Not all modern men and women are sex-beasts. In fact, this alarming species in abnormal sexual relationship is in the rare minority.
But sexual sadists do exist, even as sex-beasts existed 360,000 years ago when Pithecanthropus Erectus (Java Man) was one of the sex sadists of his day. It is unfortunate that in the pattern of life there should be a design for brutality in sexual intercourse, and also in the application of sexual deviations such as fellatio, cunnilingus, sodomy, and the others.
Both sexes are guilty!
Amongst females, for example, there was Theodora, vintage of 483-565 A.D. The wife of Emperor Justinian she enjoyed watching her husband's slaves being castrated while she nonchalantly masturbated herself in their bloody presence. Justinian was as noble as his wife was ignoble, and he gave us the Justinian Code which, even today, remains the basis of our civil law.
Emperor Justinian was too busy with the affairs of state to pay much attention to the sexual antics of his beautiful actress-wife, and so she catered to her whims ad infinitum.
One day when the emperor left the palace early to speak at the Forum Theodora strolled to the balcony of her palatial bedroom and gazed contemptuously at the milling throng below. The sex-beast rose quickly in her bosom when she spotted a huge young man chained to several slaves. They were being led to the palace by a captain of the guard, and Theodora immediately wondered how big a penis the tall and muscular slave had been blessed with.
She called for her slave-maid and snapped an order. Then she perfumed herself lavishly, spread out upon her semi-circular divan and commenced munching fruit from the bowl at her elbow.
Four slaves were ushered into her presence roughly; the guard captain being a brutish man with snapping black eyes and a full beard.
Theodora smiled luringly at the big slave and beckoned him forward. As the man approached hesitantly, Theodora said, "Take off your skirt."
Around the man's pelvis hung a ragged piece of sheepskin, which he refused to remove.
"How dare you defy your empress!" Theodora snapped.
The captain of the guard snatched the man's skirt from him and then slapped the blade of his broad sword across his chest. Blood spurted forward.
Leaning eagerly forward, Theodora murmured, "How refreshing. His blood is so rich a red." She reached for a grape, and munching it while she kept her black gaze upon the man's penis, she told the captain, "Cut off his penis and place it in this fruit bowl."
The man screamed for mercy, and found there was none to be had. Two guards held the slave while the captain obeyed the command of his empress.
When the severed penis had been dropped into the fruit bowl Theodora slowly turned her head and watched the blood drip over the fruit. She plucked a blood soaked grape and placed it in her mouth while the mutilated young slave was carried out gasping and bleeding profusely.
The captain saluted his empress with raised broadsword and suggested, "Perhaps your majesty might be entertained by these three other slaves."
"Splendid!" Theodora exclaimed. "Cut off their testicles and penises! At once, captain!"
While the slaves were being held by guards, and the captain performed the sadistic surgery, the empress leaned back against the back of the divan and masturbated. Her dark eyes widened as she observed the surgery and found how sexually stimulating it was.
Less than one week later, inspired by how the sex-beast within her black soul had roused her sexual urge, Theodora disguised herself as a peasant and, followed by her guard captain and two robust guards, she strolled through the market place-looking for another sex victim.
Already her adventure in the palace with the four slaves had become known, and now other Romans ducked into doorways whenever she appeared in her slave-borne palanquin. No citizen wanted to be unlucky enough to catch her eye.
The handsome young men were particularly fearful of their lives. She was one of the most notorious adulteresses of her time, and she had sent many a man to his torturous death after she had pumped him dry of his manhood, and then thrashed and slashed his body.
Possibly Theodora had led an overly dictated life, with regulation placed upon her every activity to conform with protocol. A person saddled mercilessly with restrictions can very well develop into a "hater." To develop hatred of the person or persons who wielded unreasonable governorship over her might have contributed to her near-insanity. Daughters have grown up hating fathers for this reason, and sons have despised their overly proper mothers.
Whatever the cause of her viciousness, Theodora could not seem to get enough of the pleasure of watching men suffering.
It has been claimed that amongst the beasts of the jungle the female is the most ferocious. Zoologists and taxonomists maintain that this is a provision of nature to assure protection for the newborn. Among some animals, if the male parent is ravenously hungry he may devour his own offspring. But not when the mother is present, for she will kill the father rather than allow him to destroy their offspring.
Theodora had not strolled more than one block through the market place before she spotted a handsome young couple just leaving the ceremonial sanctuary where their marriage had been solemnized and blessed by a high priest. Theodora ordered her guards to bring the couple to her suite in the palace. Then she forced them to strip naked. She compelled the young husband, on threat of death to his bride, to have sexual intercourse with his empress. The young man was so horrified and humiliated that he could not get an erection, whereupon Theodora ordered the guards to amputate his testicles and penis. These objects Theodora placed upon a silken pillow, surrounded them with flowers, and personally presented the bleeding trophies to the young bride. Terrified and heart broken, the girl leaped over the balcony-rail and fell to her death on the cobbled pathway below. When the girl's body was brought to the suite and lain beside the naked person of her husband, who was bleeding to death from the castration, Theodora sprawled across her divan and masturbated while she observed the life ebbing out of the unfortunate young man.
Sex brutality is far from being something new. It has been practiced by humans, and some animals, since the beginning of time for living things. Both male and female sadists are on record throughout the world as having fully enjoyed the acts of whipping, slashing, pounding, biting, and otherwise brutalizing their sex partners while they were under the hypnotic influence of their sexual cravings. The driving, maddening urge to peak orgasm after orgasm causes many human lovers to carry on without the slightest concern for the feelings and wishes of their respective sex mates. It has always been so-and no laws of man or God appear to have persuaded, nor even frightened people into abolishing their atrocious urges.
The world has gone through many stages of change-four and one-half billions of years of it, in fact, as science reckons the solar system. But man and his sexual craving has not changed. Man is still the same selfish and violent sex-beast that he was at the very beginning of his existence.
During much of the four and one-half billions of years of the world's existence there was not a living thing stirring; not even within the great bodies of water which once covered seven-eighths of the surface. There were the great Ice Ages, and the birth of the denizens of the seas, and the great reptiles which took over the land.
The world labored through its constant revolutionary changes before the arrival of one who was to conquer and to rule; one who would place his selfish desires above all else. He was homo-man! And he was superior because, unlike other animals, the Almighty had blessed him with the power of reason; the ability to conceive new ideas and to invent new things from them.
Did not man invent most of the sexual deviations for himself?
He did not, however, invent all of them, for monkeys and other species knew about masturbation many thousands of years before the arrival of man. And perhaps some mammalian females found pleasure in making love to one another in addition to making love to males.
The most primitive of animals knew about group-sex. Horses, dogs, cats, cattle, the deer families, all perform their sex acts in the presence of their own respective groups, or just anywhere in the presence of anybody and anything.
But it was man-aided by sadistic women who devised bizarre sexual tortures. Some simians raped their females so vigorously that they bled to death, but there is no record of an ape ramming a big sliver of flint into a female's vagina just to make her suffer. But there is on record many cases of sadistic man's tricks of ramming everything into a woman's vagina from an over-sized baloney to a hot poker-reaching an orgasm by watching the fright and agony of the screaming girl. Man has devised countless sexual tortures, some of them almost too horrible to describe-like forcing a pretty girl to submit to coitus with a pony or a young lion. But this is no worse than cruelty inflicted by the Romans who, under the inspiration of the brute called Nero, watched gleefully while lions ripped apart and devoured Christians in the circus arena.
Many factors hypothetically enter into a human female's ferocity: some women envy the penis which promotes bravado among men and grants them the promiscuity less often found among females. In some cases, human female ferocity is based upon a deep and tormenting inferiority complex. In other cases it is her desire to punish herself for her sins when she is too cowardly to do so-then she may punish someone else, and get relief of conscience by seeing her victim's terror and suffering.
This theory could have been correct in the case of a woman in ancient Persia named Bethzabeb who had tried everything for a new sex thrill that sexologists had described to her. She tried them all and eventually became bored and depressed. Reaching the point where nothing sexual would give her an orgasm, she cast about for a bizarre thrill. Something sadistic she was looking for because most of her orgasms had been produced while watching men suffer. The community knew why she hated men and loved to hear them cry out in pain. Her father had been a drunken brute who lashed her with stout twigs from the time she was five years old.
One day Bethzabeb observed a tattooer at work decorating a handsome young man's abdomen. He was designing a ship in full rigging. The woman became fascinated and stood watching during the entire operation. Then she approached the tattooer when he was idle and paid him well to teach her the art. Two months later, after daily instruction, she equipped herself with tattooing materials and tools. Then she cast about for victims.
Seeing a handsome young hunter with bow and quiver slung over one shoulder, she flirted with him. Once she had lured him to her apartment on the pretense of granting him sexual privileges, she drugged the man and then tattooed his penis and scrotum. She obtained her orgasm when he became conscious and experienced almost unbearable pain from the tattooing. While he was grabbing frantically at the paining parts and screaming in agony, Bethzabeb masturbated and panted gleefully over his excruciating suffering. She was deliriously happy, for once again she could enjoy orgasms and she vowed that she would tattoo the penis and scrotum of other young men.
When a fabulously wealthy young woman in the Persian empire, named Pashea, tired of what men could give her sexually she tried Lesbianism and soon tired of that abnormal practice. Then she tried sodomy, and even coprophilia. She, like Bethzabeb, eventually reached the point where nothing would give her an orgasm. One day while strolling along the main avenue she witnessed a member of the emperor's guard driving two white horses drawing a red and gold chariot. Accidentally the chariot ran over and crushed the life out of a male field-worker. The man's dying screams brought Pashea an immediate orgasm. She was highly delighted; she had found what she wanted. What she so desperately needed, sexually. At once she commanded her solicitor to purchase for her a team of white horses and a red and gold chariot. Then she practiced driving the vehicle under the tutelage of a captain of the guard. When she had become proficient at handling the elegantly decorated chariot she ordered a section of her garden cleared of all growth, and then fenced in. She engaged the services of twenty handsome young men and promised them gold if they would strip naked, lie down in the cleared section of her garden, and then masturbate. When they rebelled over the proposal she doubled the gold-bait. The amount of promised gold was a great temptation, and finally the young men agreed to do her bidding.
While they were masturbating in mass formation she suddenly appeared in her chariot and drove over their bodies. So quickly did the action take place that not a single one of them was able to save himself-and while standing in the chariot and hearing bones cracking, Pashea experienced three consecutive orgasms. She went wild with the bizarre idea. She vowed to repeat the action. But when she attempted to engage twenty more young men, the authorities became suspicious. They poked around in her garden and found twenty graves. She was arrested for murder, tried and convicted, and then executed.
CHAPTER TWO
THE GREAT APES
The great apes-the hominoids-were never as brutal with their females as man has been. Yet we visualize the lumbering and aggressive gorilla as something terrifying to encounter in the jungles of the world.
Was man destined to become a brute due to the violent elements which have always threatened him? Life has never been a simple task for most persons. Existence has always been a matter of conditioning one's self to meet and combat all comers. The weather, animals, and attacks by other humans.
Some of today's apes, like their ancestors, make a big fuss during the sex act-grunting and groaning; growling ferociously when reaching the peak known as orgasm; biting and cuffing their sex mates, and appearing to be totally indifferent regarding the comfort and desires of their partners.
Is it any different today-360,000 years since the time of Pithecanthropus-when emotionally aroused human punks grab a pretty girl off the sidewalk of a city, toss her onto the grass in rear of a large signboard, and then each of them takes a turn at raping her?
In many such cases recorded on police blotters, after several punks had raped a girl they unmercifully abandoned her-bleeding to death; their lust being their sole concern. Was Pithecanthropus and his ape-man contemporaries any worse than that as they lumbered through the great forests, violently taking their sex where they found it and whenever they felt in the mood-which was most of the time, especially for the stout young bulls. Is there any evidence at hand that some men in their sexual adventures are any less barbaric than ape-men of prehistoric times?
Pithecanthropus Erectus, Zinjanthropus, and Protosapiens, and all our other predecessors, might not have been as merciless as some of the punks we read about in today's newspapers. Perhaps as primitive and prehistoric as man was, he might have shown more respect for his female mates than do some of the so-called "gentlemen" of today. Reputedly the Earliest Man, Zinjanthropus, came from Eastern Africa. For many centuries scientists believed that one of the seats of mankind was along the shores of the Mediterranean Sea. But the finding of Zinjanthropus' bones in the Olduvai Valley, Tanganyika, has disproved that first hypothesis. Zinj is an Arabian word which means East Africa; an thro pus, man-and so scientists call Zinjanthropus the "East Africa Man." He is alleged to be somewhere in age between 1,250,000 and 1,750,000 years.
The Greek word pitlickos means ape; the Greek word for man being anthropus, and the Latin word erectus meaning standing Pithecanthropus Erectus translates to "Ape-man Standing." He was among the very first of the great apes to discard the practice of walking on his knuckles as do gorillas, chimpanzees, and others of their ilk. Equipped by nature with exceptionally long arms and very short legs, the great apes traveled over the countryside and through the dense forests by laying the pressure of their weight upon the knuckles of both hands. It was seldom that they took more than a few steps forward before again dropping back down on all fours.
Scientists like Weidenreich and Huxley classify Pithecanthropus as having been an intelligent ape-man. Although he was crude, primitive in his ways, low of brow, he did live successfully in his environment, and was manly enough to hustle for himself. He did not ask his "government"-his ape-troop-to feed and care for him. He had the guts to forage for himself whether he was seeking food, sex, or whatever. He was a true man! He might be ashamed to admit kinship with some of the human weaklings of today-the so-called "higher minded" people who are demanding that their government "guarantee life" for them, and even pay them for not working for a living.
The ape-man's counterpart in our midst today-the sex sadists-if not in actual species, at least in attitude regarding the most exciting ways to enjoy sexual relations-brutalize their mates during sexual adventures.
Psychologists, psychiatrists, and sexologists call him a sadist because the word was coined from the name of Marquis Alfonse Donatien Francoise de Sade, who lived from 1740 to 1814. He was a French army officer who could not achieve an orgasm unless he was tormenting his sex partner during the sex act, and even before and afterward. Although brutality during sexual relations was practiced thousands of years before the birth of de Sade, and even long before the birth of France as a nation, it was not given a name, nor did it attract particular attention, until de Sade publicized his lust for blood. He discovered this idiosyncrasy about himself when he became aware that blood, death and mutilation of human bodies on the battlefield, violently stirred his sexual urge.
But, is man any more of a sex beast than some animals?
The love-life of animals is most interesting. Some are gruesome; some are sweet. The species you would be the least likely to imagine as gentle and sweet in the act of making love are the giraffe and the elephant. But this is true, according to zoologists. In contrast, however, we present the fact that gorillas have been known to invade a native village and rape the native women while the warriors of the tribe looked on in terror. And troops of gibbons and baboons have been known to "gang-bang" (group-rape) a human female.
It is a common sight in the pasture to see two horses nuzzling each other, and when the wind is cold and hard two horses will stand close,, head to tail to protect each other from the elements. On the other hand, two stallions have been known to rear on their hind legs and fight to the death over a coveted mare.
Scientists tell us that homo sapiens ("modern" man) has been roaming around the countryside between 40,000 and 50,000 years. Presumably, he has had time to outgrow his primitive savagery and settle down to a life of decency, including consideration of others. But reports from the President's Crime Commission, and the Federal Bureau of Investigation headed by J. Edgar Hoover, and our local police and sheriff's reports, tell us that the very opposite is the truth."
Savagery is still with us!
Innocent girls are still being raped, brutalized, kidnapped, pushed into white slavery, and their honor and bodies otherwise violated; some of them made victims of all the sex atrocities known to so-called "civilized man."
Sex barbarians are as modern as they are ancient!
Strange as it may seem, the world existed for a very long time-without sex at all! That, of course, was the period before fish, birds, animals, and man. Cut a worm in half, for example, and both pieces will live. Micro-organisms, which scientists tell us are our true ancestors, inasmuch as Darwinian evolution consists of the steady progression of changing life over many millions of years-can split, and the split pieces also split, resulting in an infinite number of micro-organisms-and so it was that life began without sexual relations.
Less than one hundred years ago honorable and intelligent gentlemen would have indignantly denied that they were mammals-animals. (Mammal is a Latin word meaning breast, milk. It is from this Latin word that we have coined the word mamma-a word precious and tenderly spoken by most humans). Also, gentlemen of a few decades ago, would have considered as blasphemy the denial that the world was created within the time of six days. Scientists tell us that it took four and one-half billion years of evolution for us to reach the peak of living we enjoy today. Actual life, we are told, began two billion years ago, commencing with fish, then amphibians, vegetation, animals, and finally Man himself.
Ape-man is reputedly less than two million years old!
Since homo sapiens "took over" the earth forty to fifty thousand years ago he has been combating the elements, the plants and the animals. He has conquered rivers and streams and the seven seas. He has been dictating to other men ever since then-to say nothing of what he has done to woman. He calls the place where he lives-the universe-a "man's world," and in his unmitigated conceit agrees to allow woman to live beside him as a matter of convenience. Some call that convenience "love" while others call it sex. But most likely it is Man's urge to reproduce his own image that he really "tolerates" woman. It is high time he took cognizance of the fact that-coming along with the augmenting power of woman-the situation might just suddenly reverse. Man one day might be begging woman to permit him to remain on earth-at her "convenience!"
Perhaps this possibility is what has caused man to develop into a beast from the very beginning-his fear that females might just take over, and end his reign as the "superior being." Perhaps it was that same fear which turned Pithecanthropus, the Cro-magnon man, the Neanderthal man, and all the others, into sex-beasts. By blunt observation in a world composed of living things devouring one another for sustenance, Man observed that "survival of the fittest" was the first rule of life. Anyway-prehistoric man did become a beast in more ways than one ... and so his descendant, homo sapiens, seems to harbor the same attitude: Dominate one's home or be dethroned-and be dominated-by one's woman!
Woman has not always had the respect, sexually and/or otherwise, that is bestowed upon her today. And even in this enlightened age she is not so highly regarded in all parts of the world. There are many places where she is still a chattel; a portion of a man's property along with his acreage, hogs, cattle, and buildings.
Ever since his existence Man has demonstrated his fear of extinction by another man, a woman, or by some sort of monster he could not conquer. It was, and still is, this driving fear which caused men and women to band together for mutual protection-and so began the organization of the tribe which was the fore-runner of nations. Men called it tribal cohabitation. Among apes it is a troop, while birds gather in flocks, and mammals huddle together in herds. But whatever it is called by the various species, it is for the same purposes-protection; friendship based on the theory of "like adores like;" to propagate their own image, and to make love to members of a species attracted to one another by mutual instinct.
Survival of another kind also entered into the picture of tribal formations: A female is less likely to kill her male mate, or vice versa, while other members of the tribe are watching.
It was not until tribes combined to become nations, and those nations quarreled among themselves over pieces of real estate, religious beliefs, and whatever, that it became not sinful for one man to kill another man. This is called war, and the same rule prevails today. When the leaders of nations approve of mass homicide it becomes "honorable" to slaughter humans, instead of being a dastardly and cowardly act.
CHAPTER THREE SEXMANIA
The lights had been turned down to a gruesome dimness in the large room which had been lavishly appointed in oriental decor.
Naked bodies lie sprawled crazily over the deeply cushioned oriental rug with several ottomans in gold and blue dotting the room like sentries from the morals squad. The grunting and groaning predominated the sound waves while young men and young girls, crazy with LSD and marijuana gave vent freely to their sexual whims.
Mosley was fat and fifty, and he was as bald as the Nero he portrayed himself to be as he sat naked upon a gold throne at one end of the room, lustfully surveying the scene before him. He had made himself a head wreath of marijuana leaves, and in his fat right hand he held a mace which was a twig from the marijuana plant. To say that he was a nut would be putting it mildly, according to the psychiatric report which was eventually submitted to the police about him. To say that he was a sex-beast would be a more accurate description because Mosley enjoyed using the whip which had been especially made for him. It had a short ebony handle, with four strands of leather each of which was three feet long and knotted at intervals of eight inches.
Mosley had cold gray eyes which glanced up condemningly at whoever he was listening, or speaking, to. Perhaps he, in his deranged mind, condemned everyone for his own shortcomings. The fact that he limped with a fat left leg, and ground his teeth together every time he recalled how the kids at school used to chide him about it, was more or less responsible for his violent urge to punish the people he knew. Perhaps the fact that his over-sized penis used to bring crude ridicule from the boys who showered with him at the gymnasium, had much to do with his gradually developing sadistic nature. He had always hated that over-sized penis-until he commenced using it at the age of sixteen when a teacher wanted to try it out. It was then that he discovered that the very thing he had always despised-was a gift from the gods, because every girl he met fought to keep him for her very own.
This feature of his experiences infuriated him, for he did not want to belong to anyone. He felt that he was something special; something the gods had sent down to earth to punish people for their sins. Oddly enough, he considered no form of sexual perversion a sin. He believed that the human mind was all-powerful, and whatever the mind conceived sexually, man should be permitted to perform. And so he had gathered about him thirty young men and girls who would listen to his reading of the silly poetry he wrote, and watch him masturbate, and then indulge in the sexual orgies which he designed. He had a violent craving to be a "ruler," and inasmuch as nations and states were not at all interested in his leadership he had created his own tiny kingdom-a sex cult-where his royal sovereignty prevailed unchallenged.
Marsha was only nineteen, but she was sharp enough to plan on copping some of the cash she knew Mosley kept locked in a chest in his bedroom. He had plenty, so why shouldn't she get some of it, she reasoned-and already she had a head start because during the three days she had known Mosley he had raved over her fiery red hair and her green eyes which were as close to being symbols of sexus as anything could be. Her stout young breasts were now protruding temptingly as she stood before her "king," while an athletic young man stood behind her manipulating his erection in and out of her rectum.
"Ah, glorious!" Mosley breathed over the cloud of marijuana which was encircling his face as he puffed on a reefer slowly. "Ram it to her, boy. Give her every inch of it."
The blond boy's face was dissipated with the charge of passion which engulfed him. He was groaning out his pleasure over the tightness of Marsha's rectum around his erection, and now she was butting against his operation to give him the sensation of a jerky operation.
Mosley laughed heartily over her added assistance. "Like a silken bucking bronco," he chuckled. "Marsha-you're delicious! And after you have temporarily satisfied young Morby-you can try to invent a new thrill for your king."
"That, I will do, your majesty. I shall love that glorious big thing of yours until it's as limp as yesterday's Kleenex."
Mosley roared with laughter. "Marsha-you are a precious gem."
The party went on and on, and on some more. Two of the boys and one of the girls were trying to climb the walls, their naked bodies twisting into oddly gyrating figures as marijuana directed their thoughts, crazily.
Mosley's colorless gray eyes wandered over the scene, a satisfied smile wreathing his mouth as he saw....
One dark-haired girl was sucking on the penis of the youngest boy present, a meek and spindly kid of eighteen who went by the name of Slappy. On-campus, he had gained that name due to the silly questions he asked about life. Behind the dark-haired girl a robust youth with hair on chest, arms, and legs, which resembled the fur of a gorilla, was grunting loudly as his passion attacked the girl's vagina from the rear while she lay on one side. In a corner of the room one girl was on her knees with her crotch planted over the mouth of the boy beneath her, and while he manipulated his tongue against her clitoris she was wildly waving her arms and screaming that she was waiting for a taxicab-and where were all of them, anyway? In her left hand a half burned marijuana reefer glowed in the dim light of the room.
Marsha had finished with the man behind her and, lifting both hands to his face, she gave him a hefty push. The boy took his cue and turned away from her, whereupon Marsha dropped to her knees and crawled reverently to the person of the seated Mosley.
"At last, your majesty," she said smiling lustfully. "Now I shall work on your royal prick."
Mosley laughed. "You are a gem, my dear. I shall adopt you, Marsha. I shall keep you as my royal sex-jester-and keeper of my penis."
"Glory be!" she exclaimed. But there was a sinister note in Marsha's tone of voice, as though in her way of thinking his goddamn oversized penis was merely the key to his money-chest. She looked up at the fat belly with its rack of three inner-tubes, and at the three chins which hung limply below a dissipated face. His arms and legs were fat and flabby, and she wanted to vomit at the very sight of this egotistical tub of lard. But Marsha considered herself a business-woman-a lover of money who could tolerate the most obnoxious of men provided there would be a monetary reward for her. He had said " ... try to invent a new thrill for your king."
What could be new for this sexy old bastard? She lifted a hand and scratched her reddish scalp beneath its silken strands of flaming hair. Then she glanced at the marijuana twig in his right hand. She took it from him, then gently she drew the edge of a leaf across the side of his huge erection. At once Mosley gripped the arms of the chair, let his head fall back against the high support, and closed his eyes. This was different! No one had thought to give him such a gentle tickling sensation before, and now Marsha's eyes were lighting up hopefully. By golly!-she actually did think of something different to arouse the old coot's passion. A new use for marijuana! A new way to stimulate the pulsing erection which loomed before her face like a totem-pole. And when, finally, he had his orgasm she smeared the marijuana leaves with it and then lifted them to his face.
Lifting herself from her knee-position she closed in on him. With her free left hand she maneuvered his erection into her vagina and started pumping slowly while her right hand continued to draw the wet and sticky leaves across his face. "It's your own sweet stuff, honey-baby," she told him. "Stick out your tongue and-and taste it."
As though in a trance, as though he was hypnotized by his own passion coupled with her softly spoken words, Mosley put out his tongue and allowed the soaked leaves to draw across it.
"It's really yours, baby-sweet. Doesn't it taste delicious?"
"Yes, yes-Oh, my precious-yes, yes! And now let me have some of your come."
Marsha was still a business-woman-forever thinking of his money-and so she ran one finger of her left hand beneath his penis and into her vagina and held it there until the sticky substance had gathered thereon. Then she drew that same finger gently across his mouth. "There it is, precious. That's-me!"
"I'll make you my queen, Marsha. You shall rule beside me queen of all the pricks and cunts within my sacred and sexy domain."
That is how Marsha became "queen" of Mosley's sex-kingdom, and wangled one hundred dollars weekly out of him just because of her ability to invent new tricks with which to thrill him.
She moved her clothing from the dingy rooming-house where she had been staying into this fine ten-room house of Mosley's. She slept with him. She did everything his whims dictated, and she quickly learned just how much money he kept at hand, and commenced making plans to take it all.
She was amazed to learn that he was foolish enough to keep five thousand dollars-mostly in hundred-dollar bills-in that small chest in his bedroom. She would need no key, nor would she be compelled to bother working a hairpin into the lock to open it. Some day, when the moment was ripe, she would merely place the small chest into a shopping-bag, and then disappear. Walk straight out of his filthy, sexy, life, and lop a plane for some inconspicuous location where the police would not be likely to hunt for her.
It happened the first day of the second month she had been living with him: Mosley had so doused himself with marijuana that he fell into a depressed stupor. He commenced jibbering slowly about his childhood and how his bad leg had made him a target for the ridicule of boys and girls at school. Marsha listened to his jibberish for more than an hour, and then she decided that now was the time to act; to take his money. She was certain that soon he would lapse into a long sleep. She could dress quickly, take only an extra dress, skirt and blouse, and leave the rest of her stuff, which was worn and worthless. She could board a bus with but one suitcase-and the shopping-bag containing his money-chest.
Marsha got away with it. Huddled alone and delighted over her new-found wealth, in a motel north of San Francisco, she decided to place the money in a bank-and then look for another sucker like Mosley.
CHAPTER FOUR FEMALE BEASTS
Rommea was a beautiful child in the kingdom of Byzantium. Her life was beautiful until her widowed father engaged the services of a private female tutor for her. The woman was a Lesbian and, the day of Rommea's fourteenth birthday, she threw the girl down in the high grass of the garden. "Let me have it, Rommea my darling!" she panted.
Innocently, Rommea asked, "Have what?"
The woman forced her legs apart and planted her face between them.
Rommea was uninitiated, but she was not stupid. "No, no!" she exclaimed while she struggled to get away. Placing both hands against the woman's face she pushed with all the strength she could muster. "Mrs. Walder!" she gasped. "No, no!"
But Mrs. Walder was hungry for sexual gratification. She slapped hard, three times. Rommea commenced to sob. The shame of it overcame her strength, and the woman had her way.
When the woman was finished she warned the girl that if she told anyone about the affair a long and slimy dragon would suddenly grow out of her vagina. Rommea was impressive. She had a vivid imagination and, after all, wasn't Mrs. Walder a very smart woman? Smart enough to be a teacher, anyway....
Rommea worried about that horrible dragon. She did not want to believe that such an atrocity could grow out of her vagina, it sounded so fantastic. Yet Mrs. Walder was a smart woman and she had said that it might!
