SIMONE LAWSON. Third in Class. Editor of The Ivy (two years). Staff of the Yearbook. Vice-President Junior Class. D.A.R. Scholarship Winner. Likes: Writing short stories, Freedom, Sorcery, Brian Mason. Dislikes: short hair and rules. Voted Most Beautiful and Most Likely to Succeed. Future: College Bound (Kent University).
"BULLSHIT!" Simone's strikingly beautiful face distorted in anger as she spat the word out. "What a bunch of bullshit." She took a final, mocking look at her graduation picture and short biography and then slammed the leather, gold-embossed yearbook closed.
"Here," she said, offering the book to the tall, too-young-to-be-bearded-but-trying, dark-haired boy seated on the floor next to her. "I'll trade you this crock of shit for some of that joint. It's worth a hell of a lot more."
Ned looked at her almost too perfect girl-woman face framed in rich, long ribbons of soft straight blonde hair and, after a moment, handed her the half-smoked marijuana cigarette.
"You don't like The Colonial?" he joked.
"Like it? Shit no!" Simone answered emphatically. "That book is a monument to what this fucked-up, middle-class, American Legion town would like to think we are. A bunch of mindless little dummies fresh out of their cookie cutter... ready to be sent off to college for our final bit of programming.
"Go to school," Simone continued her stoned rantings between deep pulls on the fat, hand-rolled cigarette, "memorize the useless bullshit that they think is so fucking important, learn what answers please what teachers, vomit them up and whiz-bang, you're in. You get a pat on the head, a 'my-aren't-you-bright' and, like any other trained animal, some kind of crummy Yum-Yum as a reward. And what the hell for? So you can grow up and be just as stupid and empty as they are."
Her bright, liquid blue eyes flashed in the hazy, candlelit room. To punctuate her statement, she took a long, deep lungful of the harsh, sweet-smelling smoke and held it in. Finally exhaling, she watched as the thick, gray-blue smoke added itself imperceptibly to the already dense cloud that filled the room.
"What are you going to do next year, Simone?" It was Barbara's voice coming in over the loud stereo.
"Don't know yet," Simone shrugged, turning her head around to the pretty, dark-haired girl beside her. "But I'm sure as shit not going to do another four years of school. They can keep their cheap fucking scholarship and all the crap that goes with it. I'm going to look for something exciting to do. Maybe I'll take off and hitchhike cross-country to San Francisco. At least there's something happening out there. What about you?"
The girl shrugged. "Connecticut State, I guess. I really don't have your kind of courage. It would sure be outta sight to travel some though," she added as an afterthought. Her eyes were fixed on Simone.
Simone flushed under the deep, dark stare and, embarrassed, forced herself to look away. The look in Barbara's big brown cow eyes unnerved her and caused a lump to form in her throat.
Ever since Simone could remember, Barbara Johnson's eyes had always been filled with admiration and, at times, envy for her. Recently, however, Simone thought she was able to read other emotions in them. They were looks which frightened her but, at the same time, filled her with an exotic type of desire. She had been looked at like that many times before, but only by boys in the midst of a dry-humping desire for her. What flowed from Barbara's eyes made her, at times, dream about touching her soft olive skin or folding her tightly in her arms and kissing her.
"Here," Simone said, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen over them. "Let me see your palm. I'll read it and tell you what you should do."
Barbara extended her right hand towards Simone, palm up. The blonde girl cradled it in her left hand and studied it for a long time. The contact with the girl's soft, warm skin had caused her breath to catch suddenly in her throat. She hoped Barbara wasn't able to feel her own hand trembling under hers.
"Hmmmm," she mused, fighting to force her mind off the girl's presence and into her future. "This is your life line," she said, not daring to look up. Her index finger described the line that began under the fleshy pad of the thumb and swept in a large arch through the center of the palm.
"It is long and deep, with no breaks or chains. You're in luck. That means a long, healthy life. It runs in an arch rather than in a straight line. No hang-ups or serious problems. Not much travel in store. It shows you to be warm-hearted and sympathetic.
"It's really a good life line. See mine," and she showed her palm to the girl. "It's fucked. See where it breaks... here, and here too. Real problems. And in the end it's all chained, not deep and...."
Barbara had closed her hand around Simone's and held it gently in her grasp. They locked eyes and Simone felt herself begin to get wet.
"Whew," Simone thought, "this is really getting heavy. What the hell has gotten into Barbara tonight? Maybe all the weed she's been smoking." There was no doubt any more what the brunette wanted of her.
"L-let's look at y-your heart line," Simone finally stammered. "It's this one here." Trying to attract the brunette's attention back to her hand, she pointed to a line that began below the girl's index finger, at the edge of the palm and then ran horizontally across it to the base of the middle finger. "Yours shows a nature that seeks perfection in love. You tend to put the object of your love on a pedestal. There's some jealousy in you too." Simone was perfectly accurate in everything she had said but then, she had known Barbara for so many years.
"And this is the line of destiny. When it begins from the Mount of Venus, inside the life line, it speaks of someone who comes from a lotta money. We all know that anyway," Simone laughed.
Barbara wasn't listening. She had moved closer to Simone so that their knees were now touching.
"Simone," she said, her face glowing with desire, "can I... I mean... can we... uhm... make love?"
She blurted out the last two words and then, biting her lower lip nervously, closed her eyelids to await Simone's answer. It had taken all the courage she could muster to ask that question but it had to be said.
Barbara's words knocked Simone back onto her ass. Her mind was awhirl with confusion. It was out in the open now and she could no longer just play with the idea. Yes, she wanted to but, God, it was weird. Or was it?...
With Barbara still holding her hand, she fell back, stretching full length on the deep red carpet. It felt so good just to lie there and be enveloped by the loud music, to feel the warmth and tingle of the marijuana she had just smoked spreading throughout her lithe, newly ripened body, making every nook and corner glow with its intoxicating strength. Unavoidably her mouth opened, blossoming into a wide grin. She thought about Barbara and knew the girl's eyes were still on her. She felt them creeping up along her slender legs, touch her soft white thighs and then begin a gentle, loving caress of her breasts.
Under the light purple top she wore, her young, firm breasts jutted up and out like two distinct, softly rounded cones, beautifully complementing her long, graceful neck, flat stomach, and nonexistent, wasplike waist. There was nothing about Simone Lawson's body that did not inspire desire. She was perfectly ripe and ready and she knew it. And so, she mused, did Barbara.
It had been only recently that Simone had suspected something other than pure friendship in Barbara's relationship with her. Barbara had always admired her, had always followed her around, had always taken second best to Simone in their unstated competition for boy friends. Simone recalled with embarrassment how many steady boy friends she had stolen from Barbara. But, something had changed between them. Barbara seemed to be developing something more than a close girl friend interest in Simone and, at times, it had made Simone very uncomfortable to be with her.
Now, however, in her stonedness, the idea excited the hell out of her. She remembered how shocked she had been when, last week, Barbara had suddenly reached out and felt her breasts. Shocked, but, she had to admit, excited at the same time.
"Your boobs are getting to be so big," she had said as she cupped Simone's high firm breasts with a gentle hand and squeezed them.
"N-no they're not," Simone had stammered, feeling her face flush and her heart suddenly increase in tempo. She had wondered if Barbara had been able to feel her nipples getting hard under the caress of her gentle palm. She had certainly been aware of it and had awkwardly tried to move away.
"I remember when neither of us had any," Barbara had joked, forcing a little laugh, "but now yours are so big and have such a perfect shape." The look in her friend's eyes was the same, Simone recalled, as her dates got after they had finally worked their hands up under her sweater.
"Well... ummm..." Simone groped for something to say. "Well, yours aren't so bad either." She was immediately sorry she had said that.
"Let's compare them." Barbara jumped at the opening. "Come on, take off your top." She had already started to unbutton her blue denim work shirt.
Simone sat frozen as Barbara, trying so hard to be casual that her excitement became obvious, fumbled with the last few buttons on her shirt. Under it she wore a white, lacy brassiere which she filled to overflowing. She too, had recently grown into a woman and her full breasts spilled over the lacy, see-through cups and formed a deep, invitingly soft cleft between them. Through the gauzy material, Simone could see the swollen dark circles that rose distinctly from the center of each of Barbara's tits.
Reaching behind her back with both hands, Barbara tried to undo the two snaps that would let the two soft, white globes free. The move caused her big tits to push forward, threatening to tear the thin material of her bra. In her mounting, pulse-pounding excitement, Barbara had been unable to make her fingers function and had finally turned her smooth white back to Simone.
"Here, you do it," she had said, her voice half-choked with impatience. "Then I'll undress you."
Simone was shocked and, at the same time, tempted by the offer but, suddenly, the moment had been shattered. The front door had opened and closed and she heard her parents' voices in the hallway. Hastily, Barbara had put her shirt back on and the incident was over.
For days afterwards, Simone had thought about the possibility of lesbian lovemaking. Two years ago, she had found a paperback book belonging to her sister that was about two lesbians. She had read the book avidly several times before returning it to its hiding place.
The idea, she had to admit, really turned her on. Often she had dreamed about how the two girls made love and, each time, alone in her bedroom, she found her own hand sliding up along the warm silk of her thighs towards her pussy. At these times she wished with all her heart that the gentle caressing hand belonged to the strong, tall, blonde heroine of the book.
Her long fingers found their way through the light blonde meadow of down that grew between her legs and, using her index and forefinger, she gently parted the already wet, pouting lips of her cunt. She had spread her slender legs wide apart, moaning out loud as she felt the firm, spongy pussy lips separate, opening the way to the deep red trough between them. A finger toyed with the hard, erect nub of her clitoris as her hips began a slow, sensual rocking motion. All the while, images of the two lesbians touching and caressing each other danced on the dark ceiling above her head. Her mind's eye watched carefully as one of the girls rubbed and stroked the other's big, pink-tipped breasts. She saw the girl lying open-mouthed, panting for breath, as her partner's tongue began a wet trail down across her stomach until it reached her coral red, wide-open cunt. Beads of white, creamy liquid glistened along the deep flaming lips as the girl pulled them apart and inserted her pink tongue into the wide-open crevice.
Simone could literally feel the, pleasure she dreamt about. Her own finger was now completely inside her cunt and she worked it feverishly in and out, in and out of herself. She saw herself on the ceiling, her pussy being licked and probed by a dark-haired girl's loving tongue. As she continued to masturbate she felt herself caught up in a swirling blur of reality and dream.
"Oh, how good it would be with another girl," she had gushed as she felt the trap door spring open beneath her as she plunged into the ecstasy of an orgasm. Afterwards, still gasping for breath, she felt a bit embarrassed at having so strongly wanted to be ravaged by a member of own sex. But then, she had thought, why should she feel embarrassed? She was a totally free chick growing up in a totally free age. So, if it made her feel good, fuck the "no-noes" of society.
She loved to be fondled and caressed but, with boys, it never really worked out right. They were always so impatient, so rough. They were never interested in gently loving her body, just in squeezing her tits until they hurt, shoving a finger up her twat and then having her jerk them off. She had to laugh at the number of times boys had shot their loads in their neatly pressed khaki pants, not even able to wait until she got their rods out. She had imagined how much better it might be with a girl. She would know just how to play with her, just where to touch her and now to make her scream with pleasure. Besides, she had thought, what an exotically dirty thing to do. Even worse than the taboo against sleeping with boys which, several years ago, she had taken pleasure in breaking, was the taboo against homosexuality. Man, would it blow her parents' mind to find out their daughter was AC-DC. What a groovy thing to do! And here was little model Barbara, ready to do it with her.
