."
A sharp rip of pain exploded through her pelvis, ricocheting up the length of her spine, as his invading finger popped inside her body, up to his first knuckle. Pat felt the soft, cotton slap of his wrinkled sac against her upturned buttocks, as he rocked back and forth, rotating the painful invader, opening her brown button still wider.
She was helpless before his onslaught. She tried bucking away from him, but her wrists and ankles were securely manacled over her head. The ruse of levering down into the mattress was a waste, because Fred inched along, following her, still thrusting his rude finger into her rectal passage.
Pat could only retreat so far, and when she was forced to come up for air, the finger stayed rigid, boring all the way in. With a gasping, racking intake of labored breath, she felt Fred's sweating palm slap flat against her trembling cheeks. The callused ball of his thumb was caressing the lower regions of her gaping slit, as he slid his conquering finger into the depths of her rectum.
She writhed and struggled, still trying to escape this final outrage, but it was useless; she was held tightly in his grip. Her sharp white teeth almost severed her lower lip as the surging pain bit deep into her bruised and sodden senses.
Pat became extremely conscious of her widening rubber wafer, as a second finger followed the first.
Her agony was sharp and severe, sending shooting flashes of raw, red lightning throughout her tortured body. Yet, surprisingly, when the first rush of searing heat, the flash of blinding pain, subsided, a gentle suffusion of soothing warmth remained in the cramped muscles of her loins.
Again Pat decided to adapt herself to this fearful situation. She was helpless, bent back nearly double, with Fred, the insane and hateful beast, ravaging her defenseless body with unspeakable indecencies.
What could she do?
Any form of resistance she put up, if she'd been able to resist at all, would only make the inevitable more painful.
Face it.
Fred would accomplish every evil he had in mind, and there wasn't a thing in the world she could do about it.
The only avenue left to Pat was to grit her teeth and ride it out.
The easier she made it for Fred, the easier he would be on her; possibly sparing her tortured body some of the racking pain.
Pat's thinking was academic, and totally useless. Her thighs were spread wide, folded back over her head, and her pulsating labia, and her tightly throbbing anus, full to bursting with the brutal thrust of his questing fingers, were wide open to the world, staring skyward, as accessible to his probing as a gynecologist giving a pelvic.
To her shame-faced chagrin, she was learning again, as she had earlier, that in the one pregnant moment she sorely needed all of her strength and will power, the firm flesh of her young body deserted her, turning to quivering, flaccid jelly, plunging her into abject submission.
She bit savagely into her lower lip again, vainly trying to keep the vile words from flowing, but it was useless. Obscenities poured from her writhing lips, in that one glorious moment when her climax, and the folding walls of her empty, cavernous passage were sluiced and washed, coated with her own swiftly pouring juices.
"Ooh, Christ! It hurts so good!" Pat shouted cleanly between clenched teeth, tears of pain smarting in her eyes, as his second finger shot all the way home.
Tensing high on the back of her neck, the fronds of her straight black hair spreading its glossy tendrils all across her crumpled pillow, Pat began rotating her buttocks in a slowly widening circle. She glanced down through the deep valley between her breasts, crushed beneath the weight of her thighs, and she could see Fred's thrusting hand, thrilling her, cramped now in the tightening pressure of her clenching cheeks. With conscious effort, he slowly stroked her splitting rectum, while his left hand cradled his rising cock, pumping life into its swelling head.
Her tongue flicked madly across dry, parched lips, as she saw tiny seed pearls of sperm welling in the slit of his mighty glans. Just the sight of him made her flaming cunt constrict and relax, constrict and relax in horrible emptiness; an insane travesty of the true and wonderful act, matching her rhythmic tempo to the strokes of his insulting fingers.
"Ooh, let . . . " she groaned, stretching her head forward between her shackled thighs, pointing her darting tongue directly at his teardrops of sperm.
"Oh no. No mouth action this time." Fred grinned, as yellow spittle trickled from his chin, spattering on the white moon of her upturned buttocks. "But you'll get my load all right, don't worry."
He loosened his loving hold on his monstrous root, and leaning closer to her, allowed it to slide wetly along the length of her wide, sucking vaginal lips. Delicious hot fluttering coursed her black mound, then darted up across her heaving belly, centering deep in the very center of her flowering breasts.
Pat's dark eyes rolled wildly, as she felt the treasured length of him so close to her thrusting clitoris. The fragment of rationality still remaining to her, still locked behind its closed door, abhorred the indignities Fred was subjecting her to, but the raging, carnal part of her soul and will wished for one idle moment when she might have independent control of the straining lips of her vagina, so that she might just reach up and swallow him whole; devour his thrumming cock, make that unforgettable shaft sink into her so deeply that they would be joined forever like Siamese twins, never to break free in this world again. Then the raging brush fire that burned eternally high in her cervix, close to the mouth of her womb, would be quieted, and assuaged forever.
She flung her head wildly back on her pillow, pumping her loins with grinding regularity against his moving fingers, bruising her quivering cheeks against his rasping knuckles.
Fred slid back on his knees a couple of inches, and popped his fingers free.
Pat felt a strange, desolate loneliness, as her puckered rectum burned with emptiness.
"Don't go. Oh don't." She whimpered, lifting her head, searching for him.
"Say it, Patty. Say it, you filthy slut," Fred growled, resting his knotted glans against the tiny brown button of her anus.
"I can't. Not any more."
"Tell me to fuck you. Tell me, or I'll leave you chained up all night."
She jerked her buttocks at him spastically. Her mind was filled with the bursting pyrotechnics of her need. Memories of Ron were purged from her mind in the urgency of her immediate, insatiable desire.
"Oh yes, Fred. Fuck me. Fuck me now. Please take me."
"Tell me to fuck you in the ass. Ask me to ram it up your asshole."
Sudden Technicolor visions of her own rending flesh flashed across her mind. Pat struggled and bucked against the unyielding bedstead to no avail. The encircling steel of the handcuffs dug further into her soft flesh, shredding her wrists and ankles, drawing fresh blood.
Pat sucked her buttocks in tight, clenching them, attempting to shield her ravaged button, and was amazed to discover that the outlaw portion of her will demanded pleasure and satisfaction, and that it overruled the portion fearing pain and degradation.
Her words crowded tight between clenched teeth, refusing to come out until Fred levered the straining meat of his cock deep inside her gasping vagina, pounding his bruising head against the rock-hardness of her cervix, in and out once again, in that one slithering stroke-and then removing it cleanly.
It had accomplished its purpose. In one single thrilling instant, that one telling thrust had opened her wide, her convulsing thighs levering, seeking the glory that had been so briefly hers to cherish.
"Oh God! Oh God!" Pat sobbed in anguish. "What are you doing to me? You're killing me by inches."
"I'm just helping you make up your mind." Fred sneered, rocking forward, wiping his knotted glans, which was sticky with her own coagulating juices, through her open mouth, just as she gasped for air, giving her a taste of her own vitality mixed and mingled with his oozing sperm. "Hurry up. Say it. It will do you good."
"I can't. Oh, Fred, believe me. I can't. You'll rip me apart."
"Say it!" he commanded, shouting, almost spitting in her face.
Stretching her anus completely out of shape, he parted the puckering circle with his two prying fingers; then reaching below her bruised ribcage with his other hand, he retrieved his .38. He rested the black rounded muzzle of the silencer against the brown, wrinkled dimple of her asshole, and they were exactly the same diameter.
With one single fluid movement he thrust the metal gun barrel tight into the black closeness of her rectal canal.
Pat screamed wildly as she held fast to the entire three-inch length of the ribbed silencer.
"Say it! Goddamn you! Say it!" he screamed hysterically.
Pain ripped her soul as though he'd taken a hatchet and splintered her buttocks. Madly, wildly, unthinking, she bucked against the insanity of a loaded pistol lodged between her legs. She felt her flesh stretch and tear around her anus. Her teeth bit deep in agony, and she drew blood.
"Oh, Jesus, help me." She sobbed, feeling the safety click off, and the hammer being drawn back.
"This will drive your shit through your eyeballs, won't it, Patty-Baby?" Fred laughed, twisting the metal gun barrel in the entrance to her bleeding rectum. "Which would you rather have? A bullet, or my cock?"
"Oh God. Oh God, what a bastard you are," Pat cried, sobbing uncontrollably. "Give it to me then if you have to."
"Say it then, damn you!" Fred shouted down into her face, as he jerked the .38 out of her protesting body, the corrugating vents of the silencer grating and tearing at her tender flesh.
The harsh metal had hardly left her anal passage, inflicting numbing, paralyzing pain, before it was replaced with his muscled, straining flesh. Her tight, sacred circle was raw and bleeding; his dry, unlubricated length was like rasping sandpaper.
Cramped into this bone-cracking contortion, Pat was rocked further back on the nape of her neck, pounding her head in pain against the pillow, as insane, vicious filth spewed suddenly from her lips.
"Fuck me. Fuck me anywhere. Rip me apart if you have to, but please God, get it over with."
Complete stygian blackness swirled before her eyes, as her rubbery buttonhole inched its way over the rigid, blood-filled knob, snapping with a relaxed sigh around the veined, meaty column.
Pat mewled pitifully, as she felt her rending flesh tear still further, as Fred levered himself slowly forward, filling the dark walls of her colon to bursting. Her tight, little ring, reluctantly admitting his thrusting maleness into the secret sanctity of her body, was dry and parched. His slightest movement brought instant, searing pain, beyond belief. Sadly untutored, her convulsive opening gripped his gigantic root adhesively, puckering inward as he pushed against her, and pouting out, like loving lips, as he tried to slide away.
"God, you're tight," Fred groaned, feeling the stricture on his cock. "I've got to loosen you a little. You're no good for shit."
With subdued whimpering, and her tears coursing unchecked down her cheeks, Pat hunched away from his force, and then thrust herself wildly upward, fighting to escape his rending torture, but she was helpless, firmly impaled upon his spear. She felt the stickiness of her warm, flowing blood seeping around his plunging member, now deep in the crevice between her upturned buttocks, damming up the area where his bagged balls hugged the sweet curve of her ass.
Leaning back, resting on his ankles, and levering her up on her shoulders, Fred inflicted still more pain. Her molars ground together in a determined effort not to scream, but he had caught her unaware, forcing her to rock upward, thrusting her buttocks still higher to the heavens, driving a gasping shriek of terror from her wheezing lungs, as he inserted three fingers deep into her vagina, and began stroking her roughly, in unison with his pumping cock.
Sunlight and starlight burst in leaping crescendo within her surging cunt; a brilliant, fantastic explosion of sensual delight.
"Oh God, yes! Right there! Ooh, deeper. Yes, deeper," Pat crooned under her breath, deep within her private self, as she felt her vagina contract, bunching itself together, capturing his swiftly soothing fingers. Every raw and open nerve rushed to his twin points of contact.
Immediately, Pat became wrapped up and involved with the thinly tissued layer separating his passing.
Thrillingly they grated against each other in passing.
At the peak of one final thrust toward heaven, great steaming clouts of liquid cream, heady and aromatic, streamed from her clutching inner walls, deluging his probing hand with her uncontrollable joy, lubricating his thrumming root, so that it slid deep and easy into the dim reaches of her colon.
From the depths of her degradation, using the last glimmering vestige of her sanity, Pat was astounded that her innocent body could achieve such a cataclysmic climax. Not only this one, she pondered, as a satiating lassitude flooded her system with golden warmth, but three equally satisfying, equally thrilling orgasms had racked her quivering body, sending grinding, roaring deluges of sheer pleasure surging from her tortured cunt, before she instinctively detected the familiar sign in his moist sac slapping loosely against the firm meat of her raised, naked buttocks.
Fred's testicles bunched tight against her vibrant ass, like pickled onions in a gunny sack, as he thrust at her in wild, ferocious abandon, whispering vile obscenities down into her slack, trembling mouth.
"Oh shit. Fuck it, oh fuck it, you shit-eating whore. Fuck it. Stroke it clean."
Pat roared, and wailed, and rocked in tight. All sense of pain and shock was vanishing in the all-consuming fire that raged between them. His long fingers slithered in and out of her tumbling cunt, in perfect rhythm with the pulsing of his long, meaty cock. Her wrists and ankles were shredded from being torn against the steel handcuffs. Her rectal passage was bleeding and in tatters, but still she hunched down on him, devouring his last possible inch. Delirious in her insanity, half crying, half laughing, she stroked her rubbered muscle. Instantly she felt the rippling crest of his insistent spurting semen rise the length of his fragmenting root, bounding through the tight circle of her anus, as he bored straight into her, and just let himself come, wildly and with oblivious abandon.
Fred's great spurting end was lodged far inside her body, against the wall of her stomach, and his burning jets filled her full, as they came boiling up out of his scrotum, searing all her secret folds and crevices, slopping her full, and then streaming back down along the rigid line of his fading phallus, seeping and soiling her naked buttocks, merging and mixing with her own viscous cream, forming a rancid, mucky pool under her slowly dying hips.
"Oh, my Christ you were good," Fred moaned weakly, falling across her limp, upturned buttocks, kissing her dry and burning lips. His lips were like tanned leather, and he brushed her face lightly, without a trace of his former fire.
She could feel him shrinking, contracting inside her, slipping slowly away, awash with his cooling sperm that had had fused and melted into the dark red blood that still oozed from the mutilated walls of her rectal canal.
Fred rolled away from her, and he left her like sliding a garden hose out of a gopher hole. He lay stretched beside her, almost dozing in his satiated contentment.
Pat's eyes filled with tears of shame. She stared through them, unseeing, at the ceiling, shackled in a useless ball of depravity. Moisture flooded out of her eyes, rolling unchecked onto her pillow.
Saving her beauty and her purity for Ron Severn had been the one shining goal in her life. Denying his right of conquest earlier tonight had heightened her sense of useless frustration, leaving her with a legacy of unfulfilled passion-that had led directly to this snake pit of obscene degradation.
And that act of making love to herself in bed, so childish. My God, she hadn't done that in a year.
The Lord meant her to enjoy Ron's love, and when she refused it, spurned him and kicked him, sending him off on his acid trip, the Lord had turned her very body against her, and thrust her into this hell hole of depravity.
Attacked in her own home, and forced to suffer the tortures of a warped degenerate.
How could her body have betrayed her so? Tormented and degraded by the one person she hated most in this world, her own raw animal lust had risen in her loins, pawing and snorting, and had taken possession of her soul.
Her exploding mind teetered on the edge of oblivion, grazing the raw edge of insanity.
In this one rutting, lust-filled hour, Fred had ruined her life forever.
What could she give Ron now? Her vow in church, knowing she was a second-hand, well-used bride, her innocence irretrievably warped and rotten?
She could never face Ron again.
Even if they did get married, could she remain true to his love? Tonight had proved she was nothing but a carnal, bitch animal. One touch from a total stranger, and a detested one at that, and she had gladly submitted to every obscenity his diseased imagination had invented.
This was the one final straw that drove Pat into a blood-red haze of hatred. Fred had not only ruined her impending marriage, he had also sullied her soul beyond redemption, dragging it through the muck and filth of his own depravity. He had shown her, beyond any doubt, that she had a baser nature and was more diseased and perverted than her own mother, Kate Rawlings.
Pat hated her mother in this moment, with a cold, unreasoning malice.
This was the final crushing blow.
Her back was breaking with her arms and legs still shackled above her head. The humid night had turned cold, and gooseflesh prickled her exposed buttocks with the chill film of Fred's scum drying on them.
"Fred," she whispered, trying to keep the dry, rasping hatred out of her voice, "unlock these things, and let me stretch."
"What? Oh yeah," he muttered, starting back from the fringes of sleep. "I guess I should. You've worked hard enough for one night. I'll want more in the morning, so that little bit will have to last until breakfast."
Pat shuddered in shame, remembering his unclean probing of her rectal passage.
Fred swore as he groped on the carpeting for the keys he had discarded in his haste.
Her wrists and ankles were alive with biting pain, as he loosened her shackles. Her aching shoulders creaked, and her knees cracked as she lowered them from their unnatural position. They felt strange and light, as she stretched flat on the bed. The backsides of her thighs were chafed and rough from the unceasing pressure of his shoulders. Where his angry penis had ripped her, a flaming, white-hot poker was still rammed deep inside her.
Pat shifted painfully across the bed, wondering if she would ever walk again.
She pulled the twisted sheet up over her scuzzy, unclean body, and spread her aching thighs as wide as possible to relieve the rawness caused by his plunging shaft.
Fred flattened his huge body on the bed beside her, and his animal sweat choked her nostrils. Fumbling at the sheet by her side, he thrust one damp hand under her covering, cupping the matted moistness of her glossy black mound.
Pat clutched at his offending hand, limp and dying now that his passion was spent, and threw it from her. Grinding her teeth together, fighting the hacking residue of pain, she rolled away from him, inching further away, so there would be no chance of bodily contact.
"Okay, you dumb fucking broad," Fred snarled, turning away from her, "if that's the way you want it. But, by God, you'd better be ready by morning."
Pat buried her face in her pillow, sobbing in the quiet, empty darkness a long time, softly soothing herself, easing away the pain, trying to make some plan for herself.
Could anything be salvaged from the shambles?
God, if only her mother was here. Pat hated Kate, but she was rational enough to know that Kate's nymphomania could have stifled Fred's consuming lust in the confines of his connubial bed where he belonged.
Pat felt Fred's hand trail lightly across her upper thigh, still searching, still probing. She gasped in sudden fear until she realized that his deep regular breathing meant that he was sleeping soundly, and that his wandering hand was merely a reflex, as innocuous as sleepwalking.
Pat leaned painfully up on one elbow, as the sheltering sheet fell away from her jutting, naked breasts. She looked across at Fred, sleeping soundly, with all the innocence of a newly born baby.
Some baby.
Clearing her throat quickly, she spat down into his face, her streaming saliva spattering across the bridge of his flat, pug nose, and into his mouth.
He was out of it. He didn't move.
"My God," she thought in her mental agony, "the obscenities this man is capable of. And I'm no better. I wanted everything to happen, as much as if I'd willed it myself. I wouldn't have missed a minute of it."
The enormity of her own degradation, coupled with vivid mental pictures of their joint sin, hit her in the pit of the stomach like a sledge.
Even her orgy with Ron hadn't been that depraved.
Fred was the catalyst; the dread, evil influence.
Rummaging in the twisted sheets, her hand found the cold metal barrel of the .38 Special with the soiled silencer.
There was only one way to be perpetually free.
It seemed to Pat that she stood six feet outside her naked body, watching her own detached actions.
She wondered if she should wake him first.
No. He would only plead and scream. She didn't need those complications.
She knelt beside him, their faces mere inches apart, and she felt his fetid breath blowing against her face. It was almost like saying her prayers at bedtime, as she held the muzzle an inch from his closed right eye.
She was rigid, with remembered gooseflesh peppering her body, not breathing for a long paralyzed minute. Pat tried to remember what had brought her here. She knew that her mind and will were charged with the crying need for this religious mission, but she couldn't remember the reason.
In the end it was very easy. She held the bucking, hissing pistol in both hands, firing it five times, and watched his jowling face stream away in flowing clots of coagulating red mucus.
Everything that had been Fred Hinson disappeared before her smiling eyes in one split second.
Only the smoking gun in her hands had reality.
His entire head was a bubbling puddle of slime-red pulp, with gleaming shards of bone and broken teeth shining through.
Pat laid the cooling pistol on the sheet beside Fred's ribcage. With a sudden burst of adrenal strength, she levered the body onto its stomach, never feeling the bleeding ribbons of tattered flesh that streaked her body. Carefully, she shackled its limp wrists and ankles to the four corners of the brass bed.
The shattered head all but disappeared into the pillow, like a half a grapefruit overturned on the kitchen table.
The dead and sagging anus was limp and unresisting, and it took little effort for Pat to shove the barrel into the rubber wafer. It was as lifeless as a deflated balloon.
The single remaining shot echoed throughout the empty house, filling the mattress and twanging, rusted springs with blasted shreds of kidney, intestine, and riven, meaty penis.
"There, Freddy-Baby," Pat screamed, laughing, clapping her hand, and jumping with joy, "how do you like it?"
FIVE
The blood-spattered creature staring back at her from the bathroom mirror was alien, from another time and another space. It was as though she' floated safe and alone in this one lighted cubicle, a last relic of a disintegrated earth, on the far side of the stratosphere.
She felt no association with the frightening image; it was mere illusion, directly related to the ravening delirium that existed in the swirling mists outside.
Evil abounded, surrounding her, and she dare not leave, despite the horror peering in through the glass.
Her churning stomach clutched at her heart, weak and mushy, and her legs trembled so she could hardly stand. The tap ran cold, soothing water, as she dabbed a damp washcloth across her aching breasts. The congealing blood laved away in rivulets, and trickled down the insides of her quivering thighs.
A concrete wall cemented her vacant mind away from reality; these crimson streamers splashed across her face were random daubings by an idiot, brushed on in her sleep as a monstrous joke. A cold shower would wash them away.
Under streaming torrents of cold, spraying water, Pat forced the soapy cloth against the raw, swollen tenderness between her legs. She could barely stand the touch of the terry cloth. Her pain was still live and pulsing, and the white rag came away stained with brilliant-red blotches when she pressed it against her torn and ravaged anus.
For a moment she thought she was washing traces of sudden menstruation. Her cunt was sorely chafed, but there was no sign of blood when she sponged her tender folding labia.
So strange. She remembered the nightmare, being chased through long, interminable streets by the black-and-white cruiser, but between then and now there was nothing but a cottony vacuum, just the bloodstained horror in the mirror.
Her disembodiment became even more acute, as she scrubbed ropy strings of thickening blood from her arms and face. Even her naked breasts were stained and blotched, and she winced at the deep soreness in her nipples, as she rubbed the wet cloth across their peaks. Her breasts felt crushed and mangled, as though they had borne a great weight for a long period of time, but she had no memory of this.
Looming darkly in the back of her mind, was a lurking sense of unutterable horror, as though some unspeakable monster lay waiting just outside the bathroom door, ready to seize her and wreak terrifying depravities on the innocence of her body-should she venture too far from the light.
Her fear of this unknown specter swelled to hysterical proportions, as she stepped from the shower, and began toweling the cool, dripping moisture from her body. Something ghastly was sure to happen to her if she stayed in this fear-ridden house one minute more.
Pat stared at herself in the mirror as if hypnotized. Her single driving thought was to break free, get out the front door somehow and run down the dark city streets all the way to Ron's sheltering arms, before this ravenous monster overpowered her, breaking her limbs and devouring her body.
She continued staring for another horrifying minute, before she realized that she was naked, and could hardly run free without putting something on her tired and aching body.
In a sudden burst of fear-filled energy, she overturned the clothes hamper and began pawing through the soiled clothing. She couldn't stand to have anything on her that would clutch at her breasts, or press too tightly to her chafed and ravaged buttocks.
Here, this loose flower-print shift would do fine.
Stooping quickly, she stepped into it, not caring that the high slopes of her breasts, standing proud and firm, were plainly visible, almost escaping the confines of the deeply vee'd neckline.
Two or three pairs of silken briefs spilled out of the jumbled of clothing, but she spurned them with a toe. It would be flaming hell to have anything touching down there.
Quietly, slowly, Pat girded her courage, inching the door open, standing in the darkened hallway, studying the line of light showing under her closed and dreaded bedroom door.
The luminous glow proved that the thing waiting for her was alive, awake, inside there, waiting with its host of writhing, slavering mutants, living obscenities that somehow lived without faces, with blasted stomachs, whimpering madly, while clutching trailing intestines in their bleeding, slimy hands, futilely trying to protect flowering, shattered penises.
For one mind-splitting moment, it was as though Pat saw through the transparent door, glimpsing a huddled bundle of white flaccid, decomposing flesh shackled to a great brass bed, gleaming in the August moonlight like a discarded meal sack. Its quiet malignance sharpened her vision, and her eyes widened. Her consciousness shuddered and refused to identify the evil, and it seemed to swell and diminish before her eyes, like a distorting mirage seen on a heat-crazed desert, blooming large as a horse, and shrinking to the size of a moldering ferret, horrible beyond comprehension.
Pat screamed, and screamed again, bolting into the kitchen, knowing truly that within the instant It would raise Its crushed and mangled head, facing her with Its detested nothingness, and from that moment she would be possessed, lost beyond recall.
Paralyzed, she stood in the middle of the kitchen, her mind a complete, whitewashed blank.
Where could she turn? Where could she run?
The tattered remnants of her mind fastened on one shining goal. She had to call Ron. He could save her.
She couldn't wait here. Even now, the faceless terror was rising from his bloodstained, fetid bed to seek her out and smash her into the earth, wreaking his just revenge.
She reached up onto the shelf beside the drinking glasses, clutching for the empty Galliano bottle Mom threw her dimes into, shaking thirty or forty cents into her trembling hand, while spilling fifty more, jingling, on the floor.
Pat slammed the door madly, behind her, running off down the dark street, her bare feet flicking the sidewalk all the way down Le Cumbre, past Hope Elementary, past Camellia, Maricopa, Via Lucero, all the way down to State Street.
She couldn't rest. She couldn't wait. She knew It was just over the hill, lumbering sightlessly after her. Her feet flew over the pavement, all the way down the hill to the darkened Union Station on the corner. The boulevard was dark and foreboding in the early morning, with just a tiny glow from the phone booth, and the gleaming incandescence of the all-night taco stand four blocks down.
The naked bulb twisted into darkness, before she dropped her dime in the slot. This way she would have an even chance. She would see It, before the blind, wandering monster could sense her presence.
The digits clicked off automatically; she knew Ron's number by heart.
Pat was so sure Ron would be waiting at the other end of the line, that she didn't start worrying until his phone had rang ten times.
Oh, Lord, Lord, please let him be there.
The evil aura of the monster was all around her. If she was to be delivered, saved from this horror, it had to be soon.
"Hell. Hello. Who's got the stinking nerve to call at this goddamned hour of the morning?"
"Oh, thank God. It wasn't Ron, but at least it was someone.
"Hello," she cried, almost sobbing in her relief. "This is Pat Rawlings. Is Ron there?"
"No. He isn't home yet. I thought he was with you."
Pat's computer tagged the whining, nasal voice. Vonnie. Ron's sister. What was she doing in Ron's apartment?
"Oh, Vonnie," she sighed in relief, looking apprehensively over her shoulder, "it's good to hear your voice."
"Like hell it is," Vonnie replied, slurring her words so that they were almost unintelligible. "You always did hate my guts. Now you're trying to take my baby brother away. Where is he anyway? What have you done with him?"
"Nothing," Pat answered, completely bewildered. "I haven't done anything with him. I said good night to him around one, and that's all."
"Ron's my baby brother, and I love him too. If you don't know that, you sure as hell should."
"Of course I know it. Ron and I are getting married. Really, Vonnie, we shouldn't get mad at each other. I'm going to be one of the family. What's the matter with you anyway?"
For the first time since she'd started talking to Vonnie, Pat realized there was something definitely wrong with the girl. Sloughing and slurring, missing whole vowels and syllables, her words burst from her lips with the staccato speed of a machine gun, firing on, without let-up for breath.
"Not one goddamned thing wrong with me, Patsy-Girl. I'm high, and loving it. I haven't felt so good since I was in the eighth grade, and this big Mexican kid took me down to the bottom of the orange orchard and fucked my ass off. I guess I never told you about Campos, never told nobody, but he was something else. I've got my rocks off with Mexicans ever since. We used to sit in the back row, right next to each other, and we had this dried-up old maid for a schoolteacher, who wouldn't recognize a good meaty cock if she saw one in the street ..."
Black, looming panic had such a grip on Pat's throat she could hardly speak.
"Vonnie! Vonnie!" she interrupted, shocked at Vonnie's words, and almost sobbing into the mouthpiece, caught up in the horrible belief that It was lunging down the long hill, less than a block away, right at that moment. "Please. You've got to help me."
Vonnie choked on her streaming narrative, sensing the uncontrollable hysteria in Pat's voice.
"I'm sorry, Kid. I go skin-popping, and I blow my gourd. What is it?"
"I can't tell you. It's too horrible. I've just got to get away from here before it's too late. Where's Ron? Tell him to come get me."
"I don't know where that little mother is. Did you guys have some kind of argument?"
Pat flashed on Ron's injured pride, as he hunched against the wall of the bus, clutching his dripping penis, and nursing his injured stomach.
"Well ... we did have kind of a spat, but . . . "
"If you bummed him out bad, as I've seen you do in the past, he's gone to his travel agent."
"His what?"
"Listen, dummy. It was a bad scene with you two tonight, right? Ron probably couldn't take it, whatever it was, so he's gone out in the boonies to drop some L."
"Oh, God. I've got to stop him. Where is he?"
"Shit, Pat. You can't stop him now. He's out beyond Mars by this time."
"Vonnie, you're the only one. You've got to help me. Something terrible is going to destroy me if I stay here."
"The whole world's got the monkey, Pat," Vonnie said disconsolately. "We're all being destroyed."
"Vonnie, you don't understand," Pat pleaded. "I don't either. All I know is that if I don't get away from here, immediately, now, and hide some place forever, something terrible is going to happen to all of us. You, me, Ron, everybody. And besides, I've got to find Ron, and stop him before he does something foolish."
A horrible sliminess filled Pat's entire body, merging with the burning pain that still racked her anal passage. She could say no more, every word had been spent; she was helpless, voiceless, unable to communicate with the one person left in the world that could save her. She collapsed against the mouthpiece, sobbing uncontrollably from the depths of her desolation.
"Okay. Okay," Vonnie shouted, her voice reverberating out of the receiver that Pat propped loosely against her ear. "Where the hell are you? I'll be right there."
"I can't stay here, Vonnie. I just can't. It's coming for me. I can hear it. I'll go on down Le Cumbre, over the freeway to Modoc, then down Modoc toward Hollister. You'll find me. Please hurry."
If Vonnie was coming from Ron's apartment, near Cottage Hospital, it wouldn't take her longer than fifteen or twenty minutes.
"Okay, hon," Vonnie said, clearly straightened out for a moment, her voice reflecting concern. "I'll be right there, but can't you tell me what's bugging you?"
"Oh, no. I can't," Pat cried. "It's too horrible. Just hurry."
"All right, Pat. Just hang loose."