And so the instructress had her way-and her cunnilingus-once weekly. Rommea grew to like the sensation of feeling the woman's tongue against her clitoris, soothing and then vigorously. She liked it, but she dared not admit as much even to herself. Rommea endured the sexual attacks for several months-until she met and fell in love with a fine young boy. When he proposed marriage, at first she reminded him that they were both altogether too young. She, nearing fifteen and he not quite eighteen. But he scoffed at the idea of age. He told her that it made no difference. When he kept proposing marriage she grew terribly worried, for she kept thinking of the dragon that might one day suddenly grow out of her vagina.
With kindness and adept persuasion the boy finally managed to get her to confess why she would not consent to marry him; that she believed that she dared not marry anyone. Unable to persuade her that she was the victim of a ridiculous lie when he was told about the hypothetical dragon the boy took her to a sorceress who, for a fair price, gave the girl a potion which would prevent the growth of a dragon, or anything else, from her vagina.
Aware that marriage was out of the question until the vicious minded instructress had been done away with for the woman constantly threatened Rommea about going with boys the boy plotted to kill her.
He did so-and was caught!
The boy was executed by the state for murder.
Rommea's grief turned to bitterness, and from then on she despised every female she saw, and she began plotting revenge. When she learned of the presence in the community of a group of Lesbians she commenced frequenting an out-of-town garden where they always gathered to practice making love to one another.
Rommea agreed to allow one of the girls to make love to her, providing she did it off and away from the others, in the high grass. Getting the girl alone Rommea's deranged mind turned to thoughts of death. At the moment the girl spread her legs and proceeded to place her lips against Rommea's vagina, she bashed in her skull with a jagged rock.
She was able to dispose of three of the Lesbians in that manner before she was caught. She was tried for murder, and again the state performed an execution.
Trouble came to Egypt when a human female monster appeared and turned to cannibalism for her sex thrills. She was Ptomenine, daughter of the keeper of the Pharaoh's hunting-dogs. She lived in a mud hut at the rear of the palace estate with her father, and often she would watch the ferocious dogs devouring a newly arrowed stag. One day she discovered that their ravenous appetite for raw flesh and blood gave her a strange feeling in the region of her vagina. Timidly she dropped one hand down between her legs. It was then that she discovered masturbation. She was perplexed and sorely troubled when she learned that alone in bed, and surrounded by silence and darkness, she could not obtain an orgasm no matter how long she fingered her clitoris. Studied analysis soon revealed to her that it was only while watching the hunting-dogs devouring a fresh carcass that sexual inspiration came to her, followed by orgasms.
Ptomenine concluded that she must devour something bloody herself in order to get the sex thrill that the sight of the ravenous dogs gave her-and so she cast about for raw meat. At first the thought revolted in her mind and caused her stomach to retch. But she was determined to have her sex and to do whatever was necessary to inspire it. Later that afternoon she found a wounded hare, and she killed it with a stone. Ripping away the fur and hide she took a bite of it. She swallowed, as difficult as it was to do so. And then she vomited.
Discouraged, she went to bed that night without sexual satisfaction. She tried to condition her mind to the new idea, and so the following day she again attempted to digest raw meat and blood. She managed to kill a nesting pheasant.
She tasted the body and the blood, and again vomited. But on her fourth try with another slain rabbit, she had success. And after she had eaten part of the rabbit's flesh she again felt that strange and inspiring feeling between her legs. Leaning against the bole of an oak tree she raised her toga and masturbated.
It was grand. The orgasm seemed to drug her mind; at least to clear it of all sense of guilt and all other inhibitions. The next time she tried eating raw meat her stomach gave her no trouble at all. Neither did her mind. And her orgasm was complete in every respect.
Several weeks later Ptomenine found one of the hunting-dogs alone. He was one she had often petted. He was wagging his tail and approaching her boldly. She folded an arm about his neck, and then she slashed his throat with the dagger her father had once given her for protection in the forest. Ptomenine discovered that the dog's flesh was delicious, and suddenly she had a violent urge to chew on his penis. She did so and experienced an orgasm without even touching finger to clitoris.
When the absence of the dog was noted, Ptomenine's father investigated. When he found the dog's decomposing carcass in the forest, and dried blood on the toga of his daughter, he wrung a confession out of her. He was terribly distressed to learn of her abnormal sexual urges and placed her in the care of a sorcerer who attempted a cure.
But Ptomenine only grew worse; her lust for the flesh and blood needed to inspire her sexual craving, grew stronger. One day, strolling in the woods with the sorcerer and listening to advice which repelled her, she killed him with a rock while he was stretched out upon the ground, taking a nap. It was shortly after that when she saw a young woman approaching with a baby in her arms. Sight of the tender skin of the baby caused Ptomenine to experience an immediate orgasm, and her mind whirled with wild thoughts. Baby meat would be delicious; much nicer than the coarse meat of rabbits and dogs. She followed the woman down to the bank of a stream. When the young mother laid the baby in the grass and leaned over to drink, Ptomenine crushed her skull with a tree-club. Then she strangled the infant and sank her teeth into the soft stomach flesh. While she was eating the baby flesh her discharge seeped out of her vagina and tainted her legs. She went wild with the sensation of her orgasm. An orgasm more violent and refreshing than any she had ever experienced before.
She was jolted to her senses when her father, leading two of the Pharaoh's hunting-dogs, came upon her. Finding the bodies of the young mother, the partly eaten baby, and the dead sorcerer, he forced a ghastly confession from his daughter. He turned her over to the law. Tried and sentenced, the girl was burned at the stake as a witch.
At the turn of the 20th Century, on the Pacific Coast, a female nurse discovered that she obtained a sex thrill when one of the patients in the hospital, under her care, died. The shock was almost too great to bear, and she determined to confess her abnormal craving to the doctor in charge. But she could not muster sufficient courage and, for several weeks, she kept her gruesome secret to herself.
It was on a Monday morning that she entered the room of a patient at the hospital and placed her hand on his wrist. There was no pulse whatever. She caught her breath. He was in his early twenties, and good looking. Three nights ago he had been the victim of a gang-fight stabbing. She should have notified the doctor at once of the man's death, but as her mind pounded with the sensation and she felt a great stimulation between her legs by just staring at the corpse, she lifted her neat white gown and placed a finger against her clitoris.
She was masturbating in a standing position when the head nurse unexpectedly entered the room and observed the action. The offending nurse was fired on the spot. Arriving home that night she felt enmeshed in humiliation. Why should she be the victim of such a gruesome sexual abnormality?
She had never harmed anyone. But now she was slowly but steadily developing a desire for revenge. It was the fault of the head nurse, she assured herself ... she had no business catching her ... she should not have caught her masturbating while staring excitedly at a freshly, still warm, created corpse. The girl obtained another job, but clerking in a store was distasteful to her-and her mind was forever pounding away at the thought of punishing the head nurse. One night, no longer able to stand the thought without the action, she returned to the hospital.
Standing in the shadows of the high bushes which bordered the sidewalk she waited until the head nurse left the building. As she walked slowly along the sidewalk the girl suddenly reached out and grabbed her by the neck. She threw her to the ground between two bushes and strangled the middle-aged woman. Then she spread her own legs as hungrily, crazily, she gazed upon the warm corpse of the woman whom she felt had wronged her. And then she masturbated and felt the thrill of it singing through her nerves and bloodstream.
Her case is not unusual. Lesbians have been slaying their lovers over jealousy, for centuries. There are cases on record with law enforcement agencies where Lesbians, upon catching their lovers trifling on them, have amputated their arms and legs, decapitated them, and then stuffed the bleeding parts into a trunk and shipped them to a fictitious addressee and address. Many a trunk, sitting in the baggage-room of a railroad or air-service depot, has been discovered leaking blood. Then the law enforcement agencies go to work, vainly trying to trace the sender. In several cases such tracing proved fruitful, and the Lesbian-murderer was apprehended, tried, and punished.
Once on the Pacific Coast a chorus girl with a burlesque stock-company in a large city killed three other chorus girls before she was twenty-one. In each case the victim had been her lover-and trifled. Psychologists tell us that there is more violent jealousy among Lesbians than there is among male homosexuals.
One trifling act which most "butch" (the man)
Lesbians cannot stand is for her Lesbian lover to switch to a man-lover. This sets the butch into a rage, for her every wakeful thought is to "replace man and his goddamn penis." She cannot stand to believe that her Lesbian "wife" could even think of replacing her butch with a real man. This confliction of sexual affairs has resulted in many violent "beat-ups," hospital cases, and even murders.
CHAPTER FIVE
MALE BEASTS
Fladius was a robust man who seemed not to fit anywhere in the Roman Empire during the reign of Nero. He had the body of a gladiator but not the corresponding spirit. His mind had turned exclusively to words, and he longed for success as a poet. When that victory seemed too remote to even longer consider as a possibility, his mind turned to sex. He was only nineteen, without relatives and friends. His father, a Roman soldier, had been killed in battle, and his mother had died when he was born.
Fladius bitterly resented the happiness of others, and he could not understand why people merely glanced at him and left him without recognition. Perhaps it was his deep scowl as he meditated on embryonic poetry which made him unacceptable. Or perhaps it was the contemptuous manner in which he frowned upon some conversationalists because their use of Latin was so atrocious. He did not understand why most people did not bother to learn the language perfectly; they seemed satisfied to speak grammatically incorrect, and to use the adjectives of the gutter in preference to selecting words which had beauty in sight and sound.
Unable to find a girl friend because he could not converse in the drivel common among lovers, he turned to masturbating as he leaned against a tree in the meadows east of town. It was a Monday evening when he heard boisterous laughter the moment before he was to seat himself at the trunk of his favorite masturbating tree. Glancing down the road he saw three couples. He watched them as they selected a spot in the grass under the shadow of a great oak and then began casting off their togas.
Fladius grew sexually excited when he saw three naked female bodies and three naked male bodies in the luscious green grass-and wished that he could be a part of that group. But even though they would accept him as a participant in group-sex, there would be no female mate for him to caress, and with whom he could fornicate. Realization of the hopelessness of the situation made him more bitter than ever. People just did not accept him, and that realization had cut deep into his ego.
He forgot his masturbation-period to stand and stare at the six naked bodies. He grunted with disgust as he observed that the young men were puny; far from being robust like himself. The girls were slender, but beautifully shaped. He suddenly wanted all three girls, and it occurred to him that with his gladiatorial strength he could pulverize the three males and take their girls away from them.
Continuing to gaze upon the three lovely female bodies he developed an erection, big and strong. He smiled proudly as he glanced down at what he had created-with the help of the Almighty. His erected penis was a masterpiece, he reflected grimly; something any Roman should cherish.
Boldly, Fladius approached the sextette. At first the three young men were smiling, but their geniality changed quickly as they observed that the three pretty girls were holding their breath as they gazed upon the Adonis nearing them. One girl pointed at the long and robust penis of Fladius and gasped gleefully several times.
Fladius promptly disposed of competition. Grabbing two of the young men by their necks he bashed their heads together, drawing blood. As they sank to the ground whimpering for mercy he struck with a tight fist and knocked the third fellow off his feet. Then he grabbed the nearest girl, held her close to him and rammed his erection into her vagina. The girl squealed with delight. He fell to the ground with her, and they commenced what quickly developed into a wild and careless coitus. Then Fladius took on the other two girls. During this sexual spree the three young men, coming to their senses gradually, finally hit the narrow pathway and disappeared into the heavy foliage.
Fladius was having his way with the three pretty girls-but he was not satisfied. In a moment of passion on seeing how he was constructed, they had accepted him. But he knew well enough that he did not have the personality and the cultural polish to hold them. Or was he guessing wrongly? Perhaps his ability as a sex partner would suffice. That remained to be seen!
Finally, when sex with the three girls had been satisted, and he and the girls were lolling in the velvety-soft grass, Fladius tried out his cultural charm on them. He said things nonchalantly. He spoke to the girls about strong men, and coitus, and the beauty of the feminine figure. But they seemed not to be approving of anything he said. He tried to interest them in himself as a person, but they only shuddered. What was this strangeness about his person which people found repulsive? It baffled him, and it angered him simultaneously. Could it be that his personality exuded an egotism which people resented? The fact that he could not fathom the answer was sending him crazy. He shuddered heavily from his shoulders to his legs, and he was rapidly developing an extreme hatred for the very girls who had just granted him their pleasures.
He sensed their reluctance to accept what he was saying as pleasant conversation when he observed their half-smiles; as though they wished not to offend him but could hardly muster the spirit to smile generously over his palaver.
Fladius was reaching a state of near-panic, for there was much more to be desired from pretty girls than merely sexual relations. He desperately wanted their approval of himself as a person; he wanted their love and admiration. He cursed his bitter luck that he could not win them over. He knew that a healthy and ambitious girl wanted a young man who was charming; who could produce interesting companionship-and that was his failing. He was aware that there was nothing charming about him at all, and so his resentment and anger quickly developed into diabolical plotting. If these three girls did not see fit to accept him as a charmer, then he would dispose of them so that they would never meet any male more charming than himself.
Leaping up from the grass he searched for a stout club. There was murder in his eyes as he returned to the girls, and they reacted accordingly. When one of them leaped up, quite apparently ready to run from him, he raised the club and warned her not to leave. Then he ordered the second girl to bind the third girl to the bole of the tree, indicating strong and slender reeds within grasping distance.
With the third girl securely tied, Fladius ordered the second girl to tie the first girl to the opposite side of the same tree. When that was done, he personally tied the second girl in between the other two.
Then he glanced about for three large stakes. Picking up pieces of rotting and fallen tree branches he approached the terrified girls. Using the club as a hammer he drove a stake far into the vagina of each girl. Their screams for mercy sickened the air but Fladius gave it no heed. As blood gushed from the vaginas of the three girls he then bashed their skulls with his club.
He felt good! He had destroyed those who would not accept his personality. Stretching out upon the grass and facing the dead girls, he masturbated for fully an hour.
That was how two Roman guards found him as they drove leisurely along in a company chariot.
They took him prisoner, and tenderly placed the bodies of the girls on the floor of the chariot. The court decreed that Fladius' penalty would be the loss of his mind and penis. A stake driven through his brain so that his spirit could not concoct the same diabolical plot against women that his living personality had done, and the amputation of his penis so that in the after-world he could have no sexual fun whatever.
When Nero heard about the affair he ordered the body of Fladius brought to the banquet room. While Nero and his cohorts and officers and dignitaries of state were gorging themselves with food and wine, he ordered the carcass of Fladius cast in the center of the room. Then he turned his dogs loose and permitted them to have their own feast.
Nero's state officials whispered among themselves guardedly that Nero was punishing a corpse for doing something heinous when he, Nero, was the worst offender in that category within the entire Roman Empire. And Nero, shortly after Fladius' body had been devoured by the dogs, proved that their averment was correct.
Leaning back on the divan placed up to the dining table, Nero asked for the details of Fladius' crime to be repeated to him. As one of the guardsmen who had found the girls tied to the tree in the presence of the masturbating Fladius described the incident again Nero nodded slowly, understandingly and almost approvingly. At least he was panting as though the gruesome details of the crime were whetting his sexual appetite.
Suddenly he demanded that he be given more than a description verbally of Fladius' crime.
His guests were appalled when he made his demand. The guard at his side turned white, but Nero was adamant. One of the pretty dancing-girls, naked except for a diaphonous veil covering her body, was selected for the living demonstration.
Two guards placed her on top of the banquet table right before Nero who had excitedly, with one sweep of his fat arm, cast the plates of gold and silver to the floor. A stake was driven into the vagina of the live girl while the guests observed and listened to her pitiful screams.
The girl bled to death. As her body was removed from the table a Nubian slave-girl came with cloth to sop up the blood. Nero stopped her, remarking that the color of the dancing-girl's blood was a beautiful red and that he desired that his plates be set upon the blood and that he be served some more stag rump.
Then he commanded that his dancing-girls perform cunnilingus in a group on the floor just beyond his section of the banquet table-and the party went on for several more hours. Nero commanded that everything sexually possible be performed before him while he continued to gorge himself with food and wine. And during these antics he directed the feminine guest on his left to kneel and to take his penis in her mouth, and to chew on it until he cried out in pain.
In Paris, more than one hundred years ago, Dr. Jerykull and Mr. Hydermin were close friends. Each man was an admitted sex-fiend; that is, they confessed to each other but to no one else.
Hydermin was an importer of textiles, and highly successful. The doctor was a reputable surgeon who passed his nonprofessional hours meditating upon the various acts of sexual deviations between humans and animals. If it were possible for a man to have intercourse with birds, he would have included them also in his diabolical schemes.
There was no one with whom he could discuss his fresh ideas pertaining to sexual participation other than Hydermin. They had performed everything possible upon each other, including fellatio, soixante neuf, and sodomy. And many times they had called in both males and females to participate in group-sex parties with them. The doctor had even, for the benefit of his sex guests, permitted a Great Dane to fornicate him in the rectum.
It seemed that everything the mind could conceive had been tried by these two. The term "satyriasis" most certainly applied to them.
It was late one afternoon, while they were seated in Hydermin's luxurious office, that Dr. Jerykull conceived what he thought was the most original sex-plot he had ever designed. Excitedly he related the details of the inspired act to his friend, and Hydermin steamed with excitement over the proposal.
Together they called upon a poultry dealer on the outskirts of Paris and purchased a large male swan. This specie was the Shrill Trumpeter from North America with a wingspread of eight feet. The doctor conceived the idea of forcing a pretty girl to have sexual intercourse with a swan when he read in a book that the penis of a swan greatly resembles the penis of a man. He was enchanted with what the poultry dealer told him about swans: that the world's species numbered eight, and that they possessed great strength and virility in sexual relations. He said that some swans reached a length of five feet and weighed as much as thirty pounds. He said that although the 'Shrill Trumpeter' was becoming rare they were being found in the United States, in the upper Mississippi Valley, and that they wintered at the Gulf of Mexico.
While they were traveling back to the doctor's residence in Paris with their prized bird, the doctor recalled the famous painting entitled Leda and the Swan by a famous European artist. In Greek mythology Leda was the wife of Tyndareus, king of Sparta. Zeus fell in love with Leda and used to visit her in the form of a swan. The painting depicts Leda naked and seated while holding the swan in her lap with the swan facing her. Quite obviously she is having sexual intercourse with the bird.
It was not difficult in Paris to engage the services of a voluptuous blonde artists' model. Many such models expected a little fornicating on the side, when posing for a painting; and some of them even went so far as to suffer a whipping or what other sexual sadism the artist had in mind. Therefore, the doctor foresaw no trouble with the girl in reference to the swan trick he had planned for her.
While Dr. Jerykull was not an artist he did have his living quarters appointed luxuriously, and in oriental decor. In the center of the room he had constructed a cot seven feet long and six feet wide, and setting about two feet above the floor. The cot was draped with a red and gold brocade which he had purchased from Hydermin who had imported it from China.
When the model arrived the doctor instructed her to strip and to stretch out upon the cot. Vella smiled thinly, then glanced about as though she were looking for easel and palette. When she saw neither object she shrugged and murmured, "For such an act the price is double my posing price."
The doctor nodded. Price was no object when it came to sexual gratification for himself and his friend.
The girl raised an objection when he spread-eagled her body and, with the aid of Hydermin, quickly bound her wrists and ankles to the four corners of the cot with heavy cord. Her large blue eyes narrowed suspiciously, and then she stated that she had changed her mind; that she did not want to go through with the assignment. But the doctor had not changed his mind, and he told her so.
The bird was brought out from another room and Jerykull quickly fitted it with a leather strap harness which he had especially constructed. The harness fitted over the body of the swan up to its neck and then straps from it encircled the waistline of the model.
By now Vella was protesting furiously. She called the doctor and his friend every vile name she could recall, but they paid no attention to her.
Jerykull played with the sex parts of the swan until an erection came and then he steered the swan's penis into the girl's vagina. The bird took readily to the assignment and commenced its weird shrill whistling-call.
The girl cursed the bird, but she was helpless to stop the sex act.
Suddenly Dr. Jerykull leaped forward grasping a shiny butcher knife. He whirled about crazily as though he were about to break into a tribal war-dance. Than he leaped forward and, with one quick swipe of the blade, he severed the bird's head from its body. The swan's blood gushed forward and spilled over the girl's torso. In the background, Hydermin was chanting gleefully. The doctor stood stark still, holding the knife dripping with blood while his eyes bulged wildly as he viewed the blood smearing the creamy white skin of the girl.
The model screamed, her large blue eyes filled with terror. "Let me up from this diabolical table!" she cried.
But the doctor made no effort to release her. He dropped the knife to the floor and then he embraced his friend. They kissed each other on the mouth violently, and then they committed sodomy upon each other. In the meantime, the girl struggled to free herself and finally managed to get one hand loose. Then she lost no time in releasing her other hand and her ankles.
Grabbing her clothes she attempted to dash out of the apartment.
Hydermin screamed, "Look! She's getting away!"
He yanked his penis from the rectum of his male lover and, with his penis dripping filth, he leaped upon the girl. "I'll teach you to run out on us," he yelled. He knocked her to the floor and, without cleansing himself, rammed his erection into her mouth.
The doctor was clapping gleefully. "That will teach her," he panted. Holding his erection in his right hand he fell to his knees and crawled toward the terrified girl. Hydermin was holding her head with both hands while he ran his penis back and forth in her mouth. Then he rolled her on her side and gasped, "Lover-boy! Take her from behind!"
The doctor laid on his side and rammed his erection into the girl's rectum. As he fornicated, he laughed heartily. "This is delightful," he exclaimed. "Two pricks in two girl-holes."
The doctor was grinning. "Oh, if the authorities could see us now, darling boy."
"Wouldn't they throw us in jail-and just love it?"
The doctor was still fornicating vigorously while Vella groaned, and tears of fright and grief streamed down her cheeks. "Yes, oh yes," he answered. "But if they ever throw me in jail for enjoying my prick, why I'll-I'll screw every man in the jailhouse."
Hydermin laughed. "Doctor-how vulgar! You mean you'd even screw the jailer?"
"I would," the doctor said excitedly, "as a reward for allowing me to screw the other prisoners."
When they had temporarily satiated their passion, Hydermin withdrew his penis from the girl's mouth, and the doctor rolled away from her rear. As they stood up and surveyed the scene's headless swan still bleeding from the neck, and a girl almost lifeless on the floor with her eyes glazed by the strain of fright, Hydermin said, "Well, lover-boy-what will we do now?"
The doctor started giggling. "I have a perfectly zany notion," he said.
"What, my darling? Oh, do tell me what!"
"I don't wish to tell you," the doctor said coyly.
Hydermin feigned a pout. "Oh, you beast! How could you torment me by not disclosing your notion?"
"I love to torment people. Remember?" He started laughing.
"Don't we both! But, darling-you should not torture me-who loves you more than any other person in the wide world."
"You do love me-that much?"
"Oh, yes. Of course. I love you and your beautiful prick."
"Oh, all right, then-I shall tell you
"So?"
The doctor said, "Here it is: We lift the girl back onto the cot and-now get this-"
"What-oh, what, oh what?"
"We roll her in the swan's blood!"
"How delightful!"
"Not only that, my darling."
"What else, my beloved?"
The doctor commenced strutting proudly around the room. "You shall see. You shall see."
They lifted her onto the cot and smeared the swan's blood over her creamy silken flesh.
Hydermin was panting with the effect of his glee. "Oh, it makes her look so beautiful that way."
The girl seemed almost lifeless. Vella seemed to have lapsed into a coma. There was not a motion from her body excepting that made by her breathing.
"Now," the doctor said excitedly. "Watch this!"
He lifted the severed end of the swan's neck and ran it carefully into the girl's vagina. Then he worked it back and forth with the rhythm of sexual intercourse.
"Oh, my God!" Hydermin gasped. He grasped his penis in his right hand and commenced to masturbate.
When they had tired of watching the swan's neck moving in and out of Vella's vagina, the two men wandered to a corner of the room. Each took hold of the other's penis and began playing with it.
That was what they were doing to each other when the police arrived and arrested them.
Vella had not been as lifeless as they had presumed, and when they had left her side she had silently slipped out of the room with her clothes in her arm. In the hallway she had slipped into her clothing and then knocked on the apartment manager's door. He had called the police, and once again two vile sex-beasts were punished for their having trod upon the sacred rights of another person.
CHAPTER SIX APE-SEX IN THE JUNGLE
The great apes seem undisturbed regarding sexual intercourse with a human female. Perhaps we are more closely related to them than we suspect, for a baboon, a gibbon, a chimpanzee, and several of the other apes, think there is nothing unnatural about invading a native village in Africa, and other places which abound with apes, and raping human females even as human males do.
Are we part of the classification-great apes-or are we not?
Some authorities agree that:-there is only a thread of margin separating Man from the great apes; that he quite distinctively has the face and form of the gorilla. This suggests that Man was cast by nature from "the same mold." This also suggests that Man and gorilla are common ancestors. Some scientists claim that this parallel goes farther than mere appearance; that Man and his gorilla cousin also are alike in group behavior.
We have a society! So do gorillas! In fact gorillas are exceptionally loyal and well behaved in the realm of their society. Some of them, much better behaved than humans in their own society. The gorilla is inclined to "follow the rules." At least he does not get drunk and insult his leader (host), nor try to break up the elegant furniture in the ballroom.
Gorillas live in tribal organizations, select a leader and then respect him. Again like Man, the gorilla prefers not to sleep in trees. He prefers the ground, but when the "glorious" white hunter appeared on the scene and taught gorillas that Man and his bullets are a bitter enemy, many of them did take to trees but only to get away from their self-righteous, and inconsiderate, cousin who strutted with a sense of superiority-apparently believing that everything within the world was his rightful prize. However, of all the great apes, the gorilla is the only one which accustomed himself to be a ground-lover-like man.
As an average, in reference to weight, a full-grown male gorilla goes over a quarter of a ton. That makes him "weigh in" at about 560 pounds.
Like Man, gorillas are deeply affectionate with their families. Watch a female gorilla playing with her offspring and it would be difficult to see any difference in comparing the action to that of a human mother and her child. A baby gorilla will cling to the hair of its mother's chest and obey her commands in every respect. (Perhaps, here, the baby gorilla has an edge over the naughty human child). It is seldom that mamma gorilla finds it necessary to cuff (spank) her baby.
Among the human species there are those who have a disdain for their own kind, and become hermits. Not so with his big cousin, for gorillas rarely wander off into the jungle and remain permanently away from the tribe to which they belong.
When traveling, gorillas cling in small family groups, and stay together throughout the year. One robust male will dominate his small group which generally includes two or more wives. (A neat harem!) Several younger males sometimes travel with the group, but whenever they get a yen to "take over" the group the male leader teaches them a lesson. And he is not too gentle in administering the fisticuff punishment which he believes they deserve.
Another feature of the male gorilla which is highly commendable-when his "wife" is carrying her young, the male will not leave her under any circumstance. Even when it becomes necessary to forage for food, he will be close by. And when his "wife" is about to give birth to a new baby gorilla, papa does not stay out all night playing poker, and "getting drunk with the boys." A pregnant mother gorilla is in no condition to defend herself against natural enemies. Papa knows this, and he will remain faithfully at her side and challenge the entire world-by beating his chest and roaring-to come anywheres near to the expectant mother. As a matter-of-fact, when danger threatens, papa gorilla can make more of a pounding, grunting and roaring fuss-for his class-than any other animal in the jungle. He is powerful-and he knows it. His great arms are capable of swatting just about anything which might pop up along the trail, and he will not hesitate to make use of all the strength with which the Almighty blessed him. Many a white hunter-if he were now alive-would testify to the ferocity and power some gorilla let loose on him-reducing him from a "great" hunter, to nothing of any consequence.
Again like the average human, the gorilla is neat; he relishes cleanliness. This trait is exemplified in his manner of preparing for bed. He will gather a shock of leaves and branches and carefully lay out his pad, and rarely will he use that same bed more than once.
Authorities tell us that although we greatly resemble the gorilla, it is the chimpanzee which appear to be the most human-like. The name is from a Congo dialect. Scientists class the animal as an anthropoid ape less ferocious, and smaller, than the gorilla, which is found in equatorial Africa. They are noted for their ability to imitate human eccentricities-including sexual traits. The chimpanzee is a "home body." He, like his cousin, Man, dwells in a community; in groups even larger than those frequented by gorillas. Nature seems to have given the chimpanzee the wisdom not to choose a leader who is the biggest and strongest, but who is the wisest.
The baboon has a predicament, for he is more dependent upon banding with his fellows, and when he separates from his troop his chances of survival are not worth a penny. But also-he can become a very bad boy. At the turn of the 20th century a white Dutch hunter was forced by circumstance to watch a troop of them rape the young girls in a native village. The village was located in the African savanna, and the men of the native tribe had gone away to another village to participate in the crowning of a new king. The old women and the young girls were alone when the troop of baboons struck. The white hunter had been wounded the week before by a lion he was tracking, and the natives had bedded him down comfortably in a hut raised above the ground. Unable to leave the cot, he was compelled to observe the wholesale rape and do nothing to help the girls.