Barbara waited beside her on the floor, her right hand touching Simone's firm, pointed breasts, feeling how hard and full her nipples were under her thin top and bra.
They looked into each other's eyes for a moment and it was said. Simone's gaze moved from Barbara's pretty dark face with its full lips and adorable pug nose to her heavy, fully curved breasts. She thought of how silky smooth they would be to touch, and imagined her dark, thick nipples getting big and hard under her fingers. The thought made her shiver.
"It's going to happen," she whispered to herself.
Squeezing her long, graceful legs together, Simone realized how very much she did want to make love to Barbara. Just thinking about it had made her soaking wet, the warm, thick juice pouring out of her cunt to drench her little white panties and leave a hot, sticky trail along the tops of her luscious thighs. She felt an uncontrollable urge to reach up under her short skirt and masturbate right there. How good it would feel to touch the lips of her vagina now, to push her skirt up and let everyone see how open and swollen she was under the wet nylon of her panties.
"Let's find an empty bedroom," Barbara moaned in Simone's ear. "There are too many people in here." Simone lifted her head and gazed around the room. The scene was that of a typical Millburn High School party. The sweet, pungent odor of marijuana was so heavy in the small, darkened room that one could get stoned just by breathing. An abundant smorgasbord of harder drugs-speed, acid, mescaline, and reds-was spread out carelessly on the expensive walnut sideboard. From the large, expensive stereo in the corner, the music of Brian Mason and the Stones filled the room with its incredibly loud, driving rhythm. Everywhere, couples were sprawled out, some nearly naked, involved in every possible variation of backseat making-out. On a couch near them, Simone and Barbara watched as two girls they knew made love to their dates. Both girls had their blouses and bras off and their skirts were pushed all the way up, revealing milky-white thighs and pink nylon-covered snatches bulging with pubic hair. In the reduced light, Simone could still see their big, seventeen-year-old cone-shaped breasts and pink swollen nipples being mauled by the boys. One girl had her legs spread wide apart, letting the red-headed boy rub his fingers up and down along the deep slit of her cunt. Simone was sure that the girl had wet right through her panties and was so wide open that the boy could easily feel her pussy opening. Simone wanted to feel it too.
The other girl had pulled the elastic legband of her pink panties aside, holding it away so as to expose her thick bush of black curly pubic hair for her boy friend's probing fingers. Simone watched as the boy's middle finger found the brunette's swollen pussy opening and vanished inside it. It thrilled her no end to see the girl being finger-fucked and she moaned with her as the boy's finger slipped in and out of the juicy wet snatch. Simone could no longer put off the temptation to slide her hand up under her miniskirt to her own crotch. Oh, how open and swollen she was under the wet nylon of her panties. With a slow, deliberate motion, she rubbed her finger along the pouting, creamy lips of her vagina, nearly swooning with the pleasure she was producing with each caress. She shook with the thrill of playing with herself while she watched the pretty, well-built girl being fingered by her boy friend. All the while she was acutely aware of Barbara's presence who was touching her swollen breasts, caressing her legs from calf to thigh. She was sure everyone in the room could hear her heart pounding.
Slowly, the girl unzipped the boy's fly and reached into his pants. Finding the opening of his shorts, she felt the hard, hot flesh of his cock in her curled fingers. She pulled the boy's dick out, holding it in the palm of her hand. Simone could see it easily. The skin was gleaming white and it was swollen rock-hard, throbbing with desire. Diana's well-practiced hand moved lovingly, tenderly along its length, stopping every so often so that her index finger could run back and forth across the big pink head of the stiff shaft.
"He's going to come soon... right in her hand," Simone thought, watching his hips gyrate madly and his slightly acne-scarred face contort with the pleasure he was now experiencing. Sure enough, Diana had time only for a few more strokes up and down the big rod when in four or five thick, creamy spurts, the boy emptied his load into her hand. The steamy white sperm ran down Diana's hand and onto her leg and finally dribbled in little pools onto the couch below them. Still working his finger in her cunt, the boy, a bit embarrassed, pulled a hankie from his breast pocket and started mopping up the mess. Then Simone watched as the two couples switched partners and started all over again.
Several other girls in the room were also naked to the waist and their young high tits were being fondled by anyone who happened to be within palm's reach. On the floor nearby, a tall slender blonde and her date, a well-muscled football type, sat sharing a joint and a bottle of white German wine. Simone's eyes widened as she noticed that the boy's fly was open and his penis was out and hard. The blonde was chatting with a couple that sat near them, and at the same time, openly stroking her date's exposed cock. Every so often she would lower her head and take the head of the big cock into her mouth and suck on it. Then she would slip it out of her mouth and hold it, wet and glistening, while she took a sip from the wine bottle and a toke from the joint. After offering the wine and then the joint to the couple next to them, she jokingly offered to share her boy friend's stiff cock with the other girls. One of the girls looked at her date for approval, a big please filling her attractive, sixteen-year-old face. Receiving a nod, she bent to take up the offer. Opening her mouth wide, she surrounded the boy's dick with her soft pink lips and began to suck it off. The boy was beside himself with excitement. His hands were filled with Eileen's big firm tits, squeezing their ivory-white, satin-smooth curves like the Voit football he was so accustomed to handling-while the other girl worked her tongue avidly over the tip of his long cock.
"You like watching while your pretty girl friend sucks someone else's cock," Simone said to herself as she watched the other boy taking in the scene next to him with open pleasure. His own hand was on the big bulge in his striped bell-bottom pants, playing with his obvious hard-on.
Across the room, most of the guests pressed eagerly around a deep orange and brown tweed-covered couch. Smiling down from the wall directly above the couch, an oil portrait of Mrs. Hallmark in a heavy gold frame was silently watching as her daughter Susan lay completely naked and spread-eagled on the rich upholstery. Four girls held her arms stretched out over her head and her legs were spread wide apart, one hooked over the back of the couch while the other dangled over the side touching the floor. Her two huge breasts stood out high and firm from her slender, well-sculptured body, capped with deep red swollen nipples. Her light blonde hair lay in a tangled mass about her flushed face and her mouth was open, gasping for breath. One by one, each of her young, college-bound friends, their pricks out and rock-hard, spread out on top of her. A short, plump brunette, also totally naked, stood by to guide their swollen joysticks into Susan's creamy wet hole. The crowd shouted loud encouragements, much like football cheers, as each schoolboy hero humped away on top of her. As soon as one boy shot his thick creamy load into her, he quickly dismounted, letting one of his teammates take his position. While she was being fucked, the girls around her played with her swollen tits, pinching and pulling on her oversized turgid nipples. Boy's hands were guided to the girl's tits and, every so often, a girl encouraged her boy friend to slip his stiff prick into Susan's waiting mouth. While she was being fucked and mauled, the blonde eagerly licked and sucked on the cock she was offered, working it in and out of her little pink mouth until the owner could hold back no longer, shooting long spurts of semen to the back of her mouth. The girl cherished each thick drop, rolling it around in her mouth several times before letting it slip down her throat. The few drops of come that escaped her mouth dribbled out along her lips leaving a wet glistening trail along her flushed cheek and finally falling to mat her blonde hair.
Simone noticed that one of the boys who waited impatiently for his turn at the seventeen-year-old blonde beauty was Ned, her date for this evening's little graduation celebration. But it really didn't matter. Barbara had now pushed her skirt all the way up, revealing Simone's luscious golden thighs and white lace crotch bulging with blonde pubic hair. The dark-haired girl's hand slid up along her satin-smooth flesh to touch the center of her excitement. Spreading her tanned legs wide apart, Simone felt herself open under the thin nylon of her panties. Desire boiled inside her, the flames lapping at her sensitive twat, causing her cunt juice to bubble upward toward the surface of her pussy lips. Her panties were drenched with her own thick cream. Barbara's hand was on her inflamed quim, petting the soft bulge of springy hair that covered her vulva. With a gentle finger, she rubbed the throbbing outer lips of Simone's cunt, pushing some of the nylon of her soaking wet panties into the swollen cleft.
Through the silky material, Simone could feel Barbara's long finger work its way into her pussy and, finding the hard, erect node of her clitoris, begin to rub the stiff, marble-sized organ with a slow, excruciatingly pleasurable massage. Simone squirmed in delight, her hips rocking sensually back and forth as her girl friend's finger drew the most exquisite sensations from her aching cunt. Again, as had happened so many nights before, dream figures of lesbian encounters swam before her eyes.
"Come on," Barbara said, "I can't wait any more." The girl's face was fire red and her own pussy was quivering with excitement.
Giving Simone's twat one final loving squeeze, she reluctantly withdrew her hand and stood up. Simone followed, and the two girls, hand in hand, started toward the door. Walking past the couch, Simone stopped for a moment to watch Ned bouncing up and down on top of Susan Hallmark, his faded blue jeans bunched down around his ankles. The girl had long since wanted to end the game but was held in place by her arms and legs. Simone could see that she was crying and struggling to free herself, but to no avail. Each of her slender limbs were stretched mercilessly across the couch, her sleek, perfectly curved legs forced open so wide Simone thought she would be torn right up the middle.
"Stop... please... stop... please... please!" the girl begged.
"Not a chance, Susan baby, not a chance," one of the girls who held her leg down answered with delight. "After all, you are the hostess."
"Hey, I want a blow-job," a long-haired boy with a barely perceptible moustache decorating his adolescent face said, holding his stiff cock in his left hand. "Somebody hold her head."
With that, someone's hand grabbed a handful of Susan's thick hair and yanked her head around to face the boy's huge dick. The girl swore loudly and tried to squirm free, but it was no good. The hand twisted her hair sadistically. Tears were now streaming down her flushed cheeks. She panted for breath.
"Blow him," a tall, red-headed girl screamed into Susan's ear. "Suck his cock, hostess," she added sarcastically.
When Susan shook her head, trying to turn away, the hand tightened its torturous hold on her hair. The pain was too much for her. Meekly, she opened her mouth and allowed the boy to slip his stiff flagpole into it. Her lips encircled the cock and, with tears still running from her eyes, she began to suck the rod that filled her mouth. The tall redhead now bent over until her lips were almost touching Susan's sucking mouth. Alternately, she licked the thick base of the boy's cock and kissed Susan's busy lips.
"Suck that big dick.... Suck it until he shoots his load right into your mouth," she whispered hoarsely into Susan's ear.
And the boy did just that. Thrusting his hips forward, Susan's head still held in place by her long blonde hair, he shot spurt after juicy spurt of steamy cream to the back of her throat. Susan swallowed hard again and again in order to keep up with the continuing stream of heavy milk-white come. After the last thick glob of semen slid down her throat, the boy stepped back, drawing his big slippery wet prick out of her mouth. In a flash, another throbbing cock replaced it. Again Susan was forced to suck it off until the owner came in her mouth. Only this time, as the boy started to come, the red-headed girl who was the self-appointed master of ceremonies, pulled the boy's dick out of the blonde's mouth and aimed it like a firehose so that he shot his load all over Susan's pretty face. Juicy globules of sperm bathed the girl's face, covering her pink cheeks, straight aristocratic nose, round not quite double chin, and smooth, hard forehead with its sticky wetness.
"Now it's my turn," the redhead said, pushing the others away. "It's not fair that only the boys get their rocks off."