Feeling the early morning breeze caress her jouncing, free breasts, Pat darted across the wide expanse of State Street, under the flashing red light, empty of the teeming traffic that would swarm its length in a few short hours, far off in the distance just the flashing amber light of a city street sweeper. She scurried up the curving hill on the far side, past the great bell tower of Robinson's, under the cold, blue incandescence, so naked and remote, peering down at the vagrant traffic on the almost deserted freeway.
The jacarandas lining Modoc Street were fragrant in the pearly mist that drifted up the grassy slope from the sea, and she could feel the brittle blossoms carpeting the sidewalk crushing beneath her bare feet as she ran.
She was desolate and alone, and somewhere up on the hill, beyond State Street, invisible in the darkness of Calle Cita, the Presence waited with malevolent hatred for her return.
SIX
The black asphalt of Vista Clara Lane was flashing beneath her running feet, as Vonnie's ancient Opel screeched to a stop behind her. Vonnie leaned on the horn, making friends with all the neighbors.
"Oh, wow," Pat screamed, once she'd scrambled inside, and they were roaring down toward Goleta, "did you have to do that?"
Vonnie ignored Pat completely, apparently forgetting the moment of mutual terror that had brought her across town.
"Like I was saying," Vonnie continued, as unconcernedly as though she'd never been interrupted, her short, chopped blonde hair swirling around her ears in the breeze from the open window, "me and Campos used to sit next to each other, way in the back, like I said. The days we set it up that he was to fuck me after school, old Campos would unzip his fly and flash that monstrous cock, and believe me, when he did that, I was ready when I got out in the orchard. Well, one day, this old maid schoolteacher happened to catch old Campos, and seen his big prick hanging out, and she almost fainted dead away. I don't know who got Campos that day. I sure as hell didn't. He had to stay after school for a week. He never would tell me what happened, but he always had this damned big smile on his face."
The looming blackness in the back of Pat's mind smothered Vonnie's words, and none of the meaning came through. She was isolated, insulated from the outside world by her own innate terror. Pat turned, studying Vonnie's tense and frowning face clinically, surprised that she was even here.
It was hard to believe that this short dumpy blonde, with the stale, bread-dough face, was actually Ron's sister. Ron was so tall and dark, with almost aquiline features, incisive, both in his words and his manner. Vonnie was a hundred-and-eighty-degree contrast, resembling nothing more than a shapeless lump, usually aimless in her meanderings, with a penchant for and getting into trouble.
Ron rarely spoke to Pat about Vonnie; it was as though she was an evil family secret, like a werewolf at full moon, or a vampire at sundown, in those old TV movies. He had let a few hints drop. Pat had gotten the impression that there were dark sides to Vonnie's nature that Ron would rather she didn't know.
Vonnie was unusually tense tonight, as tight and brittle as a strand of piano wire made of spun glass. Her beady blue eyes peered out of her pasty-white face with the intensity of a laser beam, searching the road, the underbrush on both sides, and Pat's terror-stricken face, with a strange insatiable hunger.
Pat still trembled with uncontrollable fear, even though the speeding Opel was putting miles between herself and her own private horror. Her teeth chattered as though it were eighty below, and no matter how hard she clenched her teeth, and tightened her jaws, tremors continued to rack her frame. She wished she was anywhere but here in this hurtling sedan, with a girl that seemed as violent and as unpredictable as a nuclear warhead, but she had no choice.
Vonnie seemed as immobile and removed as a stone planet in some remote galaxy, ignoring Pat's obvious state of blind panic, as she made a tight right onto Hollister with a burst of frenetic energy, missing a lumbering semi by less than a foot, gunning back toward Santa Barbara. Pat sensed the girl at her side was wound so tight she'd burst at any second. Vonnie kept babbling meaningless fragments, twisting her sharp eyes away from the road, glancing into the rearview mirror, then squinting across at Pat with a bright beadiness that seemed full of shooting sparks.
"Goddamned habit . . . Need another ten-dollar bag. . . I'm sick, so sick. . .Got to get to skin-popping . . . PeeDee sees this white gash, he'll hit me between the toes with ten-dollar H . . . Just what she needs ... Can't give it to Ron like she should, maybe three or four at once will break her in right . . . PeeDee could give her his dolly . . . God, I need another punch, 'cause I'm damned near crashing ..."
Pat was too filled with her own nameless demons to be concerned with Vonnie's guttural wanderings.
It was all a senseless ramble, some of the words being shrieked in a high falsetto, almost a shout, and others in low, throaty whispers. Immersed in her own fears and trepidations, Pat heard only an unintelligible mumble.
"Just what are you babbling about, Vonnie?" Pat asked, not understanding the words, but horrified at the vile spewings from Vonnie's lips.
"I'm talking about I'm up there, and I don't want to come down."
"Come down from where?"
Vonnie didn't answer for a moment, as she negotiated a sharp left onto the freeway on-ramp. Loose and meandering she might be in her speech, but her reflexes and reactions were those of an expert, as she shifted down, roaring into the inside lane, and then double-clutched back into third, watching her needle climb to eighty. When it wavered toward eighty-five, she eased her foot off the pedal, holding her hurtling machine steady, hugging the steering wheel against her heavy, chicken-dumpling breasts.
She turned, nodding toward the glove compartment, motioning Pat to open it.
"You're as bad off as I am, honey. Light us a couple of sticks."
"We've got to find Ron. As quickly as possible."
"I know that. Take it easy. I'm taking you to the only place I know where to find him. Come on, light up and relax."
Pat fished a silver cigarette case out of a litter of blue redemption stamps, and opened it to find three or four wispy, hand-rolled joints, wrapped loosely in brown wheat paper. Gingerly, she held one under her nose. She could feel the dry weed cracking between her fingers, and smelled the heady aroma of field ripened alfalfa, or freshly brewed tea.
A convulsive trembling still racked her body so badly that the dark-green grains and seeds were flaking back into the cigarette case.
"God, honey, you really do have the jumps," Vonnie said, as she eased on the brakes, pulling the small foreign car off the road onto the dirt shoulder. The freeway was deserted both ways as far as they could see. "Here. Let Momma do that."
Pat dropped the brown stick back into the case as though it was already on fire.
"But that's marijuana, isn't it?" Pat asked, as a tingling fear of the unknown coursed through her veins.
"It sure ain't Bull Durham." Vonnie laughed, as she touched flame to the twisted tip, watched it
flare briefly, before she sucked the smoke deep inside her lungs. She held it tight, locked inside her body for several seconds before exhaling with a heavy sigh. "Don't be afraid of it. This is the best there is, Acapulco Gold. Mel scratched me a lid before he got busted."
Pat jerked away suddenly, as Vonnie handed the lighted end across the seat.
"Vonnie ... I don't know ... I've already had . . . "
"Shit, woman, what's there to know. With a dose of the screamers like you've got, you need something to cool you out. When you and Ron play feelsies down at the beach, you take along a six pack of malt liquor, don't you."
"Neither is Mary Jane. Not really. It has the same effect as a good strong ale, without the head in the morning."
Pat reached for the cigarette, knowing she needed some sedative to ease the blinding tensions that were tormenting her body. She held the end in her mouth for a moment, feeling the sugar-sweet paper crackle between her lips, before sucking the acrid smoke deep into her lungs with a convulsive gasp.
The faceless horror had peeped at her around a corner of her mind, and she had to fill her body full of smoke to keep from screaming her heart out.
"Remember; this isn't any straight-dude cigarette," Vonnie instructed Pat in a dry, didactic voice, "and you're not going to be blowing no smoke rings. Cup the smoke as it comes into your mouth, so you can keep most of it, and suck it down deep inside you, and then hold your breath.
Trap it down inside your lungs as long as you can, so it can do its work. Treasure that smoke, Baby, and it will give you a beautiful high. Blow it away, and you're wasted."
With a certain giddiness of anticipation, before she'd hardly tasted the smoke, Pat sucked in shallowly, barely filling her mouth with the hot, dusty richness, as she stared fixedly at Vonnie's pale lips pinching down on her loosely rolled stick, as her match flared in front of the brown twisted spindle.
Pat tried again, inhaling deeply, then holding it tight down in her lungs, as Vonnie had instructed her. Immediately, there was a sense of inner expansion, of bright happiness, and the oppressive gloom clouding her mind seemed to fuse with light, and become bearable.
Vonnie smiled as she exhaled, turning her attentions to her automobile, shifting out of neutral into first, as she nosed the Opel back onto the freeway.
"Boss City, right?"
Pat couldn't answer, because the harsh smoke had backed up in her lungs, choking her, pouring in. great clouds down her nose.
"I guess so," she faltered, hardly knowing how to classify this new experience, "I feel so lightheaded, dizzy, almost like I'm flying."
"There's nothing to these puny sticks. Old PeeDee, the traveling man, he's got a machine that makes real Pall Malls. Just like tailor mades. Packed tight, you can drag yourself right into heaven on those mothers in ten minutes."
These pencil-thin cigarettes were so tiny, Pat thought, as she took a final suck of the weed, almost feeling the ashes fall behind her teeth. It seemed that she was skating up the side of a glass mountain, just by holding her feet still, and let a heavenly fragrant wind push her, speeding, to the top. Suddenly she broke free of the roiling clouds, and all of the turmoil of her nasty, rotten world was left far below.
She rolled down the window, and let the clean streaming wind tumble her long dark hair around her head.
In the split second before she could throw the dying end of her cigarette out the window, Vonnie reached across and snatched it out of her hand.
"Don't ever do that, Girl. Narcs love to see a user chunk one. They just lie waiting. Besides, this little roach will make a fourth of another joint."
"I'm sorry ..."
"That's okay. You're green."
Vonnie lit two more numbers, and the girls subsided into a contented silence as they inhaled their second cigarettes. Vonnie's temporary hold on lucidity had been illusory, because, as she drove, she dropped back into meaningless babbling, as she began to sob, and great clouts of tears streamed from her face.
"Oh, my baby. My poor baby."
Pat was frightened by Vonnie's sudden incoherence. The Opel was pushing eighty-five, and this was no time for a mental breakdown. She laid a comforting hand on Vonnie's knee as they roared under the Storke Road overpass.
"What is it? What's the trouble, Vonnie?"
"It's a bummer. A stone bummer." Vonnie cried, unable to stifle the tears that puddled the corners of her eyes. Once started, Vonnie's words poured from her in a raging torrent, so fast, and so inarticulate, that Pat had difficulty in forming their meaning in her own troubled mind. "Mel don't mean no harm to nobody. You know he don't.
He's just the same old drifting Mel he's always been. But getting busted again, right after they parole him from the hospital, he's never going to see outside again. I saw our baby just those two times in the maternity ward, and he's never even seen it at all, and even I can't remember whether it's a girl or a boy; I never even gave it a name or nothing. Why did he have to go all funny that way. We could have gotten together somehow, and raised the little thing up like it was a precious little something, boy or girl or whatever, but no, he had to pack up into Romero Canyon, and drop acid, shoot himself full of speed, and just naturally freak out. It was a beautiful experience, up there in the canyon, I've got to say that, shacked up tight, with that little stream running right through our campsite, and our sleeping bag under the sycamore trees, with our lightweight pots and pans, cans of beans and sardines, nothing wrong with dropping some Osmond Blue, and tripping out for twelve, sixteen hours at a slip. God, how I loved him the thought his prick was a vanilla ice cream cone, and I was afraid it would melt before I got enough of it. A beautiful girl like you, Patricia, you just don't know how it is to be a fat turd of a girl, don't understand the only way our sort of girl can get a man is to fuck his ass off every time he blinks his eye. No, you wouldn't know anything about that, because you're so freaked on your own perfection, you can't get OD'd on sex and hang a flag over your face and fuck for Old Glory; no, you'd rather send my baby brother tripping out into oblivion, dropping his cap, charging under the Great White Light, then wrassle his cock like a grown girl should. Oh shit, I missed the San Marco turn-off miles back. We'll have to go the long way, through the tunnel. Oh, Mel-Baby, where are you? Where's the Man got you now?"
Pat was swirling around in her own orbit, so gloriously free of the murky cloud filling her mind, that she was bewildered by Vonnie's spate of uncontrolled mouthings. She hardly knew how to answer the girl. Vonnie resented her beauty, that was plain, but there was nothing Pat could do about that. On the other hand, if Ron was off somewhere doing something foolish with LSD, something that would permanently affect his sanity, just because of her silly preoccupation with chastity, something that seemed terribly superfluous now, she could never forgive herself.
Vonnie seemed almost psychic in her perception, as though she'd been in the van with them last night, looking on; she'd gotten that much from Vonnie's ramblings.
It hadn't been solely her decision to hold back. Both she and Ron wanted to wait, but they had been trapped by their own unleashed emotions. If only Vonnie could see that. Somehow, it seemed important to Pat that Vonnie be on her side.
The marijuana had loosened her own stifling inhibitions; she felt she could tell Vonnie anything.
"Vonnie? Can't you see the truth? I wanted to give in. I wanted his love so badly, and we were that close to it. I admit I held him away at the last second, but right then he wanted to wait too. He really did."
"Bullshit!" Vonnie mouthed horribly. "My baby brother's a normal, red-blooded stud. If he had you in the back of his VeeDub bus, Baby, he wanted fucking, that's all. I've never met a man that didn't want to hustle me into the sheets, and I've always helped them get me there. I want their cock as bad as they want to give it to me. Virginity is for the funny papers. A good-looking chick like you can't be cherry. You've been getting your fucking some place. You've been conning Ron."
"Oh no, Vonnie. That isn't true. I've kept myself for him. I really have." It took a distinct effort to force these words from her mouth. For some strange reason her conscience told her she was lying. "Ron will tell you. He knows how good I've been."
"Shit yes. Too damned good." Vonnie castigated her, before veering the conversation into another direction. "You must have done him in good and proper tonight, or else he'd have been home a long time ago. Ron's always been my baby, until that one me and Mel had, but hell, that one might as well have been stillborn, all I saw of it. After Mel came out of the hospital, poor Baby, he asked me once when I thought he'd gotten his million-dollar rock, and I told him it must have been that night up in Montecito, up behind the Porter Ranch, when we were both high on grass, because he freaked out in Romero Canyon, chasing me naked around the campfire, trying to carve my ovaries out with a meat cleaver, 'cause I'd already missed three months in a row. He'd have got me too, if I hadn't opened his head with a cast iron skillet, and laid him flat out on the ground. Hell, I was so mad, I wasn't about to carry that tub of shit. I had to hike down to a phone, and the Man finally carried him out on a stretcher, and since he never came down, they had him committed. He was wigged for a month on an overdose, before they finally brought him back into the world. We had some caps of acid, and some reds lying around camp. The Man found them, so I drew thirty big ones in the facility, but I was out in plenty of time to drop my kid. I guess my old Pop put it out for adoption right away. Like I say, I only saw it two times, and never did know what sex it was."
The freeway veered away from the high, chalky, sea bluffs, and threaded its way through tumbling cliffs into the highlands. In a sudden whoosh of deeper darkness they were through the ancient, rust-colored Gaviota Tunnel, and climbing around the tortuous turns beyond.
The glorious elation of the marijuana had diluted her terror into a sense of uneasy apprehension, but try to evade the horror as she might, Pat knew that clutching fear and black panic would live in her mind forever. The miles had sped by under the spell of Vonnie's diarrheic mouth, and as Pat gazed up at the familiar dry-brown, rising hills on either side of the freeway, she felt as though she were traveling in an undiscovered land.
"Where are we going?" she asked, querulously. "Is Ron out here some place?"
In a high state of euphoria, Vonnie was concentrating on maneuvering the Opel through the mountainous convolutions of twisting asphalt. She didn't bother looking at Pat as she answered.
"You are a ninny. Like I told you, when you're planning a trip, who do you see first? Your travel agent, right?"
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Well, Ron's happens to be in the boonies beyond Solvang!"
"He can do what he wants to, I'm not taking anything," she said glumly, oblivious to the fact that she was smoking marijuana right then. She wished she could find Ron, and things could be as they were; she would gladly give herself to him, five, fifty, a hundred times. Worried about the strange detachment the marijuana cigarette was bringing to her mind, she was also aware of the growing menace festering in her brain.
Her very life depended on complete control of her senses. She couldn't weaken now.
"Don't say that," Vonnie said, frowning across at Pat. "I may need your help."
"How can I help you?"
"I can't get loose on acid alone. I never could. I've been skin-popping smack. That way it doesn't leave a snake down your arm, and it takes longer to get really hooked. But it's got me just the same. I've got a forty-dollar habit to support."
"Vonnie, that's a horrible thing to say." Pat cried, bracing herself against the side of the car, as though Vonnie was a leper, with her face falling into ashes, and she was afraid of contagion. "That's not funny, even as a joke."
"I wish it were a joke."
"But can't you do something. Go somewhere, take a pill and be cured."
"I guess so, if I wanted, but that's cold turkey, and it's pure hell. Besides, I like junk. If it just didn't take so much money. Of course, with a girl it's easy. She can just lie down, and come up with ten or fifteen bucks."
"But that's prostitution," Pat cried, aghast. "I'd rather die than sell my body to someone I didn't know."
"That's it. That's just what it is. But how can you say what you'll do, until it's your turn to be under the gun. You've got two choices. Either feed your habit, or go stark, raving crazy. Lying under some guy, while he gets off his jollies is much easier, let me tell you. You'll find out. Your time's coming. Maybe sooner than you think."
"Never. I'd kill myself first."
"You need a little game of locomotive to loosen you up. Maybe PeeDee and his two buddies, Benjy and Soto, are just the boys to put you on."
"Vonnie, I don't even know what you're talking about," Pat said, turning away and looking out her window at the rushing darkness, "but I'm sure it's something filthy. If you're going to be so mean, why don't you take me back to Santa Barbara?"
This was pure bluff, and she knew it, because Pat knew her bones would turn to water if Vonnie did actually turn the car around.
She had to find Ron, and somehow make everything up to him. Only then would she find her peace of mind.
"Don't get your jaws so tight, Pat," Vonnie soothed, reaching across and squeezing Pat's thigh just under the hem of her print shift. "We're friends. Let's keep it that way. I help you, you help me. I've got to get a fix. You don't like it. I don't like it. Anyway there it is. You've got to help me by being nice to PeeDee and his friends. That'll help me get a couple of strong bags of Horse. PeeDee's a nice guy. You'll like him, and he can help you find Ron. He won't force you to do nothing you don't want to do. He's a real bank. You can't believe the amount of junk he's got."
Pat settled into a troubled silence without answering Vonnie, as Vonnie turned right, up the Buellton off-ramp, and then swung right again, gunning down the long, straight road into Solvang. The sky was brightening now in the east, with the definite dove-gray line of early dawn edging the grape-purple of the mountains, shading gradually into the velvet black that still covered the vast glassy expanse of the ocean.
Vonnie dropped the Opel into second, as they swept down the hill, through the first crimson swabbed buildings of Solvang, the pseudo-Danish tourist attraction, and appurtenant impedimenta; quaint windmills and pastry houses with four-foot gilded pretzels, cobble-stoned courtyards, and the sterile incongruity of Standard gasoline stations.
A half-breath later they were beyond the commercialization, booming past the tree-lined turn off to the Santa Inez mission, past the serenity of ancient adobe arches, winding through undulating fields of wild grain.
"Hold on tight," Vonnie said, as she swerved off the asphalt road, onto a dirt track that meandered through a strand of oak trees. "Just a couple more miles."
The marijuana cigarettes had balanced Pat's inner terror with quiet efficiency. She had crammed it into a corner of her mind, and could almost forget it. She had to deal with the more immediate problem, that of Vonnie's strange request. She had a frightened reticence of being nice to somebody she didn't know, just to obtain a dubious favor from them.
She was sure PeeDee would turn out to be some kind of nasty freak. Anybody that dealt in narcotics had to be weird in some strange way.
But she was too tired to resist. Her hours of running, both awake and asleep, had taken the life out of her. She could hardly keep her eyes open.
"It seems we've been driving forever," Pat murmured.
"I know," Vonnie answered sourly. "You think you've got it bad. I'm withdrawing. I'm getting the chills, and I'm going to puke any second. Man, do I need a pop."
"It's all in your mind."
"Don't I wish. I shot two bags of H last night, around ten, just before the Man busted Mel, so it's got to be thinning out. I'm like you. Crashing, getting sleepy. I've got to get PeeDee to go Mel's bail. After all it was PeeDee's stuff. He'll open his moneybag, if you treat him nice, Pat."
"I said I'd help," Pat said reluctantly, knowing that she hadn't, but meaning it this time, because after all, Vonnie was Ron's sister. And no matter how strange she talked and acted, the girl had saved her life.
As long as It hovered over Calle Cita, with Its all-pervading malignancy, Pat knew she could never go back to Santa Barbara, and until she found Ron, and went away with him Vonnie was her sole means of survival.
"And you can, don't worry about that." Vonnie laughed suddenly, flicking a fingertip across the firm protuberance of Pat's breast, so thinly covered by the print shift. "When PeeDee gets a shot at your boobies, my Mel's as good as on the street."
In a swift reflex motion, Pat thrust Vonnie's offending hand away as though it were evil and unclean.
"Vonnie, how can you say things like that? I said I'd help you, but I didn't say I'd do anything filthy that Ron wouldn't like," Pat retorted, blushingly aware of the swelling size of her breasts, rising proudly within the flimsy material that barely covering them. She felt nearly naked without a brassiere, with her deep valley plainly visible in the low cut neck. She covered their insistent peaks with her hands, and turned away from Vonnie's unnatural lust. "You know I belong to your brother and no one else."
Again Pat felt the horrible tugging at her brain, as though there was something hidden there that she should know.
"I can say it very easily, you proud little bitch. If you don't give it to the man you love, then someone else will naturally take it away from you."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, Pat Rawlings, that you're ripe and ready, right now. If Ron isn't around when that magic moment comes, you'll be begging someone else to take your virginity from you."
"I know. I know," Pat sobbed, turning from the window with sudden tears rolling down her cheeks. The crowding blackness surged in her mind, sending her into a frenzy of terror. "Oh God, Vonnie, I'd give the world if Ron had taken me tonight. If I'd only been able to relax, and had given my sweetheart what was rightfully his to take, then none of that other would have happened."
"What the hell are you babbling about?" Vonnie shouted, intent on threading the Opel through the trees.
"Oh, I don't know." Pat continued crying sadly, dropping her head into her hands. "Something keeps lurking in the back of her mind, like some monstrous tumor. I know, I feel, that something terrible has happened to me, and I don't know what it is, nor how to put it right. It's horrible, lying there in the back of my mind, too terrible, too ghastly to look at."
The narrow track ended against the bole of a huge, sheltering pepper tree. The looming bulk of a two-story frame house was silhouetted against the gray darkness like a bone-white riverboat moored at the bank of a river. The paint, if it ever had any, had long since flaked away, and more than half the gingerbread scrollwork, curling around the eaves, had splintered and fallen to the ground. Two of the windows were broken and bulwarked by having planks nailed across them. The skeletal porch was warped and fallen in, and the one pristine, pure pane of glass facing them was dirt encrusted and cobwebbed, blankly reflecting the gleam of one of the Opel's upshooting headlights with a lusting leer.
Choking, Pat tried stifling her tears, as she stared ahead at the crumbling jingletrap, reminding her of a degenerate wino she'd seen wandering down Guttierez Street one Sunday afternoon. He stumbled from one light pole to the next, a heavy stubble of white beard clinging to his face like moss, his shiny blue trousers out at the knees, stiff with his unknown excretions.
The whole house looked evil, with the gray dawn lighting the sky behind it. It should have been pulled down years ago, and all of its teetering outbuildings with it.
The only structure, in the stubble undergrowth, that looked halfway modern, was a huge walk-in refrigerator box, nearly twenty feet square, that rested on oaken skids, about fifty yards behind the house.
"You okay now? You going to cool it?" Vonnie asked, switching off her lights, and getting out on her side. "Quit that blubbering. Can't have PeeDee thinking you're a party pooper. I'm almost sorry I brought you out. Maybe another shot of jay will straighten you out."
"I'm all right, Vonnie. I don't need anything. Just my Ron. I can't afford to relax until I have him in my arms, and have made everything up to him."
"Well, don't be too stupid," Vonnie shouted back at her, as she pushed her way through the hanging branches, shouldering through a thicket of scrub oak. "Come on. PeeDee will make everything come right."
Pat dabbed at her streaming eyes, as she followed Vonnie up onto the warped and rotten porch.
"You'd better stay there, until I go inside and find a light," Vonnie cautioned. "You never know what you'll stumble over on this floor."
Pat waited, looking around in the brightening morning, wondering what kind of light Vonnie would find, as she saw no electric wires leading down to the ramshackle farmhouse, though there were some to the strange refrigerated box in the rear yard. Through the sagging door, she watched Vonnie grope her way across the room and strike a match. The vagrant flickering started a larger one, and black shadows bounded into the corners of the room.
A kerosene lamp, with a glass chimney on top, just as she had thought. Pat hadn't seen one of those since she was eight or nine, visiting her grandfather's farm, up the other side of Santa Paula.
The room was an unbelievable mess. Pat picked her way across the littered floor with the long-legged grace of a white plumed heron crossing a city dump. The threadbare rug was torn in many places, and strewn with cigarette ends, gum wrappers, pillows, cushions, and even a mattress or two; record jackets and psychedelic posters thrown around in wild abandon. At one end, beside a smashed-in china closet, was a spindly card table, so rickety that a strong breath would blow it over. This relic held three or four large, clear-plastic sacks of marijuana, and several smaller cellophane bags of a sparkling white powder.
Vonnie had opened one of these, and was poking her plumply pudged nose inside.
"Holy Jesus! This stuff is rich. Two, maybe three to one. PeeDee hasn't worked on it yet."
Pat whirled suddenly as she heard a door open.
Something unseen, but still maddeningly alive in one small corner of her mind, twitched dangerously, as Pat stared into the black, round barrel of the gun he held tight and sure, pointed at her head.
SEVEN
Pat coughed in an attempt to warn Vonnie, and moved back, cringing, as the Filipino's animal eyes followed her. They were black and moist in their sockets, and they clung to the sharp outline of her proud breasts like leeches. She quailed inwardly under the onslaught of his fetid, overwhelmingly gamy breath, until he turned, facing Vonnie.
"I thought I heard someone fucking with the goods," he lisped in a sibilant whisper. "Goddamn you, Vonnie, I hope you brought some coins, 'cause I told you never to show your ass without it."
"Maybe I brought you something you'll like better, PeeDee."
"I doubt it. She don't look like no Mama Locomotive to me. She ain't going to pull no train."
"You don't know everything. Ask Soto and Benjy what they think."
"I don't ask those mothers nothing. What you want here anyhow?"
"This girl's looking for my brother, Ron," Vonnie said, looking toward Pat and smiling, as PeeDee laid his gun down on the card table. "You seen him?"
"I sold him a couple caps of acid three, four hours ago," the Filipino said, his eyes still glued to the silhouette of Pat's mounding breasts. "He didn't say nothing, just took off the woods, tripping out. I haven't seen him since."
"I've got to find him," Pat pleaded with the brown, stony face. "Haven't you any idea where he went?"
"Like I say, lady," PeeDee answered in a dull, flat monotone that lilted at the edges, exposing his Spanish heritage, "he bought my stuff, and he took off. I'm not his mother."
Pat retreated into her malleable shell, knowing that she was wholly dependent on Vonnie now.
"Mel got busted last night, pushing your junk to college kids," Vonnie said, in a querulous whine, clamoring for PeeDee's attention. "You've got to get him out."
"Like hell," PeeDee answered Vonnie without smiling. "I know your Mel. I don't know why I let him deal. He always cuts a fix right off the top of my bag. Maybe you too, I don't know. Then he double cuts the rest, and he think I don't know nothing. He sells shitty stuff. Burns all my buyers, that's what he does. Don't nobody get off. I miss buyers, that's what I miss. Fuck. You think I owe Mel something?"
In the middle of his long harangue, Pat was surprised to see PeeDee's partners shuffle sleepily out of the gloom of the adjoining room. They were as different from the squat, stooped Filipino as rhubarb from redwood. Both of them were massive, standing over six-feet tall, one a Negro and the other, Mexican. The Mexican had a razor-thin mustache adorning his mahogany-colored face, with a single golden ringlet piercing one ear, while the Negro was thick, and heavily muscled through the chest, smiling continuously through an impressive mouthful of gold-capped teeth. They seemed to know their mission in life, as they towered over the slight, shrunken form of PeeDee, protecting him from all forms of aggressive animal life, especially junkies out for a free fix.
"PeeDee, you can't badmouth Mel," Vonnie whined, nearly working herself into tears. "He's always dealt good for you. He's never burned nobody, and you know it."
"Mel's nothing," PeeDee said coldly, still not looking at Vonnie, but keeping his docile, watering eyes glued to the open valley running between Pat's succulent breasts. "And what about you? You come to tap into me for three, four sacks?"
As if to illustrate his question, Vonnie doubled up in sudden agony, clutching her stomach, shuddering violently, bursting into real tears.
"PeeDee. PeeDee. I'm sick," she cried. "Please give me a boost."
"I wouldn't fuck you with his prick, Vonnie, and that's a fact." PeeDee snarled, motioning toward Benjy, watching Benjy laugh silently, shoving his elbow against Soto's pendulous belly. "You're so big a cement truck could back inside your cunt, and dump its load."
"I know. I know," Vonnie sobbed, huddled in writhing agony on her knees. "You tell me every time. You're a filthy bastard, PeeDee. I don't know why I put up with you."
"Because I'm your bank, you fucker. You can't live without me and my shit." PeeDee growled, continuing to stare at Pat, who stood rooted to the rug, high on her two joints, but paralyzed by the evil that shone in the Filipino's eyes, and flowed from his twisted lips, frightened by the violence that was exploding all around her, but still more afraid to leave. "Still you're not a total loss, Vonnie. You might have brought something we can use. We'll discuss that later."
Pat's brain was still tumbling from the effects of the marijuana she had inhaled. She knew harsh words were flying between Vonnie and PeeDee, but after she had digested the fact that Ron was nowhere around, their flashing barbs had no more meaning for her.
Vonnie was kneeling in the middle of the floor, tears streaming from her eyes, pleading with PeeDee, as a visible trembling began shaking her entire body.