Screams of the terrified girls rent the air while the wild-eyed, sex-crazed baboons made their attack.
One huge male baboon leaped at a girl carrying a basket of fruit on one shoulder and knocked her to the ground. Then, with his erection reddish and hard with want, he forced his entry. The girl struggled and clawed at the coarse fur of the animal's chest, but he gave her terror no heed at all while he ran his erection in and out of her vagina and kept barking gleefully.
The center section of the village, dotted on all sides by grass and mud huts, was a scene of sexual carnage comparable, in a small way, to the Romanesque debaucheries under the rule of Nero. Some of the girls were bleeding from the rough and sadistic handling of the attackers; faces scratched, arms and legs pawed, and vaginas ravaged like so much worthless mud.
When the baboons had satiated their lust, on a signal from the huge male leader they suddenly took off and disappeared into the jungle.
It was several hours later that the warriors of the village returned and found seven girls dead and the others badly mauled. In a rage they grabbed spears and head-axes and set out to find the baboon troop. They found a troop basking in the sun with full bellies. Whether or not it was the offending troop mattered little. One of the girls had told them that their attackers were baboons, and that was all the lead they needed. Every one of the relaxed baboons died the moment they were discovered, and the honor of the village had been squared.
One of the largest orangutans ever seen by humans accosted an archaeologist's wife and raped her during an expedition into Borneo. The orangutan is found only in Borneo and Sumatra and, ordinarily, is a serene and intelligent fellow. He has a puckish face which seems to capture sympathy and friendliness from the average human explorer. But the particular orangutan in this terrifying instance had become enraged when his female mate deserted him for a handsomer puckish face. For several days he wandered through the jungle in Borneo, uprooting small trees and otherwise illustrating his utter contempt for all things.
Mr. and Mrs. Leary, archaeologists from America, had set up camp and were working upon a new find; they had discovered prehistorically dated bones and artifacts in a small valley seldom traveled by humans. This particular morning the husband had left his wife in camp to catch up on written descriptions of their past findings. It was while he was absent, and using pick and shovel more than one mile from camp, that Mrs. Leary was suddenly surprised by the appearance of the huge ape. He was much larger than the average orangutan, and when she saw him at the edge of the clearing she wheeled into the tent to grab her husband's high-powered rifle. But the animal was too swift for her. He leaped across the small clearing and grabbed her around the waist just as she was about to enter the tent.
The orangutan ripped off her skirt and blouse. Then, with a violent sweep of his great arm, he knocked her to the ground.
His erection was ready. He had not had sexual intercourse with his former mate for nearly a week.
As the big ape mounted her with the grace of a cement-mixer, Mrs. Leary screamed at the top of her lungs. She clawed at the great chest. She jabbed her thumbs at the widening eyes; eyes hungry with apish lust. But her efforts at self protection were like a fly attempting to fight off a spider.
The ape raped her until she was bleeding badly between the legs. Every time she screamed he banged a hairy fist into her face, and soon blood from her brow, nose, and mouth was covering her face.
Whether she died of fright or physical abuse the husband was not certain. But when he returned at sundown that evening he found her dead, and badly mutilated. Several days later his travels brought him to the headquarters of the District Commissioner. When he related his sorrowful story the commissioner told him about the orangutan, and stated that in his opinion it was that particular enraged ape which had caused the death of his wife. The commissioner based his analysis on the fact that a huge orangutan had raped five native girls, and killed them. The natives of the village had slain the offending ape.
Homo sapiens is defined as modern man, and man who knows. In other words, apparently homo sapiens differs from Pithecanthropus Erectus, Zinjanthropus, and all his other forebears, in the homo sapiens "knows what he is doing." There is no doubt, however, that as primitive as the others were, they also knew what they were doing-if not by the power of reason, by the power of instinct. Yet were they any different than some men of today who know when they are doing wrong, but go ahead and do it anyway? One might say that down through the long, long history of the apes, the ape-men, and the so-called modern man, one thing all of them had in common was selfishness. It prevailed then, and it prevails now. When a man wants something, and wants it badly enough, he is going to get it-or take it-regardless of whom he may be hurting. Not all men, but some men. There are those persons, both male and female, who will long for something during an entire lifetime, yet will discipline themselves into abstaining from fulfilling their want like grabbing a million dollars out of a bank. It wouldn't take long to make such a grab, and it would completely change a poor man's life. But ninety nine percent of the world's poor would rather stay that way than to steal the money.
Before the forming of civilization-so-called and our gracious society-so-called-all animals took whatever appealed to them; whatever they could get away with taking. Those animals included prehistoric man and his successor, modern man. The laws of the jungle prevailed and, for many, those same laws prevail now. Murder, rape, larceny-it's still with us, and probably always will be with us.
The Swanscombe man, according to those in the know, lived about 250,000 B.C. Reputedly he may have been the first example of homo sapiens which all scientists acclaim is quite definitely "the modern human species." He was so similar to modern man, with the one exception that his bones were thicker, that it is logical to assume that he was one of our most important forebears. He hunted with spear and axe. He had learned how to fashion spear shafts from wood, and he knew how to chip flint into a triangular shape to form the spear-head, and a hand-axe. He killed a species of deer now extinct, and he also killed a huge ice age ox called the auroch, ancestor to our modern cattle. For some strange and unfathomable reason present day cattle seemed dwarfed in comparison to their ancestors, for the auroch measured six feet high at the shoulder.
Whether or not the Swanscombe man was a sex beast can only be reckoned by what has been found and analysed. In pits where their bones have been discovered several skulls of the females have been found split. Not one male skull was found in this condition, and so one might presume that conjugal arguments occasionally resulted in mamma getting her skull split open for daring to refuse papa his customary sexual session with her.
In consideration of the fact that Zinjanthropus roamed the earth between 1,250,000 years and 1,750,000 years, one might consider the Neanderthal man a late-comer, for he came into being about 75,000 years ago. He made his cave near the foot of the Rock of Gibraltar, at a time when the earth's water was incased in gigantic icebergs, which left a good part of the land dry. He killed and devoured the alpine chough which claimed relationship to the common crow.
Two skeletons of the Neanderthal species were found buried together; the male atop the female, and facing her. Perhaps papa came home and found mamma trifling, and in punishment, buried them together-to forever and a day regret their sexual sin.
It was fortunate that eventually man learned how to draw, and to paint the history of his existence. Among the earliest picture-paintings found by scientists has been the work of the Cro-magnon man. He was the successor to Neanderthal.
He hunted in many sections of Europe at the time of the late ice ages. Cro-magnon was a big man, and obviously modern in his concept of the good way of life for he wore clothes which were form-cut, and sewn. His clothes were made from hides and fur, but he gave them a little style which differentiates him from most of his ancestors. Some authorities claim that he was not much different from the barbarians who lived and sinned during the time of Julius Caesar.
There was good aplenty for Cro-magnon and, according to the animal bones found in his camps, he favored the alpine antelope, often called the chamois, and the arctic fox. Cro-magnon knew how to make a fire and cook his food. He attached fish to a pole and smoked them over the fire as he did large chunks of beef.
One of the most brutal slayings-quite possibly a result of sexual deceit-occurred in a cave in Neander Valley, Germany. Six female skeletons perhaps somebody's harem-were discovered, each with one arm and one leg broken. The fact that each skeleton bore the same sadistic markings points to a belief that papa came home and found that prowlers had been using his women without permission. At any rate, all the women had been punished-and for what reason, other than infidelity, does man punish woman so brutishly?
They were barbarians, those prehistoric ancestors of ours. But if they were around today, some of them might say to modern man: "Look, fella-you're just as bad as we ever were. How come you grab pretty girls and force them into a life of misery which is known as white slavery? And how come, when your woman won't give you what you want, you smash her face with your big fist?"
And so we barbarians had better say little in condemnation of the brutish way some of our ancestors treated their women.
Science has unearthed evidences of more than 11,000 years of history pertaining to humans at the Hotu cave which is located in Iran, along the shores of the Caspian Sea. More than thirty-eight feet below the floor of the cave bones and artifacts have been discovered which identify seven different cultures. Because of the carbon deposits in the eye-sockets and inner portions of the skulls their respective relations to known periods of human and near-human existence have been firmly established.
The findings along the Caspian shores prove that at one time there was a well-traveled route of humans going to, and coming from, many locations in Asia.
Whatever Man did to his women down through the many ages of near-humans and humans, the fact remains that he did dominate-and with many women domination, brutal or otherwise, is most important. A woman, in order to love a male-according to many authorities-must be able to look up at him not only with adoration, but also with respect. And inasmuch as the fight-the effort to survive-is man's lot, he must be somewhat of a brute in order to condition his thinking to necessary slaughter. Modern man can at one moment fight and slay the man who has attacked his wife on the street; and the next moment be gentle with her and the kiddies. But it would be asking a great deal of ape-man to be able to perform the same kind of a transition at a moment's notice. Or, perhaps the ape-man was much kinder to his kin than we presume.
Man's nature seems to have changed but little. Due to restrictions placed upon him by the policement of his own society, he might hesitate to be brutal; but when sufficiently aroused, his pride cut deep, his anger at white heat, he can be just as savage today as he was many thousands of years ago. And so can his woman! There are females living today, as they lived many thousands of years ago, who will not stand for any nonsense from their male mates.
Dewrenah was one of that kind. She and her husband lived on an island in the South Pacific at a time when the United States was going through a period in its history popularly known as the "settling of the West."
Dewrenah was a rugged woman; a great swimmer and hunter, like her husband. But Rammis was a sadistic teaser. He liked to play "practical jokes" which were painful, and funny only to himself.
During their first few days on the island, the result of their small sailing-vessel capsizing in a lagoon, they built themselves a grass and bamboo hut. They found the island abundant with fruit, herbs, small game and variety of edible birds. And the lagoon was loaded with good tasting fish. It looked like the shipwreck had blessed them with a heavenly existence and, at the time, they were not too concerned about building a signal-fire atop the nearest knoll in order to attract the attention of a passing ship. Then Seynuna came into their lives-
Seynuna's black eyes sparkled with affection. Her coarse black hair hung down to the middle of her back and her sixteen-year-old breasts were stout and inviting. Rammis was at once attracted to her sexually and he lost no time in leading her to the bank of a small stream. There, he relieved himself of his stored up sexual urge; a privilege Dewrenah had been denying him since they quarreled over some offensive remark he had made to her the day they swam ashore from the wreck.
Seynuna promptly fell in love with this robust and handsome man from the far-off places whose skin was creamy-white like the lining of the great clouds above.
That was all right with Rammis-for now he had a beautiful young chick to push under his wife's nose, and make her jealous. That was the one thing he should not have attempted with Dewrenah, whose breast harbored a deep-rooted and dangerous sense of revenge. But this revenge, which was a sizable part of her make-up, Rammis did not know about.
Rammis learned that his adolescent island beauty was a descendant of a branch of the Samoan race; a branch which a very long time ago had wandered away from their relatives in Samoa, and when their fishing boats had been carried by strong trade winds to the vicinity of this tiny atoll, they had landed and remained there for nearly a hundred years.
The night after his affair with the island girl, Rammis waited until his wife was asleep in their hut-and then he quickly bound her ankles and wrists in a manner so that she could not move from her dirt floor pad of straw. Then he brought in the smiling Seynuna and stretched her out totally naked at the far side of the hut's single room.
By now, his wife was awake. She discovered her bindings and cursed him bitterly. When she
Saw the girl beneath his naked body, enjoying the sexual intercourse which legally belonged only to his wife, Dewrenah howled with rage. Her blue eyes flashed revenge, and as she shook her head from one side to another in a demonstration of resentment her blonde hair looked like a mop of yellowish straw caught in a heavy wind.
Continuing his sexual affair with Seynuna, Rammis glanced often over at his wife, and laughed gleefully. This would teach her not to deny him his screwing. This would teach her who was the boss of the roost he claimed to head as her husband.
When Dewrenah became exhausted from cursing and screaming at the two operating sexualists, she quieted down, her eyes flashing in an intent to get even with both of the sinners the first moment they were off guard. Her large breasts heaved up and down with the power of her rage, and she glared in bitter envy at the lovely trim body of her island competitor. Dewrenah was thirty and her husband was thirty-three. She knew how many men longed for a fresh young thing after they had spent their sex on the same aging woman for several years. Rammis had never wandered from her bed before in search of fresh meat. But now he was at it in full swing-and before her very eyes! That, in her estimation, was unforgivable, and she intended to punish him for his truancy in a manner he would never forget-if he lived to remember the punishment. She had not decided about that, as yet. Maybe she would kill him, after she had killed the lousy little chippie who was taking her meat from her. Or maybe she would let her husband live to suffer in deep remorse.
Dewrenah was a clever actress. For the next few days she pretended not to mind when Rammis brought his island chippie to the hut, and laid her. His wife only smiled and shrugged her shoulders-Rammis was not sharp enough to be aware that her attitude was merely a build-up so that she could take him off his guard. That happened the following Friday evening. Dewrenah had cached his loaded rifle in the brush beyond the entrance to their hut along with a stout timber for blocking the doorway on the outside.
She waited until Rammis and Seynuna were again in the hut, stretched out naked on the dirt floor. Then she quickly carried the timber to the front of the hut, slammed the heavy timber door shut and placed the timber across it, making exit from inside the hut, impossible. Then she set fire to the dry grass which, with mud, formed the walls and roof of the abode.
When male and female screams came from the hut as the flames licked their way into it, Dewrenah sat on a horizontally placed log nearby, rifle in hand. If the two sinful lovers attempted to paw their way out of the burning structure by tunneling, she would be ready.
The first piece of frantically moving flesh she saw was a hand of the girl as she made the dirt fly beneath the front wall.
Dewrenah shot off three of the girl's fingers. Then when her husband's hand appeared digging through, she shot him in the wrist. The high-powered shell cut his hand in two.
From then on there was no further attempt at escape, and in a short while both lovers were burned to a crisp. Dewrenah verified that fact when the hut became nothing but a pile of ashes on the ground, and the two charred bodies were quite evident.
Dewrenah smiled to herself. There was one man-beast-a genuine sex-beast-she told herself, that would never again trifle on his wife.
It was growing dark and, as she gazed out across the lagoon, she was certain that she saw some sort of a long white ship. She hurried to the top of the knoll and built a signal fire, and was greatly relieved when a short time later a shore-boat loomed in the lagoon.
When the four seamen in the shore-boat reached land, she smiled at them. Would they rescue her? Take her off the island? Once again the sex-beast reared to predominate over everything else life had to offer. Yes, they would rescue her-for a price!
And so Dewrenah laid each of them right on the beach. This was the very sin for which she had crucified her husband; but, she told herself-this was different! This was a matter of survival. And if she had to screw four men in order to be taken off the island and given passage enroute home-so what?
She explained to herself that morals were only for those persons who could afford them. And right now she could not afford anything.
Aboard the ship she found that there were other seamen in sexual want, and that she was obliged to accommodate them, also.
That action led to quarrels and knifings, and before the whaling ship had gone much farther down the coast two men were dead because of her. And her third day aboard, while she was screwing the captain in his cabin, the first-mate sneaked in and plunged a dagger right into the middle of the captain's back.
That was the first time that Dewrenah had experienced a lover dying atop of her during the sex act, and she shuddered violently every time she recalled it, later.
Before a week was up there were barely enough men left aboard to maneuver the ship, and Dewrenah found she was getting a sadistic kick out of the situation. It was a new twist to playing the role of vampire. And she concluded that never again would she marry, and be true to one man.
Men were beasts, she told herself. They were sex-beasts, and so long as sex-beasts wanted her body-and were willing to pay for the use of it, she would go along with that kind of a life. So what? she asked herself.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SEX-BEAST, MAN versus
SEX-BEAST, APE-MAN
The sex-beast imbedded deeply, fiercely, within man's breast is part of that which he inherited from the great apes, prehistoric man, ancient man
-and then his own kind. It is the force, along with his brain, which drives him to forage for himself, and to create ambition and then do something about that ambition. Without the driving force of the sex-beast-properly controlled-man would be a mass of jelly; useless and inconsequential.
Comparing his various capacities to his hypothetical ancestors the ape men-we make the following discoveries:
Of the four great apes (gibbon, orangutan, chimpanzee, gorilla), the gibbon was the smallest weight, 11 to 15 pounds-and the gorilla was the largest-average weight 250 to 550 pounds. In brain capacity the gibbon measures 6 to 7 cubic inches; gorilla, 28 to 32 cubic inches, and Man measures from 61 to 113 cubic inches. The span of life runs from 30 years for the gibbon, 50 years for gorillas, and man's average is 70. The estimate on population (based only upon those in captivity) gives the gibbon a total of 200,000; orangutans 2,500; chimpanzees 100,000; gorillas 25,000, and man 3,100,000,000.
Orangutans are found only in Borneo and Sumatra, while the gorilla is found in Africa along with gibbons, chimpanzees, baboons and others of the simian species, which includes all monkeys and apes, and especially anthropoid apes.
The gibbon is divided into 4 species and 15 subspecies; the orangutan, 1 species and 2 subspecies; the chimpanzee 1 species and 1 subspecies; the gorilla 1 species and 2 subspecies; and man is 1 species divided into 5 basic racial types which include Caucasoid, Mongoloid, Negroid, Australoid and Capoid.
In comparison of height the gibbon averages a little over 2 feet, the orangutan nearly 5 feet, the chimpanzee about 5.6, gorillas 5.9, and man 5.8. Of course there are exceptions to all rules, both in animals and homo sapiens.
Man is the only omnivorous one of the group in question. He eats both meat and vegetables, while none of the apes eat meat. The gibbon dines on leaves, grass and fruit and also insects, snails, frogs, and birds' eggs. The orangutan is predominantly a fruit eater, but he does eat some species of leaves and bark. The chimpanzee makes his meals out of vegetables, fruits, leaves, shoots and buds. The gorilla is completely vegetarian, eating young leaves, berries, bark, roots, grains and fruits. Man will eat anything-so it is said. At least, he has even been known to eat his own kind, although today human cannibalism exists only in the remotest parts of the world. We shudder when we think of man eating man, and presume that it was practiced only among the most primitive of savages. To the contrary, however, there have been cases of cannibalism among the most intelligent of civilization's members. Such a case was recorded by the police in the vicinity of San Francisco many years before the turn of the 20th century: Five white men went on a hunting trip and became hopelessly lost. Starvation drove four of them to slay the weakest member of their party; they cooked and ate him. Then another member was killed and eaten, and the practice continued until only one member of the original party of five was found when rescuers arrived. This is but one of many cannibalistic cases on record in our own "civilized" society.
Many persons have presumed that the act of eating meat is what turns man into a savage; that it is the foundation of the sex-beast within him, and yet the mighty gorilla never eats meat. So what, exactly, is the driving force which causes some modern men to become sex fiends? Some scientists claim that it is simply the sex urge left uncontrolled; that culture and environment cause a man to restrain himself in all ways, while bad environment and lack of culture cause him to mature with little or no regard for the feelings of other humans. However it is,-some men are quite definitely sex-beasts and will continue to ravage females, from the young and sweet to the old and helpless.
Speaking of the old and helpless, invading armies have been known to rape every female they encountered belonging to the conquered-including old women too feeble to resist. And so goes human behavior! In the matter of sex, man is often more vicious and ruthless than any ape-man ever pretended to be.
Psychologists, psychiatrists, and sexologists are still at work on the great mystery of Man's sexual idiosyncrasies and dangerous cravings. It has recently been announced that the procedures of psycho-analysis itself are being revised, and perhaps this revision will cast a new light upon Man's crazy notions-why he does what he does, and how to reform his thinking so that he will clear his befuddled brain of all evil thoughts.
Is it possible that homo sapiens will live to see the day when the sex-beast is entirely eliminated from Man's breast?
Stranger things than that have happened. Who would have believed, one hundred years ago, that Man would one day split the atom and make possible his own destruction? The destruction of his own world? Who would have believed that he could manufacture artificial pearls?-and take the salt out of sea-water to make it drinkable? Science and chemistry are coming into their own, and the ape-men-if they could return now and witness the progress of their descendant, homo sapiens-would be astounded. There was a time not too many years ago when the first automobile to appear on the scene caused some men to grunt with disdain. They called it a
"horseless carriage," and stated that it was undoubtedly a passing fancy; that the thing was an impractical dream which was doomed to be rated in history as merely a foolhardy fad. During World War I the airplane was a shaky thing that promised no revolutionary development; but now we have jet-flyers. What next?
Science has progressed rapidly and remarkably-yet it has not, so far, found the answer to Man's greatest problem: the sex-beast! Will we one day see homo sapiens as an orderly, sexually behaved, crimeless creature who conducts himself properly in every respect, and gives abolute consideration to other humans in accordance with the Commandment, Do unto others as you would be done by. That is a mighty big command for feeble man to comply with; and it is doubtful whether the day will come when all men will comply. But science is working on it. At the present, it appears that science has as much chance of eliminating the sex-beast from Man's nature as the proverbial snow ball in hell has a chance to survive.
Doctor Thomas Szasz, noted psychoanalyst and professor of psychiatry at the Upstate Medical Center in Syracuse, New York, has been publicly quoted as saying, "Psychoanalysis is vanishing. It is as moribund and irrelevant as the Liberal Party in England."
The former president of the American Academy of Psychoanalysis, Dr. Judd Marmor, is publicly quoted as having stated: "The psychoanalytic movement is in danger of receding into an unimportant side stream."
Reputedly, psychotherapy held great influence over people with emotional troubles during the years of more than a decade ago; but what now? Will the students of Man's mental stresses be able to come up with something far better than psychotherapy-and will that something cast a ray of hope on the hypothesis that the sex-beast in man can be obliterated?
For more than fifty years psychoanalysis has influenced just about everything from art to medicine; from the social sciences to every other human activity. There are those who protest further delving into the functioning by the "head doctors," stating that it would be a waste of time and money to attempt to develop a new form of digging into Man's brain. But so said many folks when Fulton wanted money to build a steamboat, and Edison claimed that he could produce what he called an "electric light." There were folks who said that there was no doubt but what Thomas Edison was a fool; that the idea of something-or-other incased in a glass bulb giving out light was just about as silly as saying that one day man would fly in the air like a bird, send a boat down below the surface of the sea, or create gardens on the bottom of the ocean. Apparently, the "fools" are the ones who have given the world the most of everything.
Just exactly what is psychoanalysis?
It has been claimed that psychoanalysis is a branch of psychiatry; that it is a medical twist which deals with Man's disorders, both mental and emotional.
Webster's dictionary defines psychoanalysis as follows: 'Psycho-a Greek word meaning life, soul; a mind (mental processes and activities). A method of psychotherapeutic analysis resting on the theory that abnormal mental reactions are due to repression of desires consciously rejected but subconsciously persistent."
The New Standard Encyclopedia defines it thusly: 'Psychoanalysis-a theory of the motivation of human behavior, and a technique for treating mental illness. The term started with Sigmund Freud, a Viennese neurologist, who outlined the original concepts of it in 1893.
"The theory postulates that present conflicts are traceable back to the earlier life, usually childhood, of the individual; that most cases of hallucination, hysteria, and other neurotic manifestations are caused by an experience involving a severe mental or nervous shock, unfulfilled desires, and antagonisms which produce an abnormal mental strain.
'It stresses that the conflicts center about sex
'-but that the conflicts are repressed in the unconscious mind by the censorship of the conscious mind."
A psychologist named Jastrow states in this same account that-'Every mind is stored with the vast accumulations of impressions which cannot be consciously commanded but which nonetheless contribute to the imagery, the ideas, the memories that guide thought."
According to reports, psychoanalysis has been long accepted by psychologists throughout the world as a feasible means of looking into the mind and fathoming its functioning, but not as a means of treating mental disorders. For many years Sigmund Freud's findings apropos of the mind have been accepted as logical. But now comes into the scene a Dr. Bruno Bettelheim who, reputedly, says of Freud and his theories: 'His work is timebound, very shaky, and dubious."
It has been said that the public in general, over the past fifteen years, has changed its mind regarding the value of psychoanalysis; that the public is rapidly losing interest. Reliable reports state that psychiatric therapy appears in forty different forms, and that psychoanalysis is used less than any of the other forms.
The new form-or craze, it might be termed in the nature of a cure for the mind-is something called neuropharmacology. It is followed by genetics, and then research into the causes of dreams (Freud claimed that a dream was either a desire or a fear of something); and pioneering methods not yet announced which attempt to analyze the functioning of the brain, a practice long performed by phrenologists. (Phrenology is the science and study of the conformation of the skull as indicative of mental faculties).
Whatever science has in store for us, something is needed desperately. Recently a young man killed three people, and his conscience tormented him about the killings to such an extent that he telephoned the nearest police station and said, 'Catch me! I have killed three people. I don't want to kill again!'
Quite obviously, he was in desperate need of psychiatric help. He did not know how to stop the sex-beast within his being-and he did not want to let it continue to overpower what decency there was within his soul.
Science must find something which will control the man-beast! It is as essential as finding food for the starving. A starving mind is just as frightening as a starving body.
CHAPTER EIGHT SEXUAL SAVAGERY
Man is a savage! He is just as much a savage as his predecessors, and he needs help to save not only himself, but also his victims!
The President's Crime Commission and the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and all other law enforcement organizations throughout the world, have been working incessantly upon the subject-yet crime, including sex crimes, continues to haunt more than three billion people.
During the settling of the West, the racial problem loomed as a menace to peace and security even as it does today-only then, it took on a different angle. It was the American Indian whose rights were being violated. On the main street of a western town a man could shoot an Indian or a Mexican, and the sheriff wouldn't even bother to inquire of the killer why he had shot his victim. Indians and Mexicans did not count; and this attitude created a hatred which developed into a revenge, the like of which few nations have witnessed, for many innocent persons were subsequently slaughtered by Indians and Mexicans in retribution. One cannot blame them, for no tribe in the world will meekly ignore killing and rape of their own people.
Many times a United States soldier would grab a young and pretty Indian girl working in the field, and rape her. The authorities did nothing about punishing him, but the Indians did do something about it. They would burn down the nearest town and slaughter every white person residing there-in payment for the raping of one Indian girl.
The sex-beast was with us then, as it is now! Most of the soldiers restrained themselves, or released their sexual urges in a house of prostitution. Just because some soldiers violated the honor of some Indians girls is no reflection, of course, upon the army as a whole. No more than is rapine today a reflection upon all peoples of all nations. It boils down to a single theory, going back to the same old Commandment 'Do unto others as you would be done by.' It is monotonous to be repetitious; but rapine is also monotonous! Yet it continues to happen.
Violate a race of people, and they are certain to do something about it. The unfortunate part of the whole mess is the fact that the innocent must also pay for the ignorance and ruthlessness of a few sinners. This was illustrated in the early Fifties when a mining town in Arizona was completely wiped out by the Apaches-because one soldier raped one Apache girl!
Natashia was a pretty young sixteen-year-old Indian girl; a member of the Chiricahua tribe the most war-like of the fourteen Apache tribes the one which Cochise led as chief for man years, and was later succeeded by Geronimo.
Private Bill Jones was a healthy cavalryman, only twenty years old. He was a good trooper but booze and sex were forever plaguing his mind. It seemed that he could not get enough of either. And when he was stationed with his platoon at an outpost near the foot of Apache Pass, he fretted over the fact that he was compelled to live away from a town where prostitution was handy for soldiers.
It was a hot day in August and Bill was sweating profusely as slowly he rode his chestnut-colored mount and reconnoitered the terrain for Indian sign. He was one of a squad on the prowl this morning. The squad had been instructed not to kill any Indian on sight, but merely to make a report on their presence in the vicinity. This was the Army's way of keeping tab on the strength of Geronimo's combat forces. But Bill was not too interested in just finding out about the presence of Apaches. The sex-beast within him had raised its head-below the waist-and he was looking for sex plunder. It had been three weeks since he had lain atop a woman, and for a husky young man of twenty years, with the mind and disposition of Bill Jones, that was one hell of a long time to go without a piece of tail.
He saw Natashia skinning a rabbit which she had shot with bow and arrow. She was on the fringe of a copse of cottonwoods, and because of the extreme heat of the day she had peeled off her clothing. Her black eyes looked up at the young man on the horse dangerously while his ice-blue eyes stared hungrily at her stout young breasts and then traveled down along the trim thighs and calves of the girl.
"Here Pussy, Pussy!" Bill chuckled.
As she glared at him, he removed his campaign hat and hung the chinstrap over the pommel of his saddle. His bushy red hair was caked with sweat and dust as was his face, and the sex-beast in him was heaving his barrel-chest up and down expectantly. Bill was riled up, and when he got that way he didn't much care about consequences. When he got an erection, like now, something had to be done about it-and he always figured that the girl nearest to his erection was the answer.
He dropped to the ground and tethered his mount to a cactus bush.