With that, she unzipped the fly of her flaring white bell-bottoms and stepped out of them. She stood for a moment, wearing only her powder-blue bikini panties, letting everyone appreciate her ripe, richly curved body. Then grasping the elastic waistband of her panties, she pulled them down over her snow-white thighs and gracefully stepped out of them. Completely naked in front of everyone, the girl began to caress her body suggestively, running her hands over and over her ripe watermelon-sized breasts, tweaking her huge pink nipples and then letting her hand slide down across her flat tummy towards her thick vee of pubic hair. Spreading her slender, well-curved legs wide apart, the pink lips of her vagina stood out like a deep red gash in her otherwise flawless flesh. Her finger found the moist, gaping furrow and she rubbed it lovingly. Her hips began to grind sensually back and forth and, with a slow stroking motion, she caressed the open, red lips of her cunt while a twisted smile distorted her attractive face.
"Come on, hostess," she moaned, thrusting her box at Susan's whimpering face, "put your cute pink tongue right in there."
"Yeah, Susan," it was Ned's voice, "do it. Eat her pussy."
Again Susan's hair was twisted until she could no longer stand the pain. While everyone crowded in to watch, she placed her mouth on the girl's hot, throbbing cunt. A sour, acrid odor filled her nostrils and she tried to turn away, gagging. Her stomach churned and she thought she was going to throw up. This time, cruel hands grabbed for her long, pink, sensitive nipples, pinching them with brutal force. Susan's face twisted into a scream, her cries of agony blending indistinguishably with the sounds of Led Zeppelin coming from the stereo. Ugly, distorted faces leered down at her, laughing and joking as she lay there moaning. The redhead was now fully excited by the idea of forcing the pretty and innocent-looking thing to lick her burning pussy. And while everyone watched! Climbed onto the couch, she positioned herself so that her knees straddled Susan's head, her yawning creaming slit directly over the blonde's mouth. Susan was powerless to resist as the creaming red chasm descended, covering her mouth and nose with its wetness. She was being smothered by the steamy heat of the girl's cunt. Other hands were all over her body, grabbing at her breasts, pinching and pulling at her pink rosebuds that tipped their smooth curves, slipping in and out of her open cunt, and rolling her swollen clit roughly under their fingers.
Simone watched in disbelief as the pitifully tortured little girl now began to actually enjoy what was happening to her. Her hips started to undulate sensuously, and she was licking and kissing the girl's pulsating pussy with obvious passion. She was thoroughly enjoying the sensation of being smothered by the hot, slippery wet twat. Looking on with the same disinterested detachment that Susan often had seen her mother exhibit, the portrait added a strange component to the lurid scene taking place on the couch below. Her mother could care less as Susan now spread her legs wide apart and raised her tight, firm ass high off the tweed material to facilitate the entry of those exciting fingers. Her tongue worked furiously inside the redhead's cunt, lapping up and down along the dripping wet coral slit, stopping every so often to tongue the redhead's stiff clitoris. The girl was wildly heaving her hips against Susan, forcing her pussy flat against the girl's adoring mouth. Pussy cream was running freely down Susan's cheeks, soaking her hair and the expensive orange and brown material beneath.
"Let's go," Simone said, squeezing Barbara's hand, "I've had enough of Millburn High School at play."
"Me too," Barbara smiled, her heart racing as she thought of the thrills that waited for them in an empty bedroom upstairs. "Besides, I can't wait to take your clothes off."
"Mmmm," Simone murmured, and led the way out of the room.
CHAPTER TWO
IT seemed like hours since, hand in hand, they had walked into the empty bedroom, closed the door behind them, and stretched out on the big comfortable bed. They lay, afraid to move, their slim young bodies barely touching-wanting, wondering, embarrassed. The world spun madly around them as in breathless silence they waited for the other to start the lovemaking. The word lesbian echoed over and over in their ears, flashed on and off before their eyes, as if written in big, red, neon letters on the dark ceiling above them. They could feel the electricity buzzing wildly through each other's bodies, jumping from their soft white skin to charge the air around them with almost suffocating tensions. When they touched, they could feel the white heat of desire radiating between them, but they were afraid. Everything they had been taught-no, drummed into them- told them that what they were about to do was evil and perverted. The desire bubbled and boiled like lava inside them, turning their nipples stiff and filling their cunts with rich cream. But still they hesitated. Still the cruel claws of the rich self-righteous society that had raised and then tried to suffocate them, dug deeply into their pounding hearts, trying desperately to tear them apart. Stern and unyielding, the red-and-white-and-blue plaster saint of American middle-class morality cajoled, then commanded them not to commit such a sin.
"Fuck them all," Simone shouted to herself, "you don't have a hold on me." With her mind, she reached out and smashed the hypocritical little icon into a million worthless pieces. Then, turning on her side, she kissed Barbara lovingly on the cheek, letting her hand begin to roam over the sleek silhouette that was stretched out beside her. She was free and her parents, priest, and teachers could all go fuck themselves. She would do with her life whatever she wanted, whatever happened to turn her on. And right now, making love to the girl lying next to her turned her on.
Her hand moved ever so lightly over Barbara's trembling body, appreciating the firm roundness of the girl's flesh under her touch. She paused at the full, rich curves of her breasts, her hand cupping each one in turn, testing its resilience and feeling with delight the hard, swollen hillocks that crowned each full tit. Fire burned in Simone's pussy, the hot juice flowing freely from it to lubricate the sweet, coral-pink lips. She imagined what it would be like to have Barbara's hand there, to feel her fingers slip in and caress the moist, pouting lips. The thought made her pussy start to quiver. Simone pulled the dark-haired girl close to her, their ripe young bodies crushing hard against each other.
"Touch me, Barbara, feel me all over," she groaned into the girl's ear, her lips and tongue going wild over the smooth flesh of the girl's neck and face. They kissed, each one thrilling at how full and moist the other's lips felt. Barbara's hard nipples bored two little holes into Simone's breasts. Their legs touched from trim ankle to the very top of their glossy white thighs and Simone knew she would always remember the exquisite warmth of Barbara's satin flesh against her own.
Their mouths parted and Simone's pink tongue darted into Barbara's mouth, winding itself around and around the other girl's tongue like a serpent. Barbara's fevered hand now began to pet and caress Simone and they kissed again and again. Gently she stroked Simone's breasts, toying with the nipples that rose stiff and straight from the exact center of each high, jutting breast. Moving down across Simone's flat hard stomach, the dark-haired girl's hand now crept upwards, under the tight-fitting jersey top and, after fumbling for only a second, unsnapped Simone's bra. She pushed the lacy material away from Simone's breasts in order to caress the blonde's bare tits. She marveled at how the taut skin of Simone's boobs felt like rich silk and how distinctly she could feel her heart pounding beneath them. Grasping Simone's big swollen pink nipples between her thumb and forefinger, she rolled them gently back and forth, exerting only enough pressure to send her girl friend into a swirling delirium of pleasure.
Having Simone all to herself like this, and being able to give her the kind of pleasure she was now giving was a dream that had haunted Barbara every night before she fell asleep. With a hand on the candle she kept in her night-table drawer for special occasions-to be buried deep in her cunt-she had imagined over and over how she would make love to Simone. She pictured herself touching the girl's pussy and then bending her head down to kiss and lick the wet, open furrow. She moaned aloud, working the baby-blue candle in and out of herself until, with the image of her tongue in Simone's cunt fixed on the inside of her eyelids, she came. Now, it would all come true! Explosions of pure joy built deep in her gut, radiating throughout her body until she thought she would burst with the happiness she felt. She knew that for Simone this was nothing more than an experiment-an exotic, exciting, forbidden game that felt good. There was no love for Barbara, nor, for that matter, for anyone or anything, in Simone. Only the unquenchable desire to break away, to fly high above what she called the all-Amerikan, sterile, chicken coop.
No, Simone was not just a wild kid looking for kicks. She was a brilliant, beautiful girl who easily saw through the bullshit of what America had to offer and refused to be trapped by it. She wanted something different for herself, and Barbara was a little afraid of her. But for now, all that mattered was Simone's young tight, woman's body lying next to her, ready to receive her caresses.
The noise of the party downstairs seemed very far away as Barbara, trying not to let her burning excitement rush her so much that she would tear her girl friend's clothes from her body, grasped Simone's light purple top with both hands and slowly began to pull it off. Beneath it Simone's bra hung loosely from her shoulders, the back snaps having been undone. Shaking with anticipation, Barbara drew the thin, filmy garment away from Simone's body, revealing the girl's high, firm breasts. Simone was now naked to the waist and Barbara's eyes and hands feasted on the exquisite young body. She held the girl's pert, pink-tipped tits, one in each of her hands and squeezed them ever so gently, thrilling at the spongy resilience they offered her caress. She let each of Simone's nipples escape from between her fingers and, with an avid tongue, licked their pink-ness until they stood out like hard red berries from her lighter colored areolas. Their lips met, crushing together in wild passion, their tongues filling each other's mouths with their probing, wriggling wetness. Neither of them had ever kissed like they were kissing right now. It was like losing all control and falling headlong into the moist softness of the other girl's mouth. Letting go completely, Simone rocketed into a world of lust such as she never known existed. Her body was alive with fire, scorching hot with pure, unbridled desire. She cared about nothing else but this beautiful female lying stretched out next to her, touching and caressing her naked tits, kissing her moaning mouth and making her cunt juice bubble upwards to soak the surface of her throbbing pussy lips.
Her eyes blinked open as she felt the smaller girl move away from her. Barbara read the panic in Simone's passion-filled eyes and bent to kiss her again on the lips.
"I'm just going to take my clothes off," she said, her voice shaking and muffled by the lust that filled every cell and pore of her body.
"Please... please hurry," Simone begged. "God... please hurry." Simone's voice had an urgency-as if her very life hung in the balance. She lay on the bed below Barbara, squirming with the tension of their suspended passion. Her hand, swollen breasts jutted straight up from her taut, pure white body, her baby-pink nipples distended with passion, pleading for Barbara to return her mouth to them. Not being able to withstand another second's delay, Simone pulled her legs up high and spread them wide apart so that the mini-skirt she wore fell all the way back, exposing her panty-covered pussy. Immediately Simone's hand went right to the very center of her excitement and she closed it over the wet, nylon-covered bush.
"No, don't do that," Barbara's voice commanded her.
Suddenly, seeing Simone lying before her, begging, a strange sort of perversity overcame her. Was she paying the beautiful blonde back for all those years of being second? For having stolen all those boy friends from her? She didn't know. But the desire to have Simone crawl before her, to beg and plead with her, became greater than the lust she felt for her body. It allowed her to regain complete control over herself and she felt a twisted little smile spread across her face.
"No, don't do that," she repeated, her voice half-mocking, "I'll be there in just a moment."
Simone sensed the change in Barbara's voice but was too far gone to do anything but obey. If it was Barbara's game to tease her a little, all she could do was play along. Barbara was the master now and that thought sent new quakes of excitement racing wildly through Simone's body.
"In fact," Barbara smiled, "why don't we just take those panties off? You know you're soaking right through them."
In dumb submission, Simone raised her hips off the bed while Barbara bent and slid the slippery nylon down her legs and tossed the garment away. The touch of Barbara's hands as they brushed along her thighs made Simone groan aloud. Yes, she would do whatever the dark girl demanded of her. Anything to get her back into bed.
"Now, isn't that better?" Barbara said, oozing with a sarcastic sweetness. "I think we'll leave your skirt on for a while. Just leave it pulled back all the way and... umm... your legs spread as wide as you can get them."
Simone obeyed at once, drawing her slender, richly curved legs up until her heels touched her naked buttocks and then letting them fall apart so that she was totally vulnerable, the road up into her clearly marked by the gaping red slit between her legs. With her hands she rolled her skirt up until it was only a thin line of bright yellow wool encircling her trim waist.
Barbara had turned on a dim nightlight, and in the pale glow, Simone could see her standing, hand on hips, by the bedside, her face flushed with excitement and her mouth open in a wide grin.