"You can see I'm sick, PeeDee. I've got to get off."
"What will you do for two bags, four to one smack?"
"Anything, PeeDee, anything. My stomach's filled with shit. I'm going to puke any minute."
"Is it too early in the morning for you to play with your dolly? Maybe your little friend would like to play too?"
"Oh, I'll lie down and give you a show right now, PeeDee, but I don't think Pat's ready for it. She and my brother are getting . . . well, she's never had any experience ..."
PeeDee's eyes gleamed brighter, like a rat peering from a dark hole in the wall, as he leaned closer into Pat's vacant face. She stood leaning against a wall, staring down at the wicked, wasted world from the exhilarating heights of her glass mountain. "You mean this angel's never been fucked by anyone?" PeeDee asked gleefully.
"As far as I know. At least that's what she says."
PeeDee smiled for the first time, rubbing his leathery hands together in obvious joy.
"I think if the three of us were to share her beauty for a week or two, I might be able to do something for your Mel."
"But that's kidnapping. I couldn't ..."
"It's only kidnapping if someone complains. The very fact that she is here tells me that there is no one who really cares where she is. We're not going to kill her. We'll treat her very nicely. She will love us, you'll see, and she will remember nothing when she leaves. I have a special drug that will see to that."
"But, Ron . . . ? Not that I care for his shit, but.. . "
"He's a straight, and he thinks with a straight head. What's he going to know?"
"If you keep her here, she'll have to agree . . . "
"What agree? How many jays she had?"
"Two spindles on the way up. You can see she's zonked right now, out in orbit. Give her one of your thick sticks, and a cup of coffee, with maybe a hundred and fifty micrograms of acid in it. She'll cooperate."
"You, bitch? You trying to tell me my business?"
"I'm just trying to get my Mel outside."
"We'll sit your Pat friend down with a fat number to work on, and let her watch your performance." PeeDee mused aloud, "Give her the coffee as an encore. Maybe she'll get some ideas tripping out."
"Okay, PeeDee, we've made a deal. I get two bags of Horse for my show, and you'll spring Mel for the dumb broad."
"I might throw in a bonus. If Virgin Mary, here, works out, I'll feed your monkey for a week, free gratis." PeeDee nodded toward the Negro and the Mexican. "Benjy, plug in the hot plate, and get some hot coffee brewing. You, Soto, sit the pretty one on the floor, and get the dolly for Vonnie. She's going to play with it for a while, and see if she can lose it."
PeeDee crossed the room to the rickety card table, and wrapped a Zigzag paper around a lead pencil, giving the jay the required thickness, before tamping in the grass.
Vonnie struggled to her feet painfully, standing rigid in the center of the floor, shifting from one foot to the other, wringing her hands in desperation, obviously ashamed of the bargain she had made, as Soto took Pat by the arm, and gently led her to an oversize tangerine cushion on the floor by the wall, and then rummaged in one of the drawers for the dolly.
Even Pat's drug-dimmed eyes widened as she saw it, for the dolly was of an astounding length and thickness, even in the sunlit mists of her euphoria. The plaything was a hard-rubber duplicate of the male penis and scrotum, easily as large as Soto's forearm, curving gently forward with the arc of an Arabian scimitar. On the end, behind the delicately molded, wrinkled sac, was a six-inch handle. The entire apparatus was as lifelike as an original; colored brick red, and fitted with a knobbed and serrated glans, complete with slitted dimple.
Soto stood on the edge of the rug, and threw the gigantic phallus toward Vonnie, but she was crying again, and her body was shuddering and heaving so badly she couldn't catch it. She bobbled the hard-rubber prick spastically, until she dropped it to her feet, and stood rigidly for a moment, staring at it, unable to move.
"Oh, PeeDee, PeeDee," she pleaded, "I'm bad sick. I've got to have one shooter first. Look at me. I can't move."
PeeDee had just finished rolling Pat's number. It was as thick and round as any Pall Mall, filled to bursting with green leaves and seeds. He looked around, and saw Benjy watching Vonnie's agony with a lewd, lascivious grin writhing his black face.
"You, Benjy. That coffee ready?"
"Not quite. It'll start perking in a minute."
"Vonnie's holding up the action. Get her clothes off, and boil her one bag of smack."
Vonnie's tear-stained delight was equal to Benjy's. His mouth spread wide, showing a blinding array of gold-capped teeth. She stood completely limp in the center of the room, as Benjy's large dark hands skinned her sweater up over her head, tousling her short blonde hair, then holding her close as he kissed her full on the mouth, while reaching up between her shoulder blades to unsnap the hooks on her brassiere. Benjy stepped back, as he slipped the bone-white straps down over Vonnie's bare shoulders, allowing the puffy, cotton water wings to fall to the floor at her feet, the garment draping itself obscenely across the waiting rubber phallus.
Vonnie's breasts had absolutely no form, they were merely hanging clouts a dough-white flesh. Even their russet-colored nipples seemed strangely out of place, as though they had been pasted on after her creation, with Elmer's glue, as a hasty correction intended to cover a basic error in design.
This affront of basic symmetry didn't deter Benjy, who cupped them each in turn, forcing them into his bright pink slavering mouth, and slithering his red tongue into the fleshy crack between.
"Okay, Benjy, okay," Soto shouted, starting forward, "no solo performances. "Now you're holding up the action. You get the Horse ready. I'll finish with her."
A rich, heady torrent of smoke poured down into Pat's lungs, and she held onto it tightly. Glorious, rosy sunlight filtered through the boarded windows, and the whole, dust-filled room turned into a paradise. She was happy for Vonnie, that poor, lonely girl, now so much the center of attraction. It was just hysterical the way Soto had cut in on Benjy, and began dancing with Vonnie himself.
In less than a second, Soto had stripped Vonnie of her capris and panties, and had crushed her naked body close to him, with one of his greasy hands clutching her milk-white, quivering buttocks, as the other flattened into the small of her back, cramping her sensuous body around him, in an effort to quell the spasmic shuddering that racked her body.
Benjy had a flame going under a Mason jar cap, and was shaking in a bagful of white powder, mixing it with an eye dropper full of distilled water. In three minutes, he held the point of the needle into the bubbling solution, filling the glass vial.
"Come on, baby," he shouted across to Vonnie, locked in Soto's embrace, "pop your vein. I've got your action."
"No, no," Vonnie cried, choking as she pried her mouth away from Soto's searching tongue, "no mainlining. I want a skin-pop. I don't want no snake down my arm."
"Shit on that," PeeDee said from his crouching position beside Pat. They were both sharing the fat stick he had rolled. "Takes too fucking long. We want to see your cunt in action."
"Now who's putting on the show?" Benjy asked, laying a monstrous hand on Soto's bare shoulders, and peeling him away from Vonnie's naked body. "Sit down and relax, brown boy. We're all going to get our jollies."
As Vonnie raised her arm resignedly, Benjy began pinching at the dark-blue vein that ran through the inside hollow of her elbow. When it had corded up a quarter of an inch, he darted the needle in deep, watching for the telltale pinpoint of blood to well up beside the injection, so that he knew he'd hit the vein straight in. When he saw its blooming redness, his thumb pressed the plunger, ramming the full dose home.
Almost immediately the pain left Vonnie's eyes, her cramped and bunching muscles relaxed, her nerves eased their tensions, and her body was calm and still.
"Ah, ah, the rush of it, the beautiful rush, like golden honey flowing through my veins," she crooned, lying back down on the floor with her eyes closed, hunching a huge leopard-skin pillow up under her buttocks that PeeDee had kicked across to her. "Come over here, PeeDee, Benjy, or somebody. This damned dolly is so big I'll split myself in two, unless somebody gets me started."
She hunched herself down into the pillow, raising her knees into her breasts, so that the moist red slit of her vagina was plainly visible.
PeeDee darted his wet black eyes across at Benjy, who stood waiting.
The black man slid his Levi's down over dark, muscle-bunched hips, and quickly fell to his knees between Vonnie's widespread thighs, burying his face in her mass of curling, blonde hair. Immediately, her knees tightened around his head, and her ankles locked behind his neck, as she began hunching herself deeper against his slavering tongue.
"Get it, Baby. Get it," Vonnie moaned, writhing ever closer to Benjy's sweet torture, reaching futilely for his hardening shaft, but he cocked his ass, teasing her, keeping his jerking member just out of her reach.
With one fluid motion, Vonnie rotated her hips on the pillow, so that her upturned face was under Benjy, between his legs, and her ravenous mouth, like that of a starving fledgling, was reaching up, and quickly swallowing his throbbing cock before he had a chance to defend its pendant vulnerability. With a sigh of heartfelt pleasure, the black man lowered his monstrous length deep into Vonnie's throat, pulsing and jumping like a madman.
His thatch of curling, black wool bobbed up and down in perfect unison with her stroking, laving mouth, and they writhed and flailed in ecstasy, until PeeDee rose quickly to his feet, and strode across to their prostrate bodies, tangling his gnarled fingers in Benjy's natural hair, and pulled his sucking mouth away from Vonnie's upthrust vagina.
"That's enough, Benjy," PeeDee snapped, with the cold voice of authority. "This isn't the show Vonnie promised to give. She's enjoying it too much. I want to see her cum against the dolly."
Benjy looked disappointed, and somehow angry with PeeDee, as he gingerly lifted his length out of Vonnie's adhesive mouth.
Pat broke into a spontaneous giggle at the black man's discomfiture. She couldn't help it. Subconsciously, she knew she should be horrified at the carnal spectacle being enacted before her glazed and glowing eyes, but the swirling smoke deadened her brain, and what would normally be horrendously evil, was merely a sad travesty of human nature, sometimes funny, sometimes poignantly heartbreaking.
After Benjy had pulled himself away, crawling to one dim and dusty corner of the room, where he bent silently over his own black maleness, and continued stroking himself in time with Vonnie's machinations, Vonnie lay gasping for long minutes, still undulating her pelvis, unable to accept the desolate, empty vacuum that filled her gaping cunt.
Unseeing, she scrabbled around her recumbent body for an uncoordinated moment, until she found the rubber phallus, then gripping it by the handle, rested the ribbed glans against the trembling lips of her vagina.
PeeDee sucked a final toke from their Mary Jane, and handed the burning end back to Pat. She was completely in a world of her own invention now, glassy-eyed, staring in wonder at the marvels of her private universe, ready and waiting for that cup of coffee. s
"Here, my dear," PeeDee murmured to Pat after nurturing the rich smoke in his lungs for an eternity. "Soto, I think our guest is ready for her coffee, and I'm sure she'll take something with it. Measure out two hundred mikes of Owsley blue crystal, and stir it well."
His beady, birdlike eyes studied Vonnie as she placed her bare feet flat on the floor, readying herself for the supreme effort, arching her hips up to meet the huge rubber phallus, as she slowly sunk the shaft deep into the grasping folds of her vagina. Her hips pulsed suddenly upward, as her sweating fingers tightened around the instrument, and levered it inch by inch into her waiting cunt.
Turning from Pat's empty-headed pleasure, PeeDee crawled across the dusty rug to Vonnie's side. Gently he peeled her cramped, clutching fingers away from the handle, and grasped it himself, thrusting the machine inside her another painful inch.
"Oh God, PeeDee. Not so fast." Vonnie groaned, sinking her fleshy hips deep into the pillow in a vain effort to escape the Filipino's torture. "Give me a chance to get used to it."
"I thought Benjy already got you ready."
"I was right on the verge of juicing all over his black face, when you pulled him away, but it ended up a dry run. Give me a chance to make my cum."
PeeDee grinned into her widespread thighs, clutching at the disappearing phallus. Vonnie was such a poor, lost slut, tangled with that loser, Mel; this kind of treatment was just what she needed.
Vonnie always did well with the dolly. PeeDee knew she secretly enjoyed thrusting the hard rubber model high into her ripe, blooming cunt, and he loved to sit still as ice, and watch her writhing contortions. Her little charade always made his mouth run with saliva, while his flickering tongue danced across his black and broken teeth.
PeeDee began stroking the rigid pole in and out of Vonnie's hairy wriggling lips, and he smiled thinly as she began moaning with pleasure. Vonnie's eyes were lightly closed in a wanton, erotic expression, half excitement and half pain, as a fine froth sprayed into the corners of her mouth, and she thrust her fleshy hips violently upward to meet his charging impact.
He felt the loosely hanging flesh between his own thighs begin to jerk and harden, and he was one with her wild enjoyment. Vonnie's thick, chunky body writhed and rolled on the filthy floor, and her swollen, meaty breasts lolled back and forth on her chest, in perfect time with his thrumming movements.
Sighing deeply, Vonnie raised her legs, folding them tight against her splaying breasts, clutching each of her knees with a trembling, passionate hand, rolling her buttocks upward so that her ravaged vagina pointed straight and sharp at the dim and dusty ceiling.
As PeeDee stroked the phallus up and outward, he could see the moist folds of Vonnie's tender cunt clutching at its huge rigidity, retreating ever so slowly, and only too eager to nibble its way upward, as he levered it inside, deep within the secret inner recesses of her body.
Once the raw red instrument had pierced her to its entire length, PeeDee held it firmly tight with one hand, feeling her struggle uselessly against its unyielding strength, shifting, writhing, as though the entrance through her pubic mound was one struggling mass of live, golden worms, and began pinching and teasing her jerking clitoris with the other.
A broad grin slashed his pitted face, as he watched Vonnie work against the monstrous effigy. She moaned, thrashing her head from one side to the other, frantically pushing his nerveless hand away from the handle, grasping it herself, as she tried pushing the phallus still further inside her yawning hunger. When she found she already enveloped every millimeter, Vonnie began stroking the devilish machine in and out of her blossoming cunt with feverish rapidity.
PeeDee laid his head on Vonnie's heaving stomach, so that his gimlet eyes were scant inches from the opening of her vagina. The mounting aroma of her flooding juices filled his nostrils with heady satisfaction. He was fascinated by the way her folding lips pouted outward on her upstroke, and vanished within her body when she plunged the handle vigorously downward.
His hands cupped hers now over the handle of the punishing instrument, and his added weight helped sink it ever deeper into the insatiable maw of her slavering cunt.
"Does that help?" PeeDee asked, as Vonnie flexed her thighs wide, and then slued them in tight again, in an orgiastic attempt to attain more leverage on the plunging phallus.
"Oh, yes. Harder. Faster. Fuck me good." "You want it deeper?"
"Oh, no. Oh, yes. I have to have it, even if it splits me in two," Vonnie cried, rolling into the goodness of it, massaging her aching nipples with both hands.
Suddenly she began thrusting harder against the churning instrument, moaning, frantically gripping her hands on his, tight around the rubber handle, fucking the entire length of it, rotating her hips in flat concentric circles against its reassuring hardness.
Vonnie's mouth opened, gasping, screaming for air, and quickly now their twining hands were awash in gushing, spewing torrents of steaming, sticky fluid, surging between their fingers, that oozed down the crevice between her buttocks, turning the leopard-skin pillow into a damp and mucky mess beneath her collapsing hips.
Pat couldn't help giggling, as she sipped her coffee. Up here, on her stratospheric level, the writhing bodies on the floor were nothing more than a comic ballet, a hilarious tableau, with the thrusting red baton directing the tempo of their frantic jerking movements. A compulsive adagio.
How stupid.
So silly.
EIGHT
Pat was doubled up, giggling senselessly.
Vonnie wrestled and writhed around the impaling rubber phallus like she was a toy monkey climbing a pole. Pat remembered getting them in quarter grab bags at the circus. PeeDee was a sight, scrambling around the floor, following Vonnie, as ridiculous a pair as any old silent comedy starring Ben Turpin, or the Keystone Kops.
The early-morning sun was just peeping through the chinks in the boarded windows. Pat was so tired and comfortably drowsy she had to struggle to keep her eyes open. Her coffee was lukewarm now, so she drained it in a single swallow and slumped down against the wall, her eyes closing heavily.
Hasp by hasp, her entire universe was becoming her closed eyes, idly trying to orient herself to these new surroundings, knowing that the room was dipping crazily all around her, even though she couldn't see it. She tried searching her memory for some clue as to how she had gotten here, where she had met Vonnie. She asked herself time after time, why had Ron deserted her, where had he gone?
Far up in the dim reaches of her mind, like a roiling, black nimbus, an evil omniscience whispered horrible suggestions of that one single, bloodstained instant in the old house on Calle Cita. The pattern was so unreal, her picture tube had blown. The outlines shifted and shimmered, and nothing came solid.
Suddenly, in one crystal-clear, blinding fraction of a second, Pat was dead center in the eye of a hurricane, every cell in her body being shaken to its very nucleus. Great wailing crescendos of clashing drums, blaring brass, and ringing cymbals assailed her ears. It seemed she was on a great polar plain, with icy winds streaming across the snow-locked snowflakes straight into her bruised and aching body. Gradually, imperceptibly, all pain and suffering flowed away from her body, and in one moment of glorious release, reduced to the very essence of her spirit, she escaped her own hampering flesh, and, deliciously aware of her new-found freedom, she became one with the blustering snowflakes, alive within her brilliant softness. She was one of them, in fact their leader, and as though peering at her newly altered molecular structure, she studied her intricate, symmetrical beauty closely. It was as though her waving crystal tendrils were inset with glittering diamonds. Pat was imbued with an intense awareness, joyousness, boundless energy, and every other ecstatic emotion of the universe. In unison with all her surrounding snowflakes, each of delicate and flawless design, sparkling with ever changing iridescence, Pat in her pristine purity, danced on in the golden rays of the morning sunrise.
In the evil blackness of one soul-shuddering instant, she was gripped fast in a growing terror. She was melting, melting, in the harsh, blinding sunlight, and as she felt herself dripping away, her inner essence remained, again completely disembodied, in the form of a dancing mote of dust, swirling in the updrafts, watching with keen insight the unfolded petrified emotions of the participants of erotic drama of passion spread below her. Like graven images, they were caught up in this frozen moment of time, all except herself; she was strangly light and mobile. Benjy and Soto squatted against the wall, and even the smoke from their weed sticks hung suspended around their faces like motionless draperies. Vonnie's molded expression was contorted in a silent scream of pure hedonistic pleasure, as PeeDee's stiffened fingers grappled mutely for control of the wicked phallus.
Pat, as the dust mote, which was the irreducible pith and plinth of her soul, drifted nearer and nearer, down the white, fleshy chute of Vonnie's planed, widespread thighs, being sucked and drawn into the red, meaty maelstrom of Vonnie's vortex, directly to that one sacrilegious point where the clutching lips of her despoiled vagina devoured the hideous travesty.
They were just meaningless chalk and plaster, Vonnie and PeeDee in their senseless pantomime; but now, instantly, Pat was an exquisitely tiny fish, deep blue in color, dotted with orange phosphorescence, and her fins were unbelievably thin and graceful, with luminescent red lights crackling along their spines.
As though the outer air was a deep tidal current, she saw lightly into the tiny opening just below the point where Vonnie's eager clitoris clung to the frozen phallus.
She was only one of a school of many variegated fingerlings, and together they plumbed the depths of Vonnie's vagina, nibbling their silent way along the great protuberance that invaded the depths of her canal. All of Pat's sister fish glowed and pulsated with indescribably bright colors, each lighted from within, as though each of them carried its own power dynamo somewhere deep within it. Pat found safe harbor, nesting in the simulated eyelet at the far peak of the contrived rubber glans, and quietly watched other forms of undersea life swarming around her, anemones, urchins, and abalones, fastening themselves, and thriving, in the petrified folds of Vonnie's vulva.
Even though there was not the slightest sign of movement in the phallus, frozen as it was in mid-flight, Pat sensed the ecstatic bubbling, gurgling, lapping and splashing going on around her, caused by the ejaculating Niagara of Vonnie's streaming juices, and flick her tail as she might, Pat was soon swept away from her rubbery nest by the force of their currents. Tingling with a delightful anticipation, and flushed with her inner intuitive knowledge of Vonnie's rapturous emotional upheaval, Pat swam deep beyond the range of the probing penis, and in the company of other finny creatures of her own class and size, explored caverns hidden behind the folds of weak, succumbing, gushing female flesh. These caves were lit with the glowing flies of Vonnie's passion, as was the streaming joy that surrounded them. A soft, golden luminescence, similar to sun-dazzled clouds of early morning, and the constant passage of idle ova, streaming up alongside the shaft of the invading rubber penis, caused the bright rays of lemon-yellow phosphorescence to constantly appear and disappear.
Pat stilled her quivering fins, and as she let herself float free, she was instantly aware of intensely vivid emotions, of suddenly bursting orgasms, all like exploding nova of brilliant white stars, thousands of them, crashing to the center of her cell structure, with the studied regularity of combers breaking on steaming lava beaches, detonating like miniature nuclear warheads, smack into the tiny cystic tumors in every nerve ganglia in her body.
The seismic force of Vonnie's orgasm, for such it was that Pat was experiencing, buffeted her out of her state of complete euphoria, filling her body full of sudden dread and fear.
In an instant, Pat was transformed from the bright, lustrous fingerling into a single one of Vonnie's wasted, expended ova, flowing up and out of a bruised and trembling uterus, mauled and mangled by the huge, red effrontery, caught swirling in a great maelstrom of bubbling, roaring juices, erupting along the length of the thick rubber phallus, and thrust gasping and seeping into the open air.
The twin rounded curves of Vonnie's fleshy buttocks were the size of whole galaxies, and for long dreary years Pat flowed along their smooth rotund, burbling and gurgling for centuries around the huge, desolate crater of her anus, finally, at long last, to lie heaving and dying, like a fish on the beach, in the dusty filth of the ragged rug.
In turn, Pat suffered another painful evolutionary change; from the sterile ova, to the one single, fecund, fertile amoeba that would, in time, mother the entire human race.
For millions and billions of years Pat lay in dormant paralysis on a grassy beach, with the sun a dull, molten ball, low in the flaming sky, while other mossy tendrils sprouted around her, growing into leafy fronds, stretching their groping branches inland, only to be devoured by great lumbering herbivores, and web-finned amphibians, that in their turn had struggled up from the slimed and stagnant sea.
The seas ebbed and flowed, and the eons ticked by in their thousands. Inch by painful inch Pat was washed further ashore, and from the ova-amoeba she became a hairy cave-woman, cowering in the scrub brush on a mountainside, while her mate beat futilely against the hairy sides of an enraged mammoth with nothing more than the rotten stump of a tree limb.
Pat screamed aloud, totally involved with the fantasies in her mind, writhing on the ragged carpet. PeeDee watched her contortions in fascination, smiling softly, never dreaming that Pat saw her mate, and three of her eighteen children, trampled to death by the rampaging mastodon.
As countless centuries rolled by, Pat was primitive women of every sort; a lake dweller, lying under her man in a flimsy hut built on stilts, her surroundings so vivid that she could hear the lapping of dark water under the hut, and feel her black mate's maleness imbedded deep in her body, as he wrapped her in his warm, hairy arms, and devoured her swinging, pendant breasts with his monkey's face. In a flash of instant transformation, she was a brown-skinned woman, her teeth black with the stains of betal nut, starting into terror-stricken wakefulness as she heard the man-eating tiger crash into the grass huts at the far end of the compound; a solemn, proud, Navajo matriarch, with the raucous racket of her children playing around her brightly woven skirts, working with other squaws of the tribe, grinding maize on worn, grooved sandstone, feeling her stronge pride and independence as she looked from her height in the coral cliff, far out across the vacant, peaceful land, that white-eyes now call Arizona and New Mexico.
Pat was an Eskimo, carving slabs of blubber from the leathery sides of a beached whale with an intricately carved ivory knife; a fur-clad Mongol, trudging across the frozen steppes, following her man, who straddled his furry mount, as she drove her herds, across the forests and plains of early Europe, one of the vast surging horde of Genghis Khan.
She was imbued with a concrete sense of being truly inside the bodies of all these people, of being truly a part of their living flesh, experiencing their fears and sorrows, their triumphs and tribulations, and in each period, and in each incarnation, she was terrified of the elements, the ferocious animals that surrounded her, gripped by their eternal starvation and sickness, and deep in the midst of this evolutionary terror and travail, Pat surfaced into the reality of the present, in PeeDee's dust-filled room for one frozen instant in time, and was gloriously aware of the birds singing in the trees outside the broken boarded windows, finding that she was lying flat on the floor, with her head in PeeDee's lap.
The Filipino was hunched low over her helpless body, running his dark hands thought the streaming tresses of her hair.
Vonnie had popped her second bag, and was nodding in a corner. Soto and Benjy had lost interest in the whole scene; they were dutifully sacking crystals at the card table.
Pat slowly opened her eyes, staring up into PeeDee's face. She wanted to ask him if he'd seen Ron, she had to find Ron, but his eyes looked so sad, gazing down at her out of his pockmarked ravaged face, and instinctively she knew he had to be some ancient saint, a timeworn vision, some revered deity, a Shiva, Buddha, or Rama of some mysterious denomination. She was so caught up in the elemental beauty and force of her experience that she was mute, the words glowed with a fierce brightness in her mind, but died, stillborn and miscarried, in her throat.
The warbling birdsongs in the brightly, fantastic outside, mingled and merged with the wailing melody being played on the transistor Benjy and Soto played during their packaging, and followed her throughout the convoluting hallucinations she was experiencing.
The Santa Barbara station flipped on Iron Butterfly, and the staccato rhythms of Gadda-Da-Vida, with its guttural chanting, set the tone of her trip, as she drifted slowly out of the present, back into the chaotic vortex of catastrophe after catastrophe-blizzards, volcanic eruptions, starvation, floods, sickness, forest fires, deafening, bloody wars, plagues, and death in all of its multitudinous forms-all of the evils known to man; those created by man, and those created by nature.
Pat stared in horror at the cruelty of evolution through stunned, glazed eyes, astounded in her subconscious state, that man had ever survived on this hostile planet at all.
Without an instant's relief for her tired and aching body, she writhingly enacted every cataclysm on the torn and dusty rug, while PeeDee silently cupped her naked, rising breast. He was gentle, admiring her perfect form and substance, as he hefted its resilient weight in the curve of his palm.
Suddenly, as though PeeDee's calm deliberation had broken through the seething crust of her violent hallucination, instead of ugliness, sheer beauty lay before her eyes, in tangible iridescence. She was Stokowski, Paderewski, Toscanini, and Leonard Bernstein, conducting an orchestra comprised of hundreds of instruments in a concert hall of the sky, her entire aggregation of musicians seated on one opalescent cloud sparkling with diamonds. At the self-same instant she was the tens of billions of ears of all humanity, listening to the first tender strains of the celestial music which rose in crescendo, saturating her being, and absorbing her into the oneness of creation. Somehow, interwoven into the strains of music she directed were all of the qualities of goodness, compassion, and love.
Pat was caught up in a great rosy cloud of universal joyousness, and she silently mimed this emotion by dryly stroking her hands down the naked length of her fully tapering thighs, as she lay spread-eagled on the tattered carpet. PeeDee hadn't bothered to close his switchblade, but had just laid it nakedly open, to one side of their supine bodies, after gently inserting the point of the long shimmering blade into the vee of Pat's lightly covering shift, and ripping the flimsy material downward, careful not to nick her eager breasts, or her slumbering crotch, then quickly snicking through each shoulder strap, rending her garment useless for anything more than a secondary pallet beneath her gyrating body.
PeeDee sat close beside Pat's fluttering hips, covering her wiry black triangle with his dark, gnarled fingers, gently parting her deep-folding lips, in a questing search for her blossoming clitoris.
Quietly he nodded across to Soto and Benjy, still diligently bagging crystals, motioning them to join him. They nodded back smiling, standing and fumbling with their buttons.
In the depths of her continuing hallucination, it was only right and proper that Pat should be loved, and carnally caressed, because every trip resulting from dropping LSD is totally influenced by audio and visual suggestions that have impinged themselves on the subconscious just prior to the intake of the acid, and because now she was every paramour, every mistress, every whore that had ever lived: Queen Isabella, lying nakedly close to Roger Mortimer, Earl of March, while her husband, Richard II, was being tortured to death in Berkeley castle; Marie Antoinette, kneeling in her frilly petticoats and silken gowns, lovingly opening the tiny, pear-buttoned clout in the brocade crotch of Louis XVI; Madame Pompadour, doing the same for Louis XV; Nell Gwyn, Mata Hari, Bessie, Pearl and Rachel. She was every colored prostitute, mothering every plunging black cock on every rickety, makeshift cot throughout the blind, unreasoning South, with hog jowls and chicken necks simmering on the cast iron wood stove against the wall; all the teeny-bopper chippies doing it in the back row of the Bijou for a quarter; and all the tired, beat junkies, feeding a habit, being pushed against the filth-encrusted wall of a dark and shadowy alley for a quick three-dollar trick, so they can run down the block and shove it into the hand of their pusher for a lifesaving jolt of the big H.
Again and again Pat returned to ancient Greece in her fantasies as a dark, sultry, Persian slave girl, breathlessly awaiting her master. He was Alexander the Great, returning from battle, and he stood tall and blond before her, and she knelt in supplication, unbuckling his sword from his waist, and as he stopped he dropped his leather buckler, and his swirling linen toga to the cushioned floor, grasping her black, flowing hair in his twining fingers, forcing her gasping mouth into the depths of his bristling crotch. His huge Grecian penis stood out proudly from his body like a great oaken shaft, and it charged triumphantly into the depths of her sweetly sucking mouth with the fury of the gods. Joyfully she knelt before his majesty, paying
Pat lay flat on the floor, her mouth wide open, and gasping for air, as PeeDee's knotted fingers ticked rhythmically against her straining clitoris, and rapidly stroked in and out of her trembling vagina.
Benjy's black rod was hard and wet, as he ran it full-length into Pat's gaping mouth.
Vonnie was in a state of complete euphoria after shooting up, and now that her system had assimilated this latest dose of heroin, and the first dragging stage of heavy-lidded sleepiness had passed, she could smile as she watched PeeDee and Benjy huddling over Pat's prostrate body.
Mel looked closer to Outside every minute.
Pat was so zonked she didn't know what was happening, but that minor detail made no difference to PeeDee and Benjy. They just toiled away, Benjy fucking into Pat's mouth, and PeeDee stroking his fingers into her cunt, with Soto stepping out of his Levi's with his own private evil in mind.