Natashia stood up with the half skinned rabbit in one hand and the hunting knife in the other. The flash in her black eyes warned Bill to stay his distance, but he was a trooper who did not believe in retreating when a plum was close by. He noticed that her beautifully shaped mouth was drawing into a tight line of defiance, and so he decided to first try a compliment. Perhaps he could melt her resentment and fear of his presence.
Bill smiled, and in a kindly tone of voice he said, Sons-ee-ah-ray. He had called her Morning Star which, to an Apache woman, was a pleasant compliment.
She smiled a little then and softly answered, Nantan-in-pah. She had called him Chief captain.
Bill grunted, grinning broadly. He was as far from being a captain as he was from becoming the President.
A look of anxiety returned to cloud the girl's face as she asked bluntly in English, "You do not mean to harm me?"
"Hell, no, sons-ee-ah-ray. I only mean fer to screw you for a while."
She spat at him. "I do not violate my honor-the name of my family!"
As she wheeled to run away from him Bill Jones growled "Tagoon-ya-dah!"
She paused and glared at him. "You are the fool, not I."
He grabbed her by the knife-wrist and squeezed hard until the knife dropped from her slender hand. Then he wrapped her in his arms and hungrily showered her breasts and neck with kisses.
"Beast! Beast!" she cried. "Geronimo will kill you for this!"
"Geronimo is a bastard!" he growled. Then he flung her to the ground and yanked open the front of his pants. She was a small woman and he was big, sexually. As he rammed himself into her she screamed with pain. "Monster!" she whimpered. "I cannot take you-beast, beast, beast!"
Her cries of anguish made no difference to Bill Jones. The sex-beast was loose within him, and he would satisfy its wants.
Even when he felt the blood from her vagina trickling over his penis and scrotum, Bill did not stop. In fact, it was a big thrill for now he knew that she had never been touched before. He had caught himself a virgin, nice and clean and tender.
Natashia struggled desperately. But the more she fought him the tighter Bill Jones held her wrists pinned to the hot sand.
Bill Jones did not stop his rapine until the girl was so completely exhausted that she made no further movement; and that was no fun, he assured himself. It was like screwing a corpse. He drew out of her and stood up. He plucked a few leaves from a cottonwood tree and used them to cleanse himself. Then without even glancing back at his victim he mounted and rode away.
It was not until after midnight that Bill Jones became aware that he must pay for his fun. Forty Apaches rode up to the outpost and demanded the surrender of the redhead who had raped a Chiricahua girl. The sentry called the sergeant-of-the-guard who, puzzled, called the officer-of-the-day. When the lieutenant refused to give up any of his troopers-guilty or not guilty-the Apaches rode off scowling.
But they did not go far.
Gunfire split the hot night air like the crackling of lightning, and the melee came suddenly into full force. Thirty-six troopers met the onslaught and found themselves at a disadvantage, for they were in full view in the moonlight as they dotted the center of camp. But every Apache firing at them was concealed behind a cactus bush. The skirmish lasted less than a half hour, and by that time every trooper was dead on the ground. Each one an innocent forfeiture for the sex-beast in the body of one Bill Jones. Natashia had been avenged, and the Army wrote it off as just another Apache ambush, not knowing that a single trooper had brought death to an entire platoon by catering to the sex-beast which had demanded attention.
Three middle-aged prospectors were working out of Tombstone in an attempt to follow a vein of silver which once had been tapped in the very heart of the town. Although the glory-hole dug in town had petered out, Stokes, Morris and Faggerty were certain that it did extend east of the town. If they had left temptation alone when two Apache girls strayed near their diggings, they would have lived longer. But the temptation was too great; the sex-beast in them had rallied to the beauty of the girls-and the three men struck. They captured the girls when they alighted from their ponies to gather cactus apples, threw them onto the ground, and then they raped them. The girls fought with all the force and rage they could muster, but they were no match for muscles hardened by hard work at silver diggings.
Thoroughly raped, the two girls returned to their bivouac where a group from the Cochise stronghold in the Dragoon Mountains had camped on a hunting expedition. Ten girls and fifteen young Chiricahua braves. Fifteen warriors would be no match for the roughly hewn males in Tombstone who numbered over two thousand, and so the Apaches waited for two days and two nights until the three prospectors returned to their diggings.
That day, Stokes, Morris and Faggerty were surprised quietly. The Apaches crept up on them, clapped hands over mouths and bound and gagged them before any of the three white men could go for their guns. The Indians laced the offenders crosswise on ponies and took them several miles away from the town. Then they staked them out on the ground-spread-eagled. And then the torture began. They took hunting knives and ripped the skin off their arms, and then parts of their legs. They cut out their tongues, and then the Apaches plunged knives into their bellies and released their guts.
Because they could not restrain themselves-because they had listened to the roaring of the sex-beast within their beings, those three prospectors died horribly while the two Indian girls whom they had raped sat nearby eating berries and giggling as they watched the human carving.
Sex has always been a blessing and a menace to humans-depending upon how they used their phenomenal gift from the Almighty. It has been so since the beginning of the human race; it is so, now; and it will be so many thousands of years hence. Many men have failed to conquer over their temptations-and many never will, no matter how much aid science gives them-no matter how much man strives to consider other persons, always he will be cursed with the trait known as selfishness. It can spell his doom, as it did the platoon of troopers, and as it did for the three prospectors.
CHAPTER NINE HOMOSEXUAL BRUTES
He hated the fact that he was a homosexual, and loved to make love to the loveliest of the males. And Suranno hated other male homosexuals because they reminded him of himself.
We have no way of knowing whether or not Zinjanthropus and Pithecanthropus were homos. Perhaps there were some few among the ape-men who had the urge to have sexual intercourse, via sodomy, with other males. It cannot very well be said that such a possibility is doubtful just because they were so very masculine. But in our own day, today, we have exceptionally masculine men who do turn to their own kind for sexual gratification.
Some wrestlers and some boxers have been known to be "that way." The fact that a man is abnormally muscular and fearless in any form of combat does not necessarily signify that his mind is not shaped toward homosexuality.
There was a historical case in the West-a steelworker; a man who risked his life daily riveting steel girders into place, in the construction of high buildings, who secretly-until the law caught him-was frequenting young boys' clubs where he would select his sexual meat.
Suranno was thirty-five, barrel-chested, and covered with body hair like an ape. He was proud of the mass of black hair on his chest, back, legs and arms. He even thought of himself as an ape-man. He thought of himself as a sex-brute speaking often of the sex-beast which dwelt in his breast, and grinning proudly when he showed his over-sized penis to young men whom he had lured to his small cottage. He lived under a grove of tall trees, a place located a mile from the Pacific Ocean where he exercised over weekends. The fact that he was a great swimmer and a powerfully built man attracted attention along the beach. The girls who admired him, he frowned upon. But when a handsome young man stared admiringly at his unusual physique, he was floating on a cloud of glory.
What element of the mind manufactures a devil and sets that devil deep in the heart of such a man as Suranno? Psychologists and psychiatrists are not certain. The fact that he preferred to make love to a man instead of a woman, is common. But many male homosexuals are tender with males in their love-making-and why should a man like Suranno have a burning desire to torture the very young man who is bringing him sexual pleasure? That is one of the unsolved mysteries of mankind. Some psychologists insist that the desire to torture a lover traces back to pain, both mental and physical, inflicted upon the subject during childhood. Other authorities on the functioning of the mind claim that it is simply the brute-man exercising his contempt for other humans-that he is brutish not only in sexual contacts, but in every other way. Some psychologists believe that it is based on an inferiority complex; that brutes with an inferiority are forever embarrassed in the presence of other humans and to overcome and to override that shortcoming, they have the urge to appear aggressive and forward-the very opposite from what they are.
However it was in Suranno's case-he could not acquire an orgasm while performing fellatio or sodomy upon his young male lover unless he was bleeding him. This he would do by suddenly grabbing a penknife and slashing the boy's thighs, or his chest, and even his face. At other times he would use his closed fists to pommel his lover's body and face at the same time that he was kissing his genitals.
It was on a Saturday morning that Suranno encountered Jamey on the beach. Each of them was naked except for swim-suit. Abbreviated suits which gave their respective figures ninety-nine percent exposure. Jamey was a college athlete coming into his eighteenth year of age. He was as blond as Suranno was dark, with lake-blue eyes which glittered with affection. His smile was generous, and Suranno was attracted to him at once.
Jamey was the friendly type who liked companions, and would accept a visitor's invitation any time, anywhere. And so later that day he wound up at the cottage of Suranno.
Jamey thought nothing of the man's suggestion that they shower together. Men were not like girls and women when it came to being in one another's company in the absolute nude. But after the shower, when Suranno attempted to embrace his potential paramour, he got a swift punch on his broad chin. Instinctively, he countered with a hefty blow which sent Jamey sprawling into a far corner of the living room. ' "Why you-you goddamn homo!" Jamey blasted angrily.
"Simmer down," Suranno growled. "I want your everything and I intend to have it."
"Like hell you will! I got a girl, Suranno. We're in love. And I've got no use for man-lovers."
"Try it, kid. You'll-you'll just love it."
"No."
"I say yes!"
"To hell with what you say, Suranno."
The sex-beast was growling in the breast of the dark man. The devil in his soul screamed at him to take what he wanted. He listened to the inner voice, and then he pounced.
He swung with both fists and caught Jamey on both sides of his face. The boy groaned. He raised one hand to his face and discovered blood. For a long moment he glared fiercely at his attacker; then suddenly his eyes filled with affection. That fact astounded him. He had heard about sadism and masochism on the college campus, but if anyone had suggested that he was one or the other, he would have guffawed with contemptuous laughter. He considered himself an all-American young man, but now he was staring up at the hairy ape-man as though he was a god.
Suranno caught the sudden change in expression and began panting hopefully. If this boy was masochistically inclined, then this would be a red-letter day for Suranno.
"Hey, kid! You like that punching I gave you?"
Jamey was also panting. "I feel strange," he murmured. "Look I got a hard-on."
"Yeah, kid. You got it real good and maybe just because I drew blood on you."
Suranno knelt down. He held his own erection in one hand while he rubbed the head of it across the bloody part of the boy's face. "Look, kid!" he panted. "Your blood-on my thing!"
Jamey glanced at it. He shuddered, but with glory in his eyes. Then he gulped and murmured, "It's not like me I just can't understand it."
Suranno whispered, "Some fellas are like that-They don't really know about themselves, until it happens." He took a deep breath. "Kid you got me all excited 'cause, with your blood on it I'm gonna shove it in real far."
"Shove it-in?"
Without another word Suranno spread Jamey's legs wide and cached himself between them. Then he made his play for sodomy.
Jamey cried out in pain. "Too too goddamn big!" he gasped. "Stop it. Suranno!"
But Suranno did not stop, and he commenced groaning and grunting over the pleasure he was feeling. He kept it up a long while as Jamey pleaded and sobbed that he was being ripped apart. But Suranno paid no attention to the cries of anguish and, finally, when he had had his fill of sex for the time being, he pulled away. Quietly he went into the bathroom adjoining the living room.
Jamey was stunned. He was still slumped in the corner of the room where his lover had knocked, and then attacked him. He was stunned by his own response to masochism, and he was stunned by the pain he was suffering. He could not move, and he felt limp and helpless despite his robust body.
Returning to the living room Suranno surveyed his prize with black eyes glittering with satisfaction. He picked up the young man and stretched him out on the davenport. "How'd you like it, kid?"
"Horrible. Never again."
Suranno grinned. "That's baby-talk. You know you liked it, and we'll have it again. Now-I'm gonna give you some more good fun." He bent over and took the young man's limp penis in his mouth.
"No, no!" Jamey cried shamefully.
Suranno slapped him hard on both cheeks. Jamey shut up. He was clouded mentally. He was not certain whether those slaps brought him joy or resentment. And then he commenced feeling excitement over what the hairy man was doing. He closed his eyes and gave into the treatment, and soon he was having an orgasm which he never dreamt could ever be experienced by him, in such a manner.
After he had left the cottage Jamey experienced a terrible reaction over what had happened to him. He could not believe that he was a masochist-that the feeling he had enjoyed was only momentary-and so he went to the police station and confidentially told the police lieutenant all about his experience. The officer sympathized with him and told him not to worry; that the very fact that he had reported the incident proved that he really "was not that way." That he would recover from the experience.
Jamey was not yet an adult, and so Suranno was arrested for contributing to the delinquency of a minor.
CHAPTER TEN THE GENTLEMAN BEAST
He was a highly successful executive. And he had been successful also as a social participant. He excelled in athletic functions-in fact Farley Hardin Manerly was the type of man who seemed unable to fail at anything, in any endeavour he undertook to master.
Manerly was in his late thirties; a handsome man with sleek black hair and smiling black eyes. His broad and sincere smile welcomed the world as a friend. But deep down in the make-up of the man there lingered a sex-beast which drew no lines. Any good-looking girl or woman could be his subject. All women were his subjects, depending upon Manerly's whim at the moment of encounter. He knew this about himself, and it worried him for some day he might be in serious trouble. The idea of forcing a fifteen-year-old girl to submit to sexual intercourse with him-as he had done several times-or the forcible entry into the sacred flesh of an elderly woman, could one day ruin him professionally, socially, family-wise, and financially. He should be more careful. But that was not the nature of Farley Hardin Manerly. He had been reckless in sports at college: in business ventures, and in every other manner and respect. And, so far, he had gotten away with it all. No police calling on him. no attorneys. None of his sex victims had raised a finger against his person, nor his purse.
Manerly had not been smart enough to control his sexual urges, but he had been smart enough to consult a psychiatrist to ascertain what could be done to rid himself of the sex-beast he both enjoyed and feared. The psychiatrist had been sympathetic, but of little help, for were he to follow the advice given him to abstain he would be depriving himself of a great deal of pleasure. And Manerly was not the type to deprive himself of anything. He had plenty of money, with more profit pouring in all the time. There was no material thing he could want, and not afford. So all he had left was to conquer the various females who took his fancy, and hope for the best. He was fully aware that one day one of those lovely females so sweet and innocent looking, might turn into a monster and take him for everything which he held precious. This realization, as frightening as it was, did not deter him. He was destined to cater to the demands of the sex-beast in his breast, heart and soul: and that was that!
Myra was one of the prettiest, and most deadly, young girls he had ever met. He had encountered striking beauties at social functions, at athletic meets, and many other places where his lust had guided him in his thirst for new pink flesh. Myra, he discovered in the most un-likely place behind the glove counter in a small department store. Inasmuch as his wife, Dora, did most of his shopping for him in order that he might properly attend to his infinite business activities, Manerly had never before set foot in a small department store, and seldom in a large one.
He bought Myra the most expensive pair of gloves she had on display, and then handed her his card. Would she telephone him Saturday morning? She most certainly would!
That Saturday afternoon they motored in his shiny blue Cadillac to a motel near Santa Barbara, Myra's titian hair floating merrily in the breeze and her lively blue eyes dancing with expectation. In her heart, buried deep, was a little demon which was comparable to the sex-beast loitering inside her host. She knew Manerly was rich, and this was the very first chance she had ever had to nail down a rich man and make demands which could place her on Easy Street. She was only seventeen, so that put the law on her side if Manerly raped her. And she most certainly hoped that he would. Then she could demand a pay-off or would it develop that he was too smart a cookie to squeeze for big money? That was the risk she took, but she was game. It was well worth any risk, for she hated the glove counter and the department store, and she wanted nice things. The things the average girl like herself could never afford.
The motel was an elaborate affair and. of course, Manerly was smart enough to engage two rooms. One for himself, and one for his "niece." But the two rooms were adjoining with a bath between.
After an expensive dinner in such an expensive motel dining room, they took a stroll.
"You are a true beauty," Manerly said softly as they paused under a tall palm tree.
"Of course I am," Myra boldly replied. "And doesn't beauty always go with money?"
He smiled happily. "Oh so you are money conscious?"
"Isn't everybody?"
"Yes-but I have a strong feeling that you could be vicious about money."
"And why not? Didn't you get your pile of cash by being vicious in your business transactions?"
Manerly laughed heartily. "I like an honest girl. You are practically admitting that you fully intend to take me for every cent you can squeeze out of me."
"Darling after I have squeezed something else out of you."
"You mean to drain me dry?"
"Is that possible, Manerly?"
"I doubt it. I am robust, and sex is just as important in my life as money. That is almost!"
They laughed heartily together, and then Myra suggested that they retire while it was early in the evening. "More time for sex," she explained with a luring wink.
Manerly liked being in bed with her. Although she was only seventeen, she knew all the tricks.
And she was an artiste at every one of them. She stroked many parts of his body and then kissed them. She cooed words about sexual deviations which gave him an erection like he had never had before. And she knew timing. She knew just how to bring him to a peak of excitement, and then quickly switch to ordinary mouth kissing; this routine, in order to preserve his strength by stopping an orgasm.
"You're amazingly wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Simply amazing. It is as though you invented all these clever tricks yourself, and that the Romans, the Byzantines, and all the other sexologists, really didn't know about them."
"But-they did!" she insisted.
"Yes, they did. But surely none of their pretty girls were as clever at administering pleasure as you."
They lie close together for more than an hour after their sexual seance, and while he dozed off Myra did some tall thinking. She was not startled when she developed an urge to kill him, for she had had that same feeling before-with other lovers. But they were different. They were college punks who had nothing to offer but wildly administered sex. But Manerly was a cash-prize, and anyone who wanted to kill such a prize was a plain damned fool. That is what she called herself as the urge to kill Manerly persisted.
What was it about her that inspired such a gruesome thought? She did not know. Could it be that she resented every man who had stolen the juice from her body, even though she had given it freely and willingly? She treasured her beauty and she had, early in life, placed a heavy price on it. Now, she had a chance to collect. The very first chance to get something in addition to sex-and yet she wanted to kill the man with the moneybags. She could not understand herself, and she began to wonder if she was possessed by the devil.
Manerly was so polite, so elegantly soft spoken, that she did not visualize him as a sex-beast-until he suddenly came out of his dozing and roughly rolled her over on her face. Then he mounted her from behind.
"No, no!" she fumed. "Not-sodomy! I have never allowed that!"
"Shut up you little bitch," he commanded.
As he rammed his erection into her rectum Myra screamed. She was tight down there, and the pain was terrific. Moreover, he had taken her off-guard because she had not pictured him as a beast. But now he was a beast! A sex-beast and she was in a rage.
"You lousy sonofabitch!" she gasped. "Take that goddamned thing out of me!"
"Shut up. I've got money. You want it. Do as I say or you won't get a cent."
"To hell with you and your lousy money, Manerly. It isn't worth the pain-ouch! You dirty bastard, take that thing out of my back end!"
He slapped her roundly.
"How dare you!" she gasped.
"I dare anything, chippie. I'm king of all I survey."
"I'll throw you in prison."
"If you ever squeal on me it'll be the last thing to come out of your pretty throat."
"You don't scare me, rich guy. And I thought you were a gentleman!"
"Gentleman!" he grunted. "That's only on the surface. Don't you know yet that there's a beast in every man?"
Myra said no more. She whimpered with the pain and waited until he was finished and left the bed to go wash up. While he was in the bathroom she thought of grabbing her clothes and flying into her own room. She could lock the door between the bathroom and his door. But then, for revenge, he could leave her stuck with the motel bill. Some men have done that to dames who disappointed them. And she had exactly three one-dollar bills in her purse. She had been a fool to come all the way up the coast with only that amount of cash. And so now she had to take what he dealt out and like it!
"I'll make the lousy sonofabitch pay off," she murmured under her breath.
"What's that?" he asked sharply coming naked out of the bathroom. She was honest. She couldn't be any other way, and so she told him, "I just promised myself that I'd make you pay off."
He chuckled. "I have money, sweetheart. And money is power. Whatever puny effort you could make to nail me to a cross would be snuffed out by my staff of attorneys. Aren't you smart enough to realize that?"
Myra said nothing. She knew well enough that in order to fight power, you needed power. She had nothing but her pussy, and he would take all of that he wanted and-if he so desired-leave her with not one cent in cash. And so she strove to tone down her rage and attempt to play the game in a kindly way. Catch flies with sticky honey, she reminded herself. That way, maybe you'll have a chance to come up with at least a little something.
The following morning Manerly partly made up for hurting her by purchasing an elegantly designed wristwatch for her. It was not studded with diamonds to her disappointment. Then she reminded herself that once in the rectum was not worth diamonds; at least, not the way he measured and valued girl-flesh. If she could stick it out with him-But there was no telling what he would demand next, and already she had suspected that he really was a sex-beast. And if he was, he might expect her to put up with flagellation, or maybe even worse. But Myra was violently money-conscious, and she was going to make the most of this, her first opportunity to get money. Big money! Not just a few dollars with which to buy a new dress or two-
That night in the same bed he was gentle with her. He made no play for anything other than ordinary sexual intercourse. That was a big relief, but she cautioned herself not to jump to conclusions about him. So far, he had not attempted cunnilingus; nor had he again tried sodomy. But she had had too much experience with the male animal to trust them explicitly. And so she waited.
That was the one thing she should not have done!
Had Myra been able to glance into the near future, she would have taken off in a hurry; forgetting the chance to coup big money; overlooking fine clothes and furs and jewelry that money will buy. The very things she wanted most.
But Farley Hardin Manerly was a gentleman. Surely he was not a sex-beast. That type of demon was found among the illiterate, the vicious who had been untrained in the manner of considering the feelings of others. Sex-beasts, although many of them belonged to the modern age, most of them dated back to ancient and prehistoric times. Most certainly she could not visualize Manerly as Pithecanthropus Erectus, or Zinjanthropus, or even as a gorilla or a baboon. No, sir! He was a true gentleman, all dressed up in the finest clothes for men. He had been college educated, and his family background was part of the history of America: celebrities, heroes in battle, tycoons in finance-he was as fine a man as she had ever met.
That evening Manerly announced that they would get in his expensive Cadillac and take a drive along the coast. It sounded great. To view the ocean beneath a bright moon, watching the lazy waves lapping teasingly at the shoreline. It would truly be wonderful, and Myra did not hesitate to climb into the front seat alongside him. "Oh, darling!" she said excitedly. "It will be so very romantic."
Manerly placed the car in gear and headed for the highway. There was a kindly smile spreading across his mouth, but in his smiling black eyes there flickered a sadistic glint. He was about to enjoy that which pleasured him most-watching a woman suffer.
Dora was to blame for that, he had assured himself. He was not cruel by nature. No, sir, Dora had made him that way with her socially uppish manner; her incessant criticism of every little thing he did that she did not consider fitting to proper protocol. He had had years of her goddamned nagging, and he had longed to punish her for it. But she was of noble birth. That family background of hers had always awed him, causing him to hesitate to lay any kind of punishment upon her "royal" skin. And so a quirk had developed in his mind which resulted in his decision to punish Dora for making his life miserable-by punishing other females! He had done that very thing several times and, so far, he had gotten away with it. But there was always the fear in the back of his conscience that one day, the woman he punished might haul him into a court of justice.
As all of that filtered through his mind while he was driving Myra slowly northward, he shrugged it off. Not Myra! No, she was not the type to cause him any trouble-and he would punish her! He had made up his mind to that. Not that Myra had offended him-but Dora had! And somebody-some beautiful female had to once again pay for Dora's viciousness. And-who else, this time, but the girl beside him?
Suddenly he swerved the car to the right and headed into a heavily wooded area off the highway.
"What's in here?" Myra asked. It was natural curiosity, but also premonition had cast a spark of fear into her mind, and it was revealed in her tone of voice. "Why did you turn off the highway, my darling?"
Grimly, Manerly replied in a flat tone, "You'll see. You'll find out soon enough, Myra."
She caught her breath for she sensed devilment in his remark. "I-I want to get back-on-the highway. Please, Manerly. It's spooky in this dark wood."
He said nothing. He drove the car deep into the foliage along the narrow trail, and then he shut off the motor. He turned slowly and stared hard at her. "You are to be punished," he said calmly.
Myra gasped. "Punished? For-for what?"
"For Dora. She's my wife. She has been making my life miserable for years with her goddam' nagging."
Myra's heart filled with fear. "But I'm not Dora-You can't punish me for what she has done to you."
There was a weird expression in his face as he said, "Oh yes I can, Myra. Nobody can stop me."
Myra grabbed the door handle and gave it a twist. Then she leaped out of the car.
Before Myra could run very far, Manerly had grabbed her. His dark eyes were blazing with rage, and he cursed her out roundly.
"You're a devil!" she cried. She broke into a heavy sob. "I thought you were a gentleman!"
Manerly paid no attention to her tirade against him. He picked her up roughly and carried her to the base of a tree. He bound her arms around the tree-bole and tied her wrists securely with a heavy cord he had yanked out of one coat pocket. Then, standing back a few feet from her he surveyed his work. "Good!" he exclaimed. "And now-to punish you."
Myra cried out hysterically, "But I have done nothing. Manerly, my darling! You can't punish me for what your wife did to you!"
"Oh yes I can, Myra."
"You're crazy. You're as nutty as a squirrel."
"No, Myra. I am Justice. I represent the goodness in people, and you are a vile sinner."
Myra gulped several times, aware of her hopeless plight-in the hands of a man who had cleverly concealed his insanity. The sex-beast within him. How, she pondered frantically, could an insane man be so clever and so level headed in his business dealings, and then go off the beam in his treatment of a woman? It was something in psychology that was beyond her, and she sobbed heavily as she asked herself why she had trusted this crazy man; and she swore that never again would she trust any man. "Crazy!" she cried bitterly. "They're all crazy! All the men in the world!" Then she pleaded with him to release her but he paid her no attention as he took out a jackknife from his pants pocket and commenced cutting a slender branch from the nearest tree. He clipped off the shoots and leaves until he had a switch four feet long, and flexible. Then he advanced toward her.
Manerly began swinging the switch, hitting her body and face until she was bleeding in several places right through her blouse and skirt. He whipped her legs and her breasts; he brought the deadly switch across her face until it was so smeared with blood that her features were not recognizable. And when he had finished his tormenting of her he dropped the switch and calmly strode back to the car. As he climbed into the front seat his face was grim and his black eyes blazed with deep satisfaction. Turning the key in the car-switch he murmured, "That will teach you not to torment me any more, Dora-you goddam witch!"
As he drove off, Myra hung her head limply. Thoughts ran wildly across her mind. She was alone in a deep wood, tied to a tree. It was un-likely that anyone would find her. She might rot here while the traffic moved swiftly along the coastal highway not more than two hundred yards west of the copse of trees where she was a miserable prisoner.
But someone did find her. A Highway Patrolman had been cruising slowly northward just as the shiny blue Cadillac leaped out of the wooded area and swung onto the highway ahead of him. That was strange, the Patrolman thought, because no one ever used that narrow turn-off; and he automatically made note of the Cadillac's license number. Then he turned his vehicle into the wooded area and drove slowly.
When he found Myra, she was in a sorry condition. Tenderly he released her from her bonds, and then got out his first aid kit. He dressed her bloody slashes and cuts and then placed her on the front seat of the patrol car. He radioed in for an ambulance, fearful of driving her to headquarters himself without immediate medical attention. He was not certain just how badly the girl was hurt.
When Farley Hardin Manerly was arrested for assault his attorneys went to work on his defense. He was a prominent man socially and in the business world; therefore, he deserved special attention. At least, so said his battery of attorneys. But the court believed otherwise. Any man who would cut up a woman's face and body like he had done to Myra-deserved special attention, all right. The attorneys were right about that. But the kind of special attention the court recommended was psychiatric, and then imprisonment.
But Manerly did not go to prison. His money took care of that phase of the deal. And the psychiatrist who examined him was paid handsomely to come up with a casual report. "Mr. Manerly is all right, gentlemen. He was just momentarily distressed due to heavy business burdens. I recommend that the court consider his high intelligence, and be aware that a man as clever in business dealings as himself, could not possibly be insane."
The attorneys then approached Myra and urged her to take a settlement of ten thousand dollars. Well, it would take her a very long time to earn that much clerking in a small department stores, she took the money.
CHAPTER ELEVEN BEASTS ON MOTORCYCLES
They were a small, but deadly, gang. Punks who toured the countryside taking their loot-including fresh and young female flesh-wherever they found it.
Randy was their leader. His dark hair reached his shoulders and framed a long and narrow face set off with two cold gray eyes which bored through you, and promised nothing but meanness. Randy was twenty-two and about as husky as several years of athletics could make any man. He despised the idea of working for a living. He stole his motorcycle and whenever it needed new tires and other parts, he stole them too. Like he did his girls. He never asked a girl for a kiss or a lay-he took them!
Randy considered himself master of all he surveyed, and he viewed government and society as groups of idiots who had the audacity to tell other people how they should-and should not-act! He resented anyone telling him anything, and yet his every waking moment was dedicated to telling his gang what they could, and could not do. His personality was contrary in most everything. He hated people who robbed, yet he was a robber himself. Once a punk stole his turtle-neck sweater, and he caught and beat the thief to a pulp, and for days he preached against thievery and rape. But he was a thief and a rapist, and was unable to compare his sins with the sins of others. Whatever he did was not a sin because Randy could do nothing wrong, in his own estimation.