Simone's head was spinning with the most exotically delicious, all-encompassing passion and, though she tried to lie still, her hips insisted on grinding and gyrating sensuously to the rhythm of her throbbing pussy.
With a deliberate slowness and exaggeration of motion, Barbara finally began to undress. Button by white pearl button, the high-necked, brightly colored blouse was opened and then slipped from her dark, curved shoulders. Beneath it the girl's huge, melon-shaped breasts swayed slightly, encased in only the thinnest suggestion of a brassiere. Through the gauzy material, Simone's eyes strained to see the dark half-dollar circles and stiff buds that centered each globe. Barbara then unzipped her long skirt and, letting it drop into a green heap about her feet, she stepped back a bit to let Simone take in the full length of her round body. Her thick black bush of pubic hair was covered only by a gossamer of fabric. A few of the thick, curly hairs had escaped and lay beautifully framed against the whiteness of her thighs.
Involuntarily, Simone's hand again went to her now naked crotch. God, she was open.
"Stop it," Barbara commanded. "I told you not to touch yourself. For that, I'm going to punish you. Roll over."
Simone blinked up at her in disbelief. "Barbara must know how much of hold she has," Simone thought as she obeyed the girl's command.
Simone's ivory-white tight little ass jutted up at her as Barbara brought her hand down flat and hard on the apple-round cheeks. The slap of Barbara's open hand against the firm flesh resounded in the room.
"Oh," Simone moaned out loud. But it was clearly a moan of extreme pleasure. Again, it said, do it again! Simone squirmed and wriggled against the bedspread, rubbing her creaming twat against the velveteen material.
Once... twice more, Barbara's hand came down, and twice more Simone gasped in delight. The milk-white of her taut cheeks blushed an embarrassed pink.
"R-roll over," Barbara stuttered, her whole body trembling with renewed passion.
On her back again, legs spread open, Simone watched as Barbara reached behind her to undo her bra. Taking hold of the shoulder straps, Barbara slipped the bra down, holding it in front of her for a moment before revealing her perfectly round, luxuriously full breasts. Clad now only in her panties, she took a step closer to the bed and, feeling the lust burning in Simone's eyes, began to caress her own breasts. Leaning directly over Simone's flushed face, she tweaked and massaged her hard, extended nipple, the thrill of it making her weak in the knees. Falling forward a bit before catching her balance, her big tits swayed only millimeters from Simone's face.
"No, not yet," Barbara teased. "First I think I'll let you play with yourself a little."
As if on a loaded spring, Simone's hand shot immediately to her spread-open quim and, while Barbara's naked breasts swayed just inches from her lips, she let her fingers rub and explore her boiling cunt.
Watching Simone play with herself at her command brought Barbara's hand to her own juicy wet snatch. Touching her nylon-covered bush once was all Barbara could stand. Swooning, she collapsed into Simone's open arms and the two girls kissed long and hard.
CHAPTER THREE
BOTH girls lay totally naked on the bed, wrapped in each other's impassioned arms, luxuriating in the delicious sweetness of the other's eager, seventeen-year-old girl-woman's body. They lay, feeling the other's swollen stiff nipples pressing hard against their own firm breasts, their bellies and thighs melting into the other's fiery flesh, their down-covered mons crushing against the springy resilience of the other's lust-engorged pussy. Nearly suffocating in the heat of this first thrilling experiment with lesbian lovemaking, they mewed and groaned the incomprehensible sounds of their lust in each other's ears. Simone and Barbara were now the images that Simone had so often seen on the dark ceiling above her bed, driving each other deeper and deeper into the frenzied passion of sexual delights.
"Oh, God," Simon moaned, "I wish this could go on forever. I wish we hadn't waited so long before..." Her voice trailed off into sighs and muted screams as she felt a moist, loving tongue lick its way down her body and begin to caress her rock-hard nipples. She did not try to quell a loud scream of pleasure as she felt Barbara's mouth stop and envelop one of her light pink nipples, kissing and sucking the extended young bud until she had brought it to a full half-inch of rigid attention. Then she worked on the other tit, her nostrils filling with the subtle perfume of the blonde girl's naked body.
"Do it to me, Barbara, do it to me... there," Simone groaned as she gently pushed the dark girl's head away from her aching tits and towards her cunt.
Barbara's open mouth ran down across Simone's flat belly and, urged on by a gentle pressure from Simone's hand, tasted the curly soft mat of Simone's honey-blonde pubic hair. She stared for a moment at the blonde pussy lying so vulnerable and open before her, the outer lips red and swollen and dripping with a milky-white, thick cream. She began to lick and kiss Simone's thighs, trailing her tongue up to but not yet touching the girl's pleading cunt. This treatment was driving Simone insane and, losing all control, she took the thick, black-maned head and placed it squarely on her aching vagina. Barbara's tongue darted in immediately, revelling in the slightly acrid taste and the juicy wetness as it covered her lips and smeared across her burning cheeks. She could not get her tongue deep enough into the pulsating, dripping-wet, blonde pussy. She licked and licked, feeling the muscle walls of Simone's love-center begin wave after wave of violent contractions. She flicked and laved the hard button of Simone's clitoris and lapped furiously up and down the creaming trough until her ears were filled with Simone's screams of ecstasy. Barbara's hand was on her own cunt, squeezing it hard. It too was sopping wet and she slipped her finger inside herself. Simone was bucking with excitement, her hands holding her cunt lips open to facilitate Barbara's wild, spearing tongue.
It was at this exact moment that the room was flooded with light. Crashing back into reality, both girls bolted straight up, refusing to believe what they saw leering down at them from inside the bedroom door. The bright light hurt their eyes and they both blinked, hoping that when they were able to focus again, the two tall, helmeted policemen would be gone and this would just be a bad, bad dream.
No, it was frighteningly real. From downstairs they became aware of frightened screams, of loud, stern voices, and of heavy, booted feet crashing open doors and knocking over furniture. Outside the flashing of red lights and ear-piercing sirens lit lights in windows up and down the snug suburban block.
"Well, what we got here?" one of the officers smiled. "A couple of lezzies."
"Yeh, not too bad-lookin' either," the other cop replied. "Crazy kids."
Barbara had begun to cry and was scrambling to cover her body. Her shoulders shook with deep, uncontrollable sobs and her face was a tear-streaked mixture of pure terror and total confusion as she struggled to pull on her blouse. Tearing one of the frilly puffed sleeves out at the shoulder seam in her panicked haste, she finally just gave up and sat there dumbly, awaiting her fate. The two officers leaned casually against the doorjamb, thumbs tucked into big black leather belts, obviously enjoying the fear they sent shivering through the little, dark-haired girl. Then almost in unison, their eyes moved back to Simone. She watched them take in her tight young body with leering, dirty old men's eyes, and the hate she felt for them welled up to overflowing inside her, drowning out all other emotions. She sat up and glared back at them, her naked breasts jutting straight out at her two brave captors. In their smartly pressed, light brown pants with gold and blue stripes running into high, spit-shined boots, she could easily see the large bulges of their non-regulation hard-ons. She was surprised to see drool running down their hungry chins.
"I'll fix their asses," she smiled to herself, her plan forcing her to suppress a giggle of delight. Unashamedly, she took her finger, wet it slightly with an extended tongue and then traced tiny circles around and around her pink nipples. Choosing the officer closest to her, she stared directly at him while she massaged her growing nipple until he looked away, embarrassed. Then her eyes fell to the obvious tent in his pants and, after licking her full red lips suggestively, she said, "Do you want me to take care of that for you?" She opened her mouth just enough to make it plain what she was offering, and waited.
The cop fell for the bait without hesitation. Advancing toward Simone, he fumbled with his zipper and, opening it, removed the huge, enflamed rod from its cage.
"Sure, sister, sure," he said feeling so cocksure of himself. "Go ahead and suck it if you want to. But uh, make it fast. The captain's going to be up here any minute." His face was flushed a scarlet red and he looked ridiculous standing above Simone in his authoritative storm-trooper uniform with his dick sticking straight out of his fly.
"Okay, you fucking Nazis," Simone thought, "you asked for it."
Taking the pig's swollen cock in her hand, she let it slide slowly into her mouth. When it was in more than halfway, she closed her eyes, letting all the hate she felt for him and the neo-Nazi, macadam and smog society that he represented swell through her, and then she bit down into the blood-filled shaft as hard as she could. Almost at once she was able to taste blood in her mouth.
The wounded officer screamed out in pain and disbelief but Simone held on tight, grinding her sharp incisors deeper into the bleeding flesh. Like a punctured balloon, the cop's prick wilted between her teeth. Finally she let go. The officer was now howling and dancing around the room, his pale white face contorted with agony. In his right hand he held the limp, bleeding member while with his left, after pulling off his helmet, he tore at his blond hair. His cock was indeed badly damaged. There were four ugly purple-red toothmarks, two dorsal and two ventral, on the poor officer's shaft, and the once-proud, scarlet-flushed head was now rapidly turning a sickly shade of blue.
Simone was doubled over with laughter when the door to the bedroom burst open and four more cops, guns drawn, rushed in to reinforce their wounded buddy.
"She bit it off.... She bit it off!" the cop screamed, still dancing wildly about the room, clutching both hands around his useless joint. "The cunt bit me- here!" he cried, showing each one of his amazed fellow officers the sore penis with its two pairs of teethmarks delicately etched on its surface.
Captain Richard Bell of the Millburn, Connecticut Police Force now arrived on the scene, a little overweight and a lot out of breath from his bolt up the staircase.
"What the hell's goin' on here?" the captain demanded, his brown, close-spaced eyes rapidly scanning the room until they came to rest in disbelief on Officer Jenkins who was still staring in disbelief at the damage done to his cock.
"What happened to you, Jenkins?" the captain asked sympathetically.
"She bit me.... The little whore attacked and bit me-here," Jenkins moaned, pointing to the marks on his cock.
"Attacked hell!" Simone responded violently. "You ask that fucking pig how his sticker got into my mouth in the first place." Simone's eyes were on fire and her blonde hair wild in a fierce mane about her head.
If looks could indeed kill, Jenkins would not have to worry any longer about whether or not he would ever be able to use his tool again.
"Get yourself to the infirmary," his captain told him, "and then get your ass into my office, you stupid asshole."
Trying hard to regain his calm, the captain turned to the two girls who were now smiling broadly and told them that they, as well as everyone else in the house, were under arrest for possession of dangerous drugs, lewd behavior and disturbing the peace and that they had two minutes to get dressed before he took them away with the others.
Impishly, Simone stuck her tongue out at him. "Pig," she muttered under her breath. Then, without further comment, she reached for her brassiere and began to dress. She enjoyed having all these goons gawk at her as she clothed herself, and stretched her dress-tease to well beyond the allotted two minutes. None of the officers seemed to mind very much, however. When both girls were finally dressed, they followed the officers downstairs to the living room.
CHAPTER FOUR
SIMONE'S mother and father were among the first parents to arrive at the old brick and wood police station. They were both quite drunk and extremely overdressed for the occasion, having been called away from one of their terribly important social events at the exclusive Millburn Country Club. Tonight was the annual charity ball to raise money for next year's Friends of Millburn High scholarships. Tickets for the champagne and caviar affair were $250 each, the money to be divided among four needy graduating seniors from Mill-burn's class of '72. This year it was Mrs. Lawson's honor to be chairwoman of the event.
"It's so much work," Mrs. Lawson had said when the executive committee had informed her that she was their choice for organizing the ball, "but so worthwhile. Giving those poor children a chance to better themselves is one of the most important things we... ah... more privileged can do."