Vonnie had gotten her second jolt right after PeeDee had pulled the slimed phallus out of the depths of her own overworked and underfed cunt, and she'd collapsed happily naked against the wall, not bothering to dress. Now that her eyes were open again, and she was floating free, the world was her personal kingdom. She bit into her lip with quickening excitement, as she watched PeeDee homage to his divine virility as any slave maiden must, feeling the livening tips of her breasts quicken into glorious rapture, with the dark throbbing cavern between her legs moistening with her own ravenous fecundity, as she clutched lovingly at the silken sac beneath, forcing her master closer, ever closer. thrumming his fingers in and out of Pat's puffing mound, causing that girl to moan and grind her hips upward, lost in the depths of her somnambulism.
Vonnie could see the sadism lying behind PeeDee's eyes. He had invested at least ten dollars' worth of L in Pat, pouring it down her, without her knowledge of course, and he wasn't about to let that go to waste.
It was cool the way he'd slit Pat's shift all the way down the front, even the supporting straps, so she hadn't a rag covering her creamy body. That was a mind-blower, the chick coming out without a bra, or panties, not goddamn stitch one underneath. She must really have been in a hurry to get away from what had been bugging her.
Pat really had a lush body, Vonnie told herself in envy. Great, pushing boobs, and gently swelling belly veeing into the soft strands of dark pubic hair stringing back from PeeDee's busy hand.
"Open her thighs!" PeeDee ordered Soto, who had kicked his jeans into a corner.
Vonnie sighed deeply and enviously, dimly remembering her childhood lover, Campos, as Soto knelt beside Pat's supine body, opposite PeeDee, who was quietly working Pat into an orgiastic frenzy. Soto's brown hands contrasted sharply with the white flesh of Pat's silken thighs, as he forced her knees apart a scant eight inches.
Benjy was sawing his corded black penis into Pat's mouth, as she groped upward with her lips, mouthing him passionately, a heavenly light shining deep in her blank and glassy eyes, as though sucking his gamy meat was her God-given duty.
"More, puto, more," PeeDee snarled, jerking his fingers roughly from the moistly red vagina, and grabbing the unconscious girl by the knees himself. He forced them rudely apart, bringing a whimper of protest bubbling up around Benjy's invading cock.
Soto stood, looking straight down into the widening slit between Pat's outstretched thighs, and fondled his stout, thickening member, smiling as it jerked and hardened.
"Man, PeeDee," he smiled, showing large, flashing teeth, "am I ever going to fuck that. Look at that hungry mother. It could eat a man up."
Vonnie huddled nakedly in her corner, her bird eyes eagerly watching Pat's humiliation.
God, she was getting excited, just watching PeeDee and Benjy taking care of business, really going to work now.
Yet, deep down, she felt some pity for the girl. After this morning's workout Pat would never be the same.
Forget Ron. Vonnie had no feeling for him. Whatever had happened between Ron and Pat last night was their hang-up. They had no one to blame but themselves.
Besides, first things first. Pat was Mel's passport to freedom.
Pat was always claiming to be such a holy-rolling virgin; if she crashed right now, this minute, she'd be in a fit of screaming hysteria.
Lucky she was tripped out on the other side of the moon.
In another continuum, three thousand years in the past, Pat eagerly submitted as her Greek master gently pushed her back on the cushioned floor, and slowly, tenderly, stripped her clinging linen garments from her dusky body, gloriously reveling in the sensual caressing touch of his soft, stroking fingers as they toyed with her rising nipples. She quickened her kisses across the muscled breadth of his golden white body, as she felt the sweet glowing fullness of her breasts come alive under his questing impetuous hands.
One of his soft fingertips trained deliciously across the gentle rise of her belly, lingering a tantalizing moment in her navel, before pushing down across her tangled thicket into the delicate fold of her hungry vagina.
Oh, and how his bursting fire found her secret places. She gasped and writhed with sudden pleasure, trying to tell him in her ancient and honored tongue, which he had never understood, of her sacred, ritualistic love for his pure and pristine body.
"She'll be a good fuck. I can tell," Benjy said, raising himself from her clutching mouth for a moment, looking down through the raised vee of Pat's widened thighs at PeeDee, still wearing her out.
The Filipino didn't answer as he reached forward, running two bent fingers into Pat's quickly opening slit, parting her curling raven hairs, and feeling her smooth, moist, pink flesh, beneath his sheltering hand, jerk upward, mothering his gently loving contact. He smiled secretly, as he dug himself even deeper into the tightness of her ravaged cunt, splaying his fingers widely inside her body, as he felt her shiver unconsciously, glorying in the sudden sensation.
Vonnie wasn't to be forgotten in her corner, nor did she want to be. Soto came across to her, and kneeling before her in silent supplication, raised her chin in his gripping hand, and kissed her wetly on the mouth, as he began kneading her clotted breasts against her chest.
She folded her arms around the comfortable thickness of his neck, kissing him back with a tender ferocity, feeling the tickling bristles of his pencil-thin mustache dig into her upper lip. She tried peering around Soto's greased head, because her attention was really focused on PeeDee's manipulation of Pat's quivering cunt.
Finally, after their first long and breathless kiss, as she mouthed his darting, searching tongue, Vonnie was able to stare over Soto's bunched and muscled shoulder, thrusting herself forward as his hungry lips fastened on one ripe and rising nipple.
She could feel the hot, fetid moistness of her own thundering emotions, firing the pit of her belly, and searing her corded thighs, as she watched Pat's complete degradation.
Soto, with his Latin insistence, placed his hands under Vonnie's hips, flipping her over, and levering her into a position on all fours, so that her naked, pendant breasts swung free.
Her eyes widened as she stared under Benjy's kneeling form, at Pat's prostrate body spread beneath him.
She gazed hungrily at Benjy's oral copulation, feeling her own salty saliva fill her mouth, oblivious of her surroundings, until she felt the delicious warmth of Soto's hands cupping her loose breasts, and the stiffness of his ramrod, probing, pressing and rubbing against the moist, fleshy lips of her cunt.
Vonnie was ready instantly. She reached back eagerly, under her sagging belly, and grasped him fully, around his rigid shaft, just behind the knotted glans, and pulled it forward, slowly and gently, threading him just inside her, until she felt his precious coned head penetrating the tender, thrilling edges of her pulsing flesh.
Soto felt her steaming readiness as he levered himself forward. With one deft, flushing motion, he slithered his great snake deep into the far reaches of her cunt.
Vonnie moaned softly, hunching herself down against him, seeking his last precious half-inch, as his head flattened itself against her cervix. His hand clutched convulsively at the floating mounds of her fleshy breasts, pulling her in tight, and flailing at her with his deeply buried cock.
Her buttocks began slowly rotating around his fixed pole, as she knelt on the worn, frayed rug, less than a yard from Pat's ravaged body, forcing Soto's tender head to glide against her tender walls with a majestic swelling rhythm that forced deep passionate sighs from her slavering lips.
With Soto-Campos mounted on her back, and his wonderfully educated hands skimming the tops of her breasts, Vonnie pushed herself viciously back against his thrust, locking her widened eyes upon the obscenities being wreaked on Pat's helpless body.
Pat was completely naked, and defenseless to the rummaging hands and voracious mouths that punished her cunt, and tickled her breasts. She was spread entirely open; PeeDee had drawn one of her legs up over his hips on one side of her supine body, and Benjy had pulled the other over his on the opposite side. Pat was lying flat on her back, with her knees in the air, and her thighs spread wide apart; her crotch sucking sunlight.
Benjy, in his turn, worked at her vagina now, slowly and expertly inserting his dark fingers, hurting her slightly at first.
She groaned in her delirium, but she knew nothing of the black man as she gasped unconsciously, biting down on her lower lip to stem the pain. Then, as her restricting cunt widened and adapted itself to new pressures, Benjy smoothed his crooked fingers around inside her, sliding his other hand up under the crease in her naked buttocks, drawing it tight against his other hand, hard inside her budding vagina.
Even if her trip ended suddenly, right then, in that instant, and she writhed in one blinding moment of screaming hysteria, Pat couldn't escape. She was hopelessly impaled between PeeDee and Benjy.
One of the buttons on the cushioned and tasseled floor teased her aching anus, as she happily bore the weight of her Greek emperor. A slave girl was forbidden to complain about discomfort. Her Alexander was truly a god, straddling her slight, dark body, as he stroked his massive monster between her generous breasts. Her deep, silken valley soothed him into a delicious, rising hardness. She felt his velvet sac course the line of her naked belly, as she laid a gentle hand on his magnificent, stiffening length, bringing his prodding maleness into full ripening maturity.
Truly he was from Olympus, bringing her the honeyed nectar of the gods.
She stroked him smoothly, aching with the vacant hunger in her loins.
"She's getting wet." Benjy said, smiling, showing PeeDee a mouthful of golden teeth.
PeeDee nodded briefly, as he dropped his slavering lips on one of Pat's blooming nipples. She moaned softly at the warm contact, grinding her eager loins ever tighter against Benjy's pressing fingers, half in unconscious protest, and half in passionate pleading.
"Oh take me now, my master," she whispered senselessly. "I have waited so long for your coming."
"You hear that?" Benjy laughed, looking down at his stroking fingers. "She knows who's boss."
"Is she ready to fuck?" PeeDee asked, raising his head.
"Damn near," Benjy answered. "I can feel her widening out in there."
"She's mine first," PeeDee hissed.
"We'll both go together. Same time." Benjy grinned.
"What the fuck you mean?"
"Cool, man. You in front, me in the back."
This was a joke, a gigantic put-down on this white, honky chick. Benjy laughed aloud, as he began working harder, stroking himself into Pat's vagina, stretching it wider with each scouring circle of his pumping fingers.
Vonnie, wrapped in the warm security of Soto-Campos' plunging cock, couldn't believe her ears. Even though the burning passion that had taken control of her own bucking, fucking body with the ten-pound Mexican meat thumping into her from behind, the impact of Benjy's was a physical blow in the face.
He and PeeDee were going to screw her in the ass, and fuck her cunt at the same time.
She had to see it to believe it.
Pat was too far gone into her trip to resist the shame and humiliation, and PeeDee and Benjy sure didn't give a damn.
Vonnie knew PeeDee of old. He'd join in any devious perversion, any depraved obscenity, that came into his mind. He was secure behind his fortress of dope. Every junkie needed him. He gave shit for no one.
Pat's impending degradation by a black buck, and a tiny brown Filipino caused Vonnie to groan wildly in guilty excitement, and grind her own buttocks mercilessly against Soto-Campos' slithering prick, as he continued stroking himself inside her with the secure rhythmic beat of a metronome.
Benjy suddenly withdrew his damp, sticky fingers from Pat's expanding vagina, and rose to his knees.
"Turn her over," he whispered to PeeDee, who had a hand on each of her flattened shoulders, and was busily tonguing her creamy breasts.
Though it was PeeDee's place to give the orders in their operation, he knelt forward, without a word, and caught her slack body under the shoulders, twisting her onto her face as though she were nothing but a limp sack of grain. She lay quietly, unconscious in the filth and dirt of the floor, a strange and ecstatic smile flickering across her sanctified face. Her rounded ivory buttocks quivered gently from her deep sighs of passionate contentment.
Her golden warrior knelt reverently between her upraised knees. She stared lovingly into his bronzed, craggy face, and she saw his expression held the same childish adoring awe as Ron Severn.
Gratefully, she smiled, raising her hand, eagerly folding her fingers around his tender manhood.
Gently, slowly, she brought him toward her. His great throbbing head glowed with a brilliant phosphorescence in the dark, as he inserted its exploding magnificence inside her welcoming body.
Her brightly blooming vagina soared heavenward, like a budding rose, vibrant with the golden electricity of life, eager for his impregnating seed to rush her soul to sweet fulfillment.
Benjy stood at the edge of the rug now, completely stripped to his gleaming black skin. He waited a long moment, standing between Pat's finely boned ankles, staring down into the crevice between her raised curving buttocks, his lips curling in proud, silent derision. His monstrous black cock, as long as a whip, and cruelly corded, stood out, strong and erect, from the dark wool between his muscled thighs. Thin, dark lines of his pulsating life blood, articulated in stiffening tracery around its thrusting madness.
Vonnie's mouth dropped in horrified wonder.
"God, that meaty monster will kill that girl," she told herself, flinching as the Mexican cock seemed to ram itself clear into her throat. "Pat can't take a pole like that in the ass. The nigger will split her in half."
Benjy knelt quickly, without a word. He grabbed Pat's ankles, and pressured them apart harshly, spreading her thighs wide.
Instantly, just as she thrust her trembling vagina to the sky, reaching, groping for her invading Greek god, trapping his last precious inch, Pat was transported to an arena of ancient Rome. She found herself strapped flat on her back, spread across a leather horse. For some strange reason her legs were drawn back over her head, and her ankles were belted fast to the hideous contrivance, tilting her widened vagina and exposed anus to the cheering crowd.
A gigantic gladiator, clad in chain mail, complete with net and trident, charged toward her with great, lunging strides. Protruding from a crease in his armor was his huge meaty penis. After throwing his weapons to one side, the faceless monster advanced on her helpless body, bowing first to one side, and then to the other, as the crowd cheered deafeningly, every regal thumb held downward.
The ruthless warrior pushed himself close, as her eyes widened in fear, caressing the puckering wafer of her tender anus with the head of his insistent cock. Blood-red, it throbbed against her, demandingly pushing, intent on entering her rectal passage.
She bucked and jerked in her bound captivity, maddened by fear.
"Oh, no!" she whimpered, dimly remembering shattering, tearing pain from some other life, some other time. "I can't let you! Not that way!"
"Hold her! Hold her!" Benjy shouted, as PeeDee pushed his hand into the small of her back, pressing her naked belly against the floor.
Pat struggled wildly for a moment, and then subsided into unconscious silence, her ravaged body still trembling from the rapine that was taking place inside her vision.
Vonnie moaned in ecstatic anticipation, as Benjy dropped to his knees between Pat's legs, running his dark hands greedily along the firm muscles of Pat's quivering calves, and up the inside of her lusciously soft thighs to the moistened mound of pubic hair that was ground tight into the dusty carpeting. The rosy cleft between her buttocks was deep and exciting, and Vonnie shuddered with rising passion, as Benjy slipped a callused hand down the smooth crease of Pat's widening vagina, parting those tender lips so slowly that they emphasized her tiny puckered anus, both openings completely visible to Vonnie's avid eye.
Vonnie's own cunt throbbed deliciously as she watched Benjy's indecent ministrations. She heard Soto-Campos suck for air as he felt her firm, damp flesh jerk into a tight ring around his thrusting cock. She inched forward, gripped by a powerful compulsion to stare at the tip of Benjy's invading prick. She had to drink in every deviation taking place. She knew she was maddening her lover, Soto-Campos by moving away from him like this, but she needn't have worried, because he shuffled behind her hastily, securing himself again, far in the deep recesses of her treasuring cunt.
Benjy leered down at the limp, white body of the unconscious girl, slowly drawing aside the curving globes of her buttocks. In blind, passionate reflex, Pat groaned, fighting her battle in the sun-swept arena in ancient Rome, vainly trying to tense her buttocks together, but Benjy was insistent, digging his stubby fingers deep into her tender, flaccid flesh, so that she had no choice but to relax, and allow him any privilege he liked.
Vonnie, in her grinding excitement, heard Benjy suck in his breath, as Pat's soft, tender ring came into view again. Despite the flecks of dried blood surrounding it, that he neither saw nor understood, Benjy pushed one hand down the deep, clefted valley, thrusting experimentally with his index finger.
The sudden ripping pain was so excruciatingly intense, that Pat was shocked back into reality in one cataclysmic instant; the flickering wraiths of her hallucinations boiling away under the raging, flaming agony.
She jumped and screamed as she felt Benjy's intrusion into her tattered, scarred opening. Instinctively, she pushed her naked pelvis against torn carpet, her buttocks tensing tightly together, trying vainly to escape the painful finger being thrust into her rectal passage.
It was useless. PeeDee sat on her shoulder, trapping her, as Benjy thrust the invading finger forward again, ramming it in to the first knuckle.
"Ooh God!" Pat screamed again, piteously, starting to bleed. Immediately. She bit deep into her lower lip, clenching her tender, chafed buttocks together as tight as Benjy's rummaging hand would permit.
"Open up, you fucker!" Benjy shouted, pushing at her brutally with all his strength, popping his finger through to the second knuckle.
Her desperate struggle was wasted. She collapsed limply on the floor, barely conscious, whimpering piteously, half out of her mind with pain, completely conquered for the moment.
In one convulsive spasm, her tightened buttocks relaxed, becoming so much dead meat, as she submitted to the Negro's depravity.
As Benjy knelt closer to his work, scouring mercilessly into Pat's torn anus, Vonnie could see his other hand stroking and mothering his thick, veined root, readying it for Pat's final ultimate humiliation.
Pat was face down, spread-eagled beneath him, frozen in panic, awaiting his onslaught.
He stroked his thick foreskin back, exposing his darkly round bulbous head. It was hugely monstrous, as he hefted its weight in his hand, aiming it directly at Pat's bleeding puckered hole, stretched wider now after the insertion of his black index finger.
Benjy used his thumbs to spread Pat's buttocks, and withdrew his pumping finger. He leaned forward, spitting directly into the tortured button of her anus in order to lubricate his entry. Then, waving PeeDee aside for the moment, he levered himself forward, pressing all of his two hundred and twenty pounds into the small of her delicately boned back, tilting her tortured hole up to meet the massive length of his descending cock.
As Benjy's dark flesh touched the white purity of her own, he laid the full reach of his black rigidity along the tender crevice between her soft yielding buttocks, the blood tip of it just edging into the tiny, clotting hole, still wet and bubbling with his spittle.
He scooped a hand under the flat arch of her belly, and lifted her parting buttocks up to meet him. Levering himself up on his elbows, Benjy, with practiced efficiency, pressed tightly into Pat with his muscled hips for a fraction of a second, thrusting his rock-hardness straight into Pat's tight sphincter orifice.
Vonnie held her breath until she gasped, moaning joyfully, as she saw Benjy's unrelenting rod pop suddenly through Pat's restricting ring of flesh. Her mouth hung slack, as her tongue quickly flicked across dried lips, as she watched Pat's tiny, bleeding anus slip over the cone of Benjy's prick like a stretching rubber band.
Pat's mouth opened in a soundless scream of total agony.
Benjy grinned down at her helpless, prostrate body like an evil, avenging savage, straight out of the bush. He thrust his bunched hips hard against her gelatinous buttocks, sinking his cock halfway to the hilt.
Harsh, racking stridency filled the room, as Pat screamed and screamed again in her rending torment, the sound muffling finally as she pressed her face against the ruined rug. She flailed her thighs wildly, struggling hopelessly as a butterfly mounted in a glass case, twisting and writhing, trying helplessly to escape Benjy's cruel shaft.
Her buttocks jerked and bucked beneath him, trying to throw him to one side, but each desperate paroxysm merely worsened her position. Each time she sun-fished against him, Benjy's cock lodged deeper inside her clutching anus, rasping down another cruel painful inch.
"Ooooh, Jesus!" Pat grunted, gasping out the last of her strength and will.
With one final, gargantuan thrust, Benjy's hard, dark prick slipped deep and easy into the warm, rubbery depths of Pat's tattered rectum, clear to the hilt.
Pat twisted spastically for a moment, and then lay still in quiescent catalepsy, filled with a sudden need to ease the pain of Benjy's precipitous occupation of her body.
Fighting was only a painful waste. Each tiny tremor and throb of her aching body only served to stretch and widen her bleeding cavern to more painful dimensions.
"Ooh, God, you've got a tight little asshole," Benjy blubbered through clenched teeth.
He wanted to run his entire length up into her tight sucking ass immediately; just begin fucking this white bitch slowly and regularly, and watch her blow her mother-grabbing mind. Instead, Benjy reached down, digging his fingers into the soft skin covering her hips, just at the top of the arching vee, and pulled her limply to her knees, bending her body almost double.
Benjy ground his teeth together in sheer joy, and gave her unresisting anus several long, smooth strokes of his magnificent cock, forcing a smothered groan of humiliation and pain from her tortured lips every time he thrust himself forward, deep into the bleeding scars of her body.
Kneeling beside the obscenely coupled pair, PeeDee was almost blowing his mind. He ran his feverish hands wildly over Pat's helpless, pendant breasts and cunt like Van Cleburne at the Steinway, pinching and pulling at her soft, unresisting flesh until he could stand it no longer.
"Turn her over, damn you! Turn her over," he shouted at Benjy, but Benjy was too busy to hear him.
It wasn't until PeeDee grasped Benjy's dark wool, and sharply shook his head, that Benjy finally yielded to PeeDee's pleas, and locked his hands tightly around Pat's naked hips, and rolled backward on his side, holding her softly sucking body so close to him they might have been one person, as she lay flat on top of his dark body. His hotly throbbing cock was still imbedded deep inside her passage, and she spread her legs widely to ease its entry, as she pressed tight again his stomach and chest. The ivory purity of her tapering thighs were splayed limply outside Benjy's darkness, and a low, tortured whimper sprayed from her loose, wet lips.
Pat was bleeding heavily now, and was almost unconscious with pain.
PeeDee lost no time. He threw himself between Pat's widespread thighs, straddling Benjy's knobby knees. Cruelly hooking his thumbs, he forced the girl's legs still further apart. Convulsively, he grasped his spindly, aching cock in his hand, and quickly flexed it into the deep clutch of her vagina.
Pat groaned like a wild thing, as PeeDee slithered deep inside her belly, grating against Benjy's black madness, already lodged far down her rectal canal.
She sobbed quietly in her shame, as she was torn to ribbons between her assailants. There was no way to break free, she was sandwiched between them, impaled on their twin cocks like an insect, with only her thin, tissued wall, between her anus and her vagina, separating their two grinding members.
There was no delay. PeeDee was already up the wall from watching Benjy's attack. He immediately began fucking furiously, as her thrumming cunt molded itself around him, and Benjy, beneath them, continued thrusting up with long, hard strokes, into the depths of Pat's rectum.
After a few seconds, the partners developed a natural rhythm, buffeting the dark-haired girl between them like a sack of resilient mush.
Crazed with pain and agony, Pat keened in a single, low-noted whine, moaning on and on, as her ravagers drove themselves deeper and deeper inside her, grunting frequently as they smacked into her with hard driving force.
On all fours, hypnotically transfixed, Vonnie stared close at the two meaty roots skewering into Pat's jerking loins. Her excited, lust-filled eyes watched with delight as the slithering cocks, damp and sperm-slick, rose and fell in unison, fucking deep inside the tormented girl. Vonnie smiled as Pat's hungry labia drew back in perfect synchronized rhythm with PeeDee's prick on his outstroke, and folded tight within themselves as he slammed it home again, deep inside her belly.
The same was true with the widened opening of her tightly clasping anus. Benjy screwed into it with demonic fury. On and on he went, as Vonnie knelt before Soto, who was violently fucking her from behind like a wild dog; she knew he was getting his rocks too, excited at the spectacle of his two partners raping this soft young virgin between them.
Then it happened.
Vonnie couldn't believe it at first.
As she knelt in subservient excitement, hunching her ringing cunt backward on Soto, taking his fluttering length deep inside her ravenous vagina, staring mere inches from the racked and tortured Pat, Vonnie suddenly heard the girl's low, whining moan of agony change pitch, almost imperceptibly at first, then sinking into a richer groaning that left no doubt. Pat's constant mewling was now one of passionate pleasure.
The damned kooky chick was beginning to enjoy herself!
It was a warped, masochistic joy, probably a death-wish, stemming perhaps from the very helplessness of her position, or from her own lewd, obscene visions of being fucked to death by bleeding, faceless monsters. Whatever the reason, Pat began feeling something beside savage, ripping pain.
Her hips, caught in a spasm of raging fire, began moving backward, meeting the upthrust of Benjy's cock cramming through her anus, and rapidly twitching forward again, to swallow the whole of PeeDee's tender delight, deep in the farthest recesses of her suddenly streaming vagina.
Like a sleek, shining serpent, her body undulated between the Filipino and the Negro, and her tight round buttocks rotated in weaving, synchronized circles, manipulating and mothering them as though they were children.
"Ooh, ooh, ooh," Pat chanted on and on, in rhythm with their crushing thrusts. She kept her eyes tight shut, as her two rapists became wilder and wilder, punishing her between them like a willful puppet.
All three participants were groaning now in unison, a cacophony of mad, sexual abandon.
Pat was imbued with the sense of her own sexual degradation. There was something horrible lingering in the back of her mind, and it peeked around the corner at her at rare intervals of slavering catatonic madness. There was something connected with Fred Hinson that she should remember; something he'd done had taken her out of Ron Severn's world, far beyond the point of no return, and somehow she had punished him for it.
Before she had time to mourn the loss of Ron Severn, all rational thought was driven away in the hot wind of exploding emotions that cascaded brilliantly throughout her entire body.
As PeeDee and Benjy continued pumping, fucking her harder and faster, Pat screamed loudly, bucking against them, in pain no longer, but in celebration of one glorious moment of all-encompassing, soul-stopping joy.
"Oh, God! Oh, Christ! Keep on . . . keep on!"
Pat crashed blindly through the wall of reality, sobbing with desire, heaving herself against PeeDee and Benjy in the throes of her cataclysmic orgasm, fucking on and on, until her juices had all streamed away, and the walls of her vagina were as rough and rasping as emery paper.
Benjy and PeeDee, sensing their total conquest of Pat's softly voluptuous body, both plunged forward at the same time, imbedding their suddenly wild, ejaculating members deep inside Pat's body, pumping their jetting sperm far up into her heaving belly.
All three collapsed in a spent and satiated heap of railing, panting flesh. PeeDee rolled limply off Pat's flaccid body with his cock still curiously rigid, despite his thundering orgasm; a sign that he was still dangerously dosed with amphetamine. He slipped out of her loosely stretched vagina with a slick, sucking sound that could be heard the length of the dusty room.
Pat lay still with her eyes closed, washing all conscious thought from her mind. She was completely wasted, lying flat on her back on top of Benjy. His prick was still locked tight in the circle of her anus, and she was so dazed she couldn't move. Her legs were frozen in suspended animation, widely separated, so that the protruding lips of her vagina could be seen, wet and glistening with the dying strands of PeeDee's spermal waste.
Vonnie, filled to capacity with Soto's loving goodness, had a clear view of the stump of Benjy's black cock protruding painfully from Patricia's asshole.
She was completely freaked. Just the sight of the lushly innocent Pat turned into a raving, frothing maniac, swept away in the tide of glorious orgasm, becoming a sex-crazed nympho, was just more than she could bear. She had to have it . . . up her ass the same way.
Nothing else would do.
She slid forward desperately, slipping Soto's driving cock from her slime-wet cunt, turning back toward his flushed, perspiring face, insistently nagging.
"Give it to me in the ass. The way Benjy did. Quick, damn it. Quick."
Soto needed no further encouragement. He placed his overworked knob close against Vonnie's tightly puckered anal opening, and thrust forward with all his strength.
"Oh, shit, Campos," Vonnie groaned, mistaking her lovers in the depths of her passion, biting into her lip to keep tears of pain from flooding her cheeks. She'd had no idea it would hurt like this. A huge, red-hot, steel rod, as large as a railroad tie, was being shoved up between her legs.
Before she could stammer a protest, Soto wrapped his sinewy brown arms around her naked hips, and rolled silently onto his back, in the same position Benjy'd had with Pat, his massive Mexican cock buried deep inside her rectum.
"Ese, Chingadera," Soto whispered across to Benjy. "Andale."
Benjy's speed was still working, because he pushed Pat limply away from his still strong and virile body. Looking across at Vonnie's wide and staring cunt-slit, he needed no further invitation. He jumped quickly between her spreading thighs, and threaded his wonderfully meaty cock deep inside, slipping deeply forward and flattening his head against the bone-hard surface of her cervix.
For a long moment they were as rigid and unmoving as plaster statuary, until she relaxed and softened around them. Vonnie, in the midst of her ecstasy, was amazed at how quickly she was able to adjust to their joint pressures. As the painful surprise faded, both the Mexican and the Negro began fucking her in unison, and they continued fucking her, pulling the boiling, roaring juices from her steaming cunt until she was sure she would never achieve orgasm in this life.
Bucking and rocking between them, she came gloriously, time after time, until she was too spent and drained to move.
A Her two heroes jumped her up and down, flopping her back and forth between them, for seeming hours. She knew they had been mainlining meth, because under amphetamine the body functions go on forever, without tiring, until they burn themselves out and no longer exist.
At long last, Soto and Benjy finished together, clutching Vonnie's sorely used body between them, as they spurted inexhaustible streams of white-hot sperm deep into her wet and wild passages, filling every oozing crevice inside her body.
They lay crumpled on the floor, completely spent and used. Gasping for nonexistent air, as her naked breasts mounting higher and even higher, Vonnie caught a glimpse of PeeDee crawling onto Pat for the second time. In a few seconds he was furiously attacking her cunt, stroking his wizened length in and out of her with the dynamic, unquenchable energy of the true speed freak.
Pat had slipped back into a blank, catatonic state of hallucination, an acid flashback, and her thighs were drawn up tight against her misshapenly mashed-out breasts, with her ankles locked behind the Filipino's neck.
This time there were no anguished cries for mercy. PeeDee's teakwood prick ran all the way in to the hilt, as she unconsciously fucked her clinging vagina tight against his plunging pelvis.
Vonnie smiled weakly from the depths of her overwhelming exhaustion, as she watched Pat's tight, sucking cunt inch its way up PeeDee's thrumming root.
Swinging!
Bitchin'!
Mel as good as on the Street, right this minute.
As Vonnie stared, there was an indefinable something about Pat that disturbed her. The girl's eyes were dead and glassy, and her face had tightened down into chiseled stone; it was a frozen mask of detached malevolence. As though Pat was an artificially constructed robot, charged with synaptic hatred, but nevertheless specially constructed to copulate mindlessly, endlessly, senselessly and repeatedly, every minute of her useful, undepreciated lifespan, until her tubes clouded and blew, her circuits sparked and shorted out, and her circuits sprung and rusted away.
Vonnie shuddered slightly, rolling away from the suddenly shameful spectacle, and laid her head unfeeling on Soto's heaving chest.