That was why he could not understand the girl he met in front of the drugstore, the Saturday morning which marked his downfall.
Celia was a girl athlete in college, and she had just graduated the day before she met Randy in her home-town of Willodale, California. She thought he was handsome and, having finished her schooling, she was in the market for a fine young husband. She did not know until it was too late that Randy-so polite and considerate at their meeting-headed a gang of punks who had made camp in the woods just south of town, along the Pacific Coast highway. So when he asked her to come and meet his pals she did not hesitate to climb aboard the extra seat on his motorcycle and go with him to the camp.
They were a dozen in all, counting Randy. Six young men and six young girls. They took what they wanted wherever they went, and sex among them was violent, free, and reckless. The men and the girls laid anything and everything. They had no morals and did not want any. Once Pete, Randy's lieutenant-in-command of the gang, found a ewe. Each of the boys screwed it. At another time they met a middle-aged farmer, and three of the girls performed fellatio upon him against his will.
They were a free bunch all right-and anything that took their fancy came under the heading of "gang-law." They had no consideration for the rights of others, and seemed not to care what happened even to members of their own gang. If one girl or boy in the group got in trouble, the group would not bother to bassist.
Celia was promptly raped by Randy, Pete, and two other punks as soon as she arrived at the camp. Her screams and protests fell lightly on the wind, and the girls in camp did not even bother to look over to see what kind of brutality she was suffering from. They just didn't care!
When Celia pleaded to be allowed to walk back to town, Randy growled, "You belong to our gang now. You will be my second wife." He pointed to a redheaded chippie named "Red," stretched out on the ground while a punk was laying her, and added, "She's my first wife. I'm letting Mousie use her for a while."
Celia shuddered. She had never heard of such people as she was staring at now. It was difficult to believe that they were real. But she got verification of their realness when Randy shot a fist forward and smashed it into her face, knocking her to the ground.
Randy sneered. "You think you can leave me just 'cause you got a yen to go home?"
Celia shuddered again. Fate had played a dirty trick on her when, by chance, she had encountered Randy in front of the drugstore. There had been nothing unpleasant in her life-until now. She had been properly sheltered and guided. The two thousand people in Willowdale were decent. Seldom was there even a rumble of scandal in that coastal town, and so her experience in the motorcycle camp had come as a baffling shock. Her mind was clouded; in total state of confusion.
"I must go home," she said boldly. "And my father will order the constable to come out here and arrest you for rape."
He struck her again. Tears came to Celia's eyes and she walked away from him.
She sat alone. Now the girls in the gang were casting glances at her which neither sympathized nor condemned, and she knew she would get no help from them. The boys in the gang paid her no heed at all. She stood alone! She was a prisoner in this hell-camp, but she determined that she would not be so-for very long. Hurt pride and humiliation were being replaced by anger and deep indignation. Why should she tolerate such abuse of her person when she was a rugged athlete? She had been the star of the girls' basketball team in college, and she had muscles equal to any man's. The more she thought about those facts the stronger became her determination to punish Randy and his gang-without the aid of the town constable!
She knew that if she called the basketball team together and related what had happened to her, every girl in her bunch would rally to her cause. They would willingly come out here and help her beat up this deplorable motorcycle bunch. They were a disgrace to the human race, and deserved no quarter whatever!
That night, when the woods were blanketed in heavy darkness, Celia slowly moved from her spot. She had planned to edge toward the fringe of the wood and then make a dash for freedom. But Red saw her and came quickly up to her. "Don't try it, baby," the girl warned. "Randy's real mean on dames who try to duck out."
Celia stared hard at the slender girl, about her own height. She observed the reckless hairdo of fiery color and the deep green eyes which seemed to contain a whore's hardness.
Celia said quietly, "How can you tolerate such a monster?"
The girl shrugged. "Randy? Oh, he's okay. You should have seen my husband. He was a real bastard. Beat me up real regular-twice a week."
"You look like you might be decent. I think you were before you got mixed up with this gang."
"We're decent, honey," Red told her. "Just wild-that's all. We believe in taking life the way we want it. We don't give a damn for government or society. We despise 'The Establishment,' as we term everything that's restrictive."
"You can't live that way-for long. Anybody with any sense knows that government and society are necessary."
"Not for us, they ain't, honey-chile. We got strength, both mental and physical and we don't need no bunch of dopes in Washington, or elsewhere, telling us what we can do."
"You're wrong, Red. You'll never get far that way."
"Doing-what?" Celia asked in a tone of contempt. "Just going to hell in a basket. That's what you're doing."
Red chuckled. "That's a new way of putting it. But we are having lots of fun, honey-chile-and we ain't starving."
Celia said hesitatingly, "Listen, Red-my father owns the drugstore in Willowdale. He doesn't have much money, but he will pay you well to help me escape."
The girl shook her head in a negative reply. "I'll take cash for anything-any time. But not when it comes to going against Randy. He's real dirty to people who double-cross him."
"Please help me!"
"No. I wouldn't risk it. Now just settle down and take a sleep on the ground, like the rest of us do."
"But-but you can't really believe that a nice girl like me is going to stick with such a gang of
-of-"
"Say it, if you want to," Red chided, smiling thinly. "I know what folks think about us. They think we're rowdies." She shrugged. "So what? Let 'em think it. We don't give a good goddamn what anyone thinks about us."
Celia sighed. Then she dropped to the ground and took a pack of cigarettes from her small purse. Lighting a smoke, her gaze wandered over the encampment. The girls were stretched out near a small camp-fire. She was getting cold but she would not hug that fire even if she were freezing. She did not want to be counted as part of the group.
Celia watched Red saunter away, and she resolved that she would make another attempt to escape regardless of the consequences.
Celia's thoughts returned to her basketball team. Every girl in the outfit was a well developed athlete, and the girls and boys in this outfit-with the exception of Randy-looked puny. She was convinced that the team would even beat the boys in an all-around brawl. She would get back to town, telephone the members of the team and then bring them here to teach this bunch of bastards a sound lesson in the consideration of other people. Then she thought that perhaps it would be better to make her escape, say nothing in town about her experience, and let it go at that. "No," she told herself resolutely, "this lousy bunch must be punished!"
It was not until two hours later that Celia saw her chance. They were asleep on the ground. The whole dozen of them. Randy was snoring like an elephant. Celia shuddered as she recalled her experience with him, and determined for the thousandth time that he should be roundly punished.
Removing her shoes she walked silently, stealthily, over the ground until she had reached the edge of the forest. Then she quickly put on her shoes and raced down the narrow pathway.
She was exhausted when she reached town, but she had made good time. All during her race for freedom she had visualized hearing the dreaded sound of a motorcycle coming up behind her with Randy riding it, and ready to give her a severe thrashing.
Celia did not dare return to her father's house. She knew what he would say, and do. He would call the constable and rally several of his men friends to form a posse to back up the officer of the law. Celia didn't want that-
She reached Millie's house and told her about her terrible experience. Millie was square-shouldered like Celia, with muscles as well developed as the average man's. Basketball had done that for them.
"How awful!" Millie exclaimed after she had heard Celia's story. "Sure, we'll all get together and punish those bastards." She went to the telephone and called the members of the team, nervously brushing back her long brown hair while her brown eyes widened in expectation of the night's ruckus.
The girls piled into two jalopies and made the trek down the highway. They parked in a copse of trees and then they used hunting-knives to fashion clubs from the nearby branches.
Celia led the way quietly to the edge of the motorcycle camp, and was pleased to see that the whole dozen members were still sleeping on the ground. She had a large enough force to give this bunch of idiots the time of their lives, and for the first time in her life the desire for revenge burned wildly in her heart and mind. She had turned sadistic, and the realization did not bother her at all.
Sneaking into camp she approached the sleeping Randy while her team-members selected other gang-members. Celia brought her club down across Randy's face as heavily as she could swing it. He leaped up screaming, and flaming with rage. Celia didn't give him a chance. She beat him across the chest, his arms and head. She struck wildly with the club over his shins and gleefully listened to his cries of anguish. The shin-bones, she knew well enough, could not take much punishment.
When they had the gang cowed and beaten, and badly bleeding, the basket ball team started to work on the motorcycles under Celia's direction. With their hunting-knives they slashed tires. They battered spark plugs and damaged the gas-line. They drained the gas out of the tanks.
When the work was finished Celia, backed by her own gang, faced Randy and told him, "If you ever come anywheres near Willowdale, we'll beat you up again. You're scum-the whole lot of you! You don't deserve to associate with decent people!"
Burning with the rage in her heart she turned abruptly away and led her bunch out of camp and back to the cars.
Randy, the hero of his motorcycle gang, dropped to the ground and whimpered like a baby. He sobbed and muttered that it wasn't fair that he should be beaten up by a girl. And he told his gang that they had better clear out of the territory fast-before Celia and her bunch returned.
"I'm afraid of her," he confessed.
Red stared at him unbelievingly. "You afraid? And all the time I thought you had guts!"
CHAPTER TWELVE THE SEX-RATS
Some homo sapiens are born to live in the gutter. Their instinct carries them there, and they are satisfied. Robbery, rape, and a free and uncontrolled life is their custom and desire.
The sex-rats take their sex wherever they find it with no concern over the feelings of others. They are found-these sex-rats-sometimes in the best of homes. But mostly, they live on the fringe of civilization.
What strange quirk in the human mind causes such a wide expanse in thinking? What causes some folks to lead a decent and well regulated life, while others do everything wrong? Everything evil?
Students of mental functioning have been working on the mystery for a very long time, and if they knew the answer-and how to control the thoughts and actions of homo sapiens-we might be able to live in a better world. But it is doubtful if that time will ever come to pass.
She was born Molly Smith, but the bunch in the big West Coast city where she ran her basement dive with sawdust on the concrete floor, called her "Slapsie." That was because she was noted for her brutality. She was a big woman, powerfully built, and with a temper that would frighten the devil himself.
Everybody in the underworld, and the low-cast sex-world, knew about Slapsie and her joint. Pickpockets, second-story men, white slavers, dope peddlers-they all had frequented Slapsie's one time or another. It was on an alley between two streets in the ghetto section of the city, and when police officers patrolled the district they always went in pairs. It was not safe for a lone cop to walk through this district, where every crime under the sun had been committed.
The sex-rats came to Slapsie for quick "pickups." She had the name and telephone number of every cheap whore in the town, and all the pimps were her minions. They did what she told them-and she told them plenty. Slapsie had a trio of brutes who would beat up anybody she designated for $10 apiece. For $30, therefore, she could get a chippie or a pimp so badly beaten that she, or he, would wish that birth had overlooked them.
Steve was a man who had worked hard on construction projects and liked to find his fun in dives. He was thirty-four when he stumbled onto Slapsie's, and he smiled over the cheapness of the joint and guessed it for exactly what it was-a clip-joint.
It was a Friday night when he made the eight-step descent from the alley onto the sawdust-covered floor and glanced around curiously. The bar ran the width of the room, at the far end from the entrance. He saw a buxom woman, hard of face, her blue eyes cold and calculative and her mop of fiery red hair seemed to announce her as the worst hellcat in the town. He glanced at the three bullish mugs at a table in the far corner of the room to his right, and promptly branded them as the bouncers for they were not drinking. And there was neither cup, plate, nor glass on the table before them.
Then Steve surveyed the customers. Youngish, most of them. Boys and girls in turtle-necks, mini-skirts, diaphanous blouses and gaily colored shirts. They were a cheap bunch. The joint was a cheap place-and dangerous! He had determined that fact the moment he entered.
Sauntering up to the bar he called for a drink and a dame.
Slapsie smiled at him. "We got rooms-or cribs, really-in back of the joint. Cost you twenty bucks. What kind of a dame you want, mister? We got all kinds. They'll do anything to tickle your pecker-for money. Each trick costs extra. The twenty bucks only pays for a screw for twenty minutes. Overtime costs you more."
Slapsie leaned over the bar as she handed him his whiskey glass and said in an undertone, "I'd like to take you on myself. I don't never get enough screwing, mister. I like it."
Steve gave her a thin smile and made no reply. His black hair was neat and smooth and his black eyes were friendly. He knew he made a good appearance-but his charms were not for a forty-year-old, like Slapsie. "No," he finally said. "I want a girlie about eighteen. I like my meat fresh and pinkish."
Slapsie sighed and replied slowly, "I know whatcha mean."
When he bought a second whiskey, Slapsie asked, "Do you happen to be a sadist, or a masochist?"
Steve knew construction terms, but he did not know the two words she had just used. "What's them?" he asked.
"A sadist is a guy who likes to hurt the girl he's laying-like whipping her."
"I got no taste for that," Steve said with a scowl.
"A masochist is a fella who likes the girl to whip him so's he can get his gun off."
Steve shook his head in disgust. "I don't want none of that stuff, either."
Slapsie nodded understandingly. "Then-do you like for a girl to rut-to get her face down between your legs?"
"Hell no!"
Slapsie shrugged her big shoulders. "Gimme the twenty."
Suddenly, Steve did not like the joint. "No," he snapped. "I'm leaving."
"Not yet you don't, mister." Her cold blue eyes were levelling at him in a threat. "You already ordered a girl-and you're gonna pay for it."
"I'm leaving," he repeated. As he turned away from the bar, Slapsie raised one hand high and made a signal. The three mugs at the corner table came up to him. "You owe Slapsie twenty bucks," one of them said flatly.
"Try and collect it," Steve snapped.
The first mug slugged him, knocking him backwards.
Steve reclaimed his balance and slugged back. But he was no match for three of them. After they had beaten his gut and his face roundly, they dragged him through a door near the bar and tossed him onto a bed in a room hardly big enough for a chair and a table beside the bed. "She'll send you a dame," one of the mugs said as he rifled his pockets.
The rifler found five twenty-dollar bills in Steve's pocket. "The dame you get costs one hundert bucks," he announced.
"Give me back my money!"
The three of them took turns slugging him all over again.
After Steve had been badly beaten and robbed, the buxom and cheaply pompous Slapsie made her entrance. "I'm gonna keep you here," she told him coldly, "until you get so's you'll be afraid to tell the fuzz about this joint."
"That's kidnapping," Steve mumbled over a cut lip. "You can get put out of business."
"We got big-time friends in this city," she advised. "They take a pay-off-so they gotta protect us."
She sat on the edge of the bed where he was stretched out and said, "You got to be punished for being so nasty with us."
"Punished?" he gasped. "Don't you call robbing me of a hundred bucks and beating me up twice-punishment enough, considering that I've done nothing wrong?"
"You insulted me," she pouted. "How?"
"I told you at the bar that I wanted to lay you myself, and you said you wanted a young girl."
"You stupid old hag," Steve growled. "What did you expect?"
She scowled menacingly. "That's the second insult. Now, you're really gonna get it."
The three mugs beat him up again. As he was nursing his badly bruised face and body with a handkerchief he heard Slapsie murmur, "Better let him go. Kidnappin' is a bad offense."
Steve took his cue and stumbled out of the joint. He went to see a doctor and got himself patched up, but there was no healing the wrath building up against Slapsie. One week later, after his wounds had healed, he rounded up twenty of the worst looking rats he could find along the tenderloin. He told each one, "A free screw and five bucks cash-if you do exactly as I tell you."
That Saturday night they called on Slapsie's Steve and his twenty derelicts. They invaded the sawdust joint with a bang. They beat up the three bouncers until they were unconscious. Steve and two bums hustled Slapsie into the same small room where he had been cast upon the dilapidated bed, and beaten.
"Go to work on her," he commanded.
Every one of the twenty bums took a turn at ravaging the old hag's body. She had told Steve at the bar that she never got enough of screwing. This night, he was going to see that she got her fill. "I want her cunt to run like a sewer," he told the bums. And, it did! They had ripped off her clothing. They would not allow her to get off the bed to cleanse herself during the wholesale rapine. And Steve stood by, his hurt pride getting healed by the sight of her suffering. The bums were vicious with her-as ordered. That was part of the duty that went along with the five dollar fee. While they were having sexual intercourse with her, they banged her in the face. They banged away at her large breasts, and pounded black and blue marks into her fatty thighs.
They left the joint as suddenly as they had appeared.
When it was over, Slapsie sat huddled at the table in the far corner of the room with her three bouncers. Slapsie knew better than to file a complaint with the police against Steve and his bunch of sex-rats. The place was shaky enough already, even with a big political pay-off. And she knew better, Slapsie did, than to order her three mugs to track down her tormentor-leader and beat him up again. This man Steve was nobody to fool around with. She knew that now-
But Steve was not satisfied. This was the first time in his life that he had been so viciously abused, and vengeance clung to his injured pride, and so he hired four different bums to join him in a kidnap and rape that Slapsie would never forget. Then, he planned to burn down her place of business.
He waited a month. He wanted Slapsie to believe that she had seen the last of her tormentor, and then take her by surprise.
After thirty-four years of living normally, the sex-beast had risen its ugly head in the person of Steve, and he could not control it. He had developed a hatred for Slapsie which he could not describe. A reputable psychologist would have explained to him, after a complete analysis, that Slapsie merely represented in his twisted mind the many hurts administered to him by the dozen girls who had injured his pride over the years by turning down his proper advances.
And so it was that Steve had decided that Slapsie must pay dearly for that one bad night she gave him in her place with the sawdust floor.
He picked a Sunday afternoon when the joint would be closed, and Slapsie would be relaxing in her second-floor apartment over the barroom. Steve and his four hoodlums broke down the door to her apartment and entered suddenly. They found Slapsie in a diaphanous and flimsy dressing gown, and they promptly ripped it off of her body. Steve had brought along a short whip which he had purchased in a harness shop. It was four feet long, flexible, and made of cotton-wrapped rawhide.
"You sonofabitch!" Slapsie screamed. "You ain't gonna hit me with your goddam sex-whip."
Steve grinned evilly. "You asked me at the bar if I wanted a chippie who would whip me."
"I ain't no masochist, fella."
"You cut my pride deeper than this-here whip can cut your flesh," he told her between clenched teeth. "I'm gonna show you what it means to play around with a real man."
He whipped her until she was stretched out on the floor, sobbing and pleading for her life.
Steve ordered the four bums to pound her with their fists-all four working on her simultaneously. Then he broke a wine glass on her table and slashed her breasts unmercifully. Then he spread her legs and cut away at her vagina.
As they left her apartment they started lighting matches and touching the tiny flames to pieces of upholstery, curtains, and whatever else that was burnable and caught their eyes.
Slapsie's joint made quite a fire-and Steve was finally satisfied. He had discovered that although he had lived normally for a very long time, there was a sex-beast loitering in his soul that needed attention.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN LESBIAN TORTURE-HOUSE
They like to be hurt. They are masochists, as well as Lesbians. In many cases, this is the result of a guilt complex developed during childhood. They got away with too many petty incidents-they got away with it at the time-that is, their parents, teachers, and others did not find them out-but the hurt of guilt clung to them through their growing years.
Some persons are sufficiently calloused to throw off any guilt complex and not allow the evil in their conscience to bother them in the least. Others, cannot. Those who cannot accomplish this feat suffer mildly, moderately, or viciously, for a very long time.
Laura was one of the latter. When she was twelve years old she took on every male kid in the neighborhood. It all happened in her father's cow-barn while he was at work in the field, .or in the farmhouse sleeping off the fatigue of a day's work. Her mother had died when she was five, and so the only check on her activities was her father at home, and a pretty young teacher in the rural school.
Laura was heavily sex-minded, and she felt from the start that she simply had to have sexual relief.
By the time she was sixteen she had lost her ability to reach an orgasm, until-
She met a music teacher who called herself Mrs. Hitt. Her name fitted her disposition because she carried a light ruler which she used to "tap" her pupil's wrist whenever she fumbled a musical phrase while practicing on the piano. She did it good naturedly, however, explaining that the tap on the wrist startled the mind and prompted the pupil to be more alert to what she was supposed to be playing.
Laura discovered to her own dismay that she anticipated the wrist-tap, and would purposely fumble the piano keys occasionally-in order to receive the physically administered reprimand. This was because the tap on the wrist gave her a strange sexual feeling. Eventually, after she had studied with her teacher for three months, she was startled to learn that the wrist-tap could actually cause her to experience an orgasm.
When she pleaded with the music teacher to tap her wrist much harder, the teacher's eyes narrowed suspiciously; and when Laura confessed why she wanted the heavy tapping, the teacher dismissed her as a pupil. She stated flatly that she did not want any queers on her list of students; her reputation meant everything to her.
From then on, Laura sought punishment. Finally she encountered a Lesbian who gave her a good sexual time, and whipped her regularly. Laura was both delighted and distressed when she came to the realization that she was a full-fledged masochist. After six months with the Lesbian, taking her sex and her beatings, Laura suddenly had the desire to whip her "master." And she did! Then she developed a tremendous urge to whip other girls, and sought them in dives and wherever else Lesbians hung out.
Laura left her father's farm when she was eighteen and sought employment in the nearby city. Working as a clerk in a woman's dress shop she was in a position to meet many young girls. She wooed some of them-and whipped them! Then came her meeting with Stelda. The woman purchased two evening gowns from Laura and then invited her to call at her home for lunch. "I think you are the girl I am looking for," she whispered, "to work in my Lesbian torture-house."
Laura was startled by the announcement and stammered, "Why-why?"
"I go by hunches-about girls, my dear. You are a Lesbian, aren't you?"
Laura nodded moodily. The phrase "torture-house" bothered her, but curiosity prompted her to keep the date.
When she arrived at the Stelda Home in a quiet section of the city's residential area, Laura discovered that the place was elegantly furnished, and that a dozen beautiful girls lived there permanently. She discovered something else: In one corner of the beautifully appointed living room, and directly across from the fancy bar, there was a glassed-in case on the wall which contained an elaborate assortment of whips. Some were black and sleek and stingy. Others had knots. One whip was studded with tiny metal "spikes."
Laura began to tremble. Her imagination exaggerated the type of tortures this madam called Stelda might administer-and was it true, as Stelda claimed it was, that Lesbians actually came here to be "punished?"
Laura soon discovered that there was a long list of middle-aged women who patronized the Stelda Home. Stelda told her that most of them were starved for sympathy. Married to busy business men who had no time to listen to their petty peeves, and paid less and less attention to their sexual needs, these women had developed a duo-complex. They no longer could get an orgasm, even with a handsome young lover; and they desperately needed someone to listen to their petty sins-and to punish them for what they had done.
Stelda charged a handsome fee for the double treatment. The young girls performed cunnilingus on the old gals, and then whipped them-mildly, or violently, as they demanded.
Laura was astonished to find that she fitted into this job. She enjoyed exploring new vaginas, even the wrinkled ones, and she enjoyed administering the whippings. But her enthusiasm for that kind of work bore heavily on her mind until she grew dissatisfied with moderate whippings. She developed an urge to lay on the whips with knots as hard as she could. With one dignified old lady, she did the trick too violently. The lady complained to Stelda about the treatment Laura had given her, and even threatened to prosecute. That was the evening that Laura was fired, for Stelda had no intention of allowing the antics of one of her girls to land her in court.
Laura was bitter. She felt terribly sorry for herself and commenced patronizing the roughest Lesbian haunts she could find. She let it be known that she was a sadist, and waited for paid "customers."
The sex-beast in Laura had come to the fore. She glared at pretty young girls, and drooled over the thought of whipping them soundly. In one of the joints she encountered a young artist named Anna who was about her own age. Wanting an excuse to be invited to Anna's apartment she offered to pose for her in the nude, free of charge.
Anna was an attractive blonde with large blue eyes which danced with her every spoken word. She was a direct contrast to the brown-headed and brown-eyed Laura. They seemed to click at their very first meeting as they lingered at a table over coffee, and got rapidly acquainted.
Arriving at Anna's studio-apartment Laura was delighted when Anna kissed her and said "You are so lovely. But I may have to whip you." The girl's eyes narrowed as she waited for Laura's answer because several girls, whom she had propositioned regarding a whipping, had bolted terrified out of her studio.
Laura's eyes sparkled as she said, "Maybe I'll be the one to do the whipping."
Anna started panting with expectation. "You have done this before?"
"Have you ever heard of the Stelda Home?"
"Before I was a successful commercial artist, I worked there."
"I worked there," Laura said, "just recently."
Anna hugged her. "God love you, Laura! We'll get along just fine. You know, my dear-I have whipping-parties in this studio."
"Lesbians?"
"Who else? I can't stand men. Especially naked ones. My artistic sense crawls at the very sight of a naked man-body."
Laura moved in with her artist, and three days later three other pretty girls came calling. They stripped completely, and then Anna distributed five whips.
Laura grew almost uncontrollably excited. She feasted her eyes upon the lovely bodies of the girls-the well rounded and stout breasts which stuck out so invitingly; the beautifully shaped thighs and buttocks-She felt that she was in heaven. She felt that the evening would be complete-as soon as she saw those lovely cream-tinted bodies streaked with blood.
Before the group attack, Anna served wine. While the girls were lounging on the divan, on the heavily carpeted floor, or sitting in the deeply upholstered chairs with their legs spread apart, Anna kissed each one of them. She kissed their mouths and their breasts, and the last girl she fondled she placed her face between her legs and started chewing at the soft and velvety flesh, wildly.
Laura, bug-eyed at the scene, lost control of herself. She leaped up and took a firm hold on the whip Anna had given her. Then she brought the whip down viciously across Anna's back while the girl was performing cunnilingus on the redheaded girl who had tossed back her head and, with eyes to the ceiling, was groaning out her sexual satisfaction.
Suddenly Anna wheeled around and leaped to her feet. "Laura!" she snapped. "Not so goddam hard!"
Laura's brown eyes were sizzling with a taste for blood. "Chicken!" she hissed. "I thought you could take it!"
Anna steamed with indignation. "Can you take it?" she demanded haughtily.
"Anything," Laura boasted. She tossed her the whip. "I can take anything you can dish out."
Anna took the challenge while the other three girls watched with eyes glued to the pair.
Anna commenced whipping Laura's thighs. Then she whipped her across the buttocks, and then the breasts.
"Harder, harder!" Laura cried in utter defiance.
Anna was not a strong girl. She was a painter, and she had never spent a moment in athletic activities.
Laura laughed at her feeble attempt. Then suddenly she leaped forward and snatched the whip from her. She began lashing Anna's face and body with all the strength she could muster until the girl was bleeding in several places.
The redheaded girl cried, "Laura, stop that! You're hurting her badly!"
"Shut up," Laura screamed. "I'll show her what it means to be roundly whipped. Maybe this will give her a grand orgasm."
Anna fell to her knees crying, "No, no, no, Laura! Please don't-no more!"
"I'll thrash you some more, Anna."
"No, no. I'm getting sick at my stomach."
"I want to make you come without a Lesbian between your legs."
"I don't want to come. Not now-"
"Come, you bitch!"
Laura continued the thrashing.
The redheaded girl leaped up from the carpet and grabbed at the whip. With eyes blazing resentment, Laura jumped back. She raised the whip and brought it down heavily across the girl's head.
The redhead groaned, "Oh, my God!"
Anna dived toward Laura. Assisted by the redhead they wrestled with their tormentor and finally, after loud cursing from Laura with much dodging and lunging, Anna was able to wrest the whip-handle from her grip.
Panting heavily Anna said, "Now-get out! Put on your clothes and leave my apartment, for good!"
"I'll leave when I'm damned good and ready."
Anna accused: "You're a beast. You're a sex-beast, and we don't want you in our group."
For a long moment the two girls stood motionless, staring hard at each other. Then Laura broke down and sobbed. She fell to her knees and raised her head, her eyes pleading as she said, "I am so lonely-and I love you, Anna."
"Get out. I don't love you."
"But I'll die away from this studio. Oh, Anna-I do love you so desperately."
The redhead shrugged and said, "Aw, let her stay, Anna. Providing she will behave herself and not be so vicious."
"No," Anna said coldly. "Suddenly-I dislike her. I don't want her around any more."
Laura stood up slowly. Her eyes were filled with tears as she slowly turned toward her clothing laying across a small table. While she was dressing she listened to the idle chatter of the quartette, but she was hearing nothing. Her mind was whirling with the sting of a hurt pride. Anna was a dirty bitch to have bawled her out before the other girls. She would get even. She would make her feel sorry that they had ever met.
Laura was crazy with the desire for revenge, and when she was dressed she wandered into the small kitchen and picked up a long butcher-knife. Returning to the living room, with the knife concealed at her side behind her skirt, she approached Anna. Her eyes blazed her fury as she said bitterly, "You'll pay for this, Anna-for humiliating me in front of all these girls."
Scornfully Anna replied, "Pay-my ass! I'm not afraid of a tramp like you."
Laura brought up the knife and plunged it viciously into Anna's chest.