Vivian Lawson was, of course, referring to the sons and daughters of the small community of domestic servants that worked in the big houses, but lived in a rat-infested, black slum section of town known as "The Hollow". They were the only blacks in Millburn and were carefully, quietly, restricted to living in the swampy little valley next to Millburn's private, executive airport. Simone had listened a bit to her parents rambling about how lucky they were to have such a good, sensible black community, not at all duped by rabble-rousing fools like that communist Cleaver and his Black Panthers. Why, what were they after, anyway? They were damned lucky to be living in this country where everyone has an equal opportunity to make good. When Simone's father started his famous, "Why take me, for example..." speech, Simone politely excused herself from the table, afraid that she would throw up all over the expensive Irish linen tablecloth.
Now Simone stood quietly between her parents as her father, his open palm resting on the cluttered top of the chief's metal desk in order to steady his liquor-weakened knees, listening to the short, balding officer read the charges against her. Calmly he apprised them of Simone's legal rights and said that, if they wished, she could go home in their custody rather than spend the night in jail.
Dick Lawson agreed at once and, after promising again that Simone would be present at ten A.M. sharp for a hearing, the Lawsons said good night and made their way out of the now-crowded building.
It was as if the charity ball had, for some perverse reason, been moved from the elegant, chandeliered ballroom of the country club to the brightly-lit, musty-smelling police station. The beaded gowns, diamond jewelry, and black tuxedoes looked ridiculously out of place against the green plaster of the dayroom. Dick and Vivian Lawson, their wayward daughter in tow, exchanged closed-mouthed nods with a few couples who were on their way in and then, in silence, walked the short block to their car. Once inside the big, black, air-conditioned Chrysler, Simone's mother turned on her daughter.
"How could you do this to us, Simone?" she screamed in her ear. "I"... I worked so hard to make tonight a perfect night and you've ruined it.... Why, you might have ruined your father and I permanently.... If this scandal gets out... how can we explain this to anyone?..." Her voice became choked with self-pitying sobs and she began to cry, the salty rivulets eroding her thick make-up and causing her mascara to run comically down the gullies.
"Now, Viv, get hold of yourself," Dick Lawson tried to comfort his near-hysterical wife. Reaching into the inside pocket of his custom-made dinner jacket, he removed a neatly-pressed, linen handkerchief and handed it to Simone.
"Here," he said, "give this to your mother."
Vivian took the hankie and wiped the flood from her eyes, spreading what remained of her make-up garishly over her face.
"Well then," she tried to catch her breath between deep sobs, "you deal with your daughter-the little tramp."
"Sure, sure," Simone's father answered as he turned the big car into the long drive of their huge colonial mansion, "but in the morning when we're all calmer."
"No!" Simone's mother shouted. "Now, God damn it! You'll pound some sense into her and you'll do it tonight!" Vivian Lawson was obviously hungry for revenge.
"Okay, I'll do it tonight. Now, why don't you go up to bed. Little Miss Pothead and I will be in the study." Dick Lawson watched his beautiful thirty-eight-year-old wife ascend the regally spiraled marble staircase, her thousand and one carefully arranged Shirley Temple curls still lacquered perfectly in place. Then he turned to his daughter. He easily read the defiance in her blue eyes and felt the anger swell within him.
"Now let's hear what you have to say for yourself," he said through clenched teeth and, taking her roughly by the arm, guided her into the rich, leather-appointed study and closed the heavy, carved wooden doors behind them.
Dick Lawson ignored his daughter until he had poured himself a water tumbler full of Wild Turkey bourbon and taken a long swallow from the glass. Then he addressed her with a flat, "Well?"
"Stick it in your ear," Simone laughed back at him.
"What?" Dick Lawson's jaw and his glass of bourbon dropped with disbelief. The glass of amber fluid hit the plush red carpet noiselessly, forming a wet, brown abstract spot next to his patent-leather dress pumps.
"I said, stick it in your ear, you drunk." Simone appeared amazingly calm before the impending storm. She had decided several hours before, when she had so shamelessly bitten poor Jenkin's cock, that this was going to be her last night in Millburn, Connecticut, and the thought of her freedom made her dizzy with delight. Now she didn't care about anything because as soon as she could take what money she had in her little Alice in Wonderland jewelry box and, as the saying goes, get the first stage out of town.
"Why, you fucking little snit, you ungrateful bitch," her father shouted at her as he rapidly closed the distance between them. It was the first time she had ever heard her father swear and, hearing the reserved, always proper Richard Lawson, her father and, incidentally, First Vice-President (newly appointed) of the New York Trust and Loan Company, say fuck made Simone laugh so hard that she ignored the imminent danger of his six-foot frame coming furiously at her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and started to shake.
"You worthless, spoiled bitch," he screamed, his face flushed with rage.
He was, however, very drunk and Simone squirmed easily out of his grasp.
"What do you want to do?" she teased, dancing gracefully away from him. "Spank me, Daddy?"
She was a woman with a most fetching smile on her lips and Dick Lawson stopped in his tracks, suddenly stunned by her beauty. There had been several times recently when Dick Lawson had found himself looking at his little girl with something other than fatherly interest at her exquisite entrance into womanhood. Early last week he remembered walking past her partially open bedroom door as Simone was undressing for bed. He stopped, nerves naked, as he saw his daughter through the lighted opening, pulling her brilliantly colored T-shirt from her lithe, blonde body. Eyes bulging, he watched the orange, blue and red material slide upwards, revealing first her flat, baby-smooth stomach and then, the white soft undersides of her young jutting breasts. Here the T-shirt stuck and Simone, her arms crossed in front of her face, had to jiggle herself free. The sight of her naked breasts had caused him to catch his breath aloud. Lawson's hand went instinctively to his mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound, praying that Simone had not heard him. She hadn't, her head still wrapped in the tie-dyed cocoon. Her firm, gently conical breasts seemed to be of a perfect mold for the slender body. They were the most deliciously creamy-gold color, and from each arrogant blushing pink tip, two small red berries winked up and down at him. Directly between his legs, Dick Lawson felt the not-too-familiar stir of desire begin to swell out his penis. He was horribly embarrassed and tried to force himself to move away but his feet had suddenly become cast in lead. He stared at his seventeen-year-old daughter, her body naked above her hip-high Levis and could not deny that he desired her. His cock bulged in his dark trousers as he imagined what her taut, strong figure would feel like moving under him, her vagina (which, he told himself, was still unused) fitting him like a tight, well-greased glove. Then Simone had looked up and seen him. Embarrassed, she held her skirt up in front of her half-nude body and it was only with a superhuman effort that Dick Lawson was able to turn his head and move away.
Often, after that incident, the memory of Simone's fetching nakedness flashed through his head and, whenever it did, he found himself with an erection. He dreamed of caressing her smooth, golden body and woke up in a cold sweat, horrified at his thoughts. The idea of incest had sent shivers of fear racing up and down Dick Lawson's straight-as-an-arrow, white, Anglo-Saxon, protestant spine and he buried his head under his pillow, hoping to suffocate the flames of evil that had been kindled within him. At last he would drifted off into sleep, still dreaming of her.
And now, young Salome was again dancing tauntingly in front of him, only this time his eyes were open. The reality of her was only inches away from his grasp. She stood, hands on hips, her high-pointed tits thrusting straight out at him through her tight purple top, laughing at his fear.
"You whore-devil," he hissed at her through clenched teeth and, grabbing her tightly by the arm, he dragged her toward the rich leather couch that stood across the room.
"I'll beat the shit out of you." He was insane with rage but, at the same time, trembling with lust for her. Sitting down on the couch, he jerked his daughter down until she was splayed out across his knees.
"That's it, Daddy," Simone continued to tease him, "now pull my skirt up and my panties down and spank me... I dare you."
Dick Lawson had never raised his hand to his daughter before but now nothing on earth could have stopped him from doing as she instructed. Holding her firmly in place with his left hand, his breath coming in short, raspy gasps, he lifted her short skirt high up over her behind, revealing two saucy, perfectly round globes stretching at the filmy nylon of her skimpy panties. Immediately, Dick Lawson's cock went rock-hard. In his haste, he grabbed a handful of thin material and in one strong yank, ripped the thin nylon wide open from the waistband to where they covered her crotch. The glossy, alabaster-white of her naked ass seemed to light up the whole room. Dick Lawson was dazzled by it and he nearly dropped Simone from across his knees. His mind reeled in confusion. Was he, as he told himself, punishing evil, or was he indeed succumbing to it, committing the most disgusting of all carnal sins? The animal in him, however, would not let him pause to think.
"Oh. God help me," he muttered and, from above his head, brought down his open right hand as hard as he could. The fleshy smack resounded with an incredible volume in the oak-panelled room. Immediately, the pure white of Simone's ass showed the violent red outline of her father's hand.
"Hey," Simone screamed, twisting her upside-down head around so she could see him, "not so hard."
"Shut up, you cunt," Dick Lawson sneered at her. "That was only the beginning."
The knowledge that he was actually hurting her brought a new wave of excitement crashing down on him, soaking every nerve of his body. Again and again he hit her, turning every inch of her buttocks a fiery red. With each stroke, the contact with her baby-smooth, naked flesh thrilled him so that he at once repeated the action, wanting still another taste of that silken-soft, deliciously hot flesh. He did not even hear Simone crying, begging, pleading with him to stop. When she kicked and tried to wriggle free he simply tightened his grip on her, his left arm now wrapped all the way around her so that his hand touched her left breast. Guided now solely by instinct, he let his hand close over-his daughter's tit, the soft ripe flesh molding perfectly to the shape of his palm. From its very center he felt the pink bud of her nipple begin to stiffen under this touch, boring a pencil-eraser-size hole into the life line of his hand as it came alive. He pressed his hand flat against the captured tit and moved it in slow, small circles, amazed at how the taut flesh followed his hand, seeming to push back at it with equal force. His cock strained to be free, pushing its engorged head hard against the material of his pants. Unable to ignore the knock, Lawson paused in his spanking and, still holding Simone firmly across his knees, opened the zipper of his trousers. As if on a cocked spring, his throbbing tool burst out of his pants. His hand went immediately to it and, shifting Simone about a bit, he began to rub its swollen length against the creamy silk of his daughter's thigh. Her flesh felt so cool against the heat of his cock, like the touch of satin, that he began to shake with delight, losing his hold on the girl. With a sudden burst of strength, Simone twisted herself free and rolled off her father's knee onto the thickly carpeted floor.
Her ass was aflame with the severity of the beating she had just received. It felt like a million red hot needles were pricking at her flesh. She tried to get up, to run away from the person who had meted out all this pain but, before she could regain her feet, Lawson was on her, pushing her back onto the carpet. Growling like an animal, he began to tear at her clothes, ripping her purple jersey top away in two violent jerks. Simone was too shocked to even try to resist. She stared up at him in disbelief, aware of what was happening but refusing to accept its reality.
"This can't be true," she thought. Her mother... this man's wife... was still awake in the room directly above them while he... her father... was about to rape her. She almost had to laugh, thinking to herself of how she believed something like this could only happen in the Okefenokee Swamp. But indeed, it was happening to her and right at that very moment.
Simone suddenly realized how vulnerable she was, lying flat on her back, naked except for her flimsy bra and a skirt that was now only a sash at her waist. She was powerless to fight off her father's six-foot-four, two-hundred-fifty-pound attack. She thought of screaming, but didn't. Seeing her father's cock sticking straight out at her, stiff with desire for her, she wanted, more than anything else at that moment, to touch it. Tentatively, he reached her hand out and placed it on the swollen organ. "It's so big and hard," Simone thought as she let her whole hand explore its length. It felt to her as if it were carved out of the most highly polished marble, except that it was so hot and was a blushing pink at the head. As her finger ran over the very tip of it, a tiny drop of clear fluid began to fill the deep well at its center. Simone touched the glistening bead, feeling it moisten the tip of her finger.