Wow!
Scary!
Fred Hinson wasn't really dead after all. He still worked furiously, raping her, ravaging her poor worn body, his face all shot away, with nothing but tattered, streaming putrescence, draining and bleeding in gentle drops onto her creamed and straining body.
Pat knew there was an open-bladed knife here on the floor somewhere. She had seen it.
Her hand reached out, silently groping.
Somewhere, sometime, she had been entrusted with the religious, solemn duty of laying this unspeakable monster to rest.
She must sacrifice her own life, if necessary, to deliver an unsuspecting world from nameless tragedy.
NINE
The acid did her in.
Pat was positive, in the computerized clicking of her brain, that everything was under control.
She lay still, planning every movement. Her life depended on it.
When she grasped the knife, she would plunge it, hilt deep, into the raw, red pulp that hovered over her.
Blinding speed was the trick.
Whip the blade straight into the mark before the monstrous thing sensed her intention.
Her stretching fingers found the rigid roughness of the bone handle, and wrapped themselves tightly, possessively around it.
She flashed on a murderous strike that would be swift as lighting, but L was doing her thinking. When she raised up to attack, her limbs were heavy as lead, and her sluggish arm looped slowly upward in a vain and useless parabola that missed PeeDee's face by at least six inches.
PeeDee jerked himself lithely back on his haunches in a controlled reflex, one quick second before panic set in. His dark cock slid swiftly into the open air, out of its warm haven. He hung frozen into immobility for a moment, stunned by Pat's sudden, unexpected attack.
Screaming wildly, she came at him again, and as the wicked steel came toward him, he fended it away by chopping his hand, karate-style, against her forearm.
Pat snapped her long, tapering legs out straight, locking her ankles tight around PeeDee's narrow, fragile waist, scissoring him in. She came straight up off the rug, screaming words of filth, as she slashed and cut at the empty air.
PeeDee bobbed and weaved frantically to escape the hungry blade.
"Hinson, you dirty son of a bitch," she shrieked in her madness, "you won't live to do that again."
PeeDee was doing some screaming himself, and trying to do everything at once; force his feet underneath him, so he could stand, in the hope that it would break the death grip she had around his waist, at the same time he was snatching and grabbing at the darting hand that held his knife.
"Goddamn it, you bastards!" he shouted at Soto and Benjy, just now rolling to their feet, staring in stunned disbelief at Pat's demonic fury. "Cool this chick before she guts me."
As Benjy lumbered across the floor to his rescue, PeeDee grabbed at the knife, and missed, feeling its sharp bite as it opened a slit across his palm that seeped a dark rivulet of blood down his forearm.
"Oh, you fucking whore!" PeeDee cried in sudden hatred, forgetting the flicking blade in his rage.
Pat's face was a hideous mask, almost evil in its manic malevolence. Her nostrils flared whitely in her extreme effort to stab the opposing putrescence, and her lips were drawn tightly back from her gleaming teeth.
PeeDee stared fixedly into her burning eyes, caught up and hysterically incoherent in her sudden rush to kill. Clenching his fists, he flailed wildly, smashing her mouth with such force that her head slammed against the hardwood floor, with its thin, ragged covering, resounding with hollow finality.
In the same instant, Benjy snatched one of his cast-off leather boots and shattered Pat's last vestige of consciousness by slamming it into her exposed temple.
Immediately she went limp as a rag, her tensely corded thighs dropping away from PeeDee's waist, and falling flat and lifeless on the rug. The switchblade fell away from her nerveless fingers, pinking her breasts with its point, before it dropped harmlessly at her side.
PeeDee was breathing harshly, unable to move.
Benjy leaned over Pat's supine body, peering curiously at the thin trickle of blood coursing down her chin, and pooling in a hollow in her neck.
Her mouth hung slack, and one of her upper teeth had been snapped off at the root by the force of PeeDee's blow. Shreds of her torn gum held it in place.
Quietly, with no visible show of emotion, Benjy leaned forward, and forcing her mouth even wider with two black fingers, he worked the tooth free, and threw it on the floor.
"Don't want this cunt to choke herself," he said slowly, still stunned by her sudden violence.
"Goddamned broad almost killed me," PeeDee said in disbelief, as he picked up the open switchblade, and held the point against the limp and dying lips of her quiescent vagina. "I ought to cut her fucking heart out."
In the cold, sterile aftermath of exploding emotions, Vonnie became shamefully aware of her nakedness. Pat's violent eruption had driven the warm heroin glow from her bloodstream, leaving her desolate and alone. Silently, in an effort not to draw attention to herself, she crept around the room on all fours, gathering items of her discarded clothing.
"What the fuck got into that bitch?" Soto asked, padding across the room, and looking down into Pat's unconscious face with the same detached objectivity he would have shown in a bad batch of acid.
"Shit. How do I know?" PeeDee snarled, folding the switchblade, and tossing it across the room, as he stood and reached across for his Levi's. "She almost got my naked ass, I know that."
"Whoever she is," Benjy said, shaking his head and scratching his wool, "she's sure got a hard-on for Hinson, whoever that poor fucker might be. He'd better never let her catch his dirty ass, she'll carve the mother off."
Vonnie had salvaged her panties and brassiere, reaching up the furrow in her back and swiftly hooking her twin marshmallows tightly against her chest.
She shouldn't have moved, because now PeeDee realized that she had caused all the trouble.
"Goddamn you, Vonnie!" PeeDee shouted, buttoning his Levi's around him. "You and Mel. The fucking trouble you bring me. You must want to get my ass killed. Who is this crazy bitch anyway?"
"I told you, damn it," Vonnie cried, slipping her capris up over her generous hips. "She's my brother's woman. Don't come crying to me, you creep. It's not my fault you fed her so much crystal she wigged out. We made a deal."
"Screw your goddamned deal," PeeDee yelled, raising his voice as Benjy turned up the transistor, blasting noise through the bright morning. "I didn't bargain for no freak. Get her dead ass out of here."
Vonnie wriggled into her sweater, and slipped her sandals onto her feet, as she came toward PeeDee, standing beside him, looking down into Pat's bruised and bleeding face.
"Jesus, you've really messed her up. You've broken her mouth all to shit. You just can't leave her like that."
"What the hell you think we are? Blue Cross? Just get her back to town, and forget it."
Vonnie looked down at the ripped and useless square of floral print that lay discarded in the center of the rug.
"You want me to drive her back to Santa Barbara in that condition? All torn up, and naked as a jaybird?"
"Shit. That's your problem. You brought her here. Maybe I can spare a blanket you can wrap around her."
"God, PeeDee, you're all heart."
"Why should I do anything for this cunt? She tried to kill me."
"Pat wasn't trying to kill you, and you know it. She was tripped out, and the knife was for Hinson," Vonnie said, suddenly remembering. "Hey, I know now. Ron told me about this Hinson bastard."
"Who is he?"
"He's Pat's stepfather. Supposed to be a mean son of a bitch. Drives a patrol car downtown." "A narc?"
"Oh no. Nothing heavy like that. He just rousts the long-haired kids lining the freeway, bumming up to Big Sur."
"If this cunt bases on him, like she did me, them hips will make their scene with no problem."
Vonnie stared straight into PeeDee's shifting, dark-brown eyes. It seemed impossible that such a wispy wimp of a man could be so much the incarnate evil.
He could weasel out of anything.
"Come on now, PeeDee," she wheedled. "No joke. What about Mel?"
"What about that bastard?" PeeDee answered in scorn, squelching her completely. "He's burning my buyers. I can't afford him. Let him rot."
"He don't deal shit. I know he don't."
But PeeDee had turned his back, ignoring her, as he motioned Benjy away from the radio.
"Come on, Ben, Get the blanket off your rack, and wrap this wild-eyed bitch in it. We're loading her into Vonnie's car, and getting her the hell out of here. I don't want to be around when she comes to. She'll open us all up."
Soto roused out of his hypnotic stupor long enough to kneel beside Pat's lush naked body, sprawled flat in the dust. He fished a red bandanna from his hip pocket, and dabbed at the ropy blood coagulating around her lips.
As Benjy came from the other room, dragging a threadbare, brown blanket across the torn carpet, the radio switched from acid-rock to the dry, guttural voice of a news commentator.
"We interrupt our regular programming to bring you this special news bulletin. Sometime early this morning a member of the city police force was brutally murdered in his home at Thirty-Eight-Nineteen Calle Cita Drive. Frederick Hinson, thirty-eight years of age, and a patrolman for the Santa Barbara City Police for the past eleven years, was found shot to death, handcuffed to his stepdaughter's bed, by his wife, Mrs. Katherine Hinson. Mrs. Hinson had returned unexpectedly from a trip to San Luis Obispo at six o'clock this morning. The stepdaughter, Patricia Rawlings, is missing, and police are seeking her whereabouts. She is nineteen years of age, height five-foot-seven, weight approximately one hundred twenty pounds, has long black hair, and dark-gray eyes. The only garment found missing was a short floral shift. Anyone learning of Miss Rawling's whereabouts, please contact the Santa Barbara Police Department immediately. Stay tuned to this station for further developments. We now return you to our regularly scheduled program."
The four of them stood rooted in a circle, staring down into Pat's sagging face, paralyzed with their sudden, devastating knowledge.
Pat's eyelids flickered, and she turned her head, moaning. Her stomach contracted sharply, and a thin, trickling stream of white, creamy vomit spewed from between her lips.
PeeDee nodded at Benjy, who had slipped into his boots when he'd gone to get the blanket. They were on a single wave length. With one swift movement Benjy sent his square toe into her cheekbone, just below the left eye, sending the struggling girl spinning back into unconsciousness.
"Oh God. Do you have to?" Vonnie sobbed at the violent brutality.
PeeDee ignored her, as he stood quietly, staring down into the bruised and bleeding face in sad contemplation.
He could feel his empire crumbling beneath him. All he needed was the Man nosing around.
"She's hotter than a fresh-fucked fox. Why me? Why did she have to show up here?"
"You think she cooled him?" Benjy asked.
"Are you kidding? Fucking-A-right she did," PeeDee whispered, raising his voice when he turned to Vonnie. "Did you know this kook had blasted the Man when you brought her here?"
"Oh, hell no, PeeDee. She was babbling and crying, sniveling about some trouble up at the house, but I was sick, remember? I was so damn sick I was trying to cop out on grass. I didn't pay much attention to her at all."
"Well, you screwed us good this time, Vonnie. We can't let her go, because she'll lead the Man right back to our factory, and we can't keep her either because they'll have a nation-wide want on her before lunchtime."
"I didn't know," Vonnie cried, breaking down, really sobbing under this new pressure.
"You didn't know." PeeDee snarled, raising his fist, but checking himself. "Shit. That's the story of my life."
"Wait a minute, PeeDee," Benjy said, reaching across and grabbing the Filipino's arm. "I think I got a way."
"I hope somebody's got some ideas," PeeDee said, turning. "I don't know what to do with the cunt."
Benjy looked scornfully at Vonnie, wringing her hands, and sobbing helplessly.
"Come on," he said, leading PeeDee and Soto through into the other room, a bedroom piled high with soiled and tattered linen.
He didn't speak until he had shut the door.
"What you got?" Soto asked.
"First get rid of the junky."
"Are you crazy?" PeeDee snorted. "She'll split to the first cop she sees."
"Oh no," Benjy assured him. "She's in this the same as we are. Give her another bang on the house ..."
"Fuck that," PeeDee interrupted. "That leech will drive me broke."
"Give her another bang, I say, and send her back into town. Keep Mel locked up, so she'll hang around the jail every day. Maybe she'll hear something we can use."
"What about the crazy broad? She'll wear us all out when she comes to."
"We'll keep her locked up out back for a week or two. Fill her so full of speed and acid she won't know where she's at. We can take turns banging her, just for kicks. When the heat's off, we can double up on a dose, and pow, she's gone, just like that. No muss. No fuss. Some dark night, we can dump her off a cliff, into the ocean."
"Sounds okay. It'll protect the operation."
"I thought you'd like it."
"What'll we tell Vonnie?"
"Leave it to me."
PeeDee nodded glumly.
That fucking Benjy was making all the decisions lately.
TEN
Vonnie had been so geefed after hitting the vein behind her kneecap with PeeDee's hocus, that she'd pulled the Opel off the dirt track, in under the shade of a stand of towering oaks to nod for an hour or two before braving the highway. Then, like the stupid bitch she was, star-gazing with her veins full of molten honey when she hit the freeway, she swung onto the wrong on-ramp.
She was through Los Alamos, halfway to Santa Maria, before she realized where she was.
The sun had tripped over its zenith, and was sliding down the far side of the sky, before she got back to Santa Barbara. She was lost in the fog of her vanishing euphoria, realizing that she was desperately hungry. After taking the De La Vina turnoff, she pulled in to the curb, and emptied her knitted handbag on the seat beside her.
A quarter and three pennies.
Shit. That won't buy much.
Vonnie could see the red-roofed Der Weinerschnitzel a half-block down the street.
The one hot dog, stuffed with mustard, helped some, but the clammy mustard clung to the roof of her mouth.
She needed something to wash it down.
But what the hell could she buy with a nickel change?
As her car topped the crest of the hill, she gazed far off across the city, slumbering under waves of rising heat, at the dull, oil-slick sheen of the Pacific, and the drilling islands dotting the horizon.
The Horse was still working her veins, extending its brilliant, sparkling influence through her tiniest capillaries. Vonnie knew it would be drying and dissipating soon, and she'd have to go prowling and prying, on the constant search for cash money; hustling the surfers on East Cabrillo Boulevard, after the sun had set into the sea. Lying with them on their sandy blankets, underneath the tall graceful palms.
Who needs scenery for a lousy two or three bucks?
She could always work PeeDee again, by driving back up behind Santa Ynez, but there was something about those three pushers that frightened her. They'd always been mean and tough, they had to be in their business; she understood that. But the minute they'd heard that news broadcast everything had changed.
They'd made a big deal about going into the other room for some lightweight conference. When they came out they all had this same dumb look on their faces, staring at her like she was some kind of termite that had just crawled out of the woodwork. They shuffled around, looking dispassionately into Pat's puffing, unconscious face, as though she'd already been found guilty of killing this Hinson guy, and they were her executioners.
All so cold, and unfeelingly cruel.
She felt a tremor of gooseflesh flash across her heavy breasts, as an uncontrolled shudder racked her body.
She couldn't go back there. Not now.
God only knew what was happening to Pat, with those maniacs loose.
Vonnie tried blanking the unconscious girl out of her mind, as she turned into Alamar, and cruised the few short blocks to Oak Park. She nosed her Opel into the parking lot, and walked far up the green valley, which was dotted with tiny, yellow daisies, and strawberry clover, hunching herself down on a grassy hillock, in the broad shade of a eucalyptus tree.
She couldn't bear confining herself in the apartment on Castillo Street.
Ron might be there. What could she tell him?
She smiled, knowing she had a whole collection of heavy stories to lay on him. How she'd gotten Pat high on Mary Jane. How, in a fit of withdrawal madness, she'd taken the poor, innocent kid up to the filthy menagerie, to be raped by a black man and a Filipino. How they'd panicked when they'd heard she was involved with the Hinson thing, and beat the shit out of her, and now they were holding her as a hostage or something, burning her up with speed.
Oh yeah. That'd be groovy.
She could get a twenty-four-inch, living-color picture of herself rolling Ron that collection.
The thing that really bit deep was that she was guilty. She had let it happen.
PeeDee had gotten to her through the needle, like he always did.
They'd had everything planned.
After those bastards came out of that room everything went like clockwork. PeeDee had glanced across to where she stood staring down at Pat's broken face, and nodded at Benjy.
Vonnie remembered she'd been crying because Pat's eye was already turning blue, and swelling shut.
The black one had crossed to the card table, and started boiling a bag of heroin, while the Filipino and the Mexican rolled the limp white body tightly inside the ragged blanket, until just Pat's lolling, bleeding head protruded.
Benjy pressed the nose of the spike into the saturated cotton, filling the syringe, and handed it across to PeeDee. Then he stopped, gripping Pat by the shoulders, while Soto's large callused hands grasped her ankles, as together they raised her sagging body, and started toward the rear of the house.
"Hey! Where . . . ? I thought I was taking her," Vonnie stammered, filled with sudden fear.
Benjy smiled, showing her a flash of gold; but his eyes were dead, and filled with violence.
"She's staying here with us until the heat blows."
"You can't do that."
"Who says? Anybody know she's here?"
"I don't know. I don't think so."
"Well?"
Vonnie was sobbing uncontrollably now, as she followed them out back, through the large kitchen with its coal-black, cast-iron, wood stove, with the apple crates full of split kindling on the floor beside it, and the galvanized-zinc sink, piled high with filth-encrusted dishes, and the rusting pump dripping into a grease-clogged drain.
PeeDee rushed by them, standing and holding the torn screen door open, as they passed a single file, carrying their sagging burden into the weed-stubbled back lot.
The Filipino caught at her unresisting arm, as she followed, clutching blindly at Benjy's shirt, trying to hold him, stop him, but it was no use.
The spike slammed deep, missing the pulsing vein, saturating the capillaries, really a skin-pop, so that there was no glorious rush of summer heat pouring through her body, to slow her up with its magnificent rosiness, as she stepped outside following the litter bearers.
It would be a quarter of an hour before she hit her high.
The rear yard only magnified the mess inside the house. Cartons of beer cans, and piles of rotting garbage and drifting paper dotted the area between the sagging screen door, and the oaken walk-in refrigerator that lurched on uneven railroad ties coated with creosote. Three junked automobiles hunkered in various stages of disrepair. The hoods gaped on the two with missing engines, like twin octogenarians with missing dentures. They squatted in the dust like pregnant sows, with all their wheels missing. Another lay on its side, with every window smashed, encrusted with rust.
Midway between the rusting junk, and the tilting refrigeration unit, toward which they seemed to be heading, was the wood supply for the metal stove. A shoulder-high pile of logs and branches lay tumbled in a twenty-foot circle. Close by, sunk into a stump was a massive double-bitted axe.
Still holding the empty syringe he'd hyped Vonnie with, PeeDee quickstepped past the bearers again, and levered open the heavy steel hasp. Once open the heavy door creaked heavily, disclosing only darkness, and a solid musty aroma gusted out of its murky depths, as though the chilled room contained nothing but molding bacteria.
A spindly line of staggering poles marched across the dry, sun-baked hills from Los Olivos, fifteen miles or more, feeding current through the black fraying wires to the sparsely scattered ranches in this outback area.
PeeDee'd had juice looped in to the refrigeration unit, nothing else.
Before Benjy and Soto carried Pat's unconscious body inside, and laid it on the bare splintered floor, he flicked light into the naked bulb that swung overhead.
Inside, the heavy structure was braced with oaken joints. Along the sides and across one end were tiered shelves, lined with aluminum canisters, and clear plastic bags of varying sizes.
Feeling the pool of satisfying warmth form in the hollow of her elbow, Vonnie stood by PeeDee's shoulder gasping at the fantastic riches inside the walk-in box.
There had to be a hundred thousand dollars' worth of uncut shit in there. PeeDee had a fortune, and yet he lived like a pig. What did he do with his coins anyway?
Turn her loose in this reefer for half an hour, and she'd have junk that would keep Mel dealing the rest of his life.
PeeDee and his partners were wrapped in their enterprise, and could care less that her veins were bleeding for their action. Vonnie drew less attention than a turd on the ground.
"Hey, Benjy," PeeDee directed, "see that bag on the third shelf next to the key of Gold?"
"Yeah. You want it?"
"Isn't that the two to one meth?" Soto asked, looking up at the shelf.
"Give me it. Now that the cunt's crashed, we might as well keep her flying."
"Christ, Man. That speed's strong as shit. It'll burn her up."
PeeDee flashed a cautioning look at Vonnie, who was rapidly getting stoned.
"So? It'll keep her warm in the reefer."
"You want to tie the bitch down? You know she can be a tiger."
"Only when we get our rocks off," the Filipino answered, smiling down on Pat's lush, full-blown breasts, as Soto and Benjy unrolled the blanket.
"This OD of speed will keep her busy. If it don't we can always drop some more acid into her."
"Yeah," Soto said in one of his soliloquies, his lascivious grin a foot long. "She put on a damned good show on her last trip."
The golden sunshine flooding her body evaporated any sign of sadness or pity for the unconscious stranger lying stretched on the warped wooden floor in front of her. Try as she might, Vonnie could recognize her. The heroin hit her in a rush, and her eyes were closing, in spite of her efforts to keep them open, and here was this girl, still and quiet on the floor before her, scarcely breathing, with her lips drawn back, showing a great gaping hole in her line of sparking upper teeth, and her whole left cheek had turned a greenish purple, and she was supposed to do something for her?
Vonnie felt no compunction to aid this naked helplessness. If the dumb broad wanted to lie on her back in this stupid ice-box, with her cunt open to the sky, that was her problem.
Benjy stepped over the prostrate body with no more emotion than if it had been a sack of dead fish. He placed the plastic sack in PeeDee's hand, and followed Soto out of the freezer.
PeeDee stood looking down at the despoiled ivory perfection of Pat's nudity for a long moment, before latching the door.
"It does seem a shameful waste," he sighed.
"I guess," Benjy answered. "But give her the needle and forget it. It's got to be done."
It was a terrible thing they were doing, Vonnie told herself, but it was just a simple exercise in survival as far as PeeDee was concerned. She forced herself to accept the surface events, what was happening right now, the temporary imprisonment, and the subsequent shooting up, content to let PeeDee work out the details.
Vonnie blocked her mind, and refused to contemplate the eventual disposition of the problem.
PeeDee had no pity. He would cheerfully destroy anyone who got in his way.
Knowing this, she'd marched right through the house without stopping, eager to find her car and speed miles from the evil in this farmhouse.
She would never forget PeeDee shouting after her, as she ducked under the sweeping branches of the pepper tree.
"Listen, bitch. If you split to anybody about the cunt, I'll rip you so bad you'll go home carrying your titties in a paper sack."
So she couldn't go home. Not to the flat on Castillo Street.
Surely Ron knew by this time. It had been on radio and TV, and all the papers had screamers of seventy-two-point type blasting the death of that dirty cop, Hinson.
If she saw her brother she knew he'd keep hacking at her until she told him all she knew. And if she crossed PeeDee he'd get on her case for sure, leaving Mel to rot, and cut her ass into fish-bait.
A fine goddamned mess.
But wait a minute. She was looping out. Why would Ron ever think she'd seen Pat in the first place? He was off, God knew where, tripping out because his baby-assed feelings had been hurt. He didn't have to know Pat had called him, and gotten her instead, all bugged because she'd blasted her stepfather.
All she had to do, Vonnie told herself, was keep her dumb fucking mouth shut, and she was home free.
She drowsed for hours in the delicious warmth of the park, lulled by the heady aroma of fresh-mown grass, and the buzzing drone of the insects, nodding away her high, and working on her courage until it was strong enough to face the apartment.
Her groundless panic was stupid. The VeeDub was nowhere to be seen. Ron hadn't been back since she'd received Pat's phone call.
Groovy!
She was on top of the world with that problem vanished for the moment. After showering, and rubbing the tired and aching lips of her vagina with cold soothing water, Vonnie fell into a naked heap on the couch, sleeping for ten hours without moving.
Three in the morning is a hell of an hour to make a connection.
The monkey was drying her blood, and every vein and nerve in her body began to pinch and twitch. She needed a jolt, and she was tapped out.
Earlier she might have walked down Santa Barbara Street, past Vera Cruz Park, and maybe turned a trick or two, but shit. This late there'd be nothing happening except piss-assed winos, straggling into the sides of buildings, and they were on the make too, for any nickel or dime they could glom.
Vonnie struggled off the couch onto the floor, scrabbling around until she found the carpis and sweater she'd discarded. After puking dryly into the crapper for twenty minutes, she found her car keys.
Cruising was better than staring at the wall. Anything to keep her mind off her habit.
She kept her blearing eyes fixed along the funneled cone of light in front of her lonely automobile, as she turned onto Los Olivos and climbed past the old mission onto the winding Alameda Padre Serra that meandered across the first row of foothills above the city. There were few cars out this time of the morning, and she had to blink and" close her painful eyes whenever a late straggler rushed toward her.
Long miles she drove, lonely and desolate, flashing on her treachery of yesterday morning.
Those mean bastards have probably killed Pat by now.
What could she have done?
And what was she going to tell Ron? Her own baby brother? Nothing.
PeeDee would rip her guts if she finked. She knew he would.
Alameda Padre Serra swung left into the hills above Montecito, and she continued straight down Salinas Street, toward the bird refuge and the sea. This time of morning the black Pacific looked like oil-slicked ink, with tiny seed-pearl pinpoints of light, the reflections of the directional buoys in the harbor.
Her eyes were running freely now, and she kept dabbing the back of her hand against her nostrils to stem the flow of gathering mucus. Her hands were trembling visibly. It was nearly impossible to keep the Opel running straight, steering with one hand.
She'd give her life for one dime bag.
If she could just job some joy powder.
She was so hung on Horse, with visions of mainlining with a church key, anything that would open her up and get the hard stuff in there, where it could do its work, she barely saw the light at the Anacapa Street intersection in time to stop.
Oh, God!" she thought, as a bobtail charged across 101, filled with morning vegetables. The sudden shock cleared her vision. "My cunt would have been spread from here to the beach."
The Anacapa corner was so dark, with one light on either side of the intersection, that it was a wonder she saw him at all. Like a sparrow caught in a hailstorm, he was huddled on his army-surplus duffle, a battered guitar case propped against his shoulder, holding a crayoned card reading "Napa" between his knees.
His hair hung in ringlets below his shoulders in a kind of semifrizz, teased to the point that it stood out in a giant puff-ball, emphasizing the sideburns that reached below his ears, and the scraggling goatee hanging four inches off his receding chin.
His Levi's were almost powder blue from continual washing, and there was no shirt underneath his open, leather-fringed jacket.
He looked like Buffalo Bill with a headache.
When Vonnie got her green the intersection was deserted, without a car in sight on cither side of 101.
The lame canary started scrambling to his feet, as her Opel nudged the curb.
"Hey, Cowboy," she shouted, "what's in Napa?"
He opened the back door, shoving his duffle bag in on the floor, and the guitar case on the seat above. He eyed her quickly, as he slid in beside her, apparently having her case figured in that split second.
There wasn't much mental action required. One look at her blotched, bleary face, her crumpled clothing, and her open sandals should give him every clue.
"Nothing much. Just freeing myself from the plastic spastics."
"I don't blame you. There's a bunch."
"I was down L.A., shacking with the Perpetual Posies. You know we'd find an empty house, and just move in, 'til the fuzz found us. They dropped all them cats, but not me. I was tripped out up in the hills with my little ice-cream habit, and when I crashed every one of those mothers was slammed. Those dirty pig bastards."
"I know. They've got my baby, too."
He put his arm along the back seat, as she shifted down into high, nosing into the speed lane.
"So here I am, fresh and sweet, getting out of it. I hear some of the children got a commune up above Napa, and ain't any fuzz going to roust you up there. You can joy-pop, dip and dab, do your thing, without getting boxed."
"I'm not doing anything special," Vonnie said, smiling at his eager intensity. "I guess I can take you a ways. How do you know these people are going to let you on their private reservation?"
"Hell, Babe, I got my ticket. I can pay my dues," he said, rapping on, looking like a young Ho Chi Minh, with his chin growth bobbing. "When the Posies got busted, all the fuzz found were some Whites, uppers and downers, a lid of Mary Jane, and some cigarette papers lying around. They never tumbled to the main stash. I got that when I went back. Under the floorboards of one of the empty closets."
"You got it with you?"
"Some. The rest I mailed to Napa, general delivery."
Vonnie's eyes brightened. "What you got?"
"A key of Manicure, the best grass you ever saw, just to carry me. A few bags of Horse for trading with the natives, and three, four hundred Whites." "My name's Vonnie. What's yours?" "People call me Frodo."
"I read Tolkien. You don't look like no hobbit." "I've got sweet and winning ways, Babe. Try me."
"I will. For a dime bag." "You a scat shooter?" "A long time. You?"
"No. I'm a head. Acid's my trip. I bang speed sometimes, but I don't want no monkey."
"Sometimes I wish I was off the mojo, but what are you going to do?"
"I like your style, chick. I'll put you on to a boss jolt. I ain't carrying no Lipton tea."
"Neither am I, Frodo." Vonnie said, squeezing his thigh just above the knee. "I'll give you a jolt, too."
"We'll see," he said, backing off, now that he knew he had control. "You got a pad we can use." "It's my brother's but he's gone." "And the machinery?"
"I ripped off a dozen spikes when I was in the hospital dropping a kid."
"Jesus. You married?"
"No. It never quite worked out."
The overpowering stench of his unwashed body swept over her as he slid in close, and laid a dirty gray hand deep between her legs. It contrasted sharply with the pale pink of her capris.
"Whew, God," Vonnie said, as she turned off 101 onto Mission, and then turned sharp left on Castillo, two blocks from the apartment. "How long you been on the road?"
"Just today. But I was on a five-day trip in the hills before that, and there's no water in the empty house the Posies had. And you can't take showers in service-station rest rooms."
"No, but you sure can at my place. Give me a break with those armpits, will you?"
"Fuck no," he said, smiling, feeling her press her crotch against his hand, and seeing her smirk of amusement at his crude device. The use of the word was sheer mechanism to him because it was a test. True, she'd already committed herself to him, but her reaction to the word fuck told him he was into something good, and not just ten minutes of frigid friction in exchange for a high-grade fix.
Vonnie pulled her tiny car under the sheltering carport, and turned to Frodo, smiling quizzically. She knew his secret.
"There's no need for that hard shit, man. We made a deal. My cunt for your junk."
That really rocked him. He'd never heard a chick come back that strong. His eyes burned in his head as he stared her down, fastening tight on the clear outlines of her breasts pushing in naked symmetry against the tight weave of her sweater. It was only too plain that she wore nothing underneath; her nipples pushed up proud and plain, and even the gentle corrugations of her aureoles were visible.
He reached across, cupping, crushing her tender softness in his hand, and their eyes were locked together as she drifted across the seat, and his mouth fastened tightly on her parted lips. He tasted the sugar sweetness of her tongue as it scoured inside his mouth, awash in spurting fountains of saliva.