The landlady in the apartment below heard terrified screams. She telephoned the police. Laura was arrested and tried for second-degree murder. And she went to prison for a very long time-and so ended the career of a girl who discovered that masochism and sadism were an important part of her life. That she was, in fact-a sex-beast.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN THE MEEKEST SEX-BEAST
Filler was a meek little man, and this fact had bothered him during his thirty years of life. As a child he was short for his size; when he reached high school and volunteered for athletics, he was laughed at.
No man can stand to be laughed at. It is the worst kind of punishment when it is done scornfully. Fuller was slender of build. His bones were small and he had a goose-type neck. His thin brown hair and wistful blue eyes made some girls speak to him tenderly-as though he were to be pitied for his physical arrangement. He resented that, also. He did not want to be pitied; he wanted everyone to consider him just as much a man as the next fellow.
The fact that they did not consider him much of a man worked on his mind until he developed a viciousness which he nursed in secret, but hoping one day to demonstrate.
But how could a man standing only five feet in height, and slender of frame, prove that he was something to win approval?
It was a disturbing problem until one day Fuller purchased a book. He read accounts like David and Goliath, and Napoleon, and others who had distinguished themselves in one form or another without an admirable physical stature.
From acquaintances at the warehouse where he was an accountant, he heard stories about sex, sadism and masochism. Then he made inquiries. He wanted to know just exactly what constituted a sex-beast, and so he went to the public library and procured books by psychiatrists. After several months of reading, he determined that even a small man could become a sex-beast-and he confided that thought in a conversation with the clerk who worked with him. Morgan was thirty, like himself. He was a congenial fellow and, ordinarily, he listened courteously to whatever Fuller had to say. But when Fuller told him in an undertone one day that in order to get the most out of life he had determined to become a sex-beast, Morgan roared with laughter. But that was not the worst of the humiliation. Every morning thereafter when the two of them reported at their desks for the day's work, Morgan would start laughing all over again.
Fuller could not stand any more of that kind of torment, and so next Friday night, he lay in wait for Morgan in the dark alley they always used as a short cut to the bus.
But the moment that Morgan reached the mouth of the alley, a man stepped up and spoke to him. Fuller gripped the neck of the heavy wine bottle he had found in the alley and swore inaudibly at the man who had delayed his revenge action. Then when the two men walked slowly through the alley together, Fuller knew he would need to postpone his attack.
When he arrived at his desk the next morning, Fuller was riled to the point of white heat because Morgan came in breezily and said, "The Meekest Ex-Beast!" He laughed heartily.
"Oh, shut up!" Fuller rasped. He decided that hitting Morgan over the head with a wine bottle, or other type of weapon, was not in keeping with his resolve to become a sex-beast. No, he must conform with his resolve. Therefore, he must punish Morgan for laughing at him-via the sex route. But, how? Could he hire a hardened whore to screw the man to death? But then his revenge would be indirect. No, he must perform some vile act against Morgan, himself! Maybe he could screw him in the ass until the man cried out in pain. Fuller shuddered, for never in his life had he ever entertained a sex act of the type folks called "queer." But he would stoop to anything for revenge on Morgan-
That night Fuller strolled to a small cafe which was a noted hangout for sexual deviates. Taking a table at the far end of the place he sat down and scanned the crowd. There was a dozen or more male homosexuals drinking coffee, munching sandwiches, and talking brazenly of their exploits sexually. Most of their conversation referred to taking the penis in the mouth or ramming it into a handsome young man's rectum. "This is what I want," Fuller murmured aloud, but addressing only himself. He waited until three homos came over and sat at the small table next to his. Then he said boldly, "I want to hire a homosexual."
The three homos stared at him with surprise and amusement.
The robust one wearing a cream-colored turtleneck sweater, and running one set of fingers through his shoulder length blondish hair, said, "Did we hear you correctly? You want to-to hire-a homosexual?"
Fuller nodded timidly. "Yes. I want to punish a man who abuses me."
"Punish?"
"Yes. I want him screwed in the ass until he cries with pain."
The three homos glanced amusedly at one another. The one with the mouse-brown hair and eyes to match said, "You call that punishment? We call it-fun!"
Fuller cleared his throat nervously. "I have a hundred dollars. It is worth that much to me to see Morgan suffer."
The robust one exclaimed, "A hundred clams? You will really pay that-for one of us to have fun that we do for no pay?"
The third homo asked, "What has this Morgan fellow done to you?"
Fuller raised his chin haughtily. "When I told him that I intended to become a sex-beast-he, he laughed at me." He was disturbed when the robust one lowered his head as though to cover the smile on his face, while the other two turned their backs to him. By the shakiness of their bodies he could tell that they were smothering their laughter.
"I do not intend to be laughed at!" Fuller snapped.
The robust one wiped the smile from his face, and his deep blue eyes bored searchingly into Fuller's steady, frank and most sincere gaze. Then the homo said, "We'll take the job."
They gave him an address on a piece of paper, and agreed to "rape" his domineering friend the following evening.
Fuller returned to his desk the next morning stepping lightly. He was feeling grand. He was about to show Morgan that he could become a sex-beast, and that his new mission in life was not to be sneezed at.
"I'd like you to meet some friends of mine, Morgan," he said as casually as he could. "Free drinks. They're a nice bunch of fellows."
"Free drinks sounds delicious," Morgan said. "When is this tete-a-tete?"
"This evening. We'll go there direct from work."
Morgan shrugged. "Okay, little sex-beast. Sure, I'M tag along-for free drinks."
The three homos were waiting for them. Fuller knocked on the apartment door and was admitted, followed by Morgan.
The robust man said, "I'm Jim." He waved a hand at the two homos seated on the divan. "Phil and Wesley."
Fuller introduced Morgan, and then they were served drinks.
After the third round of drinks Jim glanced at Fuller and said, "Well-when do you want the action to start?"
Boldly, Fuller handed him five twenty-dollar bills. "Now!"
Jim nodded to Phil and Wesley, and then the three of them commenced to remove their clothing.
Morgan seemed to smell a rat. With his whiskey glass poised stiffly in one hand he glanced suspiciously about. Then he said coldly, "Say! What is this? You guys a bunch of queers?"
Dramatically Fuller cried, "I told you I was a sex-beast. You laughed at me, Morgan. You thought I was a mouse instead of a man. Well, I'm about to show you! Yes, they're queers and I intend to be one also!" Panting haughtily he stood up, his head raised proudly. "I'll show you, Morgan. I am going to-to rape-you. I think."
Morgan roared with laughter.
Reddening in the face Fuller turned to Jim. "You see? Just like I told you. He-he laughs at me."
Jim said, "We'll take the laugh out of him." He stepped quickly over to Morgan and shelled him out of his coat. When Morgan put up a fight Phil and Wesley came to Jim's aid. They got the man undressed completely, and then while Phil and Wesley held him in a bent over position, Jim rammed his erection into Morgan's rectum.
Morgan cursed bitterly while Fuller leaped up and down in a gesture of glee. Morgan was groaning with pain all the time he was being raped. He made threats. He swore that he would report the rapine to the police, and see all four of them in jail.
Jim replied, "You tell the police, we'll hunt you down and make you wish you'd never been born."
Phil and Wesley expressed similar threats. They scared the hell out of Morgan, and that delighted Fuller because ever since he had known his co-worker the fellow had boasted that he could ward off any sort of an attack upon his person.
After Jim had reached an orgasm, and finished his fun with Morgan, Phil and Wesley took him on.
Morgan was bleeding from the rear. The blood had left his face, and now he was no longer a man of strength but rather a meek man pleading for mercy.
"Mercy, my eye!" Fuller cried dramatically. Then he commanded the three queers to knock Morgan to the floor, face up-and hold him tight. Then Fuller straddled the man and stuck his erection into Morgan's mouth. "Didn't I tell you I was a sex-beast?" he exclaimed in utter triumph. He worked his penis in and out of Morgan's mouth until he experienced an orgasm. "Oh, my God!" Fuller gasped. "I never thought I could enjoy this!"
Jim smiled broadly. "Sure, fella-it's fun. Now, why don't you try the other? Like we did. Let's see if you really can be a sex-beast like you want to be."
Fuller took the challenge. The three queers rolled Morgan over on his side and Fuller dropped down in rear of him. Then while Morgan was being held tight to the carpet by the three men, Fuller rammed his erection into Morgan's rectum. He amazed himself. He was astonished that he could enjoy such an act-but then, he had had no sexual intercourse with a female in two years because he was too bashful to make the proper approach.
When Fuller had Finished his act, he went to the adjoining washroom and cleansed himself. When he returned, it was with pride. "I can become a sex-beast!" he cried.
Jim smiled sympathetically. Why not? He had been paid one hundred dollars to befriend Fuller. "Sure, fella. You can become anything you want to be."
Fuller's eyes lighted hopefully. "Will you queers invite me to your drags? Will you give me a chance to rape some young boy?"
Jim glanced at the other two queers. Then he smiled again at his benefactor. "You got another hundred?"
"I can get it."
"We'll invite you, Fuller-as often as you like. As often as you can come up with another hundred clams."
Morgan was cursing. "I'll report this to our boss. You'll be fired."
Fuller laughed full in his co-worker's face. "I don't want the stinking job. I'm gonna be a queer-a real, sure-enough sex-beast. And these new friends of mine will help me get another job. I have heard that queers stick together-they help one another in every phase of living." He turned and glanced at Jim. "Is that true-Jim, my-my-darling?" He shuddered over his own use of the word darling. Never before had he called a man by such a sentimental term.
Jim was still smiling his understanding. "That's true, sweetie-pie. And we will get you a job."
Morgan was allowed to dress. There was an awkward stiffness in the air of the room, a silence which was threatening in itself. As Morgan was about to leave them, Jim walked up to him and planted a tight fist full in the visitor's face.
Blood dripped from Morgan's mouth, but there was no menace in his gaze for he showed plainly that he was afraid of the robust queer.
Jim said, "That's merely a sample of what you'll get if you squeal on Fuller, and the three of us."
Morgan said nothing. He left the room a subdued man.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN THE ORNATE MALE
Nature bedecked male birds with plumage which would attract the hens and cause them to become sexually aroused by the very sight of the ornateness. The peacock male with its gorgeous and elaborately arranged tail-spread and wing-spread is an excellent example of this idiosyncrasy of nature.
Even today, human males wear various types of ornamental objects. Navajo Indians wear beads, bracelets, gaudy rings, and colorful clothing. Men of many tribes throughout the world have worn earrings for many centuries.
Primitive men, attracted by the exquisite coloring of nature in birds and foliage, undoubtedly were inspired to ornament themselves accordingly. For many centuries tribesmen have been decorating their faces and bodies with colorful sea-shells, ivory, metals, and other substances made available to them by the land.
The American Indians, like their predecessors the Mongolians, have always gone in for much coloring of face and body. Tattooing was known to tribesmen as far back as the discovery of iron. A tribe of California desert-living Indians, called the Mojaves, tattooed their entire bodies-a decoration to please the ego, but also to attract the female and to arouse her sexual urges.
Directly after the Civil War in the United States (1861-1866), when it was safe for U.S. Army officers' wives to join their husbands at the various army posts in Arizona, those wives were shocked to witness Apache females going about entirely naked. Promptly the white women gave their cast off clothing to the female Apaches. In that period white women had been wearing, among other costuming, blue, black and green velvet skirts and blouses. The Apache women took to the colorful clothing eagerly; and to this day the descendants of those post Civil War Apache women make for themselves the same identical style and coloring in skirts and blouses. They will not change and go along with new fads and styles in women's apparel.
The war-chiefs, with their full-blossomed and colorful headdresses (war bonnets) were the envy of every warrior in their respective tribes. Quills were arranged in two rows and laced together to form a breastplate. Earrings of silver and turquoise and onyx were part of their personal adornment. And their moccasins were generously designed with colored beads. In the case of the American Indians the women dressed as attractively as the men. But not so in nature's world of birds.
Amongst birds, in practically every species the male alone struts with brilliant plumage while the hen is exceptionally plain looking.
Aside from plumage, there is another feature of bird life which closely resembles the nature of humans-viciousness!
For a good example of cold bloodedness in the bird world observe a batch of newborn chicks in the window of a pet store. If one chick is ill or tired and falls down, the other chicks will walk right over it, completely inconsiderate of its welfare. In fact they will continue to walk over it until the fallen bird is dead.
Without the slightest sign of mercy a hawk will swoop down upon a chicken-yard and sink its claws into the body of a fat chicken and make off with it.
There have been periods in history when men adorned themselves with powdered white wigs (the time of General George Washington, for example). There have been times when men wore fancy lace cuffs and even a trimming of elegant lace at the bottom of their knickers. Men flaunted lace handkerchiefs as delicately, and as effeminately, as the ladies in the court of France's King Louis.
Then came the time when men grew embarrassed over wearing any type of apparel which suggested a special decor, and resorted to what since has been classified as a "business-suit."
Now we have the Hippies-with earrings, broaches, gaudy necklaces, and pants and blouses in all colors and striping. Perhaps the Hippies, even though we snort and sneer at their getup, might eventually persuade the egotistical males of the world that they, too, should return to colorful array in clothing.
At the turn of the 20th century many men sported very fancy waistcoats (vests) to counterbalance the plainness of their coats and trousers. Vests were displayed in the stores made of fine imported brocades, velvets, linens, and many other attractive looking materials.
There is no doubt but what nature was right in the first place-about plumage. It most certainly does attract hens to roosters and, therefore, it seems quite logical that a pretty young maid of today would prefer a lover who has considered her enough during courtship to bedeck himself handsomely.
Naval and military uniforms are ample proof of how much females are attracted by ornate clothing. The brass buttons, the gold strips on a naval officer's sleeves, the scroll-type of gold filligree decorating the visor of his cap, all tend to enliven the attractiveness of his face, eyes and general appearance. It is said that everybody loves a parade-and one of the main features of any parade, in addition to inspiring band music, is the plumage of the participants.
Man is a difficult animal to understand: How he can perfume himself, bedeck himself in a grand harmony of color and design, and then display a vicious nature in sexual adventures, still lingers in the minds of psychologists-and all the rest of us-as one of the unfathomable mysteries of the world.
The great apes are exactly the same. They have been known to adorn their necks and heads with wreaths of leaves and fruit, and otherwise make themselves more attractive than nature made them-all for the benefit of the admiring eyes of the females in their respective troops.
Why have women loved to attend burlesque shows over the centuries? For two definite reasons: In the first place, the girls onstage display a boldness which no respectable housewife would dare show at home, but wishes she did have the nerve to show. Secondly, she enjoys watching the gay plumage of the girls and longs for such elaborate plumage with which to make herself as attractive as actresses and chorus girls. But-she would not dare! The jealous neighbors would talk, you know.
That is, women dared not go to extremes in anything until a few years ago, when young girls commenced breaking away from The Establishment, as they term society and protocol in general, and now appear publicly in just about any type of garb which takes their fancy from the costumes of Daniel Boone to Napoleon. They even dare to come out on the street in clothing which covers less than twenty per cent of their bodies.
Here again is viciousness. But in another form. It is the viciousness of defiance. The breaking away from social conservatism, including the flaunting of social rules; performing gross violations of what has long been rated as "decency"-and doing all this in the faces of those persons who still cling to "the old ways."
It seems to be the purpose of many young people of today to shock the public. This gives them a sense of importance; it singles them out from "the masses." And it is still classed by psychologists and psychiatrists as a definite form of viciousness. It is milder in form than the burning of stores and the looting of them, but it shows the world that boys and girls of today-a minority of them-no longer accept what their parents and teachers maintain is the proper way to live.
This sudden revolution in American attire is nothing new to the world, however. Hindu women have been wearing colorful togas, or wrap-arounds, for centuries-some of the color and design of their gowns might, today, even be classed psychedelic. At least, in the eyes of Americans. Perhaps the old and hackneyed adage There is nothing new under the sun is after all quite true. What appears new to some of us has been on display to others, off and on, down through the centuries-including total nakedness, and also the ever-present viciousness in sexual adventures.
The bird-world has its criminals-just like man. Take the Frigate bird, for a good example. He dwells on the Galapagos archipelago in the midst of one of the world's greatest assemblages of birds. Like man, he has a chest to swell out when he is making the courting-strut; his chest is a vivid red vest which he puffs up until it crowds the bottom of his beak. Frigate is a "pirate" with no more consideration for others than have many humans. He is an excellent flier and, when hungry, will hover in the sky above other birds. When one of them catches a fish Frigate will suddenly swoop down and force the fisherman to drop his catch. Apparently law and order mean no more on the Calapagos than they do here in the United States-to some people. Frigate is an aggressive marauder, much more so than his relative the pelican. Human explorers who have seen him in action, both fishing and making love, have branded him the 'man-o-war' bird-all because he is so vicious. Unlike man the Frigate has no sense of fear. How dangerous it would be if vicious men could be that way without fearing detection by the police. But fortunately for the law-abiders, nature overlooked giving humans this quality possessed by the Frigate.
Undoubtedly nature had a purpose in making man and animals vicious-to give them a crack at survival. The timid, it appears, have less chance of survival in man-jungles. Perhaps society is to blame for man's timidity, with its many Thou shalt nots to frighten the timid into doing exactly as society has decreed they should do. Society says that man must be genteel, quiet, and courteous. Many men have been able to temper their dispositions in order to satisfy society, and yet they have retained sufficient animalistic instinct to "flare up" in their own defense when challenged by man-animals within their own society.
Webster's dictionary defines the word vicious thusly: 'From the Latin vitium-vice. Addicted to vice or immorality; depraved; wicked.' The same dictionary defines the word savage as: 'From the Latin silvaticus-belonging to a wood, wild; from silva-a wood. Cruel, fierce, ferocious; in a state of nature.' Well! If being "savage" is being in "a state of nature," then it is quite understandable why the police, the courts, and parents and teachers find it most difficult to dissolve savagery from the heart and mind of a red-blooded, healthy youngster.
The fact that man is, by his very nature, a vicious animal makes it plausible that some men should become vicious while making love.
Psychiatrists tell us that sadism-with some men-is a very normal reaction. Some claim that basically, when a person actually enjoys hurting someone, it is because that is the only way he knows how to "get even" with the world for "treating him roughly; for hurting him!" And it is his pride, his ego, which drives him to even the score, somehow and some way. Self pity being one of man's weaker points, he simply must cater to his desire to get revenge on the world. Someone must become the victim of his hurt ego; his self pity. And tomorrow-who knows-it could be you! Different persons have different ways of getting even-purse-snatching, rapine, mugging, and various other criminal forms.
Watch out for the man who is sore at the world and has expressed a desire to get even. He may just decide that you fit the bill-to become his victim!
CHAPTER SIXTEEN WHO IS MAN?
Just exactly what is a man? Who is he?
Is he a higher form of simian-a great ape? Or is he a species in his own right?
Webster's dictionary defines man thusly: 'An individual (genus Homo), family Hominadae, class Mammalia, of the highest type of animal existing or known to have existed, differing from other high types of animals, especially in his extraordinary mental development. Only one human species (homo sapiens) is generally recognized. But some anthropologists consider the extinct Neanderthal Man (his bones discovered in Neander Valley near Dusseldorf, Germany) as intermediate between the Java Man (Pithecanthropus Erectus) and existing races. CF. Peking Man, Piltdown Man, Heidelberg Man, Cro-magnon."
Before World War II, the majority of Americans did not take science and scientists too seriously. These brainy men were something apart from the rest of us and our normal way of life. But since the explosion of the first atomic bomb we listen to them in all seriousness; their dissertations on biology, and the socially confirmed conviction that man is not just a happenstance; that he is, in truth, an extraordinarily important part of the process of evolutionary development-and is rising to still greater heights mentally all the time.
Moreover, through science, he is finding new ways to develop and to preserve his physical structure. However, while he is cleverly devising new methods of improving his lot he might be idiotic enough to destroy himself, and everything in the world around him, by that very same science!
Atomic radiation threatens his very existence!
One other thing bothers him-as it has since his arrival on earth-and that is to find a device which will cause his penis to become a "fountain of youth." He would like to make of himself-a perpetual stud. Never incompetent sexually; always ready; and as vigorous sexually at the age of ninety years as he was at twenty years.
While the world's adventurers proclaimed their sole purpose in exploring new byways was to find and conquer new lands, deep in their scheming hearts was the belief that they could-somewhere in the unexplored regions of the world-find a Fountain of Youth. Ponce de Leon, the Spanish explorer, was one of the few manly enough to admit that the hypothetical Fountain of Youth was the most important reason for his exploring the world. He hoped to find that precious fountain, with waters which would rejuvenate man's sexual capabilities, when he reached Florida. But he found only an Indian arrow which claimed his life.
Charles Darwin, the great naturalist, was one of those persons who started the ball rolling in reference to man's origin. He gave man's existence a great deal of logical importance. Not much more than one hundred years ago this great scientist and biologist presented the world with his Darwinian theory. In 1859 he stated that he was positive that man-a beast was the product of things which existed before him. This included micro-organisms, Fish, birds, amphibians, mammals, plants and the great apes.
Some persons say that we descended from Adam and Eve. Scientists, however, claim that we developed by the process of evolution. Darwin said we are a development of the simian family which consists of gibbons, baboons, orangutans, gorillas, and others of the monkey family. Some men vociferously declare that man is a species within himself-and why should he have come from monkeys and the great apes any more than a zebra should be a development of the elephant or the giraffe?
However it is, one thing is certain: Man is just as much beast-like as he is human-like. That within his breast lies the violent instincts of animals. He is incessantly verifying this assumption by burning down that which he has built up, by violating the honor and chastity of his women, and by stealing properties belonging to others, and by slaying people who have just as much right to live as himself.
Man is still a beast!
Therefore, he is still a sex-beast, for sex is as much a part of him as his limbs and brain, and all the rest. Man enjoys catering to his senses. He likes to touch (fondle), lick (as in various sex acts), smell (as in cunnilingus), and see (as when viewing naked human bodies) which have aroused his sexual desires.
Man pushes sexual gratification in whatever manner the sex act appeals to him; however it stimulates his sex-imagination. Taking their cue from certain animals some men become promiscuous in sex acts; in fact, they become downright careless in their love-making. Deer, horses, cattle and other mammals develop harems for themselves. The harem (an Arabian word pronounced "hi-reem," means anything forbidden or sacred. The dictionary further defines the word as meaning: 'The apartments in a Mohammedan house allotted to females; a seraglio'. However, the Mohammedans were far from being the only ones of the ancients, and pre-mod tribes and nations in which men could afford "sexual luxuries," were allowed by law to sport their own private harems.
Inasmuch as the laws of society and man had not legalized the possession of harems, modern man who wants to be promiscuous in his love-making is forced to "torn cat" wherever, and whenever he can break away from his family. While he is excusing his sex antics by pointing out whoring animals, he should take note that some animals do not whore at all. Lions and tigers, for example, customarily mate only once in a lifetime.
Reputedly prehistoric man would, upon spotting a female who took his eye, drag her by the hair to his lair and force rapine upon her. Brutal of course! But is it any more brutal than methods used in the name of love by some modern men? And yet men are not alone in the application of sadism in sexual operations, for many females are just as cruel as any man ever tried to be.
If we consider some of today's men as monsters in their sexual behavior, it is terrifying to contemplate what man might be like, what he might stoop to, if atomic radiation should one day cover the earth and turn humans into monsters worse than any the world has known. Scientists tell us that humans could become uncontrollably vicious.
Monsters, freaks-creatures more frightening than the monsters of land and sea during prehistoric times when Styracosaurus and Triceratops roared like thunder and struck like lightning.
Sex being just as natural an appetite as eating and drinking, it never will be entirely controlled. Catholics have been told by their church that they must not use contraceptive pills; that if they do not wish additions to their families they should abstain from sexual relations. Now just how many people are going to allow their church to tell them that, for the rest of their lives they no longer can enjoy God's gift of sex-even in their own homes with their own wives and husbands!
During the nonsensical prohibition era (The Volstead Act), man demonstrated that when he wants something, he will get it one way or another. Enraged to the point of viciousness over his own government telling him he no longer could drink hard liquor, man started manufacturing it for himself. That resulted in many thousands of deaths caused by drinking improperly distilled alcohol.
Man and woman want sex!
It is a most primitive instinct, and nobody is going to take away from them this joy and privilege which goes along with a normal and healthy life.
Most humans exercise a certain amount of logical control over their emotions-including the urge to commit the sex act. Animals will abstain from attacking a female only because of the fear of a like-male protecting her, but man is not that smart. If he sees a girl he wants to lay he will risk attack from her escort even if he is her husband. So how far does man's intelligence extend in the matter of sex? And just exactly, while we are on the subject, what is intelligence?
Some authorities have said that intelligence is the ability to think in an abstract manner while some state that it is the organism's ability to cope with, and adjust to, whatever environment confronts a person, and do it successfully.
Reputedly, the higher apes-the closest living things we have seen which are at all comparable to man-are governed in their actions entirely by instinct. They perform in accordance with their reflexes.
Some apes have demonstrated what might be construed as a semblance of the one thing differentiating man from ape-reasoning power-by a show of an ability to cope with problems new to them. Something they have not experienced previously such as: If an ape touches a lighted stove and gets a burned finger, he is not likely to touch that stove again. He has learned a lesson. Yet if his mate saw the accident, he will not stop her from approaching the stove and suffering the same burn as he did. On the other hand, a little girl who has been burned on the stove will warn her little brother not to go near it; that "the stove is real naughty." This, according to psychologists, is reasoning!
Man can reason out cause and effect.
Not even the "higher apes," such as the gorilla, orangutan, gibbon and baboon, have proven that they can do that much.
Man's reason has gone beyond his biological and mammalian traits by his sense of understanding. Will he go farther? Will he one day develop such consideration of other persons that he no longer will rape an innocent girl, and ruin her life-or even kill her-to satiate his mad sexual passion? Will he one day develop an ethical sense? The dictionary defines ethical as: 'Of or relating to moral action, motive, or character; conforming to professional standards of conduct'-and, most certainly, raping an innocent girl-or forcing her to perform fellatio upon him-is not conforming to moral standards as society has defined them.
There is one particular instance when the most noble of men will take any advantage he can-the time when he is cornered!
When it becomes a matter of your life or his, he will save himself. When it becomes a matter of disgracing you, or himself, he is tempted to let you go down the drain. There are rare exceptions to this rule of instinct-but the person who will keep his mouth shut and accept dishonor rather than expose a loved one, is rare indeed. He is the strong one, although there are those persons who call such a man just a plain damned fool.
Some animals are un-likely to fight unless they are cornered; when their lives are at stake. Then even the most timid animal will fight viciously for survival. In this respect man is no different than other animals, for he too wants to survive.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN HOPPED UP SEX
A hopped up young man with a hard-on is a real danger. He forgets protocol, decency, self respect, the law-everything. All he is aware of at that moment is that he wants a place to put his erection, and he doesn't much care whether it is a female aged nine or ninety. This is true, at least, according to some police officials.
Marijuana does it to them. So does LSD. They get so they live only for the moment and their sexual whim of the moment.
Roland B-was like that. He was husky for the age of twenty; unusually so. Ocean swimming had developed him into a physical specimen who attracted girls on the beach like honey attracts flies.
Wanda had never been screwed. Not that she wouldn't like it-especially after she had seen Roland on the sand, sprawled so that his abbreviated swim-trunks partly exposed his penis. That was the first glimpse she ever had had of a man's penis although she almost saw her brother's that day she went into the bathroom at home to take a shower, the very moment he was stepping out of it.
It was Saturday morning. A hot day in July on the Pacific Coast, and Wanda had taken the same spot on the beach hoping that the husky kid she had fallen for so heavily would also be there.
He was. This time he noticed her and smiled an invite. Maybe he didn't notice her earlier in the week, the day they had lain in the sand so near to each other, because he had been diving into the big waves and he had come out of the water exhausted. Anyway, that's the excuse Wanda had made up for him.
"Mind if I come over?"
Wanda's heart leaped up into her mouth. He had spoken, and she was ready. Funny, she hadn't felt that way on-campus when she was surrounded by boys and girls. She had always been quite proper with them as her father and mother had taught her to be. Maybe-too proper, for now she was not equipped to cope with the prying fingers of a hustler like Roland. If only she could have known that beneath his engaging smile there was a nature vicious and cruel; that for the last three years of his twenty he had been a sex-beast-clever enough to conceal his inner feelings from relatives, friends, and the cops. The girls he had seduced had not told on him-under threat of being knifed.
"Don't mind at all," Wanda said meekly. Somehow this big sandy-haired guy with the dreamy blue eyes had her spellbound.
Wanda tossed her head of shiny black hair, shoulder-length, as he dropped down beside her. Her brown eyes flashed more than a welcome. She was hot between the legs, and she knew her eyes showed her dire want. Well-she was human, wasn't she? And during her seventeen years on earth all she had discovered about sexual thrills was masturbation. And so ashamed was she the first time she fingered her clitoris, in bed alone one rainy night, that she did not repeat the action until seven months later.