Dick Lawson was moaning in ecstasy, afraid he would not be able to hold back the flood of orgasm much longer. With Simone still holding his rigid prick, her little hand playing up and down its length as if she were fingering a clarinet, he lay down beside her, his hands moving wildly over her body. He toyed with her bare breasts, taking an erect nipple between thumb and forefinger and squeezing it just hard enough to cause her to catch her breath at the thrill. He roamed over the flat of her belly and then up her ivory thighs, finally coming to rest on the soft down of her light-blonde nest. Simone spread her legs wide apart, allowing her father full access to the moistening pink slit that lay under his fingers. Feeling his fingers rubbing at the very edge of it, she pushed her hips high up off the carpet to greet it. Her dad's finger slipped in easily, the wet lips of her vagina grabbing at it hungrily. The finger was alive within her, playing with her sensitive clitoris, stroking the pouting lips and then plunging into her until he could reach no further. Slowly, over and over again, it was removed and then reinserted. Simone screamed aloud each time it entered her, her own hand still playing a wild overture with her father's hot pulsating shaft. Neither of them could wait another second. Dick Lawson positioned himself between his daughter's widely parted thighs and, after dropping his trousers down to his knees, lowered his weight onto her. Simone's juicy cunt gaped in hungry expectation of him. Raising herself into a wide, welcoming arc, she guided her father's rock-hard penis to her pussy. The head of it was so broad that they both had to struggle a bit to get it past her pussy lips. It took three urgent thrusts before Dick Lawson was able to burst through the tight door and sink his shaft fully within her. Her young, golden body went insane when she felt the big prick bury itself in her inflamed twat. Dick Lawson had not fucked like this for many, many years and almost at once he felt his load of sperm work its way out of his balls and into his cock. There was no way he could hold back the floodgates. With a loud groan, he came in his daughter's pussy.
Simone easily felt the one... two... three... four violent contractions of her father's giant rod and the hot spray of his sperm against the swollen walls of her cunt. The idea that he had just planted his seed deep inside her vagina drove her still deeper into her insatiable sexual frenzy. She locked him to her, her slim ankles closing tightly together above his middle so that her legs formed an inexorable scissors grip around his waist. Dick Lawson was amazed at how powerful her grasp really was. His own strength completely sapped by the orgasm he had just had, he could do nothing more than hold on for dear life, riding out the violence of the storm below him. Simone pumped her lithe body up and down, her hips gyrating wildly, working the tightly ensheathed cock in and out, round and round inside her sopping wet pussy. Her hands reached around behind him to play with his heavy, dangling balls and then clawed at his back, ripping the expensive linen of his dress shirt into two neat halves.
"Fuck me, Daddy," she screamed in his ear. "Oh, Daddy, your prick feels so good inside me.... Oh... oh...!" Her speech became incomprehensible as an orgasm swept over her quivering body. In one last violent thrust, she reached completion. The strong muscles of her pussy began to convulse madly around the captive joystick and she fell away, lost in the throes of a moaning, groaning orgasm. The iron grip of her golden thighs relaxed, allowing her father to free himself. Slowly, painfully, he removed his sore, overworked prod, its flaming surface coated with a gleaming mixture of his own come and his daughter's pussy juice. He rolled away from her and lay flat on his back, unable to move. He was thoroughly exhausted and fought to catch his breath. Then, suddenly, the monstrousness of what he had just done stabbed home. It was like a knife cutting deep into his heart and slicing his guts into little pieces. For a moment, he thought he might retch.
"Oh, God help me!... God help me!..." he sobbed, and turning on his side, his back to Simone, he buried his face in his hands and began to cry.
Simone listened for a while to the rasping, tearful sobs and felt sorry for him. She knew that he would never be able to rid himself of the shame he now felt. He would carry his guilt with him for the rest of his life. She wished there was something she could say like, "It's all right, Dad, I enjoyed it." Or "It's over and done with, so let's forget about it," but she knew he wouldn't even hear her. She wondered why she didn't feel the same guilt. After all, she had teased him into it and she surely couldn't deny how much pleasure she had gotten out of being balled by him. In fact, she really felt elated by the whole thing. How many girls could claim a screw from their old man, and after just having made love to another chick?
"Life sure can be a gas," she thought. Incest, homosexuality, and a dope arrest all in the same night, not to mention her revenge on poor officer Jenkins. Whew, she'd been a very busy girl.
Laughing out loud, she gathered her torn clothes and headed upstairs, leaving her father lying face down on the carpet, crying like a little boy. Too bad that he and that fucked-up society that he belonged to couldn't learn how to break free and get some real pleasure out of life. That, sure as shit, was what she was going to do.
CHAPTER FIVE
SIMONE felt suddenly charged with energy. She laughed aloud and couldn't resist doing a little dance around her bedroom. Nothing could stop her now, absolutely nothing. That morning at dawn she would be on a bus heading for New York City and from there, God, she could go anywhere in the world.
From the top shelf of her closet, she took a green knapsack and began to pack the things she thought she might need. Into it she stuffed a pair of well-worn, brightly patched bell-bottom jeans, a few favorite blouses and pullovers, her long "granny" skirt that she had recently made at a sewing party with Barbara, a brand-new pair of hiking boots that were a graduation gift from her older sister (who was in Europe and, she was sorry, couldn't make Simone's graduation) and a handful of lacy panties and woolen socks from the top drawer of her dresser. A comb and brush, some makeup, and a toothbrush went into one of the zippered side compartments.
Atop her dresser was an old, richly carved cedar box containing a set of tarot cards and a green, good-luck amulet. The box, cards, and amulet were all gifts from the old, half-Negro, half-Haitian cook that had lived with them until the day she died. The old woman had raised Simone from the time she was born and had taught her how to throw and read the strange cards. Many nights when Simone was still a little girl, the woman would sit by her bedside and tell weird tales of her homeland and of the rites of black magic and voodoo that she had seen practiced there. The night the woman died, she had called Simone into her room and had given her the box and its contents. She had taken Simone's two hands in her own withered old claws and said something in a language Simone had never heard before. Then she had taken the amulet out of the box and bade Simone to lean closer while she pressed the cold stone to the little girl's forehead, breasts and loins. "I give you, my little one, the power that was given to me," she had said in a voice that was remarkably clear and loud. Then, she had died.
Simone wept bitterly for days afterwards. More, she thought, than if it had been her own mother that had passed away. The box was really too big to take along but Simone could not bring herself to leave it behind.
Glancing quickly about the room, she wondered what else she might pack. Her eyes came to rest on her overcrowded bookshelf. Scanning the titles, she picked out several volumes concerning Oriental philosophy, The Satanic Mass by Rhodes, Steppenwolf by Hesse, and Crime and Punishment by Dostoyevski which, she promised herself, she would finally read. She spent a good ten minutes trying to chose a few favorite items from her jewelry box and finally ended up emptying the total contents of the pretty box into the sack. She smiled a little when she saw her first baby tooth, shiny and white, and a pair of multicolored butterfly wings, which fell into the knapsack along with her collection of earrings, bracelets and necklaces. What else? Her parents had given her so many things but, after weighing the value of each one, she decided that they were not worth the trouble. She thought of taking some of the more expensive gifts as barter but gave the idea up. She really didn't want any part of their wealth. The money she had, including a few cash graduation gifts, amounted to two hundred and fifty-two dollars and twenty-five cents. More than enough to keep her going for a while. Taking a deep breath, she sat down on the edge of her bed to rest. She suddenly felt so weary and, after setting the small, plastic, glow-in-the-dark alarm clock, she collapsed into a deep, dreamless sleep.
At five in the morning the jarring buzz of the clock broke the soft, warm blanket of sleep that enveloped her. Quickly she shut it off and, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, pulled on a pair of Levis, her beaded moccasins, and a faded denim work shirt, on the back of which she had embroidered a smiling orange and red sun. Its real counterpart was just beginning to add some color to the gray dawn sky. The air outside was clean and fragrant, giving promise to a beautiful late Spring day. Somewhere a dog barked and, in the big elm outside her window, a flock of sparrows gossiped noisily about the worms they had already caught. Simone thought she couldn't have picked a more perfect day. She felt so good she had to check herself from singing aloud.
Sitting at her desk, she tried to compose a note to her parents. She had so much to say but, glancing at the clock and seeing she had only fifteen minutes to get to the train station, she decided she would have to leave it until she had to write a real letter. She contented herself with, "Dear Mother and Father, I have spent long enough in your incubator. Now I'm off to do things my ways. Please don't try to find me. Simone." She wasn't happy with it, but then she really didn't care that much anyway. Leaving it on her desk, she picked up her knapsack, took a last look around and left, closing the door quietly behind her.
On the way to the station, she found the lyrics from one of her favorite Beatle songs running through her head, and she sang them aloud.
Something about a girl... silently closing her bedroom door... leaving a note; she wished it had said more.... Turning the backdoor key and stepping outside she is free! Then the refrain from the mother, "We gave her most of our lives, sacrificed most of our lives, gave her everything money could buy." And Simone remembered the final line, appropriately enough: She's leaving home, bye bye.
CHAPTER SIX
IT was impossible to move or even to sit in the huge auditorium. Every available inch of space was occupied by more than three thousand anxious fans that had stood on line outside the Fillmore since dawn, waiting to see Brian Mason perform. He was already over a half-hour late and the crowd was beginning to lose its patience, stamping and clapping in angry rhythm-like a huge time bomb ticking off the seconds before it exploded. The air was hot and stale with the smell of so many human beings jammed so tightly together, and heavy with the smoke of a thousand marijuana cigarettes.
They were all young and they all strained towards the empty dark stage as if they were waiting the Second Coming.
And, at last, he came. With a tremendous flash, twenty thousand watts of red and orange electric power turned the black stage into the most dazzling of sunsets. In its center, tall and sure, basking in the radiance that surrounded him, stood Brian Mason. Instantly, his magic diffused into every corner of the packed hall. It was if a multi-megaton bomb filled with joy and happiness had just been exploded in the center of the monster crowd. It went berserk with love for him. You had never screamed at a concert before but, unknowingly, you found yourself yelling his name until you thought your lungs would burst. Pushed flat against the furthest wall of the screaming, black-lighted, flashing sunset-colored, marijuana-burning room, you were still acutely aware of his pure blue stare. He fixed you once and forever with those eyes and you felt yourself quickly and certainly being enveloped in the psychedelic silk of their charisma, like a fly being carefully packaged for a later meal. To your left, just a few feet away, a very young, very fat girl in a floor-length antique dress collapsed in a swooning heap on the floor. No one seemed even to notice; every cell of the huge, cilia-waving beast transfixed by the awesome hypnotic power of the young singer.
It was a full half-hour before the tumult of adoration began to subside. Barely audible over the din, a breathless voice announced over the P.A. system, "It's all about to happen.... Let's hear it for Brian Mason and the fantastic Stones." As if everyone didn't know who was on stage.
Turning his back to the audience, Mason faced the four other musicians on stage, counted off four fast beats and, his long blond hair flying wildly about his head, began to play. The highly amplified electric thunder of the Stones filled the room to overflowing with its ear-splitting, nerve-jarring music. The volume seared your eardrums but you welcomed the pain. It was like a shot of adrenalin pumped directly into your brain. Again you and everyone else were screaming hysterically. The high-tension power of his playing flowed at once through your pores and jumbled your central nervous system into a tangled mass of short-circuited hysteria. Now it was possible to catch only a glimpse or two of him peeping through the lush acres of wildly waving arms and jumping, twisting bodies, but it really didn't matter. Just being in the same room with him was enough.