Her pubic mound was swelling vigorously under his hand, and he separated one of his fingers so that he could find the telltale crease in her slacks; that one narrow crevice that could fold back and take some of the elastic material back inside her body.
Once found, his finger commenced a rhythmic stroking, and her hot breath began bubbling around his flushing face with the regularity of an erupting geyser.
He felt the jerking hardness in his crowded crotch, even before her clutching fingers found his now-rigid prick.
Christ, he wanted her. She was definitely not in the bargain department, but shit. He'd peaked out on the chippies in the Posies. They were so hung up on their Reds and Whites, Footballs and Goofballs, that they could care less for a jump in the hay.
This broad was fat and dumpy, with a chest like yesterday's mashed potatoes, but hell, she must have a cunt like all the rest.
Fuck the romance. He just wanted to get his gun off.
If it cost him ten bucks worth of stolen smack, it was no skin off his ass.
Her arms were locked around his neck now, and she was biting deep into his neck, dry-fucking his leg.
Jesus. Couldn't she wait to get into the house.
He couldn't knock her on that score. If he didn't get her in the rack soon, he'd come in his shorts.
"Come on. Come on, chick," he said, clenching his fingers over both her breasts, and shoving her away. He leaned over into the rear seat for his guitar and duffle bag. "Let's get into the house. I'm not used to getting raped in the front seat of a car."
Vonnie backed away reluctantly, massaging one painful breast.
"Don't be mean. Be nice. I think I could like you if I tried."
"Don't try," Frodo said, climbing out on the pavement, and hoisting his bag to his shoulder. "I like it better the other way."
Somehow her withdrawal pains had slackened under his passionate onslaught. Her vision had cleared, her nose had stopped running, and the vicious cramping in her belly had eased to the point that she could live with it.
What a laugh.
Was the monkey between her legs a substitute for the monkey on her back?
If she fed the one, could she stop feeding the other?
It hadn't worked with Mel. Fucking him had only made her fuck herself up.
Maybe it was the flower child's purity. She didn't know. Why fight it?
Vonnie stepped aside, as she unlocked the apartment door, letting Frodo in first with his duffle bag and battered guitar case.
He dropped his luggage in the center of the floor, threw his guitar onto the couch, and reached for her as she shut the door behind her.
"Frodo, for God's sake!" She struggled against him for a moment, because her system was set for a satisfying shoot-up, a sudden rush of molecular pleasure, before submitting to any orgy of the flesh.
The nubbed end of his cock pushed through his faded Levi's, impressing itself against her belly, and the sharp severity of his attack made her knees quiver, and she sank limply against his hard-driving virility.
One of his hands found her breast, squeezing it tightly.
"Oh, oh," she moaned softly, suddenly releasing her pent emotions, as she sank to the floor under his pressing weight, lying still in rapt anticipation, as he ran her zipper down over her hips, pulling her loosened capris down over her calves and ankles, and then quickly, jerkily shoving her sweater up around her neck, exposing her naked, rising breasts.
Her eyes fastened on him, flicking moistly in their sockets, as he fumbled his own buttons loose, and fondled his rising penis. He pushed his jeans and crumpled shorts down over his hips, and stepped out of them, kicking the wadded ball of clothing under the coffee table.
His great rutting prick stood straight out from his young, slim body, and he held it tightly, pointing his ridged glans straight at her trembling clitoris.
"Oh God," she whispered to herself, fascinated by its massive length, "please hurry."
The beautiful cock was like his third arm, and on the end was a huge fist that could batter her to death.
The very thought of its touch thrilled her deeply.
Her legs widened, welcoming him, as he knelt quickly between her upraised knees. Her thick, wobbly breasts heaved, and her gaping mouth widened in a silent scream of passionate pleasure as she felt the tender, brutal tip penetrating the spreading lips of her cunt. His huge knob stretched her, and she squirmed down against the flattening cheeks of her ass, begging for one precious moment to adjust herself to his insatiable thrusting force, but he gave her no time. He was like a hungry man that hadn't eaten for weeks, starving to death if he doesn't eat everything in sight immediately.
Frodo flexed himself hilt deep, slithering far down into her vagina, in one slick, fluid motion.
Her pubic hair knotted deliciously with his, as his pumping, rooting glans, which was now her private possession, throbbed and jerked maddeningly against the fluid wall of her uterus.
"Jesus help me," Frodo moaned, chewing at the corners of her eager lips, before fastening his mouth on hers. "How many days, how many weeks has it been?"
He couldn't control himself. He had lusted fruitlessly after all the tumed-off chicks in the Posies, and over the weeks his sperm had grown and multiplied. Frodo's scrotum, wrinkled and stretched, was charged with nuclear tension, threatening to explode into a giant, sticky-white mushroom at any second. His flickering stokes, slipping in and out of her reaching, sucking cunt with the erratic regularity of a steam-driven piston showed his frantic impatience.
Unbidden, and completely surprising, his hot fluid ripped out of his sac, coursed the length of his cock, and jetted deep into the tender folds of Vonnie's cunt.
She gripped his legs with the insides of her thighs, and felt his stringy muscles jerk and quiver, as a vicious vibration quaked through his sac as it slapped against the crack of her ass.
"Oh Christ, Frodo! Don't come. You can't stop ..." Vonnie screamed, clawing at his back as her vagina crawled along his slick, wet shaft, seeking, demanding everything he had.
She pumped her ass another three inches off the rug, levering his diminishing prick to the sky, the clutching lips of her eager cunt clasping his root in a mad embrace.
She was so avid, such a bouncing, bounding, fucking maniac, devouring his tightly clenched prick, that Frodo found his sudden ejaculation hadn't shut him down. If he'd had his pick of ass, he wouldn't have chosen this lame cunt. But shit, she was giving him action, no doubt about it.
He couldn't kick her ass too hard.
Her gyrating, jerking, fucking, downright honest fucking was giving him a second wind. Normally, after coming with such force and fury, he would be lying flat on his back, watching his prick wilt like a dying violet, but this cunt flapping underneath him hadn't gotten her rocks yet, and continued fuck action was the only way to replay her hospitality.
His fingers clenched deep into the folds of her broadly flinching buttocks, and he slammed into her with a fury he hadn't believed possible. His veined, corded cock slaved in and out of her deep cunt with a steady, satisfying rhythm.
Vonnie jumped in spastic turbulence beneath his plunging root, ecstatically reeling under the brilliant electric shocks that racked her very soul each time he hit bottom, and started pulling away. The whole magnificent length of him slid so smoothly, so deeply satisfying now that he had filled her with his warm, living sperm, that she just had to raise her buttocks off the nap of the carpet, thrusting at him, which forced her own long-pent fluids to gush sweetly, percolating and mingling with his.
The voracious mouth of her cunt was like a slavering, man-eating beast, as it continued to swallow his virile goodness, only to regurgitate, and swallow it again.
"Oh, you bastard," she screamed, raking her fingernails across his shoulders, down along the lean length of his back, and around into the crease of his buttocks, where, cupping them tightly in the palms of her hands, she pulled him in tight and close, where she could grind securely against his driving rod.
"Fuck me. Deep," she cried, unlocking her ankles around his calves, and shifting them higher to a tighter position from which he could never escape.
His full, meaty cock seemed to expand and swell inside her, so that it must burst the very moment she achieved her orgasm. She tried to compress it by squeezing her buttocks more closely together, and hold off the magic moment, never let it happen.
She wanted to stay in his wet, gamy embrace always.
"Aah, God. It's wonderful," she sighed as she felt him flutter, expanding and shrinking far inside her belly.
The darting detonations, the liquid fire, flaming along the walls of her cunt were spreading, spreading, and her blooming, blossoming vagina could hold him in no longer. The lapping folds of her deliciously gushing cunt tightened down again, milking his precious sperm.
In one blinding cataclysmic flash of incandescent fire, Vonnie exploded inside, and she could feel her entire being flooding away, washing out between her clenching thighs, and seeping coldly, thrillingly along the clutching crevice between her buttocks, as her fertile, fecund cunt stroked him again and again, seeking its just reward.
"Frodo, you fucking bastard. Give it to me. Give it to me."
And with a sweet and gentle smile, he did. Something he'd never been able to do before. Within an unbelievable twenty minutes, he came the second time, rewarding her with a magnificent eruption of jetting, hot sperm.
Vonnie fell limp around him, totally devoid of life, savoring the strength of her sex, knowing that she could easily achieve thirty more bone-breaking orgasms, while poor, sweet Frodo quietly contracted inside her, and finally, with a sigh of apology, silently slid out onto the rug.
"God, what a rabbit," Vonnie sighed, still feeling his glorious weight inside her body. "Couldn't you wait another five minutes?"
"I thought you might change your mind," Frodo said, raising himself weakly to his knees, and trailing his wet end across her bare leg, "and I couldn't wait. I really needed that."
"With all the action I've had the last couple of days, a cock was the last thing I wanted to see," Vonnie said, stroking his silken cheek as he lay down on the rug beside her. "But shit, you did all right for a kid. I like your style."
"You don't do too bad for an old lady yourself," he said, pulling her left breast toward him, so that he could massage her right nipple with the heel of his hand. "I might take seconds if you ask me nice."
"Two conditions for your second ride around the track. First, wash the funk off your body. I don't want to get the sheets dirty. And second, I've got to shoot off a bag. I'm getting real sick. Where's your stash?"
"Shit. Can't you wait a fucking minute?" Frodo said, laughing at her urgency.
"Hell no. My monkey has to eat every day." "All right then. Just a goddamned minute," he said, kneeling over her prostrate body, and sucking briefly on both her nipples before getting to his feet. "It's in the well."
"What?" Vonnie asked, raising her eyebrows, watching him open his guitar case, as she pulled the rumpled sweater down over her naked breasts, leaving the rest of her exposed body as bare and as wet as the day she was born.
His dying penis wilted among his black wiry foliage as he sat on the couch, unstringing his guitar. After he had looped away three of the seven strings, he reached into the hole in the face of the instrument, and fished out three glassine sacks between his thumb and his forefinger.
"Here's the goods. Get your geezer. You said you had a gun."
"Oh thanks, Baby. Thanks. I'll use the machinery. You just get that shower, and we'll still be friends."
Vonnie's eyes gleamed, as two drops of saliva ran out of the corner of her mouth. She started to her feet, snatching the sacks of heroin out of Frodo's hand, and disappeared into the bedroom.
He laughed silently, seeing the blubber on her fat ass shake, and reaching back into the well of his guitar for his plastic bag of Manicure, his favorite blend of marijuana, totally devoid of the bitter stems and seeds.
In two minutes he'd funneled the olive-green chaff into the Zigzag wheat paper, twisted the end down, and sucked in his first two tokes.
He smiled to himself.
He'd fucked her two ways.
First on the floor, and then with the spike.
He'd burned her. The junk she was putting in her vein was just flea powder. She wouldn't float long on that stuff.
Just time to prod her one more time, and make it.
Vonnie didn't know the junk had been cut eighteen times with sugar-water and quinine. She sat beside the lowboy in the bedroom with the works spread out on the shelf before her. A small bottle cap, a bobby pin, and the gleaming hypodermic syringe.
She held the bottle cap upside down between the ends of the bobby pin, and placed the cotton, containing a few grains of Horse, in the cap, added a little water from the eyedropper, and struck a match. For several seconds the match burned under the bottle cap. Then she drew the watery mixture up into the needle.
Vonnie wrapped her nylon stocking around her upper right arm; no skin-popping this time, she need the fix bad, and was in a hurry. The twisting tourniquet forced the veins on her lower arms to protrude, as she searched frantically for a prominent vein.
She found one and dug the needle gently into it.
"Son of a bitch," she muttered to herself, "this spike must have a square end. It hurts."
She bit her teeth into one end of the stocking, and moved the needle around under her skin, probing for the vein.
Finally, a little blood oozed up into the syringe, reddening the heroin solution. Vonnie loosened the stocking, and pressed the plunger, forcing the heroin into her vein. As she pressed, a slight hissing sound, an eerie sound rose from her arm.
"That's air going into my blood," she reassured herself calmly. "If a little air could kill me, I'd have been dead a long time ago."
Vonnie relaxed, waiting for the warm golden rush.
"It's just a trace," she said. "This is a hell of a fix."
She lay back on the bed, waiting for it. Then, less than a minute after the heroin had squirted into her bloodstream, she sat up.
"There it is," she sighed. "That warm feeling in my stomach ... a little itchy around the elbow . . . now the warmth is crawling out of my stomach into my tits . . . not much . . . just a little taste."
By the time Frodo had taken a cold shower, Vonnie had accepted the fact that the kid had been burned on what he'd stolen, and had unknowingly passed it on to her. His bag wasn't Horse. How was he to know?
Frodo came out of the bathroom, trying to rub some life into his worn prick, and he could see that the dumb cunt was already flaked out on the bed, faking the nods, trying to get off.
He could smell her gamy aroma as he stepped next to her bed. He had showered, but she hadn't. She'd had high on her mind. She was still covered with the slimed mixtures of their last orgasms, and her cheesy odors rankled his notrils.
Oh well, shit. Memories of Santa Barbara.
It was still too dark to thumb anyway.
Might as well fuck. We can't dance.
She had her back to him, cuddled into a fetus, covered to her waist in a light blanket. She seemed to have stripped off her sweater before she'd shot up.
He flipped her covering down to the end of the bed with a single flicking motion, exposing her naked swelling hips, and her creased backside.
Frodo crawled into bed behind her, and laid his limp manhood between her fleshy cheeks.
She stirred slightly, moving against him, and lay still, faking deep rhythmic breathing.
Bullshit.
He backed away, shifting his hips, and trailed his hand between her legs, forcing his way between her flaccid thighs, twiddling, poking, and finally finding the guarded entrance to her slimed cunt.
Her lips were stubborn and rubbery like old linoleum, but with sustained effort he stabbed his way into her warm wetness.
"That isn't fair," she whispered, twitching her ass for a moment, adjusting herself to his new presence. "I could be a married woman, you know."
"I know," he said, shoving deeper as he smiled, "but you're not."
"No. But I could be." "Who would have you?"
"I'm a nice girl. I don't go to bed with strange men."
"What's so strange about me? I like girls, and besides we've been introduced."
"That doesn't give you the right to take liberties," she murmured, as he withdrew his damp finger and rolled onto her back.
Her eyes stayed closed as she raised her heavy arms over her head, smiling beautifully.
"I won't," Frodo answered, quickly dropping his face between her breasts, and flicking his sweeping tongue across each curve of her ellipse, and titillating each nipple in its turn until it achieved the rosy hardness of a round agate.
"Then don't," she sighed, turning unresistingly against him, waiting for Harry the Horse to hang her out to dry. She could care less what might happen inside her cunt; she was breathlessly waiting for the happening in her soul.
It was a damned long time coming.
He tore his mouth away from her pumping breasts, and pressed it down on her own. She forced her pink, fluttering tongue between his teeth, reveling at the rasping of her navel by the heavy, blood-red knob that weighed against it.
She arched her belly closer, seeking his point of contact, as her tongue continued to probe his mouth, and her hard, ball-bearing nipples gouged tiny holes in his silken chest.
Her pelvis flexed convulsively off the sheet, seeking to trap his errant cock.
Momentarily, the driving hunger of her habit filled her body, and cold reason drove away the heat of steaming passion.
Unconsciously, she reached down and tried brushing away the stiffening rod that was trying to bore a hole in her belly.
"Oh, please. I can't right now."
She knew he'd fed her chicken feed. She loved the dumb kid in a way, and she couldn't curse him down, not when he held his ten-pound package over her like this. But, damn it to hell, she'd never get off with this light load, if she didn't concentrate on it.
Horse comes first every time.
A girl can get fucked any time, but heroin in the vein is more personal and more important.
"Bullshit, you can't," Frodo roared in his sudden frustration.
He clenched his fingers tight into the loose flesh of her buttocks, while his other hand pinched the lips of her cunt close together. He knew she lied because the searing heat of her vagina glowed in his cupping hand, through her golden mat of pubic hair.
Her veins were buckled, and painfully knotted. The smack she'd taken still wasn't working.
"Oh God. No. Not till I'm floating."
He shuffled up beside her on the bed, until his raging member caressed the lower curves of her breasts.
"You want it. You know you do."
"Oh yes. But later. Give my pop a chance to work."
Frodo smiled deep inside. He'd fucked her good. That burnt-out shit would never work.
"Fuck. That's no action. Why don't you work with it. You'll get more that way."
Vonnie fought for her private Utopia, and still it lay hiding on the edge of her consciousness. This was the first time she'd been burned on bad shit, and she still didn't know how to react. Even skin-popping, when it took maybe fifteen minutes longer to float away, she knew the great golden rush inside her arteries, veins and capillaries had to come. It was as breathtakingly sweet as any number of orgasms, flooding her being with such peace and comfort that she didn't ever want to crash.
She wanted everything, all at once.
Vonnie had to have Frodo fuck her one more time before she shucked him, but the damned powder had to work first.
If she could just get her gun off on Horse, and then screw the kid here, but. . . OH GOD! ... His moving fingers had penetrated her short hair, and three of them were charging up inside her like the whole fucking, galloping Light Brigade.
One mother-fucker had found her twitching clitoris.
That Frodo-bastard didn't fight fair.
She whimpered in her sudden delight, and tried breaking away from him, desperately jerking, still seeking her high.
Goddamn it! She had worked for this high out there on the rug. She deserved it.
Frodo stalked her quickly as she moved across the bed, away from him.
She should lock herself in the bathroom, sit on the edge of the tub, until the familiar nods had is: passed, and she dropped into the state of euphoria necessary to cope with this horny bastard. Then she could fuck his ass off and leave him bleeding. But now he had her at a disadvantage. Despite the flat dose, dying in her arm and going nowhere, she secretly wanted his meaty cock plugged into her cunt, so she could ride it to the moon and back.
It was all she could do to keep from reaching back and grabbing it, stuffing it in from behind, like Soto-Campos did yesterday.
As soon as her feet hit the floor, Vonnie's eyes went to the closed bedroom door just one time, and then she turned and came back to the side of the bed. She stared hungrily at the gigantic hard-on Frodo has sprouted, standing straight and proud out of his tangled black thatch. It bobbed stiffly against his ridged belly, as his strong muscles flexed it. The surmounting knob that topped it like a scoop of ice cream on top of a cone, seemed to glow with hypnotic phosphorescence.
Vonnie stiffened her naked back, trying to control the violent trembling that started in the backs of her knees, and worked its way across her flesh buttocks and into her shoulders.
No. That wasn't what she wanted. No.
Her hands twitched and turned by her sides, and on the verge of a half swoon, they moved out from her body without volition, tenderly grasping his handsome maleness just above his wrinkled, velvet sac.
"I need it," she said, quietly sinking to her knees beside him. "I've got to have you."
"Then eat it!" he commanded, rolling on his hip, tangling his fingers in her short blonde hair, and forcing himself deep into her open, gasping mouth.
She whimpered with carnal delight, as she knelt over him, bobbing her eager head up and down, sucking in, hollowing her animal cheeks around his length, and curling her darting tongue along the ridge of his swelling head.
Despite the strength and immunity gained from his double orgasm less than an hour before, Frodo was still conscious of his vulnerable tenderness.
He felt the pricking contraction in his balls that signified another explosive build-up of sperm pressure, so he cupped his hand under her slavered chin, and gently pushed her away from his bursting cock.
"No, no, Chick. Not this way. I don't want to come in your mouth."
She struggled briefly against his pressure, fighting to get him back into her mouth, until he rolled off the bed, and scooped her up into his arms.
Frodo's prick was so stiff and rigid that it almost shattered like spun glass, ramming it into her fleshy thigh, as he strained lifting her up and laying her ass flat on the bed.
Little Frodo, the indiscriminate poppy picker, always the ninety-eight pound weakling with the Perpetual Posies, where one of the speed-freaked chicks had actually read a Mad Magazine while he had fucked away at her dead resisting cunt.
Now this was news. Frodo the Magnificent, feeling the strength of a wild raging centaur, as he stood looking down on Vonnie's hot and quivering body. He felt primed with virile power, as he stepped back, tantalizingly out of reach, as she sighed, and stretched to grasp his big, hanging cock.
Her face was a pale, mottled mask of wicked evil as she waited patiently for him to climb between her outstretched thighs. Her crumbled features were even more contorted by the raging passion in her loins, coupled with the hungry frustration in her dry and empty veins.
She moaned hysterically, as he reached down and smoothed the ruffled hair on her swelling mount. Her ankles shifted wider, pleading for his entry.
Vonnie raised her head from the sweat-dampened pillow, so she might watch his magnificent hardness moving slowly forward, toward the trembling lips of her vagina.
The king-sized mattress sank under the weight of his bare knees, as he inched up the chute of her white, leaden thighs, and she was transfixed by his pure beauty. After an eternity of waiting, his rubbery head pushed into her, slightly below the main clump of her golden hair, and she felt the tender, flushing lips her cunt strain against him for a split second, and then part gloriously under his hard insistent pressure.
In gleeful, unconditioned reflex, her buttocks clenched tight, and then relaxed, as she forgot the wasted heroin altogether.
She sobbed in heartfelt relief that Frodo was finally there. Inside. Where it mattered.
His cock felt no such emotion. It just pressed deeper.
Frodo's hunger for a woman, any woman that would hold still long enough, was deeply rooted, and the mere fact that he had shot his load twice before into this slackly twitching cunt didn't matter in the least. His prick was just as hungry for female flesh this time, so almost without his bidding, it slammed forward, crushing all resistance.
Vonnie tried moving away from his massive ramrod, and the sudden piercing pain that racked her body.
"Oh God! You'll split me!" she gasped in sudden horror. "I can't take it."
Bullshit, Frodo told himself. If every one she's had in her, was sticking out, I'd be fucking a porcupine.
Ignoring her pleas, Frodo moved steadily forward, locking his cock inside her ever more deeply, pushing aside the tender folds of her flesh. He could feel the muscles across her buttocks ripple, as she hunkered closer to his invading prick, as it fought its way inside her wonderfully tight vagina.
Her ass twitched from side to side, trying to reject his drubbing madness.
"God, you're big." Vonnie screamed, suffused with pain and pleasure. "There's no end to it. You'll kill me."
Frodo's rampaging cock knew no pity, and he let it have its head. He withdrew his shaft to the glans, almost sucking air, and then slipped it straight down inside her in one slick stabbing movement.
"Uuh ..." she groaned, almost burying her ass hip-deep in the soft mattress.
He was shoving her cervix up through her mouth, and she was painfully conscious of the wiry softness of his balls pounding against her quivering buttocks.
In one moment of delicious surrender, it seemed that her entire womb opened, sucking his swollen, blood-filled knob deep into the heart of her insatiable desire.
"Oh, go, bastard. You fucking burn artist," she screamed, pounding the small of his back with the rock-hardness of her heels. "Fuck me. Fuck me deep. Like you did with that chicken-shit smack."
There. It was out. She had said it, and there was nothing inside her, no malice, no heartbreak, no stinking lousy habit for the white dope crystals, just a mad desire to let him burn the white-hot core of her cunt completely away with the incandescent emissions from his driving cock.
Her body went sweetly limp, bereft of all tensions, as his thick shaft continued stroking inside her, filling all sides of her warm and weeping channel. Bright flushing spots highlighted her cheeks, colored by flashing passion, and her eyes bubbled with joy as the wonder of his sexual prowess spread throughout her entire being. Her cunt widened, accepting his intrusion joyfully, and she gushed her God-given fluids profusely, bathing his hard brittleness, which ripped and tore at her tenderness, finally making its rubbery friction enjoyable.
Frodo was momentarily frightened by Vonnie's sudden eagerness, so he shifted his heavy glans outward, leaving an untenable gap up in the far end of her clutching vagina.
Vonnie shifted her grinding hips quickly, following him, refusing to release the plunging pleasure of his cock.
Frodo grunted at her suddenly renewed friction, quickly snapping his powerfully bunched hips backward, almost freeing his glans from her grasping, sucking lips, and then, instantly, before Vonnie had a chance to move or adjust to his absence, he flicked his pelvis forward, roaring deep inside her.
"Ooh . . . fuck ..." she moaned.
"Oh yes . . . fuck . . . throw your cunt ..." he responded ecstatically.
Frodo's excitement winged, hearing her words of encouragement. His nails dug into her fleshy buttocks cruelly, as his cock stroked deeply and smoothly, in and out of her wet and palpitating flesh like a thrusting sword.
Vonnie whimpered and groaned under his weight, as her vibrating cunt changed from a slow rhythmic boil, to a fiery, charging eruption. She nibbled tenderly on his ear, as her thighs curled over his back. She cooed softly, slowing the pulsing motion of her hips to match Frodo's smooth symmetry.
She told him how glad she was she'd picked him up off the street corner, and the hell with the bum smack. She knew he'd burned her, but his young ass was sweeter than any fix in the world, and God, how good his plunging cock felt inside her empty, hungry cunt, and all the time she was comfortably fucking him deep in the fast security of her brother's own mattress, somewhere back in a separately detached portion of her mind, she wondered about Pat Rawlings, and if she was getting her ass from PeeDee as regularly as Vonnie was getting hers.
Frodo heard none of Vonnie's secrets, because he was fucking her in mad delight, enjoying every sweet, sucking, clutching, grasping moment of it.
Vonnie's soulful movement stopped without warning, her face straining as though she was in the throes of a climax.
Frodo thought she had finished, and was floating softly away from him, until he heard the pounding at the front door.
"Fuck them," he told himself, as his cock moved deep within her, and she responded sweetly by jerking her ass close against him, rotating her wet lips against his sweating balls.
The knocking continued, and he found it hard to concentrate.
"Who's that?" he asked her, but he might as well
I have held his breath.
Vonnie's eyes were closed in rapturous ecstasy, and she rotated her hips around him, as he sunk himself to the depths of her delicious offering. His hands pinned her shoulders, and her heels were hooked just under the curve of his buttocks.
A delirious expression swept across the quiet serenity of her face, and her body seemed to glow even more hotly at the points she touched him. Her thighs began to tremble tantalizingly, as her all-consuming orgasm came charging toward them. Her cunt began sucking so strongly that it came dangerously close to swallowing all of him, balls and all, rasping deep against the full length of his corded cock, caught up in the tremors of her new sensation, and Frodo felt his sac tightening, tightening in sweet terror.
The contracting convolutions of her vagina became more frequent and ever more stronger, quickening, quickening, squeezing hungrily at his tapering cock.
Suddenly she was there, all the way, and she moaned and she twitched, and she thrust herself forward on the mattress, grinding the skin of his neck between her sharp, canine teeth, and raking his back with her nails the entire time she came.
Frodo grunted, shooting long spurts of boiling sperm, deep into her demanding body.
Her heels hammered into the small of his back.
"Oh, good Christ," she shouted, as the hammering on the door grew louder. "I'm coming . . . I'm coming ... I made it."
Frodo slipped out in one quick motion, and as Vonnie gasped pitifully at her rejection, he found the target again, burying his prick up to the hilt in her wetly yielding flesh, rewarding her hunger with one last, joyous spurt.
Their triangles of slimed hair met and merged, rotated in twin circles of loving farewell in the single suspended moment before they fell limply apart, thoroughly spent, breathing deeply in the gamy, sperm-filled air.
And still the pounding continued at the door.
"Come on in there! Open up! Police!"
Frodo's eyes darted across to the clock.
"Six-thirty! Can't those pig-bastards leave anyone alone?"
ELEVEN
It was fuzz of course. Come about Pat. Or Ron, really. They had their heads up their ass as usual.
They were working on some weird theory that Ron and Pat had blasted Hinson, and had run away to get married.
Some up-to-date Bonnie and Clyde.
Vonnie held her finger to her lips as she rolled away from the young hip, slipped into a terrycloth robe of Ron's, and carefully closed the door behind her. She walked across the rug, spilling his stream down her leg, as she reached for the front door.
It was okay, lying flat on her back in bed, holding the effluvium of their mixed juices tenuously in the upraised cup of her vagina, but Christ, what a bummer, when she stood up and started walking. It was like turning a bowl of onion soup upside down in the kitchen sink.
The trickling thickness tickled the insides of her thighs, as it oozed from the warmth of her vagina, leaving its trail of gooseflesh.
They had fuzz all over them when she opened the door. She was afraid Frodo would poke his head out of the bedroom door in curiosity, and give her whole game away.
Her machinery, spike, bottle cap, the whole smash was still on the lowboy. She didn't want any fucking pig-cop nosing in there.
Still if they didn't have a specific warrant to search and seize narcotics, there wasn't a damned thing they could do. She knew Sections 118500 et seq. of the California Health and Safety Code probably as good as they did.
The two Johns had their heads cropped close, wearing plastic turtleneck sweaters, trying to play the game, looking like a couple of busted marines right out of boot camp.
Narcs shoved into homicide in an emergency.
She read them.
Vonnie planted her foot in their mouth before they could rap.
"Who are you guys? Joe Friday and Sam Bullitt?"
They quit trying to shit her, and showed their wallets.
"May we step inside?" the bulky blond asked. "We want to see Ron Severn. We understand he lives here."
"Oh yeah," she said, clutching her robe close, as she opened the door, and let them pass by her. She didn't want to destroy their illusions; the script always had a beautiful virgin in it. "But he's out of town right now."
She tried sitting down as though her cunt was spun of fine cut crystal, but shit, that just opened her wider and the gamy, scummy come flowed out of her in a torrent, saturating her terrycloth robe, and seeping into the upholstery.
The pig sat facing her on two straight-back chairs they had hauled close to the coffee table.
The young, skinny one looked hard at the plastic bag with Frodo's Manicure in it, but he was stumped. They hadn't come on a marijuana bust, so they were empty on the warrant they needed.
Empty or not, they still had to talk about it.
At six-thirty in the fucking morning.
The young one really ran his little game, widening his eyes, and letting his fuzzy eyebrows shoot up into his hair.
"Don't tell me that's grass?" he asked, shooting darts at her out of his bright, bird-assed eyeballs.
"No, I won't tell you that's grass," she said, smiling at his dorkish stupidity.
"Can you tell me what it is?" he asked, as demure as Shirley Temple holding hands with George Murphy in Little Miss Something-Or-Other.