On-campus she had heard dirty words, and whispered accounts of what boys and girls did. She had even heard tales of what was done sexually by boy versus boy, and girl versus girl. Those last two exploits had floored her; she simply could not believe that such things were done. Also, she had heard about marijuana and LSD, but nobody had offered her any although she was as pretty and as trim of figure as any girl in college.
Roland was now propped on his left elbow swung akimbo, as his dreamy blue eyes studied her sharply. In a quiet voice he asked, "Do you-fuck?"
Wanda gasped. Never had that word been spoken directly to her before now. Her cheeks turned a beet red, and she swallowed hard. She could not answer him.
"Oh, well," Roland said with a shrug of his suntanned shoulders, "if you're just a baby, maybe I'll be getting along. I've got no time for innocent kids."
Fear shot through Wanda. She had never had a boyfriend; at least, not one so worldly as this one
-and now she was about to lose him. Lose him because she was too goddam innocent.
"Sure I-I-fuck," she murmured, almost inaudibly.
He grinned tantalizingly. "I doubt it. I don't think you know the first thing about sex."
She felt terribly humiliated. Desperate was a better word, and so she determined to be as bold as he was. "Don't know anything about sex," she sneered. "You boys think nobody else knows what to do." She lifted her chin and tossed her shiny black hair away from her shoulders. "You got a prick and I got a cunt-and one goes inside the other. That's all there is to sex, you dope."
Roland chuckled a long moment. "You got guts, girl. What's your tag?"
"Wanda. What's yours?"
"Roily-short cut to Roland." He slipped his right hand over to her right leg and commenced fingering the soft flesh where the flesh was disguised beneath a scanty bikini. He watched her with narrowed eyes as though he expected her to become indignant.
Wanda wanted to be indignant why he almost had his fingers where her crotch began! But she was really desperate-for a real live boyfriend who was real manly. Like this one.
"I don't scare you?" he asked casually.
"Scare me?" She shrugged with feigned indifference. "Haven't I told you that I have been
"You've had men's fingers playing near your pussy before?"
"Lots of times. Say! What is this? I don't dig insults, little boy."
Her last two words caused him to go stern. "I'll show you how much of a little boy I am-you comin' up to my pad?"
"Oh, I don't know-I'm not sure whether you attract me that much." The moment she had said it, she was frightened. Supposing he just shrugged, and took off? She couldn't stand that. But she had always heard that the girl who was hard to get had the best chance of landing something worthwhile. But being hard to get was a terrible risk. Some boys, too lazy to try real hard, merely fade out on a dame and look for a pushover.
Against her better judgment she left the beach with him and walked the two blocks to the tiny cottage he had rented. It had three rooms and a bath. A small living room, one bedroom, a kitchen, and that was it. The furnishings looked like most of the cheap furniture in cheap beach cottages, weather-beaten and ready to fall apart.
She got her first shock when he walked her into the bedroom, for lying naked on the bed was a girl a year or two her senior. Naked as a jaybird, with her blondish hair awry and her hazel eyes dulled as though she were in a stupor. In her left hand she held a lighted cigarette made of brown paper.
"She's jerky," Roily grinned. "Marijuana does that to some chicks."
"I'm leaving," Wanda announced stiffly. Her dream of a dreamy boyfriend had shot out of her imagination at sight of the girl on the bed.
"You're not leaving," he said coldly. "At least, not until you've been fucked by both Millie and me."
Wanda felt like her head had been hit with a hammer. He had said-"by Millie and me." It was horrible. Besides, it was impossible, for how could one girl do it to another girl-Then the stories she had heard whispered on-campus about Lesbians flashed across her mind-to haunt her. "Oh, no!" she gasped. "No-not that!"
"Not-what?" he asked, apparently perplexed.
"I gotta go home, Roily," she said in a pleading tone of voice.
He stepped back from her angrily. Then he shot a tight fist into her face. As blood dripped from her mouth her eyes went wild with fright.
"You stupid little bitch," he snarled. "No cunt ever walks out on me. And you're not gonna be the first."
"You're a beast!"
"A sex-beast," he corrected.
"I'm frightened of you. If you don't let me get out of this cottage, I'll-I'll phone the police."
He smashed his fist into her face the second time, knocking her over onto the bed.
"Police!" he snarled. "Don't ever say that again-or I'll kill you!"
The girl on the bed was tugging slowly, aimlessly at her sprawling blonde hair. She started muttering: "Roily, go get a bus-goin' to take ride to heaven-oh! Oh! Keep walls from jumpin' at me, Roily. Walls won't stand still."
Wanda was staring at the girl, so close beside her on the bed. Then she glared accusingly at her abductor. "That's what that awful marijuana does to people."
"You'll find out soon enough."
Wanda gulped hard and her eyes went wide with fright. "No, no, no! I'll never take that stuff!"
"You'll do every goddam' thing I say, you stupid little bitch."
She began to sob. "You were so nice on the beach-"
He grunted. "That was the beach. Now we're here."
He pulled out a switch-blade and snapped the blade into place. "Don't give me any arguments from now on, Wanda."
Still sobbing, she stared hard at the blade. "You wouldn't dare."
"I'll dare any damned thing. Nobody tells me what to do."
"You're a coward-taking advantage of girls not as strong as you."
He shook the blade at her warningly. "Now listen, bitch! First you mention police, now it's coward. One more insult out of you and I'll carve you so's you'll always remember."
The look in his eyes told her that he meant every word, and so she shut up. She knew she was in a bad fix. She knew now that her parents were right. They had always been right when they warned her about going with strange boys. And always she had considered them nagging, old fashioned. She had always believed that she could take care of herself. Now she knew the truth-that no girl had a chance against a devil like Roland. And he was not the only one-these days. There were many boys and young men-and girls, too-who were crazy with dope and defiant of social order. This was anarchy; revolution. Too many kids thought they were above the law and decency. They wanted their own way, and many of them were reckless enough to take their own way regardless of potential consequences.
Wanda shuddered heavily as she sat up on the bed, propped by one shaking hand. In this cottage ... so very close to civilization, yet so very far away from it for she knew well enough that she dared not yell out for help. She knew she would not have a chance to make a dash out the front doorway. This young man was a demon, and he would have his way with her body no matter what was done to him in punishment, later. He didn't give a damn about law and order-Of course, she realized that one day he would fall, like most of them did. That is, the law would catch up with him-and maybe he would burn. The death penalty was still being enforced in the state of California-But what good would that do her, if he ruined her face and body. And with that gleaming knife-blade, he might just start carving-She must be careful what she said to him from now on.
Roland produced a marijuana cigarette. He stuck it in his mouth and lit it. Drawing on it twice, he handed it to her. "Smoke," he commanded sharply.
Wanda took it. She knew better than to refuse him, and maybe one marijuana cigarette would not harm her-
When she drew on it gingerly he snapped, "Smoke it, you stupid little idiot. Smoke like you meant it." He smiled thinly. "It will send you, baby-into a hush-hush dream-world."
She knew why he wanted her to smoke it. She would be really helpless when she was floundering on the bed in a stupor like the other girl was doing-and then he could do anything he desired with her body. Wanda whimpered as she realized how careless she had been in picking up with a stranger on the beach. She had been very foolish, and now she might pay for her mistake with her life. She thought of her robust father. He was forty, and a carpenter. Even at his age he could make mincemeat out of Roily. He was tall and his muscles were hard. And he had been an amateur boxer in the navy. If only her father knew of her predicament, nothing could stop him from getting hold of Roily and making him wish he had never met a girl named Wanda. But her father was not here. He was working on a building project in another town, south of Los Angeles.
Roily was taking off his clothes. Wanda had to turn away, for never before had she seen a man totally naked, and it sickened her. Already she was feeling the effects of the marijuana smoke, and that sickened her also. She was afraid she was going to vomit right on the bed and so she made a move to get up.
"No you don't!" Roily snapped. He threw his body onto her and, before she realized what he was doing, he had pushed his stiff penis into her vagina. It pained frightfully, and she soon felt wet between her legs. She wondered if it was blood-
"You're a good screw," he told her as he panted over his own exercise. "Nice and tight. Maybe you really are a virgin." He paused to glance down at the connection between the two of them. "You sure as hell are. I got blood on my prick."
"I'm getting very sick," she pleaded. "Please let me up."
"Not now, baby. Not till I come."
"But, my stomach. I can't help-" Suddenly she raised up and turned her head. She retched twice, and then the sourness from her nausea spilled onto the bed.
He struck her hard. Full in the face. "You goddam' bitch," he growled. "Right on the bed you gotta vomit!"
He pulled out of her and stood up beside the bed. He scowled at her a moment, and then he turned away and went into the bathroom. Returning with a wet bath towel he cleaned up the mess, and said, "You're nothin'. Can't take a little grass and a screw. Jesus, what a jerk."
"Please let me go home."
He struck her again. Then he growled, "I'm sick and fed up with both of you cunts."
When she saw the menacing glare in his eyes Wanda caught her breath. Instinct told her she was in real danger. She leaped from the bed, but he caught her in his arms and threw her roughly atop the body of the girl.
As his eyes lit up wildly, he said, "Say! There's something I ain't never done before-I wonder just how much bruising the human skull can take?"
Grabbing Wanda by the hair he knocked her skull against that of the other girl. He kept knocking them together. No screams came out of either girl, for they were numb with fear and bruising. When there no longer was any movement from either body Roily sat at the edge of the bed, lit a marijuana cigarette, and puffed slowly while he gazed at the two lifeless bodies.
"Funny thing," he murmured. "Life and death are so goddam near to each other-and the human body ain't nothin' but something real flimsy. Imagine-them girls not being able to take a head-butting."
As his glazing gaze fell upon the crotch of Wanda he began panting. "Well, I've never done sex to a corpse, either. Maybe it will be a thrill."
He spread Wanda's legs and dropped his face to her crotch. His tongue lapped hungrily, and he felt himself developing a hard-on as he sucked on the lips of her vagina. Then, without taking his mouth away from her vagina, he cast an eye at the lifeless body of the other girl and was newly inspired. He stretched out his right hand and sank his index finger into her vagina and commenced vigorously masturbating the vaginal lips. He was panting heavily now, and semen was beginning to drip from his erected penis. Then he shot his load and felt the creamy substance spread over the bedsheet.
He changed his position, and then he pulled Wanda's body around until her feet were alongside the other girl's head. He rammed his hard-on into the other girl's vagina and then commenced sucking on Wanda's left breast. It was not long before he was enjoying his second orgasm.
Finally he rolled away from both corpses and murmured, "I guess I'll just keep these two lovely stiffs on the bed for a few days. Fuck them and suck them every day and night-yeah, and sleep with them, too! That will be a new thrill-"
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BEAST IN THE MIND
It can be disputed-whether a child is born with a criminal mind, or a sex-beast mind, or whether such a mental status develops as a consequence of circumstances, personal experiences, and the light-or shadows-of environment. No doubt a person born in darkness could easily develop dark thoughts. On the other hand, the world has read the personal accounts of persons born blind who led angelic lives. Therefore, as in the case of all things, it is difficult to set a standard rule by which anyone may be measured. 'What is one man's meat is another man's poison'-and so it is with the standardization of rules. A dark environment will produce crime and the nature of a beast in one adolescent, when his very next door neighbor-a child of his own age, suffering the same misery of environment-may become an honorable celebrity. Abraham Lincoln, born and bred in a cabin, certainly had little or no advantages, yet he became president of the United States. From the slums of New York City and other great cities throughout the world have come tycoons of business, artists, writers, and others of honorable note. At the same time those same slums have bred criminals of the worst sort-including sex-beasts whose passion was the destruction of innocent young girls.
Renscall was one of the latter. Born in the cheapest and most dangerous section of a New York slum, he grew up to hate life and all that it had deprived him of via the poverty of his parents. So many times he had strolled down Broadway and Fifth Avenue, gazing longingly and wonderingly at the magic goodies in the great store windows-forever reminded that these were designed and manufactured for people who lived in a different world than his own; a world of finance and success.
The experience twisted his mind. Instead of inspiring him to make something of himself, and thereby acquire the riches needed to purchase fine things, he grew bitter and morose. He swore to himself that if he could not own such things, then no one else had the right to own the-and so began the seed miserably planted in his mind which was to grow and engulf his chance at logic; to instill in his brain a hatred for rich people and pretty girls. Oh, yes! Pretty girls were also guilty in his way of thinking, for they too possessed something which was beyond his purchasing power.
A glance at the square shoulders and determined chins of the men in the city convinced him that he should not tackle them-to punish somebody for what life had cheated him of. No, he was not a strong young man, nor was he a fighter. Therefore, he would need to take out revenge on pretty girls, for they could not fight back-and he would be a match for those girls who did attempt to ward off his attacks.
The thoughts of Satan lingered in Renscall's mind for the next two years. His bitterness simmered, but he took no action until the day he was eighteen. Then, he considered himself a man-and ready for action! The action necessary to relieve his conscience of the terrible load it carried; a load of hate and a desire for revenge upon the world for having cast him into a poor family, in a poor and shabby neighborhood.
Renscall was of slender build and slightly less than average height. His shoulders were undeveloped, and his gray eyes lacked aliveness. He wore his sleek black hair almost to shoulder-length and his stride was that of an indifferent man. He had come to the point in his life when his mind dwelled on but two things; neither one of them productive. He wanted revenge for his station in life, and he wanted sex. He had read somewhere about brute-sex, and so he decided that was the kind he desired. Any girl who would willingly give her charm to him, was out. He didn't want any of that at all. No, he wanted to force his hard-on into girl's vaginas and listen to them sob and plead for mercy. Yes, that would make him feel superior-feel truly important. And so-he looked for his first victim.
If Renscall had had sex-luck with his first intended victim, perhaps he might have softened a little; developed sympathy for unguarded innocent girls. But Sarah was a little hellcat, and the beating she gave him caused him to grow more bitter and vengeful than before. It was on a sunny afternoon, when he was wandering through the spacious and elaborately appointed ground floor of one of New York's gigantic department stores, that he spotted her. She was slender, like himself, and she was exceptionally neat in appearance. Standing behind the glove counter she was smiling, courteous to customers, and soft-spoken. That appealed to Renscall, for she impressed him as a girl who would be easy to handle-and he there and then determined that he would initiate his sex-beast desire upon this girl.
He was ragged and looked like he did not have the cash to purchase gloves for his mother, as he had told her he wanted to. But she was courteous and considerate of him, nevertheless. And when he wandered away from the counter and waited for more than an hour for quitting time, he promised himself that she would feel the rough treatment of his erected penis.
She came out in the horde of clerks, and he followed her. She took the subway, and so did he. She got off the subway, and he followed her to a cheap rooming house. It was not difficult to learn her room number and, after she had been in it for a few minutes, he knocked lightly on her door.
She did not recognize him although he briefly related their conversation at the glove counter. She explained that in a day's work she talked to so many people-but if he thought enough of her to follow her home, she would give him a cup of coffee and then send him on his way.
That was Sarah's mistake!
But how was she to know that he was a fool, and a would-be sex-beast? People were so deceiving in their appearances-
She had a two-burner portable stove atop the dresser, and the combination of living room and bedroom, also served as the eating place. Seated at a small kitchen table braced against the wall which contained the window overlooking the East River, she listened to his brief account of life in the slums.
She shrugged. "So what, Renscall? Many great men have risen from slums. You're no different-and you can make something of yourself if you have the desire strong enough."
It was good advice, but he was not in the market for good advice. He only wished to cater to his hates, to glean revenge on the world for his miserable living plight. But he did not tell her that-
"Sarah," he said determinedly as he gazed at her soft and silky mouse-brown hair and blue eyes, "I am going to fuck you."
Although she gave every indication of good breeding, she did not suddenly blush and fidget nervously-as nice girls are supposed to do. Instead, and quite surprisingly, she laughed rudely. Then the sweetness in her face disappeared and there was a glance of scorn confronting him.
"Stupid!" she exclaimed.
The word cut through his pride. He was not in the mood to be criticized. "How dare you say that!" It was not a question, but a sharp reprimand.
"You are stupid," she insisted. "Any man with tact would never dream of going on the make so crudely. A girl, even when she desires a man, wants to be approached romantically."
"I'm not the type," he said with a short grunt.
"I can see that. I'll bet you have one hell of a time persuading a girl to lay you."
Again she had cut his pride.
He glared at her. "I said I am going to fuck you-and since you have been brutal in your criticism of me, I may just make that screw very rough."
She laughed outright. "Not a chance, buster. You've got as much chance reaching my pussy as some bum on the street-and you just about look like a bum, yourself."
For the third time now, she had cut deep into his ego. He was fuming, and with his rage up came his erection. It was burning in his pants, and so no matter what she had said, he was going to stick his prick into her cunt if it was the last thing he ever did.
Standing up beside the table he glared at her a long moment. She was looking up at him in challenge; she was daring him to make a move-and so he did.
He grabbed her in his arms and slobbered kisses over her face and neck. A moment later he felt something sting his stomach. He drew back, screaming. "Oh, my God! What have you done to me?"
In triumph she held up a long steel hatpin.
"See?" she said amusedly. It lays on the window sill, right handy when I sit in this chair, facing a male stranger."
He glanced down at his shirt, just above his pants belt. He saw blood. "You stuck me with that thing," he growled.
"Sure, buster. Sarah doesn't let any man get the best of her."
"You're cruel."
"You're a would-be sex-beast. I can spot 'em every time." She laughed at him again. "The conceit of men like you tickles me. It's all so stupidly absurd."
The fourth insult!
Renscall was bursting with rage. He glanced quickly around the room. When he spotted a small table lamp he leaped toward it. As he grabbed it and came towards her, Sarah snapped, "Put it down!"
He put it down-over her head.
Sarah slumped to the floor beside the table and remained motionless.
Her dress had slipped up over her thighs and Renscall stared hungrily at her shapely legs. Then he yanked down the zipper to his pants and allowed his erection to pop out. Dropping to his knees he mounted her torso and pushed his stiff penis into her vagina, shoving the lacy panties aside. He felt triumphant; he was getting from her what he wanted. "So, I won't get into your pussy?" he said excitedly. "Well, baby-you've met your master. You've met-Renscall!"
He continued his fornication while she was unconscious from the blow on the head. And when he had experienced two orgasms, he lay motionless atop of her, his erection still inside of her.
Sarah slowly lifted one hand to her head and felt the large bump on her scalp. Then her eyes opened and she stared at him a long moment while her senses returned to inform her of what had happened, and what was happening. Then she murmured, "So-you got it. You did fuck me."
Renscall grinned his triumph. "I am your master, Sarah."
Scorn filled her gaze. "Master!" she grunted. "You couldn't be the master of a fly."
"Don't say that. I conquered you."
"No you didn't. The table lamp did the conquering. Without that weapon, you wouldn't have gotten to first base-and you know it. Now take your filthy prick out of me and let me up. I need coffee."
Slowly he lifted himself away from her. He went to the sink and washed while she moved slowly, staggering a little, to the coffee pot on the two-burner stove. She did not pour a cup of coffee for him; just one for herself. It was good and hot as she poised the large white cup in one hand and stared at him. There was a coldness in her eyes, and scorn was again evident in her facial expression.
"You didn't pour coffee for me," he said quietly.
"You-want a cup?" He nodded.
She lifted the cup and dashed the hot stuff full in his face. Renscall screamed with pain. "You've-blinded me!" he gasped.
"And that isn't all you're going to get, buster."
She banged the heavy cup down on his head four times without pausing. As Renscall lifted both hands to his head while he gasped with pain, Sarah lifted one knee and caught him in the crotch.
"Oh, my God!" Renscall screamed.
"Maybe that will put your nuts and your lousy prick in storage for a while," she cried. "You punks think you're so goddam almighty-Girls like me have it all mapped out what to do-And from now on, buster, you punks on Broadway are going to discover that sweet-talking young girls are not necessarily easy marks for your stupid sex-lust!"
She was panting with the excitement of her triumph. She was feeling grand, and the light in her eyes showed that she was delighted that she had had a chance to show a punk what life would really be like-from now on!
Sarah began working on him with her fists. She pounded his face, his ears, his head. Then she commenced pommeling his body with both fists, working down toward his belt. Then she gave him one swift kick in the crotch and, while he was screaming with pain, she yanked open the hall door and pushed him roughly through the entrance. "Let that be a lesson to you," she snarled. "Maybe the next time you meet a decent girl-you'll know how to act."
That was the end of Renscall's synthetic triumph over an ordinary girl trying to make a decent living for herself by working hard in a department store.
The manager of the rooming house took one look at the crumpled figure in the hallway, and then she called an ambulance.
Tillie was a female sex-beast. Even during her teens, she had felt a violent urge to torment boys by abusing them sexually. It was difficult for her to get started on her sadistic binge, for her father was a minister and she had been taught everything the Bible stated was good, and bad. Secretly, during Sunday school lessons, she enjoyed a sexual thrill from learning about Satan and why he had been cast out of Heaven. She admired the red devil, and alone in her bedroom at night she would picture herself strolling down the main street of this, her home town, with none other than Satan himself. That would be a triumph, for she had no desire to be good.
Her father seemed to sense her strange attitude because one Sunday afternoon, while they were walking home from the small church where he presided over Satan, he said to her: "Tillie-I am sorely worried about you. I think you have a tendency to be a very bad girl."
Tillie never forgot that remark. It pleased her, and she was delighted that he had guessed her secret for then he would suffer with worry about her future. She wanted to make people suffer. When she knew about someone suffering because of something she had done, she got a strange feeling deep in her crotch.
Tillie blossomed into a beautiful girl when she was seventeen. Golden strands of hair graced her head and shoulders in long rolls which resembled the waves of a golden sea. Her challenging green eyes sparkled every second of her waking moments; sparkled with the joy of living. But her pretty mouth turned down at the corners, obviously in defiance of what the so-called "nice people" said was wrong, and wicked. Those two words bugged her. Wrong and wicked! That's what she wanted from life-to be grossly wrong, and flamboyantly wicked. Then she would feel triumphant.
She experimented with sex when she finally got up enough courage to run a finger down to her clitoris and play with it. She found it necessary to do it twice before she experienced an orgasm. After that, it was easy. And when she confided in two girls at church about what she had done, and learned that they, too, had discovered the mystery of sex between their legs, she asked them about boys. Did they, too, play with themselves until creamy stuff came out of them? When the girls assured her that boys did do this, she developed a burning desire to see a boy masturbate. She had just learned the word, and now she would always describe the act correctly.
Alice said, "Sure, you can watch a boy do it. My kid brother and I do it together every Saturday night when Pop and Mom go to their social shindig with the Irish Club."
The following Saturday night Tillie joined Alice and her brother, "Stacey, in Alice's bedroom. The three of them stripped. Then they climbed onto the bed. As Stacey started masturbating his big penis, which was overly developed for a boy of eighteen, Tillie knocked his hand away. "Let me do it to you," she said excitedly. And so while Alice stretched face up across the foot of the bed, turning her head to watch the action and simultaneously masturbating herself, Tillie sat beside Stacey's stretched out body and worked his erection with her right hand.
A few moments later she tired of playing with his penis, and she felt a tremendous desire to bite it. She shuddered with shame-probably she was the only girl in the world who had ever thought of taking a boy's thing into her mouth. She had not read about the Roman sex orgies, and she knew little about modern day sexual deviations. At least, she had never heard of kissing a boy's thing and she began wondering if she had a screw loose in her upper story. Maybe she was crazy! And if she did try such a terrible thing, what would Alice and Stacey think of her? Maybe they would tell her that she was possess of the devil-but that was exactly what she wanted people to think!
Suddenly, Tillie became completely possessed with her desire, and she dropped her head and let her lips fall over Stacey's erection. He let out a great groan of pleasure, and he gasped, "Oh, Tillie! That that's real wonderful! I've never had that before-gee! What made you think of it?"
Tillie sucked hard, and she heard Alice saying, "What's it taste like, Tillie? Is it-real exciting?"
Tillie was too busy to reply, but Alice got her answer in the continued groans of her brother. Now he was gasping-then he suddenly grabbed Tillie's golden strands of hair with both hands and pushed her face into his own pubic hair. He was having his orgasm, and Tillie did not pull away. She drank it, and even after it was out of him she kept her lips around the base of it.
Finally, she lifted her head. She was staring dazedly, wonderingly, at Alice's crotch which was slowly being massaged with one slender finger on Alice's right hand. Tillie then took a deep breath. "I'll show you how good it feels," she whispered. She covered the space between them quickly and then sank her face between the girl's legs. As Tillie worked her tongue wildly into the girl's vagina, Alice groaned with pleasure like her brother had done.
Stacey had. been resting on his back with his penis still stiffly erected. Then suddenly he came alive again. He rolled over atop Tillie's back and rammed his erection into her vagina from the rear. Now the three of them were working together, grunting and groaning, and growing more and more excited.
When Stacey had finished with his fornication he wanted to trade places with Tillie. He sank his face between his sister's legs and performed cunnilingus upon her.
A few moments later Tillie suggested that they all lie on their sides and form a chain, each sucking on the privates of the person ahead of him, or her. They tried it-and they discovered a new thrill.
Did Zinjanthropus and Pithecanthropus do this to their females? We will never know ... Zinjanthropus having lived one million and seven hundred and fifty thousand years ago; Pithecanthropus was walking about on earth three hundred and sixty thousand years ago-but perhaps homo sapiens, who only goes back fifty thousand years, had learned the tricks of sucking, and practiced them.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MASTURBATION CLUB
It was quite a club. While its purpose was for masturbating, the ten boys and girls who belonged to it never mentioned it by name. Ranging from ages sixteen to eighteen, they were new in the sex business and they were still frightened that they might be caught and catch hell from their parents. However, their leader-who headed basketball at their school-assured them all that they were "grown up," and it really didn't make a damned bit of difference what their parents thought-or found out.
Hal B-was the defiant one. He was red headed with blue eyes which defied anyone to cross him. He was husky and he was determined, and he had already screwed eight different girls. But for some strange reason it was masturbation which thrilled him the most. And that was why he formed the masturbation club. One boy on campus said that if he preferred self-pleasure to self-and-girl pleasure he must have a screw loose.
When Hal heard about the remark he beat up the speaker until he had no desire ever to make a crack about the school's basketball star again.
It was not difficult to find boys and girls who would like to join his group because most of the kids in his school were still a little bit skittish about starting out a sex life on their own. Proper breeding, and tall tales from parents and teachers about the dastardly results of a promiscuous sex-life had made most of them hold back.
Lucy was one who was not afraid. She was a striking blonde with dancing brown eyes and two breasts which stuck out like the headlights on a brand new sports roadster. And she was, indeed, a sports roadster-having taken on six boys from the campus by the time she was sixteen. Then when Hal propositioned her about the masturbating club she thought it would be quite a novelty-playing with herself in the presence of a group doing likewise. And so Lucy did join the club, and then she helped Hal organize and recruit.
Hal found an abandoned old barn on the edge of town. It was away from everything because the town had developed northward, and the barn was south. A large field of weeds surrounded the place and, at night, the kids could drive their jalopies up to the barn and park, and the cars were not likely to be seen from the nearby highway.
Hal made it a rule-although he doubted if he could enforce it-that in his group there would be little or no screwing; just masturbation. After all, he did have to uphold the theme of the club or it would lose its romantic purpose. That first night of assembly, the first night of three holidays which were to run together on the calendar, he brought his bunch together. They entered the old barn quietly and then stripped to the skin. Piling their clothing in an old horse feed-bin, they stretched out on the fresh straw which Hal had spread on the floor just beyond the four horse-stalls, and then while he fingered his erection, he gave them a brief lecture on the purpose of the club.
"Boys take hold of their own peckers," he instructed, his eyes brightening with the devilment of the situation. "Girls stick a finger in their cunts."
A little gingerly the five boys and five girls did as he had instructed. And then the initial masturbation act began. Amid the grunts and groans of pleasure, the deep sighs when orgasms were reached, Hal smiled happily. It was thrilling to watch others doing what he was doing to himself, and it was thrilling to be a new kind of leader. Being the star of the basketball team had become boring; he needed a new kind of thrill-and now he was getting it.
When he had finished playing with himself, Lucy came over to him and said, "Let me jack you off, Hal."
"I don't know as you can-so soon. I just had me a come, as you saw."
"I wanna play with the pretty thing."
"Okay, baby-"
Lucy was a calendar-picture with her flowing blondish hair and creamy white skin. She squatted beside his naked body and, while he leaned his head back against the wall of the barn, her nimble fingers slithered up and down his stout erection. The others, who had experienced orgasms and were resting, watched the action. There were pleased smiles on their faces and it was plainly evident that to them Hal was some-kind-of-a-something to worship. A star in basketball made him a king on-campus, and kings are most generally choosy in selecting friends. And so it really was an honor to be elected a member to his select circle of friends. And now-to watch this great campus hero being sexually treated by one of the prettiest girls on-campus, was a double feature.