His first song, "I am the Devil", from Mason's first album, Banquet for Satan, was well-known to everybody in the crowd. It had been released first as a single record and had sold over two million copies within two months. With it, Brian Mason had skyrocketed to instant stardom. Now, anything he put out, good or bad, was a sure million or more seller. This bothered Mason a bit. He often wondered whether he was as good as everyone said he was or whether he had simply been riding the crest of a singular stroke of musical genius.
The lyrics to "I am the Devil" described Mason as Lucifer reincarnate, here to lead the children of the world into a Satanic garden of never-ending sensual delights. It was a song that couldn't help but inspire lust and, unknowingly, you found yourself pressing a lot closer than was necessary up against the slim, tightly packed miniskirt in front of you. The unknown girl's round buttocks pushed back hard against your groin, exciting you more than usual-or perhaps it was an extension of Brian Mason's music. Moving her sensual hips in perfect time to the erotic pulse of the Stone's rhythm section, her barely covered ass rubbed itself over and over your tingling crotch, drawing your cock into full erection. The tip of your rock-hard prod was alive with a pins-and-needles excitement as it tried desperately to bore its way through two or three thin layers of material that separated it from the girl's firm, naked flesh.
"She must be aware of my tentpole's jabbing her ass," you thought. "Why doesn't she move... or scream... or something? Unless, of course, she's feeling the same Spanish fly effects from Mason's music." Indeed, that was exactly what was going on. This strange girl was only too aware that she was rubbing herself against a stiff hard-on, and was loving it as much as you were. Next to her, standing a good head taller than you, her boy friend was, thank God, totally oblivious to what was going on next to him. A closer look easily explained why. She already had his big dick sticking straight out of his pants and was playing with it. Her little hand barely fit around the thick shaft as she worked it up and down its swollen pink length. His eyes were jammed shut and as long as his girl friend continued to play with his exposed tool you could be sure he would be paying attention to nothing else. The ecstatic grin spread across his face told you you could probably set a bomb off under him without him so much as blinking his eye. Not that you were any less excited. You felt your pecker quivering in your pants and you knew that she had to feel it too. From under her short, black skirt, her high pert little ass begged for you to touch it. Do you dare? Almost as an answer to your hesitation, the girl reached back and felt for the huge bulge in your pants. Then, casually, as if she were removing a lipstick from her purse, she unzipped your fly and pulled your shaft out into the open air. Her soft delicate hand wrapped itself around your unsheathed sword, pulling you even closer to her warm, fragrant body. Never could you remember anything feeling so good. Holding your throbbing cock tightly in her grasp, she let a single, well-practiced finger begin to roam over its ultra-sensitive head, causing you to groan aloud with the thrill of it. Still she continued to play with her boy friend's dick, stroking it until she sensed he was about to shoot and then stopping until she thought it was safe to begin again. Next to her, a boy in red corduroy coveralls and a full sandy blond beard leaned over and asked her if she had a match. "No," she shook her short red hair, and showed him that both her hands were full. His eyes bulged in their sockets and, after a second of sheer astonishment, his face blossomed into a wide, approving smile.
"Right on," he shouted over the music and, not taking his eyes off the redhead for a second, pointed out to his girl friend what was happening next to them. She too nodded her approval and holding each other tight, the two of them watched in utter fascination.
Knowing that they and now several others around you were watching what the girl was doing to your cock made it even more exciting. With trembling hands, you began to lift the girl's short skirt. Like a rising curtain, the black material slid upwards, revealing the firm, snow-white flesh of her thighs, slowly, inch by beautiful inch. Anxiously, you now wished that she would stop playing with your dick for, if she didn't, you would come and end this dream-come-true right then. As though she were capable of reading your mind, the girl stopped and squeezed your hard-on with all her strength, forcing your orgasm back into your balls. It was a maneuver you had never experienced before and you marveled at how much this slender, faceless creature must know about the art of sex.
On stage, the Stones had moved into their third number. The audience had long since yelled itself hoarse, but still they continued to scream with delight. Brian Mason was like a drug shot into their blood and brains, filling them with energy you never thought possible. In the very center of the brightest spotlight, his half-naked body glistened with a fine film of sweat. Mason sang into the microphone as if he were fucking it. His voice was a moan of sexual passion, a driving impassioned plea to "... forget what you've been taught... the time is now, the world is lost... so let's ball, everybody... let's ball." The message was crystal clear, especially to you and the hot, slender redhead standing in front of you.
The hem of her skirt was now poised just a fraction of an inch below the luscious outswelling of her ass. Quickly you lifted the skirt the rest of the way up. Under it she wore no panties. The naked flesh of her richly curved buttocks seemed to light up the whole room. The tip of your tingling penis touched its firmness and again she had to squeeze it to help you fight off an orgasm. You pressed so close to her now that you could easily hear the short, swallowed gasps she was making as she tried to breathe. She seemed to be suffocating in her own lust. Lovingly, you moved your hand to her exposed ass and you felt its tight smoothness. Her skin was almost too hot to touch but you couldn't touch it enough. Slowly, you let your middle finger drift downward along the deep cleft between her buttocks, feeling the two strong cheeks contract several times as if they were trying to engulf the probing ringer. Your hand slid down further, savoring the satin of her inner thighs. You felt exactly where the springy down of her pubic hair began. The short expanse of flesh between her cunt and asshole was wet with dew and you felt it moisten your fingertips. The girl spread her legs apart, giving you plenty of room to move between them and cover her entire crotch with your hand. Her swollen pussy lips were wide open under the soft tangle of curly hair, begging for your finger to slip inside them. Your finger easily slid into her creaming pussy. She enjoyed the finger-fucking for only a minute or two and then, wanting more, she pulled your prick toward her juicy wet hole. She leaned over a bit, steadying herself with the help of the boy in the red corduroy coveralls, and her hold on her boy friend's cock. Her cunt was now agape and you slipped into the steamy, well-lubricated passageway until you had sunk your shaft into her as far as it would go. Holding her to you with your hands on her naked twisting hips, you fucked her while at least a dozen people-including her boy friend-watched. With her free hand, she found another cock and began to jerk it off too. The cock belonged to the boy with the full beard who had dropped his coveralls in order to expose it. His girl friend didn't seem to mind at all and was playing with his balls while the redhead massaged his rock-hard tool. Now everyone was humping and bumping to that same rhythm, a rhythm that exactly matched the erotic frenzy of the music coming from the stage. The music swirled about you, drawing everyone deeper and deeper into Brian Mason's fantastic garden of delights. Faster and faster, harder and harder, the Stones drove you at a fevered pitch towards your climax. Wildly, you fucked this strange girl until you could hold back no longer. Long, thick hot spurts of sperm came shooting out of your throbbing cock into the girl's grasping, pulsating cunt. Simultaneously, in perfect time to the frenzied ending of Mason's set, the unknown girl, her boy friend, the boy in the red coveralls and seemingly, everyone else in the jammed building, reached a screaming, quivering orgasm. Completely drained and thoroughly fulfilled, you found yourself lost in the stream of human bodies moving toward the door. You would never see the face of the girl you had just fucked but it didn't matter. You had just experienced what Brian Mason's magic was all about.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BY 4:30 A.M. Brian Mason had had enough of the noise and confusion going on around him. Crushing out the twenty-eighth Marlboro he had smoked (or at least lit) since the Fillmore concert had ended, he rose to his feet and began herding everyone out of the suite he had rented in the plush Fairmont Hotel. Finally, at five o'clock, the last body had been carried out and Mason wearily closed the door. The room was now empty save for the three lovely young groupies that waited eagerly for him to return to the sumptuous nest of sultan cushions they had built in the corner. It was well known that after each concert, Mason picked out two or more devoted fans that had risked being trampled to death to get backstage and invited them up to his room for fun and games. Usually the lucky ones were female but sometimes, it was said, they were also male.
For tonight's pleasure, Mason had selected a wide-eyed, baby-skinned, not-more-than-fifteen-year-old blonde who could have been last year's Miss Teen-age America, a tall slinky brunette who had the biggest, most stuck-out set of knockers Mason had ever seen, and an exotically beautiful half-Indian, half-Negro chick. This girl's straight, jet-black hair, parted perfectly down the middle, was held in place by an intricately beaded headband and her huge eyes seemed to smolder with excitement. Mason couldn't wait to get to her.
"First," Brian said with a smile, "we'll smoke some of this excellent hash I've been saving for special occasions and then we'll... start the party."
Looking quickly from one beauty to the other, Mason recognized a look he was quite accustomed to seeing in other's eyes, a look that told him he could do whatever he wanted with them and they would love every second of it. They were his toys for the night- his slaves-and all he had to do was pull the strings to make them dance. No matter how many times this had happened to him before, he still felt a dizzying surge of excitement as he contemplated the absolute power he had over them. His mind was awhirl with ideas for things he would make them do, to him and to each other and, as each thought flashed before him, he felt his cock stiffen still another notch in his skintight leather pants.
From the goatskin pouch he wore around his hips he withdrew a small aluminum-foil-wrapped cube of the purest, blondest Lebanese hashish that money could buy. Dipping again into the pouch, he removed a long straight pin and a clear plastic vial of a fine, pure white powder. "Coke," he said as he settled in amongst them like a prince in his harem. "After we smoke this, we can each snort a little snow. We wouldn't want the hash to make us... uh... sleepy?" A long time ago, Mason had also learned another use for cocaine. A tiny bit applied to the genitals kept a person going far longer that ordinarily possible, and Mason intended to go a lot longer than usual.
Expertly, Brian Mason impaled the cube of hash on the point of sharp needle and lit it. The light-colored, highly compressed resin caught fire and burned for a minute before the young musician blew it out, leaving a charred, heavily smoking coal. Mason passed the needle around many times, each of them filling their lungs to capacity with the intoxicating fumes. Finally, when the cube went out, Mason felt it experimentally. The once hard chunk of hashish was now nothing more than ash and as he touched it it crumbled to dust on his fingertips.
"Sorry, ladies," Mason heard himself say through the heavy fog of his stonedness, "there ain't no more." Not that any of them could have smoked any more even if it existed. It was such good hash that it took only a single toke to get stoned, and each of them had had at least four.
"Coke time?" he said, sending them all into a fit of giggles. Wiping the laughter from his eyes, Mason began tapping out small mounds of the pure white flakes of cocaine onto the cover of a Playboy magazine. "Let's see?" he started to laugh again. "One... two... three... four noses times two nostrils each gives us... ummmm..."
"Eight," the country-fresh blonde shouted out as if she had just answered a tough classroom math problem Then, embarrassed that she had answered without raising her hand, she looked down sheepishly. It took a good five minutes before they all stopped laughing long enough to inhale the cocaine, the blonde joining into the hysteria although not sure exactly why she was laughing.
The cocaine had an immediate effect on them. Their heavy eyelids popped wide open and they started to tingle with readiness. "Okay," Mason said as he lay his head back into the black girl's lap and pulled the brunette to his side, his hand cupped around her big tit, "let's begin with you." He pointed at the young blonde. "Stand up and take your clothes off."
A little unsteady on her feet but eager to please her master, the pretty girl rose and began to unbutton her white crepe blouse. Under it, it was obvious she wore no bra. Button by button, the blouse came off until she stood before them naked to the waist, her golden hair cascading gently down to cover the very tops of her slender shoulders. Her snow-white breasts stood out proudly from her trim body. Covering a large area of each perfectly round globe, the smooth, light pink flesh of her areolas formed a beautiful backdrop for the oversized, deeper pink nipples that punctuated the center of each tit.