"It's a mixture of oregano and bay leaves. I was getting stuffed in the other room when you tried beating down my door."
That proved it. No reaction. You could tell the Man any outrageous lie, and he'd only hear what he came to hear.
They looked at the duffle bag in the center of the floor, and her pink capris crumpled on the carpet, and Frodo's Levi's kicked under the couch, and the lame guitar with its strings hanging loose, and then, like Tweedledum and Tweedledee, they fastened their eyes again on the plastic sack of Mary Jane, the good green of the pure stock.
Then like nonidentical twins, they stared hard at the door she'd closed behind her.
"Do you have company?" the young one asked, staring at her jealously, like he'd like to be the one. The blond one, with the longer hair, shifted slightly, as though he had a dozen fresh eggs jammed up his ass.
"We're not keeping you from anything are we?" he said with a pure son-of-a-bitch smile on his face.
"No," she smiled, shifting her buttocks nervously herself, spilling another gallon of cooling sperm through Ron's robe onto the brocade couch, "we were just finished. Did you come banging around here at this godforsaken time of the morning just to check on my sex life? I'm free, white and twenty-five, so what the hell's anything I do go to do with you? Well, maybe I'm not always free, but if you've got a good credit rating, I'm damn sure reasonable."
She saw them itching around, and the way the young shit knocked his knee against the other one, underneath the table, she knew they didn't have fuck-all. Just nosing around.
The older one took over. A real goddamned Sherlock Holmes. One of those crazy calabash pipes would complete the picture.
"When was the last time you saw your brother?"
"Night before last."
"What were the circumstances?" he asked, putting an Ernest Hemingway scowl on his face.
He must buy his mustaches the same place W.C. Fields bought his.
"We ate a can of chili together. He was in a rush to go to the show.
"What movie did he attend?"
No wonder these narcs don't make the scene. They don't speak the language.
"I think it was the Airport Drive-In. Down in Goleta."
"Was he going alone?"
"Hell no. He was getting married next month. Surely you know that. And the girl he's marrying is Patricia Rawlings. Whose stepfather got blasted night before last. Why don't you fuck heads cut corners, and ask intelligent questions."
That rocked them back in their chairs. They don't know how to handle it when a broad chews their ass.
"Now, Miss Severn. We're just trying to do our job. There's no need for that kind of talk."
"There sure as hell is. You damn people come pussyfooting around here at six-thirty on Sunday morning with your head up your ass. You think I'm going to roll out the red carpet, and give you a hearty handshake?"
"We have to lay the background. Take a long look at the facts."
"Oh shit," Vonnie said, grimacing under a quick mental picture of Pat Rawlings lying naked, flat on her back on the rough wooden floor in the walk-in box, with her blood hardening around her mouth. "You're wasting your time and mine. They're wild kids. Who knows where the hell they went?"
"Do you think they could have run away?" the young one blurted, in anticipatory eagerness. "To get married or something?"
"Hell, I don't know. They didn't tell me anything. They could be on a ten-day mescaline trip for all I know. Shacked up back of Old Smoky."
The young fuck didn't dig that action. It had to be written down in the book. He'd probably sat around the station all last night, rehearsing this interrogation, even down to the answers she should logically be making. When they didn't come out the way he planned them, he was screwed blue.
Good for his ass.
"Let me repeat my question, just for the record," the young one stammered. "What you're telling us is that you haven't seen your brother, Ronald Severn, since Friday night, August twenty-seventh. What time was that?"
That was easy. She didn't have to lie for that one.
"Six-thirty. Maybe seven."
"And he left here to pick up his fianc�? Patricia Rawlings?"
"As far as I know. Like I said. He didn't tell me."
"And when was the last time you saw Miss Rawlings?"
"Oh, I don't know," she said, on dangerous ground now, letting her eyes roam around the room, hoping they'd think Pat had been here in the apartment, and they'd all been cozy. "The last time they were together here."
That seemed to hold them for the moment, but Vonnie knew somebody would be back to shake out the plastic bags as soon as they drew the proper warrants downtown.
"We appreciate your courtesy," the young fuck said, half turning in the doorway, letting Blondie stamp angrily down the stairway in front of him. "I hope we haven't kept you from anything."
"Like I said, fuzz," she said with a wry smile, "we'd just finished. Sorry you missed the action. I'm great on my back. But sorry, I just put out for my friends."
That shot his ass out of the saddle.
He still had to let everyone know he was the Man. He even slammed the door with authority.
The terrycloth robe was gummed to her ass. She had to pull it free before running back into the bedroom.
Vonnie didn't have to tell Frodo anything. He was tearing for his Levi's crumpled under the couch.
His eyes were bugged out like poached eggs, scared stupid.
"How far's the police station?" "A mile and a half."
"Shit. They'll be back here in fifteen minutes to bust my ass."
"I know it. As soon as they get their paper."
Frodo jumped into his Levi's, popped his goods back into the well of his guitar, and began busily looping the strings around the butterflies.
Vonnie opened her mouth to protest, but thought better. Frodo was too possessive, to childish, and too damned independent. She could never rule him. Besides he'd burned her. He'd given her a good fuck, no doubt about that, but she'd been had before without half the wear and tear.
So, instead of blurting: "Oh, no. Don't go. Please stay,"-she was realistic. She dressed also, slipping into her suede jacket, because it was often cold in the early morning, with the fog drifting inland off the sea, and murmured, "Come on, then. I hate to see you go, 'cause you've been good, real good to the old lady, but hell. The Man will be back, and he'll drop you for this stash. Come on. Let me run you up to the next big town, Santa Maria. For old times' sake."
"What do you mean, old times?" Frodo asked out of the tangle of his hair and billy-goat beard. "We just climbed out of the rack."
"Right now, with fuzz staring down my throat, it's got to be a memory."
He got the message. While he was restringing his guitar, Vonnie rummaged through Ron's things and found a twenty, folded under a pile of shorts.
Frodo followed her down to the car without a word.
After submitting to a completely cold good-bye kiss, Vonnie cruised for dealers, but Santa Maria was clean.
Damn it.
The heat was tough around one-thirty, so she sipped a couple of cold drafts in a roadside joint in the tiny crossroads of Orcutt, so it had to be past three when she turned into Castillo Street, and spotted the familiar two-story apartment building at the end of the block.
She felt distinct relief being back in the city. It had been almost two days now since she'd run away and left Pat.
This afternoon, coming south along the coast, she'd damn near swung up the Solvang off-ramp when she passed it.
It took violent conscious effort, and a vicious tromp on the gas to stifle that effort.
She'd decided in her own mind that the kooky broad had blasted her stepfather. Pat had been the only one around. Who else could have done it?
Vonnie would never have believed it possible, if she hadn't seen Pat come up off the floor, raving made, hacking at PeeDee with his own switchblade.
Sure Pat had been belted in the teeth.
The crazy cunt had it coming.
Vonnie heard a car door slam on the street below, just as she was unlocking her door.
"God. The fuzz again. Just what I need," she told herself wearily. "I'm ready to crash with the workout Frodo gave me."
As soon as she stepped inside the apartment, she saw that the sweet kid had left two dime bags on the coffee table. Even cut to shit with sugar-water, this dose should keep her monkey quiet for the next couple days.
By the time she'd stashed them under an ice-cube tray in the refrigerator, there was a light hesitant tapping at the door.
"Jesus Christ," Vonnie sighed, smoothing the wrinkles in her soiled sweater, "what do I have to do to get some sleep around this place?"
She expected to see the same two pigs, eagerly clutching their precious paper in their hands, but instead she found a large raw-boned brunette, with blasted eyes, all swollen and veined, dressed in some weedy black crepe that hung off her frame like a charcoal muu-muu.
Vonnie stared at her for a moment, noting her ravaged, time-worn face, and the fact that even the best uplift in the world can't do much if you're wearing a couple of flapjacks on your chest.
"Excuse me . . . yes?" Vonnie stammered, stepping aside so that the grieving woman could step into the front room.
Of course Vonnie had known immediately. The resemblance was striking, especially around the mouth. The lower lip was full and broad, and there was this dimple in the right corner of the mouth that they both had.
The old lady must have been a prime jump in her day, Vonnie thought. She had a voracious hunger deep in her eyes, and in the full pendancy of her mouth. The way she glided across the floor told the story, with her sparse, bony hips slung forward, ready to scoop in any cock lying around loose.
Goddamn! Vonnie admonished herself, as Pat's mother turned gracefully, placing her precious bottom on the couch. I've been getting too much lately. I think everyone's a fuck head just like me.
Vonnie squatted yoga-fashion, in the center of the rug, a few feet from Mrs. Hinson's bleeding eyes.
"Yes?" she asked the older woman, when a couple of minutes had gone by with nothing happening.
It wasn't as if the old girl wasn't trying. Her mouth was flapping loose, like she was a marionette with a broken string. Nothing came out.
When the penny finally fell through the slot, it was sweet and simple.
"I guess you know who I am?" It came out more a question than a statement, and even that was too much for her because her eyes started brimming, and she had to go to her handbag for a wisp of Kleenex to soak up the excess moisture. "You're Pat's mom?"
"Yes." She said it very simple, very cool, despite the tears getting away and slipping down her long reddened nose. "You have read the papers, child?"
"I heard it on the radio. It was terrible."
"I still can't believe it. It's too horrible. Fred lying there . . . And now that my daughter's disappeared as well ..."
It seemed that Mrs. Hinson's quietly composed face came apart in shards, and was on the verge of falling on the floor. She buried her face in the tissue, and let her tears fall where they might.
"I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?" Vonnie said, helplessly reaching across, and smoothing the woman's knee, knowing inside that she would lie when the question came.
"Your brother, Ron . . . ?" Kate choked, fighting to control her emotions. "He's gone too, isn't he?"
The Man had been busy.
"Oh yes," Vonnie answered, her mind jumping, searching for a plausible evasion, "but it's just on business."
That wasn't too cool. The old lady's eyebrows raised in tearful derision.
"A stock boy at Sears? Away on a business trip?"
"I don't know. He told me he had to go down to the L.A. warehouse."
She'd really crammed her foot into it. But she was riding a tiger, especially since Mrs. Hinson wasn't buying it.
"Miss Severn," Kate's pendant lips tightened into a nervous crease, and her tears dried in the corners of her eyes, "think carefully now. It is most important that I reach my daughter as quickly as possible. Are you sure she and your brother didn't run away together? To get married or something?"
"If they did, they didn't tell me about it," Vonnie answered, relieved to be back on firmer ground.
"I know they had a date Friday night," Kate said inwardly, almost speaking to herself. "Patricia told me just before I left for San Luis." Then raising her eyes, she spoke directly to Vonnie. "Do you know where they went?"
"Ron said they were going to a drive-in movie." Vonnie answered, forgetting about her L.A. story.
"Did you see either of them Friday night?"
That was easy. She'd been down at Santa Barbara State, dealing around the Student Union with Mel, when Ron had left, and she hadn't picked Pat up until sometime Saturday morning. Two or three o'clock.
"No, Mrs. Hinson. I can truthfully say I didn't."
What would old Mom say, if she knew her sweet and lovely was lying in a walk-in box, stripped to the skin, with her precious face beaten in, with three pushers banging her ass?
Go all freaked and flippy. Stone mad.
Better not tell this one anything.
Sometimes Vonnie even amazed herself with her heartless duplicity.
Old Mom finished dabbing at her tears, and hoisted her lean, feline, tiger-cat hips off the couch, and was stuffing her tattered Kleenex back into her patent-leather bag, walking toward the door, talking to herself.
"I've got to find her. Before the police. They'll ask her so many questions. Damned questions."
Without waiting for Vonnie to get to her feet, almost in a daze, Kate Rawlings glided across the room, and softly shut the door behind her.
It was all so unreal, Vonnie thought. Pat up there, and the old lady here. Except for a lingering, aroma of White Shoulders, old Mom might never have been here at all.
Vonnie shuddered, realizing that there was an air of eerie horror in this warm, dark room that had never been here before.
Old Mom's message was clear.
She herself knew that Pat was the one.
She wanted to confront her daughter, and confirm the truth before the Man busted her.
Vonnie knew she was the only person in the whole damned city that would finger Pat. Maybe jail would be a better place for the mixed-up kid, than that hell hole out beyond Santa Ynez.
The whole mess was a crushing burden for Vonnie's conscience. She carried it on her back for two whole days, with time out for the semi-high she ripped off her dime bags. Her H trips were cheap tricks, keeping her in bed, away from the front door, its loud rapping and juggling doorknob, which kept moving until somebody decided she wasn't home, and that she'd had the foresight to lock it.
Caught up in the crunch of events, the surfeit of junk, flashbacks of Frodo, and drifting, dreaming fantasies of Pat and her problem, Vonnie didn't venture across town to check Mel until Thursday.
She was really bummed. His fag cellmate had sprung for his bail, and the two lovers had left town together. There were a few things he'd left behind in his room, but the real crusher was the hastily scrawled note on the back of the Playboy calendar she'd given him for Christmas. The fact that he'd used that collection of rampant mammary glands, and chucked it, after submitting a queen, was right on his case.
Where you been, butterfly ? I waited and waited in the compound, muddy and dirty, lost and strayed, poor little waif and child, without brother or sister, mother or father, poor little bastard, waiting for PeeDee money or Vonnie money, and no PeeDee money or Vonnie's hustling money either came, so there I was with my butterfly wings ripped off, and not being able to fly with you to Honduras or Mazatlan, where life could be one long smack trip, and our veins could always be open, welcoming anything or everything, and while I languished with the world passing by daily, there came into my life a stranger, a truly wild cat, who sees beauty in other than the she of the species, who feels that the female mammary is a snare and a delusion, his very words as a matter of fact, and that the beautiful cunt you cunts hide so cunningly, or cuntingly, as art, or therapy, or psychological enema, must only be a pitfall, and a snake pit, leading to matrimonial madness, and from this hellhole of the soft flesh issues only urinary specimens and kith and kin, which no one, let alone I, have any use for, because you and I have already tasted that bitter vetch, and it has made the two of us puke, and besides Fayette, my new found friend, has not a treacherous bone in his pure sweet body, and he truly loves me for what I am, and those are his very words too, as a matter of fact, and not one word about dealing any shit to avid college students, and with his wealth and money, for he does wheel a Maserati, with a whole trunk load of mutah and horse, just for yours truly, as we tour the continent of North America, and besides, parting is such sorrowful sweetness, and maybe sometime in the far distant future, when your body recovers from its present malady, and gets in better shape, and the angry sore between your legs heals completely, then, and only then . . .
Vonnie was so blasted by Mel's methedrine-inspired ramblings that she couldn't cope with the Volkswagen bus parked in the carport behind the apartment on Castillo Street.
It was too much to bear. Mel scatting out with some queer bastard, God knew where, and everyone on her back, wanting to know where Pat Rawlings was hiding out.
She was the only one who knew, except PeeDee and his boys, and they'd never split.
And now her baby brother was waiting upstairs with all his bug-eyed questions.
For a second she was tempted to climb into her Opel, and just drive away.
Who'd miss her? Who'd really care?
But no. That was no way.
She might as well go upstairs, and get it over with.
The shower was running as she stepped inside. She slammed the door hard to make things happen.
"Vonnie?" Ron shouted, the water shutting off immediately. "Is that you?"
"Sure. Who else?" she answered dispiritedly, foregoing the gag answer that sprang to her lips.
"Wait a second. I've got to talk to you."
"Where the hell would I go? I just got here. Where have you been the last four days?"
Ron had no time for games. He was out in the front room in a second, still dripping wet, with his white towel draped around his waist. His thin, finely chiseled face was pale and drawn, as though he hadn't slept in a week. His eyeballs seemed shrunk to nothing, with five miles of red-veined milkiness surrounding each one.
Poor Baby, she thought, with an almost incestuous love welling in her bosom, it's a good thing this happened to Pat. So you could find out in time.
Anything. She'd tell him anything he asked.
"I was an ass," he said, slumping on the couch beside her, and hanging his head like he used to when he was just a little kid, and she'd caught him in a lie. "Pat got on my case Friday night, and I got down, way down. Just to show her I bought some acid from the Filipino freak that your boy friend deals for. It was a hell of a trip. I finally crashed in MacArthur Park, in downtown L.A. then I surfaced, I'd been rolled, and I couldn't remember where I'd left my bus. The first thing I saw was the papers, but I had to work a couple of days to get the bread to come back."
"Why didn't you phone?"
"I tried a couple times, but nobody answered." "I must have been out."
"I even tried calling Pat's house, but one time I got a cop on the line, and he tried to bust me down before I hung up. Jesus, Von, you don't know where she is, do you?"
She opened her mouth, with sudden relief, ready to tell him everything, but before she could get the words out, he'd started rapping again.
"I knew she was afraid of that bastard. In a way I'm glad he got it. But having your face shot away while you're handcuffed to a bed is a hell of a way to go. I never should have dropped her off, no matter how mad we got ..."
"Ron. Ron," Vonnie interrupted quietly, not imposing her voice over his, but just talking along with his frenzied statements. "I think she did it... "
"... I could have kept her here. She told me once or twice that he used to stare at her, like he'd like to get rid of the old lady, and take Pat to bed, but I never paid much attention to that, I didn't want to get involved. If there was a problem there, I figured, what the hell, we were getting married in a month, and she'd be getting out anyway, and that should solve everything; besides the guy was a cop . . . "
"... and so does her mother..." Vonnie continued, and finally her words sunk in, and Ron came to the end of his hysterical harangue.
"You can't be serious."
"I am. Figure it out for yourself. You dropped her off in front of her house, and kissed her good night on the doorstep as usual. What time?"
"No kiss. She was pissed. One-thirty, quarter of two, something like that."
"The paper said her stepfather got off shift at one. He had to check in his patrol car, and then drive home from the state at De La Guerra and Anacapa, across town to Calle Cita, at least a twenty-minute drive. I figure he pulled in his driveway about two. Two-thirty at the latest."
"That sounds about right," Ron said, relaxing for the moment, standing and sitting on the arm of the couch, almost carried back to his childhood, and the early instruction of his older sister.
"So by two, you'd left. And Pat and her stepfather were alone in the house."
"Yeah. Yeah," Ron said, frowning, not really wanting to hear the rest. "I remember Pat told me her mother had to go to San Luis. Something about her grandmother."
"Well, here's something you don't know. Pat called me about three-thirty, almost hysterical, scared out of her mind. Something about some horrible monster in the house up on Calle Cita going to screw up the entire world."
"Why should she call you?"
"She was trying to reach you, dope head. Only you'd flaked off to PeeDee's in your little temper tantrum. Do you know where that crazy broad was phoning from?"
"Tell me."
"She'd hardly any clothes on. Just a shift with nothing underneath, no shoes, nothing. She'd run all the way down the hill on Le Cumbra and was calling from the phone booth on the corner of State."
"What did you do?"
"I couldn't really understand what she was talking about, so I offered to come and pick her up. She wouldn't even wait on that corner. She kept babbling. I finally found her over across the freeway, running down Modoc Street, as though she was going to run all the way to Goleta."
Despite his worry, he couldn't bear to look his sister in the face.
"Looks bad, doesn't it?"
"It does to me. Either she did it, or she knows who does."
"Where is she now? Where did you take her?" "Out at PeeDee's. You know me, Ron. I had to get some smack. Mel got busted, and I was rotting out."
"What's she doing at PeeDee's? God, that's a hell of a place."
Vonnie nodded, before opening her mouth.
"We were just getting ready to leave, when the news came over the radio. PeeDee didn't figure he could afford to let her go."
"Didn't you call the police? Do anything to get her away from there?"
"At the time it looked like she might be safer where she was."
Ron was scrambling through his closet before she'd finished.
"I don't give a damn what happened up there on Calle Cita, whether she did it or not. I've got to get her. She'll tell me."
Vonnie had said all she could. She hadn't the courage to tell him Pat probably wasn't in any shape to tell anybody anything.
No use complicating matters by splitting about the acid, the gang rape or her unconscious body, or the repeated injections of speed that kept her docile in her refrigerated prison.
Ron would find that out fast enough.
Besides, Vonnie rationalized, if that crazy bitch had blown her mind and shot that cop, she deserved everything she was getting.
Ron was better off rid of that broad.
She had one word of caution, as Ron snatched his keys off the coffee table and made for the door.
"Don't get busted, honey. The fuzz are probably watching this place right now, and will tail you out into the boonies. Watch the speed limit, and drive carefully, or they might drop you for speeding."
"Just like the big, dumb kid," she thought, pulling the curtain aside, and watching him pull a
U, right in the middle of Castillo Street. He hadn't heard a word.
The bright-green Plymouth, incognito without the city plate, pulled away from the curb, and followed Ron around the corner toward 101.
Vonnie couldn't see into the shadow from his height, but sure as shit it had to be Joe Friday and Sam Bullitt with their plastic badges.
Well, she'd tried to tell him. Tough tacos if he got stopped.
She was getting sick.
Her last bang was wearing off, which meant she'd have to hustle up some cash.
Maybe she could find Chucho in Vera Cruz Park, and he could let her have a nickle bag for three bucks.
Which meant she'd spend the night wrapped in some surfer's sandy blanket on the cold-ass beach. The name of the game. Fuck!
TWELVE
The naked bulb, dancing and prancing above her, hung and strung from the ceiling by its dangling, frayed umbilical, was shooting darting sparks of a golden translucent fluid into her eyes, almost like warmed-over sage honey manufactured by a million lovingly bumbling bees, and even though she had refused to drink any coffee for the past two days, at least she thought she had eaten, having thrown the loaded liquid into the vile and horrid corner she crouched in to relieve herself of her morning dailies, the hallucinogens they had fed her kept flashing back, and there were tiny aluminum space ships hovering over her prostrate body, firing disintegrating rays into the splintered wood flooring all around her, and even hitting her, and making parts of her body disappear temporarily and suddenly the bold, glaring light that stared down on her shame and degradation turned into a thousand suns, planets, stars and asteroids, and she was a beautiful winged horse, with broad, downy-white, sweeping wings, galloping through the universe in slow motion, circling the rings of Saturn, and gloriously watching them turn and wheel through the galaxy, millions and billions of flashing, glassite molecules reflecting the rays of the sun that shown overhead in the form of a ball of fantastically invented electric light, and the wonder of the whole experience was that when she thought about it her plastic mind would stretch in every direction at once, and she could go anywhere in the world and time that she wanted, and such basic fundamentals as electricity, or the vacuum tube, had all been invented just for her special benefit, and even standing nude, so that she could be invisible without any clothes on, she found herself standing behind the hunched shoulders of Thomas Alva Something, which was all right, because he was deaf and couldn't hear her anyway, and she watched him invent the electric light, and Alexander Graham Somebody-Or-Other, and she heard him mumble words out of his snarling beard, into a couple tin cans connected by a string, and the people that were keeping her in this refrigerated prison hated it when she refused to drink any more coffee, so she would crouch in the corner, right where she could see the first crack of light when the latch snicked open, and like a lioness protecting her cubs from mortal death, she would spring at them, scratching and clawing, but whoever it was that came to feed her, would have the needle, the glass and metal hypodermic syringe, ready, and they would jab at her and jab at her, while someone else grasped her arms from behind, and sometimes the spike would hit her in the face, and sometimes in the breast, and, more often than not, smack in the middle of the belly, and the giant brown thumb would depress the plunger, and within minutes, while one of the monsters sat on her shoulders, and another one sluiced her body filth out of her box with a bucket of cold, swirling water, and a third one scrubbed away her feces wrapped in dirty, perforated paper, that someone had thrown in through a closing door at one time or another, every one of her body functions would accelerate and speed up, and all of these wonderful things would plunge through her mind in unison, and she would babble on in disconnected sentences, and there was just a million things she had to say, thirty or forty thought patterns going on at the same time, and only one, poor, inadequate set of vocal chords, and one mouth to funnel them through, and all around her, as the drug went to work on her perceptions, and on her reflexes, everything came crystal clear, and every object around her took on an added dimension, each and every board and piece of lumber within the comfortably cold refrigerator became her friend, even though she could see grains and flaws within them that nobody on earth but she could see, and she had to tell everyone, bring her message to the world, but her warders felt it was best that she keep this vital secret classified, while they stood around, scratching their heads and saying things like: "Jesus, PeeDee, you'll burn the bitch up with that much meth." And, "I thought you were so hep on getting rid of her. Dump her on the beach and all that shit." But the one they called PeeDee, who was really a misunderstood saint, and Father Superior in this place of holy worship, would merely ponder, and say: "Not yet, Man. The dealers say the fuzz is turning the place upside down." And the black one would ask another question, belaboring his priest heretically: "What the fuck happened to Vonnie? At least she could tell us something." PeeDee, in his wisdom, would reply: "Who knows about that H-head? She's probably boxed and blasted by now." And she would lie still remembering the nights they came to see her, and would lie with her after she subsided, and quit trying to fight her way out, because no matter if it was the Filipino, the Negro or the Mexican, whether they came together, all at once, or whether they came singly, furtively, as though the fact that they were keeping her out back in a refrigerated ice-box, like some dumb ice cube or something, or cut of flank steak, they'd have to beat her up and shoot her with whatever it was, before she'd do anything for them, but once everything started revving up, they could do anything they liked, because she go so hot, so passionate, her hips would just take over and gyrate all over the place, and try as she might, she could never get off, and even after they left, she would either finger herself to sleep, or cry and sob a million tears as she viciously plunged that rubber whatch-callit thing inside her, waiting for the next time the door would crack open, and she could try to make a break for it, but she would never know what time that time might be because while the light was on, it was always bright and glaring inside the refrigerator, and she could never tell when the door would be swung wide open, whether it would be bright sunlight outside or total pitch darkness, and one night, was it last night, or the night before, that she'd heard the latch slip away with that unmistakable click she had gotten used to, and before she could leap, tearing at the intruder's throat, he was inside, and she looped her arms forward, circling his knees, and crashed her tender, bare shoulders around his kneecaps, and sent him crashing to the floor, but her reflexes were dull, because even though every movement was preplanned, and raced through the crystal clarity of her mind with breathtaking speed, her muscles, sinews and tendons responded agonizingly slow, so that he was up before she could fight to her knees, and she could see the toe of his boot arcing toward her, as though it was the greatest pendulum on the largest clock in this whole mechanized world, and it caught her flush in the mouth, and sent her flying into the wall, skidding through her own tidy pile of defecation, that she always tried to keep in one corner, so that her warders could clean her cage with as little effort as possible, because after all, they did feed her, and didn't punish her for her many sins, and the blow to the face did stun her, but didn't quite knock her out, and it caused the gaping hole in her upper gum to start gushing again, and as she shook her head trying to clear the Stardust out of her singing ears, he was on his knees beside her, with his plunging dart, deep into the capillaries beside the shoulder blade, because she was lying on her face, she looked up before the drug socked in, taking its full effect, and she could see it was the black this time, and even though her naked body was covered with her own filth, she could see the gleam in his eyes, as he stood and unbuckled his belt, and fumbled with some stubborn buttons, until they fell to the floor, and his giant, black thing reared out from his rippling stomach like a giant fence post, with a dark, gleaming knuckle on the end, and she knew that such a thing was impossible, he was much too big, and that if this Wild Man from Boreno tried ramming his big shooting member inside her tiny body she must surely split in half, but that was all right too, because it was a way out, and possibly, just possibly, she could finally achieve an orgasm and end her torment, but involuntarily, she gasped in sudden terror, because as much as she would like to believe that this huge, rampant cock was not an hallucinatory vision, but was the real honest-to-God article, her glazing eyes locked on it, she held her breath in stunned fright, as she clenched her thighs together, bewildered and unsure of just what to do, she closed her eyes tight shut for a moment hoping that all of this would go away, but in the darkness behind her closed eyelids, she felt him grasp her ankles, and jerk them rudely apart, and in the livid clarity of her mind's eye, she saw the easy vulnerability of her delicate pink opening, nestling in her soft pubic mound, come quickly into his view, and she could feel his gnarled, callused fingers digging, pinching at her full jiggling breasts, as the giant black man crept closer between her widespread legs, hooking his arms under her knees, forcing her straining thighs back up against her breasts, so that her raised buttocks pointed their matted defecation toward the ceiling, and instantly her mind slowed, and became confused and terrified, as she remembered the sudden, shattering death of Fred Hinson, and again and again she watched his tattered, bleeding face disappear in a welter of blasted, streaming blood.
For a moment, under this screaming attack of terror, while she opened her mouth wide, in a silent mute paroxysm of rejection, her face contorted in anguish, the effect of the injection of methedrine totally washed away, and she could see and feel her surroundings, and cringingly smell the depths of her humiliation, and she felt that every tired and beaten muscle in her body was being warped and stretched beyond her endurance, and she was there, twisted beyond reason, a human sacrifice to this Negro's lust, and there was nothing in this world she could do about it.
In the glare of the single light bulb, she opened her eyes, and caught the golden gleam of his smile, as he gazed down into the widening slit of her vagina. He hunched close, and laid the entire length of his long, meaty cock between her moistening lips, running his hand lovingly along the top of his monstrous organ, and deep in her soul, the newly awakened Pat, felt it jerk and harden against her, as the black man prepared himself for his conquest.
His body swayed on its knees like a palm frond in a sea breeze; his glistening black skin glowing like deep, polished ebony, in the naked light.
He shuffled forward, an inch at a time, his gently undulating pelvis rotating his black, veined totem, closing ever closer to his eventual entry. Like twin cannon balls, his pendant, sperm-filled sac seemed ready to explode.
Pat's knees pinned her shoulders to the rough oak flooring, and down through her upraised thighs she watched in silent horror as the black man's tumescence drew back, flexing for the telling stroke on her quivering labia.
She was hypnotized by the impossible size and breadth of his instrument, that was even now, this minute, this second, ready to plunge into her warm, succulent body with its full and damaging length.
Paralyzed, she lay still and dazed, unable to avert her impending rape.
Suddenly, without warning, like a striking adder, he leaned forward, his woolly, naturally-cut head descending on her soiled white body, and his bright-red tongue licked at one straining nipple, and then in slowly descending circles, followed the soft pathway of dark, tickling fuzz out of her navel, and into the tangled triangle of hair on her swelling mound.