Nearby, a good looking boy was hugging and kissing Stella who, like himself, was only seventeen. It was plainly evident that Eddie wanted to stick his thing in her cunt. They whispered together between kisses, and kept casting worried glances over at Hal. Finally, Eddie called over, "Hey, Hal! What's the matter with fuckin'? Can't Stella and me pull off a piece while Lucy is jacking you off?"
Hal was beginning to get a big thrill out of what Lucy was doing to him, but he wanted to stick to the rules-He called back, "No. Rules of the club, you know."
"But, Hal," Stella whimpered, "I got an itch in my pussy for Eddie's thing. I wanna feel it way up inside of me."
"No," Hal said a little stiffly.
"Aw, nuts," Eddie grumbled. "We can still do what the club wants us to do-an' throw in a little fuckin' on the side."
"No," Hal repeated.
Lucy stopped massaging his penis a moment to tell him, "Aw, be a good sport, Hal. Let 'em fuck. What's the diff?"
Hal shrugged. "Oh-all right. But remember, kids-every time we have a meet we gotta open the session with masturbating."
The kids were gleeful. "Sure, Hal! Yeah-that's swell. But after we've all masturbated ourselves, then we can do anything else we want?"
Hal nodded slowly. After all, a king had to be good to his subjects or he might lose their loyalty. "Oh, I suppose so-"
That was the magic spark that set off the group. Four boys and four girls teamed up and commenced wildly fornicating. That left Frankie without a female because Lucy was busy with the boss. But Frankie was a dark-haired, dark-eyed boy of eighteen who had already developed a certain boldness which could push him along in whatever endeavour he entered. He approached Hal and Lucy and then, dropping to his knees, he ran his cock into Lucy's vagina via the rear route. "Don't mind if I fuck your girl while she's playing with you, do you, Hal?"
Hal did not answer. He scowled at Frankie, but he could not deny him the pleasure he had granted the others.
Lucy was giggling. "This is fun. Say, Hal-want me to suck you off?"
"Okay, okay-but this shoots the theme of the club all to hell."
Poising her mouth over his erection, Lucy said, "No it doesn't, Hal. We'll still follow your new rule: Masturbation before anything else." Then she dropped her mouth over his penis and began sucking it vigorously.
From then on, everything went. The group seemingly did not need a book of instruction regarding sexual deviations, despite their youth and inexperience. Things just seemed to be happening naturally, and Hal was a little disappointed. He had just planted an orgasm in Lucy's mouth, and now he was giving some thought to the success, or failure, of the new club. He wanted to keep it going; to recruit new members and make a big thing of it. That would make him "a big thing." A star on-campus in more ways than one.
Three hours later when the kids had climbed into their jalopies and were driving homeward, he and Lucy climbed into the front seat of his jalopy.
"Whadda ya think?" he asked in a tone of voice which suggested a premonition of defeat.
"I know what you mean, Hal. Maybe the club will bust all to hell because of what happened tonight."
"Lucy-do you think the idea of the club is, is wacky?"
"Well, not exactly. All the kids like to jack off. But they like the other ways also."
"Yeah, I know. Maybe we should just call it a sex-club and let 'em do exactly like they want to do."
"Might be a good idea."
"But I'm a stubborn guy. When I start something I like to see it make a big success."
"No reason why it should fail as a club, Hal. Keep insisting on the masturbating as an opener-that preserves the club's purpose."
"Yeah, Lucy. If they'll stick to it."
"Make 'em stick to it. The first kid who wants to do something else at the beginning of a meet-kick him out of the club."
"Sure, we could do that-"
Hal lit himself a cigarette and puffed on it slowly for more than a minute before he said, "Lucy-while you were going down on me and that punk was screwing you, I had a strange urge."
"What kind of an urge, Hal?"
"I-I wanted to hurt somebody."
"Me?"
"Not necessarily."
"The punk who was screwing me from behind?"
"I don't know-I just had that feeling like maybe I'm turning into a sex-beast or something."
Lucy started to giggle. "Cave man stuff."
He turned and grinned at her. "Rememberin' that course we took last year about the evolution of man?"
"Anthropology."
"Yeah. All about Pithecanthropus who lived about three hundred and sixty thousand years ago."
"And much later-the Neanderthal man and the Cro-magnon man."
"Yeah-the sex-beasts of their time."
"How do you know they were sex-beasts, Hal?"
"Stands to reason. Human nature has always been the same. And many men today are sex-beasts."
"Everything else is changed, but people still have the same original traits."
"Yeah, Lucy. Like hate and love, generosity and greed-"
"Consideration and brutality."
"Some people are sadists. They want to hurt other people. That's how I felt tonight." He cleared his throat nervously. "Lucy-do you suppose I'm a sadist and never knew it?"
"I guess anything is possible with any person. Maybe you are."
"But I've never wanted to hurt you, Lucy."
"Maybe some day I'll say, or do something, that'll make you wanna hurt me."
"I doubt it. I'm nuts about you."
"Men who have been deeply in love with their wives have been known to beat the hell out of cm. You read that kind of stuff in the newspapers all the time."
"I know. But I never dreamed I could be like that. Not until I had that strange urge tonight would I have believed it possible of myself."
A full moon was casting its light across the field and upon their faces. Lucy saw a twisted expression on Hal's face, and worried about it. She had never known brutality, and she had always imagined that if any man ever abused her she would beat him with her fists. Even kick him in the nuts, if necessary. She was crazy about Hal-It's not every girl that gets to go with a basketball star, but if Hal turned out to be a sadist and started abusing her-Well, she wasn't quite sure what she would do. If he hurt her physically, she didn't think she would stand by and take it. That was not her nature.
It was more than a week later that the group again gathered in the barn and stripped down to their skins. Hal and Lucy, Eddie and Stella, and Frankie and Margie, and the others. Counting their leader, there were eleven in all.
They commenced to masturbate as they leaned against posts, the barn wall, and sacks of feed strewn about the place. They were all of them facing one another so that they could become sexually inspired by watching others doing what they were doing.
When the masturbating was over the kids started their session of fornicating, and then came the fellatio and cunnilingus. Lucy was again playing with Hal's erected penis, but he was not getting as big a kick out of it as he had gotten the first time. His eyes fell upon a dust-covered old buggy whip which stood in one stall, and he began to wonder about it. The more he stared at it the stronger grew the urge to hurt somebody. The feeling frightened him. He had never been a brute. He had always been fair in his dealings with people. He simply could not envision himself as a sadist, and yet the desire to hurt someone continued to prey upon his mind; actually, to torment him. Instinct told him that the only way he could rid himself of the pressure the urge was giving his conscience, was to put it into operation.
Hal stood up and strolled into the stall. He picked up the whip and examined it. He shook it free of its coating of dust and then he lashed the tip of it across the wall of the stall. The whip handle felt good in his hand. He glanced at the sex action going on around him, and decided to try out his urge. Walking over to a naked boy who was pumping hard atop the girl called Margie, he suddenly brought the whip's lash down across the boy's shoulders.
"Ouch! Goddamit, Hal! Whadda ya think you're doing?" Steve gasped.
Hal stared down at the thin-haired, slenderly built boy of seventeen and grinned. "Psychologists say that a whiplash will augment the sex urge."
"Well try it on yourself, then. I'm damned if it made me any hotter."
The sex action had suddenly stopped because of the ruckus about the whip, and now all eyes were on Hal, as the kids wondered where he would lay the whip next.
It angered Hal that the kid should resent a light tap of the whip. This kid needed a lesson. He needed to know that when Hal said he was their sex-leader he meant exactly that; and so Hal laid the whip hard across the kid's chest.
"Damn you-you sonofabitch!"
Steve should not have said that-
Angered more than before, Hal brought the whip down several times, and Steve was screaming with pain.
Hal glanced about the assemblage. "Let it be known," he said stiffly, "that I'm your leader. What I say goes."
The rest of the boys showed resentment of Hal, and sympathy for Steve. Lucy put her arms around Hal when he slumped down beside her still holding the whip. "Go easy with this bunch," she cautioned. "Nobody wants to be a slave."
"I didn't say they were slaves."
"The whip says so. Don't get them afraid of you, Hal."
"Nuts. This is my club. Anybody who doesn't like how I run it can clear out."
"But if one or two do clear out, they might talk. You know-on the campus. You don't want the word spread around too freely about this club. There's the police, the parents, the teachers-"
"Nuts to all that. I'm not afraid of anyone. If I was a coward I wouldn't have gotten where I am in basketball."
"Please take it easy with that whip, Hal. Why don't you let go of it? Throw it away."
Hal did not like the suggestion. "Stand up!" he commanded.
Shaking a little, Lucy stood up. Without leaving his sitting position Hal lashed out with the whip. It left a red line across her torso. She whimpered a little, but she did not budge. But across the area of the barn Eddie said, "Lay off with that whip, Hal."
Hal glared at him. "It's none of your gaddam business what I do to Lucy."
"She's human. I'm beginning to doubt that you are."
Hal leaped up. He crossed the room in three bounds and brought the whip savagely across Eddie's face. It was then that the other boys closed in and laid their fists heavily upon him.
Hal lashed out violently with the whip, catching the face or body of first one and then the other of the attackers.
Steve grabbed a heavy water bucket and slammed it against the side of Hal's face. When Hal screamed with pain the boys laughed.
"Big shot!" Frankie hollered. "Big basketball hero-can't take a water bucket."
Lucy was frightened. Hurriedly she climbed into her clothes and signaled the other girls to do the same. Then they cleared out of the barn while the boys were beating up on their leader. In a few minutes it was all over. The boys and girls leaped into their jalopies and pulled out for safe-and-saner territory.
Lucy was alone with Hal when she discovered that he was dead. The masturbation club and its leader had come to a sudden closing, and Lucy shuddered as she recalled the lectures at home and in school that he had heard about getting mixed up with sexual deviates-especially, sex-beasts.
Tony had hair on his chest like a gorilla, and he was proud of it because he had found that many girls preferred a hairy man. He was only nineteen, and yet he had already developed a muscular physique which attracted attention, and much admiration, wherever he went. He liked that. It gave him a sense of importance. His new girl friend liked it. She had dark hair and dark eyes like himself, and she looked as passionate and as fond of sexual roughness as he did. At least, that was the way he had her pictured in his mind the night he called at her house. Her parents were gone for the evening, she told him, and so they could do just about anything they wanted to.
No invitation could be plainer than that, Tony reasoned, and so he went into the bedroom ahead of her. "Come on in and strip," he commanded.
Myra did as instructed. He glanced at her beautiful body and grew a quick erection. He knocked her to the bed without another word and rammed his penis into her vagina. Grunting loudly he pumped himself up an exciting sex-seance, and he was delighted that she was just as excited. She was gasping and panting and crying for him to give her more-and faster.
Myra grew excited when she had her first orgasm, and she bit his lower lip until it bled.
Tony paused in his sex action to wipe the blood from his mouth, and to slap her hard. Rage flared in her black eyes and she cried, "You slap me, you pig! I slap you right back!" She carried out her threat, and then Tony demonstrated his rage by banging her head with his two closed fists.
Myra swore at him. She spit in his face. Then she yanked her body free of the pressure on it made by his heavy and hairy body.
Tony yelled, "Goddam' you. I ain't through fuckin' yet."
She stood up in the small bedroom glaring at him. "You're through. Now get out of here-and don't never come back!"
Tony came off the bed like a cyclone, his erection hard and poking at her crotch.
"Screw me while I'm standing-never!" she hollered. "Get on your clothes and pull out!"
Tony was furious. "You don't let a man come. That's stinko."
"You're a stinko lover. Pull out. I mean it, Tony-you bastard."
"Nobody calls Tony a bastard." He grabbed a chair, raised it high and brought it down over her head. As the girl slumped to the floor unconscious Tony fell upon her and stuck his erection back where it had been before the interruption.
Tony hated the girl. Slapping him, biting his lip, and then spitting in his face. He decided to punish her and so he gave her the roughest screwing he had ever given any girl. He was delighted when he felt blood wetting his cock, and knew that she had been hurt by it. "That'll teach you to get rough with Tony," he said to the unconscious girl. "Nobody gonna get rough with Tony."
He kept up his sexual intercourse with her for as long as his body would stand the gaff. And then when he was exhausted he went into the bathroom and cleansed himself. Then slowly he drew on his pants and got into his shirt.
Pausing in the doorway he glanced down at her spread legs and saw that she was bleeding profusely. "Go ahead, bitch," he said. "Bleed to death. Maybe you never again mess with Tony."
CHAPTER TWENTY
CONCLUSION
The word beast comes from the Latin bestia, and the dictionary defines the word as: 'Any four-footed animal ... the animal nature in man."
Therefore, man is a beast! Add sex to his primitive instincts, and we come up with sex-beast! Of course there are many granduations in all things-fair, mild, moderate, extreme. In music, the volume of sound is defined as: Pianissimo (very soft); piano (soft); forte (strong, or loud); and fortissimo (very loud). So, comparing the threat, or lack of it, in man's animal nature, we come up with sex-beasts who are mild in their boldness, or violent enough to become a menace to society. But the sex-beast is there in the bosom of man-in one degree or another.
This was the reasoning of Allesandro, renowned pianist. He could not help comparing man's disposition to the music he loved so dearly. Seated at his piano he would play softly until his wandering thoughts floated in the ether around him to matters of sex. He discovered that as he developed an erection while performing on the piano, he would pound the keys-sometimes, violently. Then he knew it was time that he attended to his sexual appetites.
When he was twenty-one, and already at the peak of success as a concert pianist in Rome, he was inspired to compose a sonata to honor the beauty of Venus de Milo-Italian goddess of bloom and beauty, protectress of gardens, who became identified with the Greek Aphrodite. He worshipped her as he played his music because, to him, in representing the beauty of womanhood she automatically represented the beauty in tone-and so, this lovely Sunday morning in Paris, he strolled through the heavily inhabited area in search of a girl whom he could consider an equal in physical values to his beloved Venus.
It was springtime, and Paris was alive with the joy of living. He had recently left Rome, believing that his quest would more likely be satiated in the city where beauty had always been a foregone conclusion. Not that Italian women were not beauties; but the swirling musical tones incessantly stirring his mind told him that a modern Venus would one day be seen walking in Paris.
He found her! Her name was Babbette-and so lovely was this seventeen-year-old girl that he lost no time in making her a proposition. Would she consider-for pay-moving to his chateau, and simply gracing his music-room with her presence in order to inspire him during his creation of his Venus, a Sonata.
Fate double-crossed this beautiful girl that Sunday morning, by causing her to agree to the proposition-little knowing that she would be risking her life. She had no way of knowing that her charm and beauty would arouse the sex-beast in this mild mannered pianist, and cause him to become violent and dastardly in his effort to satiate his mad sexual passion. A sexual madness that he, himself, did not know was capable of possessing him; of upsetting his sanity to the point where he would stop at nothing when Satanic sexual whims moved him to become a sex-beast of the worst sort.
Allesandro had not the slightest idea that he had become paranoic-chronic mental disorder marked by delusions of persecution and grandeur. Since early childhood, when he began fingering the keys of his mother's piano, he had suffered the harsh criticism of a father who believed that music was for girls and women; that a man should think of swords and money, and conquest with both. Through his growing years he had subconsciously felt the sting of his father's persecuting remarks, and at the same time visualized himself as a great pianist. The two conflicting trends of thought had caused combat to take over his sanity, and endanger his reason. And now, at twenty-one, the strain of constant practice at the piano, the pounding in his brains of musical phrases which he yearned to combine into composition, and his dream of a beautiful young girl who could inspire the writing of those compositions-all had combined to upset his normalcy.
The first day of Babbette's presence in his music-room gave him new energy. But soon it faded. It was not enough. Her presence lacked something, and he decided that nudity was necessary.
"But, no, monsieur!" she exclaimed when he expressed his new desire. "My clothes must remain upon my body."
Her remark had been quite emphatic. But he was equally emphatic. "You must disrobe in order that my composition may be born in my mind. I offer you double pay."
She was not a girl of rich parents, and so the double pay offer was a big temptation-and finally she agreed to comply with his bidding.
Allesandro sat again at his piano in the presence of the girl who was stretched out on a divan nearby. But still-there was something lacking-
Suddenly, Allesandro knew what it was. He leaped up and commenced ripping off his own clothing. He caught the look of embarrassment and fear in the girl's eyes, but he paid no attention to it. When she voiced her objection to his nudity he growled, "It's just a body I have. Not a monster's body-only a man's."
She said nothing more, lying there on the divan with her right arm poised along the hand-carved top of it and her shapely legs folded one over the other to more or less conceal her crotch.
Allesandro sat on the piano bench in the nude and glanced occasionally toward her while his nimble fingers played along the keyboard in search of a muscial phrase which would form the basis, or theme, of his new composition.
Still-something was lacking!
Should he force love and sex upon her? Would such incidents bring to life in his mind the fabulous musical phrases which he knew lie dormant in his phenomenal musical brain? No, it must be something in addtion to love and sex-
Suddenly, inspiration came to him. He ran out of the room and, from a small adjoining storeroom, he procured a narrow cot. Toting the cot into the music-room he placed it parallel to the keyboard. It was just the right height, he assured himself excitedly-
He commanded the girl to stretch out on the cot with her head in line with the bass notes of the keyboard; the left end as he faced the piano.
Reluctantly, Babbette complied stepping gingerly, hesitantly, as though a premonition of disaster had engulfed her.
When the girl was stretched out face up on the cot, Allesandro quickly dropped down upon-her and forced his erection into her vagina.
Babbette screamed. She clawed at his face with her long and sharp nails. For this, he slapped her roundly with both hands. As he commenced fornicating, Allesandro reached out with his right hand, and the fingers played with chords on the keyboard. Not once did he slacken his sexual pace while he kept his left hand beneath her head, clinging strongly to her sleek black hair in order to hold her in place. He dropped his mouth down to hers and commenced giving her a violent tongue treatment. This action muffled her cries of protest, the protest which tightened the muscles of her pretty face and brought the light of fright and rage into her lovely brown eyes.
Allesandro had not been with a woman for many months, for always his music took precedence over all other appetites. And so now his passion was extreme, and he experienced two orgasms in short order-but still he continued to run his penis in and out, in and out, as though a sex-demon possessed him, and he could not stop. Intermittently he would allow his fingers to fall upon the piano keys, desperately searching for the initial musical phrase which he longed to find. Which he must find! To him, in his paranoic way of thinking, that phrase was a matter of life or death. Venus de Milo must be honored as she never had been honored before, by all the great artists of the world who had striven to reproduce her on canvas in a way to make her a living thing in oil; a goddess to surpass all goddesses.
Finally, Allesandro had exhausted himself sexually, and he withdrew and left the cot. Repairing to an adjoining bathroom he cleansed himself, and then shuffled moodily back into the music-room.
Babbette had returned to the divan, her pretty mouth stretched into a tight and ugly line by her anger. Her eyes glared at him accusingly. Finally, she said. "You are a beast, monsieur!"
"Ridiculous!" he snapped back. "But how could I expect a simple minded wench like you to understand the turmoil in a great brain." He struck his naked chest several times with a closed fist and added, "I am a genius! Do you understand what that means-wench? I am a great artiste-and I am about to compose a fabulous sonata to honor, like I told you when we first met-to honor the beauty of Venus de Milo!"
She shrugged her shapely shoulders. "Merely a cheap excuse to give pleasure to your cock, Monsieur Allesandro. That, without a doubt, is the only reason you brought me here. You are making of me a-a-prostitute. A bad woman!"
"Ridiculous! If all I wanted was a fuck, I could have picked up a dozen pretty girls on the streets of Paris."
"Then, why did you pick me?
"Because, you stupid little fool, you struck me as the personification of beauty comparable to that of Venus de Milo!"
"Quite flattering-if only it is true."
"It is true, Babbette. You are like de Milo. I swear it. I swear by all that is most sacred to me-my beloved piano-that this is the only reason I propositioned you. When I brought you here, I had no intention of engaging you in sexual practice."
"Then-you truly do worship my beauty?"
"I tell you, my dearest-it is truly an inspiration."
"If only I could believe-"
"You must believe-I tell you that your beauty will cause me to find the chord in music which will be the theme of my sonata."
New turmoil was brewing in the bosom of Allesandro. He felt a rising passion and love for the girl while, at the same time-for some mysterious reason-he felt a growing hatred for her. He could not analyse the confliction of emotions regarding her person. And this frightened him. He feared that the sex-beast within him might cause him to do something violent; perhaps, to destroy her. And never in his life had the devil possessed him to that extent. Never in his life had he desired to destroy anything of pure beauty-
He knew something about insanity, for one of his uncles had ended his life in an insane asylum-a victim of excessive sexual desires and practices. He wondered if such a trait could be inherited ... he wondered whether he was a marked man ... but his sexual experience with Babbette had been normal, so far-
He approached her tenderly. Seating himself on the edge of the divan he felt his hip touching the skin of her thigh, and he leaned over and kissed her gently. She returned the kiss, and it was not crude nor sexy. It was a lover's kiss.
"I do so admire you, monsieur. I could adore you."
"Why don't you, my dear?"
"Because I am afraid of you."
"You must not be, Babbette."
"But I sense strongly that you are unpredictable. I do not know from one moment to the other, how you will swing next."
"I will not harm you. I worship beauty. It is the one bright spot in my soul-the beauty of women and music I love them. I humble myself to their respective charms."
"You speak beautifully, monsieur. You should be a poet."
"I am a poet, Babbette. A poet at the piano. My poetry arises in sound."
"Yes-I believe that."
"Babbette-please believe in me. For God's sake! Please aid me in finding that mysterious musical phrase which will constitute the theme of my sonata."
Sympathy and understanding shone in her eyes. A tear appeared, as though his trouble was her trouble. "I shall try, monsieur. Please believe me-"
"I do believe you. You are no-, longer angry because I took advantage of you?"
"No-I seem to understand now. It was not just a lay that you wanted but musical inspiration."
"Absolutely true."
"I shall help you. Please tell me how?"
"Agree to collaborate with me in any whim I may have at the moment-sexually, and otherwise."
Slowly, she nodded her head. "Yes-Oh, it would be truly thrilling to know that I had inspired the theme of a great work of music."
His eyes lit up hopefully. "True! True! You would float on high air-thinking what you had contributed. Being aware that you and I-alone in a world of three billion people-had created something which no one else could lay claim to."
"Beautiful! A beautiful thought! Now, monsieur, what do you wish me to do next?"
"You will do-anything?"
"Oh, yes, yes, monsieur!"
The glint in Allesandro's eyes was changing. It was becoming evil. He felt strongly the influence of the sex-beast in his bosom, and now he ran his left hand excitedly over the white velvety skin of her stomach and then over her stout and shapely breasts.
A new erection came to him as he stared hard at her shapely mouth. He found himself panting with expectation, and the saliva was dripping from the corners of his mouth as it drips from the jaws of a mad dog.
Allesandro lifted one leg over her body and placed himself astride of her. Then, on his knees, he moved forward until his erection was close to her mouth.
"Suck," he commanded.
Anxiety clouded her gaze. "Oh, no, no, no!"
"But you said you would do anything! You said it, Babbette!"
"But not that, monsieur. I have never done such a thing."
"Suck it," he said sharply. Then he slapped her.
Babbette commenced whimpering. But somehow, she was driven to servicing his needs, and she raised her head slightly and placed her shapely lips over the head of his penis.
Allesandro rammed his erection deep into her mouth and throat, and then worked it madly back and forth. With both hands, with their strong piano fingers, he clutched her bountiful head of silky hair and made her comply with his sexual desire. He had his orgasm, and saw and heard her choking over the stream of semen which she could not eject. She could do nothing, in her physical position with him, but swallow it.
Suddenly, he withdrew from her mouth. Then he swung violently about so that his mouth was close to her crotch. Then he again rammed his erection into her mouth at the same time that he ran his tongue into her vagina. Clutching at the flesh of her thighs he groaned and grunted over his new-found thrill with her body. And he was delighted when Babbette commenced groaning, and he knew it was not of torment, but of pleasure. Yes, now she was actually experiencing pleasure over their soixante neuf.
And when he had finished and left the divan, he heard her give a great sigh of relief.
Seating himself at the piano he commenced giving a rendition of Schubert's Serenade. His mind was peaceful, the sex-beast in him lying dormant now. And when he heard her sobbing over the soft tones of his music, he was highly delighted. Babbette, he conluded, was a gem of an inspiration-and, perhaps, he should adopt her as a permanent piece of his musical equipment.
He played for three hours. He played the piano softly and with deep-rooted reverence. And while he played he listened to the musical strains in a desperate effort to find one which would serve to begin the construction of the sonata-the desire for the creation of which was burning his soul. And while his music engulfed his thoughts and emotions, again he caught himself struggling with the desires of the sex-beast within him. He wanted to do something sexually to Babbette which would be different-in hopes that such a novelty would inspire him to find that which he sought most. He must find-or go crazy from the effort-the beginning of the music which would be a heavenly gift to the world of music lovers.
Finally tiring of his own musical efforts he deserted the piano and slept on the floor beside it. The carpeting was soft and rich in feeling, and it soothed his shattered nerves and lulled him to sleep.
He awoke two hours later, soundly refreshed. He glanced over at the divan and observed that Babbette was sleeping. Leaving the music-room he went into the kitchen and prepared food and drink. And then he awakened her. They ate lightly, and drank the rich-colored wine he had brought in two goblets. Then he stared devotedly upon her-
It was nearly midnight when he led her to the narrow cot resting parallel to the piano keyboard. He laid her down on it, face up. And then he again placed his body atop of hers, and again his erection came freely, and he slipped it into her sexual passage. And again the fingers of his right hand played with the keys of the piano and sought inspiration.
"Now, it is not vulgar-what you are doing," she whispered.
"I am glad, Babbette-"
"It is inspiring. Oh, I do so hope that you find the musical phrase you seek-"
He dropped his mouth to hers and ran his tongue into her mouth, massaging her tongue, but gently, this time, instead of wildly. He was rapidly growing to love the pretty young girl, and yet the sex-beast within him warned that love would tend to soften his sexual alliance with her. But perhaps gentleness was what he needed in order to find his musical phrase. He had tried violence, and it had left him uninspired-
His higher mind spoke: 'Gentleness, of course. Gentleness for musical inspiration!' But now the sex-demon was again pushing its influence to the fore; and the sex-demon in him was warning:
'Not gentleness, you fool! Violence! That is the only way you shall find inspiration!'
The muscles in Allesandro's face tautened, and the heart in him grew cold. Anything for his sacred inspiration! Anything at all!-and the demon in him had spoken, and he believed in that demon-
Allesandro rammed his erection deep into the girl, and heard her cry out in pain. Suddenly, he seemed to lose all sense of decency, fairness, and consideration. "Damn your lousy soul!" he screamed. "Babbette! Give me my inspiration!"
Maybe he was going suddenly insane. The eyes of Babbette filled with terror. Her pretty mouth twisted into a weird shape as fear of the man atop of her, overcame her.
"Let me up!" she cried. "I hate you-I fear you!"
Allesandro's right hand fingers were madly stabbing at the piano keys while he continued to pump his hard-on into her body. "No, no, no!" he screamed. "You goddamned little bitch-give me my inspiration!"
But the inspiration did not come, and Allesandro was growing furious with his bitter disappointment.
He slapped her roundly with his left hand. He grunted as he rammed, and rammed again, his penis into the depths of her vagina. And then he started biting at her mouth, until he had drawn blood. He bit the end of her tongue, and then he pounded her right breast with his left hand.
"You're man!" Babbette screamed. "Oh, God! Deliver me! Take me from this cursed sex-beast!"
But no one came to her rescue.
Suddenly Allesandro leaped to his feet. He dashed toward his desk and grabbed a steel letter opener. Then he raced back and again forced his erection into her vagina.
Now, with his right hand, he was pounding the keyboard with the force of a madman, while his left hand gripped the handle of the letter opener while he stabbed at her neck and breasts. Several places on her creamy white body spouted gushers of blood, and the girl was alternately sobbing and crying out in stark fear.
Allesandro silenced her cries. He ran the steel blade deep into her neck until it severed her windpipe.
Slowly he stood up and surveyed his treacherous work. His eyes lit up hopefully as an idea came to him-he ran the fingers of one hand over the smeared blood of her neck and then rubbed that blood onto some of the keys of the piano.
Dropping the steel blade to the carpet he pulled the cot away. He knew Babbette was dead. He shrugged dazedly. "She has served her purpose," he mused aloud.
Standing now at the keyboard, Allesandro laid both of his hands firmly, but gently, upon the keys. "It will come now," he promised himself. "Her sweet blood covers these keys-"
But the musical phrase did not come, and finally Allesandro admitted defeat.
Slowly he picked up the steel blade. Then he rammed it deep into his chest in the vicinity of his heart, and slumped to the floor.