His fingers were surprisingly gentle as he spread the quavering lips of her vagina, and allowed his mouth to squirm and suck, and his darting, seeking tongue to draw her tiny, pink clitoris wetly between his nipping teeth. He nibbled at its succulence harshly, and she moaned suddenly as she felt its tenderness jerking into vibrant life.
Pat gritted her teeth, grinding them cruelly against the eddies and churning maelstroms of sensation that were suddenly flaming through her unprotected loins. In her sudden, new-found clarity, she fought with all the inner strength she could muster against this oft-repeated betrayal of her body. All through the agony of the past several days, she had tried to fasten her poor muddled mind on thoughts of Ron and their married life, and the children they would have.
Somehow, someway, she would have to fight her way back to normalcy.
"No one, nobody, Fred Hinson, PeeDee, Benjy, or anyone, could deny her the right to her own happiness. She had suffered too much. God, the hell she had gone through.
Surely, God, surely there must be some reward.
Like a benevolent, descending curtain, she felt the delayed reaction of the speed churning through her defiled veins slowly taking hold, and diffuse the clarity of her surroundings. Her reflexes quickened, and the blood pounded through her head and behind her eyes. While the physical outline of the objects around her seemed to melt and merge, one into the other, her personal sensations heightened and became ever more acute. The only parts of her body that had any degree of feeling whatsoever were those in direct contact with the black man's genitalia. Her own vagina was burning away in white-heat, ignited by his very presence between her jerking, pulsing thighs, and she pressed her cunt closer to his lips, reaching upward, and tangling her white fingers in his black wool thatch, pulling him, forcing his mewling face ever deeper between the widening lips of her bruised and trembling vagina, and gasping in delicious, frozen silence as his slithering tongue snaked deep inside her straining cunt. Vast seismic heat waves rippled chillingly the length of her spine, straight to the base of her brain, where they rocked her with their pounding force. Tidal swells of raging fire cascaded the length of her body, and fight as she would, she could not control her crotch, which kept jerking toward his slavering mouth, as she sought to .bury his flicking tongue, and suck out its roots.
The fires that raged within her weakening body consumed all thought of Ron, and every other fear that racked her soul.
Repeated doses of methedrine had dissolved every part of her body except her raging, complicated, supplicating, duplicating, brain, and the live, heat-charged, supersensitive region from her navel to her knees.
Her entire soul, and reason for being was inside the sparkling pyrotechnic walls of her cunt.
If she was anything at all, she was her own raw, red, voracious cunt, ready to devour and be devoured.
Her entire being was suddenly one great open cavern that had to be filled, that had to be gorged and stuffed to bursting with hot, fiery animal flesh. Everything else was completely unimportant, Ron, her violent murder of Fred Hinson, which she brought out into the open, and studied fearlessly, in the incandescent glow of her instant, drug-induced passions; nothing mattered, or had the slightest importance beside the stunning impact of the red probing tongue that had inched its way up through the trembling furrow of her labia, and was even now tracing its way through her raven thicket.
She had forgotten how to speak until speed had opened her mind.
But the words came tumbling out of her brain with such rapidity that they were jumbled and crowded, pushing incoherently out of her throat.
"Oh suck yes bite tits suck and bite ram jam fuck suck take me oh God I've got to!"
His red lips moved up across her body, lingering lovingly on the peaking mounds of her breasts, and then across her throat, and his thick, salivating tongue licked at her eyes and mouth, and his salty juices were soaking her skin. He was her Nubian Prince, and she craned her lust-contorted face around, searching with her gasping mouth for his laving tongue. She found it and sucked it deep into her throat with a guttural moan. She swallowed quickly as his gushing saliva filled her mouth, and she pumped and milked his tongue greedily, sighing around his opulence.
The grasping lips of her vagina rotated on the splintered floor, perforating her buttocks with the driving chaff, as her ass searched gropingly for his monstrous shaft. She gasped heavily as his great nubbing knuckle found her pulsating opening. He slapped each side of her flaccid labia, as it jostled for position, and then with the sensuous movement of a black panther, grinning Benjy forced himself brutally deep inside her dark, hair-tangled cunt, warping her resisting flesh to meet his demand.
Pat threw her head back in the filth of her own excretion and screamed with sudden pain.
He sank himself into her tender vagina another cruel inch, and she struggled wildly, slipping her legs from his grasp, and kicking them wide, in a vain effort to escape his punishing spear. His hand gripped her buttocks tightly, its huge span imprisoning her wildly gyrating pelvis.
In the hypnotic spell of her own mad driving passion she had underestimated his size. His cock was too big. She'd had it before, she remembered dimly, thrust high into her bleeding backside, and she just couldn't take it again.
Somehow she had to tell him, but the words came too fast, and the retarded combinations of her vocal chords and tongue couldn't handle the flow.
The massive size of him was splitting her terribly, and sharp darting flashes of pain engulfed her stretching vagina. Every emotion disappeared in a welter of stretching agony, as he levered himself higher on top of her outstretched body, and flicked his muscled hips again, his golden grin widening.
The great corded monstrosity wedged in another painful inch, as inexorable as a Swiss avalanche.
Echoes of her agony reverberated through the torment of her enlivened mind, and came cascading through her gasping mouth.
"Oh God Christ you're killing me," she sobbed hysterically, tears welling and rolling from her drug-glazed eyes.
Her sobbing, struggling resistance brought another crushing thrust from the grinning Benjy, as he plowed his giant blackness into her tightly constricting channel, bruising the lapping folds of her pink flesh. Pat jerked convulsively, as his rutting member coursed cruelly into her belly with the automated drive of a steam piston.
"No, oh, no-no more," she cried, as his monstrous knob pressed tight against the wall of her uterus, slamming deep, time and time again, ripping her soul from her body, and crushing it in humiliating defeat.
Suddenly the black man stopped, in frozen immobility for one precious half-second, and then with a jolt that shook every nerve and fiber in her ravaged body, he thrust himself full-length, deep into the inner recesses of her painfully distended pussy. The pendant weight of his deeply wrinkled sac, swollen out of proportion by his reserve of boiling sperm, thudded joyfully against the clenching crevice in her buttocks.
His huge rooting monster lay imbedded to the hilt in Pat's flickering cunt like a square-hewn railroad tie.
Benjy froze in this position, while the whimpering girl squealed and squirmed, adjusting herself frantically to his sudden impalement.
Every tingling nerve, and every incandescent emotion centered around the vicious length buried in the depths of her belly. Her teeth bit deep into her lower lip, as the tense contortion of her face slowly relaxed, and the sharp pain slowly eased in enfolding acceptance.
She sighed deeply with welcome relief.
Pat thrilled as she felt his buttocks tighten against her widespread thighs, and his giant glans, buried deep in her sudden moistness, contracted, forcing a groan from her toes. Benjy flexed again, and this time the groan was less racking, as the pulsing walls of her vagina began welcoming his satiating size.
She brought her ankles together, tight against his calves, as he began rocking back and forth inside her, grinding his cock tightly into her naked crotch, expanding her clinging walls, until he fit tight inside her like a velvet hammer.
Now Benjy began stroking painfully in and out of Pat's overstretched cunt, thrusting forward mercilessly, battering her bruised body against the hardwood floor. Gradually, imperceptibly, she joined in the rhythm of his slowly thrumming cock, in a gleeful fucking that brought groans of pain and gasps of pleasure gushing simultaneously from the lips of her moaning mouth.
Her pain was easing now, and an unknown sensation of euphoria tingled through her helpless body. The outrageous debasement and subjugation that she had suffered all through the week caused strange masochistic pleasures to stream to the surface.
Her rigid, swelling hips fought themselves off the rough, abrasive flooring, and began gyrating in the open air with a savage abandoned rhythm that matched the increased speed of the cock that was fucking her.
Again she tried to articulate the seething emotions that crowded her soul, but again her deep-welling feelings raced far ahead of her tongue.
"Oh hell, fuck yes, like this only deeper, oh shit, Ron, fuck me you black bastard," she crooned, squirming and wrapping her thighs tightly around his pounding hips, thrusting her own weeping cunt up and up, to meet his plunging cock, "don't ever stop, God, oh God, oh fuck," she grunted into the nauseous stench created by her own uncontrolled defecation.
She pumped her buttocks higher and faster, trying to match Benjy's tireless fucking machine. She welcomed his length deep inside her body, and she flung her hips back and in tight again in long sweeping strokes, in perfect time, and in unison with his fiercely charging rhythm, and she swelled with glorious joy as she felt him wildly expanding within her.
She felt his cock jerk, and the long rippling muscles flicked and shivered, and she wanted to call to him in breathless haste: "No, no wait." But the words never came, and anyway it was too late.
Just as the heavy, oaken door swung open, flooding their wildly writhing bodies with sunlight, Benjy's eyes glazed in delicious agony, and his great, black balls contracted, spastically pumping spurt after thick jetting spurt of boiling sperm deep into her roiling belly. Pressing her heels into the prickling wood, Pat ground her cavernous vagina tightly against his withering scrotum, halting his flow for a moment, so she could match him with her own desperately needed orgasm, but her very eagerness defeated her raging purpose.
Her last gasping downstroke milked him clean, and his last dribbling drops slipped slowly around the hemisphere of her straining buttocks, seeping onto the filthy floor.
Benjy rolled away from her uselessly, helped by PeeDee's eager hands, for his had slipped through the latched door within the opening moments of the black man's orgasm. A slick white stream of gummy liquid trailed from his scummy cock across the whiteness of her naked thigh, dripping beside him as he lay in exhaustion.
"That bitch is so shot full of speed, she can't come. Her cunt fairly wore me out," Benjy sighed, smiling up at PeeDee's eagerness, raising his hand for Soto to lift him to his feet. "See if you guys can do her in."
Pat was oblivious of the filthy state of her body, as her hips jerked upward automatically, ready for her next partner. She was so close to orgasm, and she needed it badly. Ever since she'd been held in refrigeration, poked full of needles, her emotions had raced before her erratically, frantically begging her body to follow.
Her pelvis stroked the empty air, as PeeDee and Soto shuffled out of their clothing.
PeeDee jumped in like a tiger as he bent down, slapping savagely at her naked buttocks.
"Turn over!" he commanded in his lisping whisper.
Pat rolled wearily through the pile of her excrement, slimed with Benjy's dripping sperm.
"Now kneel!" he said severely, clutching the hollows of her hip bones, forcing her onto her knees.
She resisted him for a moment, panting, on all fours, her creamy, golden buttocks thrust high in the air, with her face pushed down into her crossed arms. The drugs within her body were becoming ever more dominant, and her eyes glazed in detached euphoria.
Pat felt his gnarled and callused hands on her hips, as PeeDee kneeled between her open thighs. Her cunt was still a raging cavern, despite Benjy's dripping load, and in her delirious need for fulfillment she waved the distended orbs of her buttocks at the Filipino, feeling his sudden blunt and pressing end forcing its way into the heat of her cunt.
Grunting deeply, PeeDee surged cruelly forward, burying his long, thin whipsnake deep in her crevice, causing her to lunge forward in surprise at his sudden capture.
She was so busy squirming and adjusting herself to his sudden driving thrusts, that she was completely amazed when Soto's brown fingers twined themselves in her long, dragging dark hair, snapping her head upward toward his kneeling body. He was just in front of her, and without warning he rammed his stiff, erect cock deep into Pat's gaping mouth. He gripped her head tightly between his huge brown hands, and held it firm. He pumped his length between her frothing lips, sighing deeply as her tongue involuntarily flicked around his tip. Her sucking, sighing mouth might have been a second cunt as far as he was concerned.
He was stuffed halfway down her throat when she gagged, flinching when his full length disappeared between her full, quivering lips. She felt the wiry fuzz of his sac rub gently against the tender skin of her hollowed throat.
She fought to catch her breath, managing to suck in small gasps of air whenever he stroked himself outward.
"Oh God good Christ help me," she groaned as they pitched her back and forth between them like a broken toy, using her drug-laden body as a hated maw in which to ejaculate their spent and wasted sperm.
In their eyes, she was no longer human, just a mass of flesh, flaccid and unfeeling, a mobile vegetable.
She was already dead anyway. They just hadn't gotten around to putting her down.
Her racing, computerized mind seized on this impression, visualizing her helplessness under the furious onslaught of these two sex-crazed addicts, and her pulse quickened and familiar fires began burning deep within her pussy. The very thought that she was being fucked savagely at both ends of her tender body excited her. The familiar hunger inside her rippling belly surged out of control again.
She could work with them, help them get off if they could stay long enough to do the same for her. It was no more than fair.
Pat began undulating her buttocks in tiny circles, squeezing the muscles of her vagina tight against PeeDee's cock. She had a insatiable urge to milk it dry, to fill her belly again, as she had with Benjy, until the sweetly remembered, hot sticky fluid ran down her already thickly scummed thighs.
She wanted to wallow in the gamy aroma, hoping and praying it would have the catalytic effect on her trembling pussy that she desperately needed.
Like a starving woman, she sucked voraciously on Soto's cock, her cheeks hollowing and filling with his mindless thrusts. She had a fleeting memory of tasting prick before, but it was so dim and distant it was as though it had been in a previous life, some other incarnation, and now that she had one here, filling her mouth and the entrance to her throat, her tongue explored its every pore. She licked wildly at the blood-filled glans, her red, darting tip probing the tiny winking eyelet on the end. She longed for that last spasm, when it would jerk and shoot into her mouth. She wanted to swallow it, and feel its hot-warm stickiness running down her throat until her stomach was as tightly filled as her cunt at this very moment.
She wanted to roll and rut in it, feeling it stream inside her body through every gaping pore.
Simultaneously with the rising tide of her own budding orgasm, she felt the quickening of PeeDee's cock fucking into her from behind, jerking and fighting the walls of her cunt, and then suddenly, and devastatingly horrible, because she was nowhere ready to come, she felt the writhing head begin spewing its warm clinging load of sperm deep inside her gasping, barren cunt. PeeDee's wasted fluids penetrated deep inside her belly, before they began seeping outward, dripping down along his shrinking, withering length, with his defeated sac pressed limply against her striving clitoris, still causing her body to jerk forward convulsively, burying Soto's rod deep within her wildly sucking mouth.
Gripping her head cruelly, and mashing her face against his pelvis, almost breaking her nose, Soto too, in his turn, exploded, flooding Pat's throat with his delicious pungent liquid. Her cheeks ballooned outward, to keep from choking on the great gushing spurts that streamed incessantly into her throat.
Though she had come so near to orgasm and failed, yet again, Pat still swallowed in crazed, hungry gulps, fastening her lips tightly, like a life-saving tourniquet, around his ejaculating cock, afraid of losing even a single drop through the gap in her upper teeth.
Tiny pearl-like droplets dribbled from the corners of her mouth, and she sucked at the tenuous sticky strings, as Soto pulled away, collapsing lifelessly between his dark hairy legs, his penis was still connected to Pat's devouring mouth by dying strands of sperm.
Pat, in her raging frustration, screwed her buttocks back, tightly against the "Vapidly diminishing PeeDee, trying to suck his perishing cock into her creaming cunt, but there was nothing left of passion but a cry of anguish between her clenched teeth, as she felt his strength completely gone. He went suddenly limp, and slipped wetly out of her seeking body.
"Thanks, doll." Benjy smiled down on her prostrate, quivering nakedness, as he buttoned his last button, and waited for his partners to dress. "You're a good jump. I'll be sorry to see you go."
"Hey, guys," Soto said, in that queer, urgent way he had. "We ought to sluice this place out. It's getting damned funky."
"Later," PeeDee hissed in authority, expertly clearing his throat, and spitting into the hollow of Pat's unprotected back. "She's all burned up with speed. She don't know any difference. We'll take her out tonight. We can clean it out then. I'm getting sick of the bitch."
"It's been a long, hard day," Benjy smiled at PeeDee. "Let's go shoot a little ourselves. Some of that good Horse."
"You've got a good mouth," PeeDee said, returning the smile. "That's the best thing you've said all day."
Pat cried for a long hour after they slammed and latched the door, futilely seeking solace with the giant rubber phallus, forcing its rigid virility inside her tormented cunt. Even that failed, though she stroked it a long time, because it merely chafed and tortured her tender tissues beyond endurance.
Finally, when there were no more tears to flow, and her ducts had dried and shrunk, she sat in the far corner gibbering through fingers that clenched over her mouth.
There was a ray of bright sunlight, just under the door, and she knew that if she could just concentrate hard enough she would be able to liquefy her flesh, bones and marrow, and become one-dimensional, and just flow under the crack of the door, and then will herself to walk erect, and somehow get away from this horrible place.
The fact that she didn't have any clothes didn't worry her, because she'd been so long without them she had come to believe that no one in the world wore clothing, and what was right for her was right for everyone else.
In a moment of modesty, remembering the services she had rendered for her three visitors, she tried combing the feces out of her hair, and scraping its caked stench from various portions of her body. Her lips were still bruised and swollen from being mashed against Soto's frantically driving pelvis, and her mouth and upper thighs were still slimed with the drying scum of sprayed and leaking sperm.
She sat on her bare haunches, rocking back and forth, hardly bothering to look into the sunlight, as the refrigerator door opened, and her naked, unprotected body was bathed in sudden brilliance.
It was almost a week now, and so many things had happened. She didn't belong to him any more.
Even after she recognized him, she couldn't bear to look him in the face.
"Oh my God, Pat," Ron cried in sudden shock, "this is horrible. What have they done to you?"
She wanted to tell him everything, about the gun barrel protruding from her rectum, and the handcuffs spreadeagling her across the jangling brass bed, and the time she was in seventh grade and the great, fat, physical-education teacher got down on her knees when they were alone in the locker room, and kissed her feet, and begged her to come over to her house because she had a horse and a collie dog, and she didn't go because somehow she was afraid, and later she found out, when she was in high school, that she was afraid for good reason because the gym teacher got into trouble with Janice Bruce, and the whole school knew about it, and about things Ron should have known about his sister Vonnie, but maybe he already knew about her, and maybe that was why he'd never been too eager for them to get together, and about Fred Hinson, blasted and dying on her own bed that her Daddy had bought with some gambling money he'd made in Reno or Las Vegas, and besides Ron didn't know anything about the way her mother had carried on with all those men in the room next to hers, screaming and hollering, with the rhythmic jangle of the bedsprings reverberating through the plastered lath, and the way the Filipino and Negro and the Mexican kept giving her loaded coffee, until she had to quit drinking it to preserve her sanity, and just throw it in the corner with the rest of the slops, but, after that, no matter how she fought, bit and scratched, they were always able to jab a needle in some place on her poor unprotected body, and the stuff they poured into her bloodstream made her do all sorts of nasty things Ron wouldn't want to know about anyway, so the best thing he could do was take his beautiful Ron Severn body away from here, and leave her die in peace, because PeeDee wasn't fooling her, PeeDee and his stupid set, because when they had all they wanted of her, zip, like that, she'd be gone, and never be around to bother anyone again, and her mother, once she'd gotten over Fred Hinson's dirty trash, could marry again and live a good life.
But of course the words got snarled and tangled, and though she opened her mouth behind her laced fingers, nothing came out except wild, random garbling.
"Away married."
"Oh sure, darling," Ron crooned, kneeling beside her frightened, crouching body, cradling her stinking head in his hands. "That's the first thing we'll do, when I get you out of this place. We'll go away and get married."
She stirred violently, breaking away from his grasp. Ron was so stupid. Couldn't he see that wasn't what she had meant at all? Besides, this was her own personal mess, and she had every right to get out of it herself, and besides there was that thing of Fred Hinson to face; there was no getting away from it, because even though he had it coming to him, it was still a mean, nasty thing, and it would probably make her mother very angry, and she probably wouldn't let her little Patricia go to the Saturday matinee, and she might even stop her allowance for a month, and if Ron would just stop trying to scoop her up in his arms, and cradle her with the blanket wrapped around her to hide her nakedness, and silly stuff like that, maybe she could tell him about PeeDee and those others in the house, who were really bad people, and might hurt Ron bad if he didn't stop hanging around her, and trying to get her out of here, something that she was entirely capable of doing herself. "No," she mumbled.
"I've got the bus parked right out there," he said, pulling the stained blanket out of the corner where she'd kicked it when she became flushed with the heat of the drugs. "Let me wrap you up, and get you out of here."
As he knelt beside her, trying to fold her into the blanket, she twisted quickly, thrusting the curve of her naked, jutting breast into his startled hand.
Less than a week ago, it had been the passion fruit of his paradise. Now, with its slimy encrustation, it was a blob of nauseous repugnance.
"Whatsa ....?" she mumbled querulously.
"Not now, darling," he said tenderly, leaning and scooping her into his arms, still dazed by her filthy, and obviously drugged condition.
As Ron stepped out the open door of her prison, carrying Pat limply in his arms, PeeDee saw them from the back window of the kitchen, and like a roaring hurricane, he and his partners came boiling out of the flapping screen door, flicking their weapons from their pockets.
Ron tried skirting the woodpile, but he ran too close, and the long wooden handle of the double-bitted axe struck him full in the groin, just under Pat's sagging buttocks, driving the wind from his body, doubling him up, and staggering him.
His arms went suddenly limp, and he dropped the rolled blanket.
Pat's head sounded dully against an oaken log, sending her muddled brain reeling into unconsciousness.
PeeDee's drug-crazed eyes brightened, as Benjy's muscled darkness reached across and circled Ron's throat, throwing him to the ground beside the prostrate Pat.
Soto danced lightly in front of Benjy, launching a crushing right into Ron's face as he started to rise. His head snapped back, and his eyes glazed, as Benjy followed through with a sledge hammer of his own.
"Hold him up. Hold him up," PeeDee giggled senselessly. "My turn. My turn."
Benjy leaned forward, grasping Ron into a sitting position by the slack of his shirt. PeeDee battered him senseless with short chopping blows to the face.
"Dirty bastard, steal our cunt," PeeDee said, the froth flying from his mouth. "What'll we do with a guy like that?"
"Cut his balls off." Benjy smiled.
"Yeah," Soto echoed, "with a dull knife."
PeeDee slipped his hand into his pocket, and flicked out the naked steel of his switchblade.
"This'll do." He grinned, watching his partners' eyes widen in disbelief.
Obediently, without a word, Benjy placed his arms under Ron's shoulders, lifting his unconscious body, waiting till Soto had seized the haft of the huge lumberman's axe, and had jerked it free of its sawn stump, and had flung it beside the still form wrapped in the stinking blanket. Then the black man sat the flopping body flat on the chopping block, with his loosely disjointed legs spread on each side.
With a practiced flicking of the wrist, PeeDee sliced away the entire front of Ron's Levi's, and then, in the second that Ron jerked into writhing screaming consciousness, PeeDee lifted Ron's limp string bean away from his bucking body, deftly pinking the point of the blade under the softly folded skin, and running his razor sharpness in a tight circle around the pulsing sac, felt the spurting fountain of rich, red blood as he completely severed Ron's scrotum from his body.
As Benjy and Soto fought to hold the bucking, jumping .body, PeeDee sliced away the remaining fragile cords, and as Ron sank into unconscious shock, PeeDee threw the bloody mass of pulp into the dirt, and scrunched the tender white eggs under the heel of his boot.
Blood continued to spurt from his gaping loins, as Ron slipped sideways off the chopping block across Pat's slowly stirring body.
"Goddamn," Benjy laughed loudly, "that ought to teach his ass."
"We get a piece of pussy here on the plantation," Soto guffawed, pounding PeeDee on the back for his prowess, "and we're going to keep it."
"Damn straight." PeeDee smiled through his broken teeth, as he wiped Ron's blood off against his Levi's, and the three disappeared in the house.
Pat felt Ron's warm stickiness seeping through the blanket, as she came around, and for long moments she couldn't believe it was his life blood, until she folded the blanket away from her face, and sat up on one elbow, massaging the torn spot in her scalp, where the oak log had kissed her skull, and when she sat up that way she found herself staring straight into his torn and gaping crotch, and she ruefully remembered trying to warn him, and she had been explicit in telling him to go away because it was dangerous here, but no, he wouldn't listen, he never really had, and that was one of his main faults, and probably why she loved him so much.
It took maybe five minutes of just staring for the message to drift through, and then, in her anguish, she was suddenly straight. Nothing that ever came out of the end of a needle could dull the agony of seeing her lover mutilated, and bleeding helplessly.
When she first shot into daylight, Pat was shaky, with her arms and legs trembling uncontrollably, but at least the speed had been blasted away; her brain was clear and her thoughts were coherent, with only one pattern of thought occupying her attention at one time.
Gradually, she slipped out of her confining blanket, standing tall, and slimly naked, in the blasted silence of the sun-baked farm yard, staring down at Ron's unconscious body, and then gazing across the rusting, disintegrating hulks, marshaling her thoughts, deciding what to do first.
Ron's welling torrent of blood had stilled, though it still bubbled and ran thinly between his legs, forming a growing puddle between his thighs. Hastily, Pat wadded the filthy blanket into a ball, and rammed it tight against his streaming crotch. With a conscious effort, she pulled his limp legs tight against the sopping wad, before reaching across, and grasping the discarded axe.
Her eyes narrowed, and completely oblivious of the fact that she stood as naked as the day she was born, with the magnificent strength of her young, jutting breasts pushing into the hot, sultry air, she strode quietly across the open yard, sidestepping the various piles of trash, with the heavy axe held high on her right shoulder, she rounded the side of the two-story, faded farmhouse. Flattening her protruding firmness against the peeling paint of the outside wall, she peered through the one dusty, unbroken window.
She could see them, laughing and punching each other, like Ron's dismemberment was some kind of big joke, as they held their bottle caps within their needle-nose pliers, and applied flame to their mixtures of heroin and distilled water, holding the points of their needles against the saturated cotton, and then, as though they were some minstrel act chanting and acting in timed unison, they looped their ragged neckties around their left forearms until their veins stood out blue and proud.
Pushers shoot quality, and within minutes they had ceased their nervous itching, and were sitting relaxed and nodding in the deep silence of drugged sleep.
The rough chaff of wild brown oats dug into her bare feet, as she returned to the rear of the house. Everything was deadly still, with the incessant bussing of droning insects only accentuating the quiet.
The torn and broken screen rasped loudly on its rusting hinges, and she was afraid they would start into wakefulness, cautious and staring, but she needn't have worried.
They were nodding quietly, almost asleep in their benign euphoria. Worries had left them forever; heroin had taken care of hunger, cold, fatigue, all the wants and desires had been satisfied with that little quarter-inch plunge of the spike.
They had consolidated all their loans.
They were resting happy. Fresh and sweet.
Pat stood over them for a moment, staring into their sleeping faces, standing tall, looming her full five-foot-seven, flexing up and down on the balls of her feet, seeming more than ever to be a terrible, unmerciful angel of vengeance.
Like a batter warming up at the plate, she hefted the axe a couple times to get the feel of it.
The first-business swing split Benjy's head to his shoulders, like a ripe casaba, sending a spurting fountain of blood leaping up the wall, and covering Pat's rounding belly with the crimson fluid.
The body fell on its side without a sound. The force of her blow had sent its eyes popping from its head.
Her second blow missed the mark by a fraction, severing Soto's arm, and he started awake screaming, trying to reach up with his remaining left arm, trying to reach for the descending axe before it lopped his head from his shoulders.
The heavy brown body tumbled to the floor, as the head rolled against her bare foot, thumping up against the leopard-skin cushion.
PeeDee lurched to his feet, his eyes wide and staring, scrabbling for his switchblade, snapping it open, trying to marshal his waning reflexes. Lunging to his knees, in a moment of drugged imbalance, he flailed wildly at Pat's exposed breasts, as she swung the axe widely over his head.
The momentum of the heavy axe tore it from her clutching fingers, flying against the splintering glass window, and outside the house, into the dirt.
Pat whirled close to the wildly slashing Filipino, ducking low, and deftly plucking the knife from his drug-deadened fingers. She laid her heavy, pendulous breasts against his gaping mouth, and forced him back, unbalanced as he was, flat against the floor.
She buried the blade in his throat three times before he stopped bucking and lay still.
She stood for a moment, staring at the bloody havoc in the room around her, calmly assessing her position. The bodies around her had ceased to exist as people. They were just grotesquely arranged mannequins left over from last week's magic show.
Pat leaned, plucking the knife from PeeDee's constricted, bleeding throat, and laid the length of it on the dead man's chest.
After dabbing the drying blood from her body, she dressed herself in a pair of PeeDee's Levi's, and one of his frayed sport shirts. They had been about the same size.
PeeDee's small chrome pistol lay on the dresser in the bedroom, and it fit snugly against her belly in the waistband of his trousers.
Back in the heat of the afternoon sun, she struggled with Ron's unconscious body, rolling it in the blanket, dragging it slowly and laboriously around the side of the house, and under the spreading pepper tree. Slowly, so slowly she didn't think she'd ever manage, she inched his heavy body through the wide side door, rolling him limply into the back of his Volkswagen bus.
Before covering him with the blanket, Pat fumbled through his blood-soaked pockets for the key. She backed from beneath the huge tree, and fitted the wheels into the ruts of the narrow track, as though carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.
Winding through the stands of oak and sycamore, she glanced over the seat, back into the white, sinking face of Ron Severn.
If she could just get him to a doctor. Any doctor. Everything would be all right.
Just over this next rise, she remembered, was the paved highway, then eight or ten miles to the right would be Solvang.
At the point the dirt track fed into the highway, a bright-green Plymouth was solidly parked, blocking the way.
"Hey," she said, surprisingly coherent, as the two men who had been lounging against the fender, smoking cigarettes, pushed through the undergrowth and stopped the bus, "You're in my way. I've got a sick man in here ..."
They were up beside her then, one crossing the bus in front of her, with his gun suddenly drawn, a young, skinny-looking man, and the other one, older and blond, with a funny-looking mustache, more reserved and calm, opened the back door, and stared down into Ron's poor, white face.
His damning words jerked her around in her seat.
"Hey, Sam," he shouted, turning quickly, and slamming the door shut. "Get on the radio. This bastard's not sick. He's dead. Somebody's just hacked the shit out of him, and he either bled to death, or he died of shock."
The end was very easy. The chrome pistol seemed to float out of her waistband, and fit into her mouth so simply, almost by itself.
She could see, staring down into Ron's slack and loosened face, that he'd left her and gone on ahead.
The young cop lunged in the window, grabbing for her hand, but he was a second too late.