"Play with them," Mason commanded. He had already pulled the thin jersey of the brunette's black top up over her huge boobs and was busy teasing the girl's dark red nipples into full erection. Her hand in turn fluttered over the giant bulge in Mason's tight-fitting leather pants. It looked as though he had tucked a hard ball into the crotch of his pants and the girl was practicing grips on it for a curve, knuckle, and screw balls. Taking one of the black girl's hands, he placed it with his own on the brunette's big tit. There was enough room for the both of them to enjoy the luxury of her firm, silky flesh and together they rubbed, squeezed, and stroked the breast until the brunette was writhing in pleasure. Her hand became more insistent on Mason's bulging crotch, trying desperately to define the length and breadth of his cock through its leather cover.
Mason watched the black girl caress the brunette's tit, her long thin finger roaming over and over the red nipple until it was as big as the dark thumb that touched it. "You like playing with these big tits?" he asked her.
The girl answered with a nod.
"After I finish with her," he said, motioning towards the blonde, "you can have her for a while." The exotic girl's sensuous black eyes sparkled down at him in anticipation.
The blonde was now fully into caressing her own tits. Raising each alabaster globe high up off her small chest, she maneuvered them round and round, squeezing them in her hands as she moaned in ecstasy. When she pressed them together, a deep creamy trough formed between them and Mason made note that it would be an excellent place to put his stiff rod. The girl's fingers now caught her nipples and as she touched them, her eyes jammed shut with the thrill.
"Your pussy," Brian said hoarsely.
Understanding the order at once, the girl took her hands from her breasts and stripped off her brown slacks and white bikini panties. She stood before them totally naked. Brian and the black girl stared at her in open awe of her Swedish perfection. Her flawless white flesh glowed with the health of a newly scrubbed baby. Her belly and thighs gave just the suggestion of being full and they both knew how soft she would be to touch. There was also no question about whether or not she was a natural blonde. The small triangular nest that covered her cunt was the color of honey and, with her face blushing to match the color of her nipples, her hands went right to it. Lovingly she caressed the swollen mound, her hands drifting down to stroke her thighs and then returning to pet the swell of her vulva. Consciously she teased herself by coming ever so close to the lips of her pussy and then moving away. The thrills she was giving herself were not unfamiliar. She had done exactly the same thing many times before, watching herself in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom. Often she had dreamed of doing it in front of an audience; of making love to her own body while others stared excitedly at her. Now, at last, she was actually doing it and, to make it even more insane, Brian Mason was the one she was performing for. The thought made her too weak to stand and she dropped to her knees just inches away from them, leaning back and spreading her thighs so that they could easily see what she was doing. Using both hands, she parted the hair that hid her cunt from view and then, with her fingers, gently spread open her pink pussy lips. The crimson-red twat gleamed with a thick coating of cream. Languidly, she moved the lips of her pussy between her two hands, closing and opening them over and over again. She was so wet now that each time she compressed the sensitive lips, tiny drops of milky juice squeezed out between them. Then, her finger found the deep, open slit, and she rubbed it up and down the length of moist lips several times before letting it slide in. How open she was and how wet and hot her pussy felt! She toyed with the hard erect knob of her clitoris, rolling it round and round under her finger until she nearly fainted with delight. Her cunt throbbed with pleasure and she could not resist letting her finger slide all the way in. She was finger-fucking herself in earnest now, working her finger in and out of her inflamed creaming quim in perfect rhythm with the bumps and grinds she was doing with her hips. Opening her eyes, she watched them stare hungrily at her as she masturbated, and this drove her excitement to an even higher pitch.
The girl looked like she was having such a good time that Mason felt he too had to put his finger up her cunt. The dripping wet passageway was easily big enough for both of them and suddenly he moved inside her. The girl was screaming even louder than she had at the Fillmore-for exactly the same reasons.
Mason withdrew his finger, gleaming with pussy cream, and offered it to the black girl. Eagerly she sucked the finger clean.
"How'd that taste?" Smith asked.
"Mmmm, delicious," the girl answered with a grin. The sight of the blonde masturbating in front of them had really gotten her hot and Brian could see the lust written all over her.
"Well then," he said, mocking a serious tone, "my-be I'll be a gentleman and let you go first."
The black girl leaned down and kissed him "thank you," then with the grace of a dancer, slid out from under his head and over to the blonde. She welcomed the black girl with open arms and the two girls stretched out beside Mason, locked in a passionate embrace. Without breaking the kiss, the black girl managed to slip out of her long, silk gown and toss it aside. She pressed her lithe, black body tight up against the alabaster of the blonde's full, round one, her hands going wild over the satin of her skin. Their tongues twined round and round each other's as their bodies struggled to be compressed into one. Dark hands kneaded and molded a snow-white ass, stroked and caressed the back and thighs and then reached around to feel the full breasts that were crushed flat against her own. The blonde was going crazy with excitement. She felt completely depraved, letting another girl touch her naked body like that. A few seconds before the thought of having a member of her own sex make love to her had never occurred to her. Now, it was all she could think about. She kissed and kissed the girl's handsome face, her pink tongue running slick traces along the ebony cheeks and long graceful neck. Her hands found the small, coffee-colored tits and, taking one hard, long nipple between her thumb and forefinger, she rolled it back and forth with gentle, loving pressure. Both their cunts were dripping with passion as they felt the soft swell of each other's vulva. Oh God, the blonde girl thought, she would go screaming mad if she didn't have something inside her soon. Taking the girl's hand in her own, she guided it toward her aching twat. The dark beauty needed no coaxing. She felt the springy resilience of the golden pubic bush beneath her fingers and began to caress it with a slow, circular motion. Under the curly yellow nest, the blonde girl's cunt lips were spread wide apart with lust, and creaming with the need to be played with. Her own pussy was also thoroughly wet and simultaneously, the two girls began to finger-fuck each other. Frantically they worked their fingers in the other's soaking wet snatch, knowing full well how much pleasure they were bringing.
It was a beautiful scene to watch and, less than a foot away, Mason groaned at the thrill of it. The brunette's mouth, which was on his now-exposed cock and balls did not, of course, detract from his fully enjoying these two chicks make love to each other in front of him. The brunette's tongue was expert at drawing the most exquisite sensations from his giant hard-on. It flicked out over its sensitive head and again tried to lose itself in the deep hole in the center of the swollen pink glans. It licked and bathed the long shaft until it was slippery wet. Her full lips were all over his balls, alternately sucking one and then the other into her mouth to wash it with her tongue. Brian knew that if he didn't use the cocaine now, it would be too late.
Pulling the brunette away from his cock, he gave her the plastic vial and told her to put a touch on her tongue and then lick his dick. She did so eagerly. Then he commended her to give the same treatment to the two other girls. The brunette had to fight to force her head between them but finally she succeeded in dosing each creamy red trough with the drug. It was the first time she had ever licked a cunt and the thrill she got from doing it surprised her. Mason emptied what was left in the vial and with no further instruction, she spread her legs and applied the fine white powder to herself. Her finger in her own cunt felt so good that she found she couldn't take it out. With a finger directly on her own clit, she returned to the blow-job she had been giving. Almost as one, they began to feel the tingling numbness spread over the genitals, driving them crazy with desire.
The black girl was now kneeling over her blonde love, nipping and licking every inch of the blushing pink flesh. From his position, Mason could see the black girl's cunt gaping wide open and the white girl's hand buried deep within it. The thick forest of pubic hair was the same jet black as the hair on her head and the cream covered lips a deeper shade of red than Brian had ever seen before. His hand joined the blonde's and as she toyed with the erect hummock of the black girl's clit, Brian's fingers probed her deep hole. Taking her lips away from the writhing blonde that was spread out before her, she looked back over her shoulder at Mason and blew him a kiss.
"How do you like her?" Mason asked.
"She's perfect, just perfect!... You want some?"
"Mmmm, in a minute. Right now this chick's got me by the balls," he said with a laugh, as the brunette sucked eagerly at his swollen testicles. "Besides, I'm really into watching you do her."
"Anything you say, masta'," the Negress mocked and, smiling, returned to the delicious meal laid before her.
Indeed, watching lesbians make love really got Mason excited. It had in-fact been his first introduction to sex. At the tender age of six he had discovered a small hole in the thin partition that separated his oldest sister's bedroom from his own. Every night he lay awake, waiting for her to come upstairs to bed. Then he would tiptoe across the dark room and with his eye glued to the peephole, watch her as she undressed, revealing the mysteries of her lush, eighteen-year-old body to him. He was surprised to find that as he watched her, his penis grew in size and quickly he learned how much pleasure he could give himself if he played with it while he peeped at his sister. Several times he watched as his sister removed a book that she had hidden her mattress, and as she lay in bed reading it, he saw her stroke the dark hairy triangle that was between her legs. Seeing her do this had excited him so much that he had to move away for fear she would hear him through the paper-thin wall.
Then, one night, a girl friend of his sister's visited her in her bedroom. Mason almost fainted when he saw both girls strip off their clothes and begin to touch and feel each other's body. He was breathing so loudly and rubbing his stiff little pecker against the wall so hard that he was sure they would hear him. But there was no way he could make himself move. Suddenly both girls looked to the peephole and whispered something he couldn't hear. Then his sister got up and, before he could do anything, she was standing behind him, laughing. She was completely naked and Brian couldn't help but gawk at her body. Too late he realized that his penis was sacking straight out of his pajamas. He was beside himself with fear and began to cry.
"No, it's okay," his sister told him as she pulled his trembling body close to hers. "You can watch if you want to."
Then she took him by the hand and led him into her bedroom. There the two girls undressed him and made him lie down between them. Giggling and joking, they began to play with his penis just as he had learned to do himself.
"I wonder if he's old enough to come?" the strange girl said.
"Let's find out," his sister said and lowering her head, she took his swollen pink dick in her mouth and started to suck it.
"Oh, let me have some," the other girl cooed and she too put her lips on his tingling penis. Brian was too confused to even begin to understand what was happening to him. All he knew was that he liked it and wished it would never stop.
The two girls fought over the little prick as if it were the world's most delicious lollipop and each wanted it fully in her mouth. Finally, two clear thin drops of fluid issued from the hole at the tip of his pecker and began to dribble down the side of his shaft. His sister thirstily licked them off and then kissed the other girl on the lips so she too could taste what had just come out of his dick.
"Not bad," his sister joked. "It's sure better than having some jerk fill your whole mouth with come. God, I hate swallowing all that stuff."
After that the two girls let Brian watch as they made love. He was fascinated, especially by the long, thick pink-colored shafts of rubber that they worked around inside each other. He put his face just inches from his sister's steamy pussy as the other girl used the dildo on her. She took his trembling hand and showed him how to move the rubber shaft in and out of his sister's twat. His sister was twisting and groaning in ecstasy as he fucked her with the dildo.
"Oh fuck, Susan, fuck... I'm going to come... my little brother's screwing me with that dildo and... oh... oh...!" She muffled her moans in the pillow as she screamed and convulsed toward her orgasm. Brian was amazed, simply amazed!
Many times after that he was invited to join the two girls in his sister's room and, each time, he learned something new and exciting about sex The girls loved to play with him and have his eager young hands explore their ripe, full bodies. They taught him how to eat their pussies and suck their nipples until they were big and hard. One time they poured chocolate sauce all over his cock and then both of them drove him crazy as they licked it clean. Another time they tied a string around his stiff baby pecker and spent several hysterical minutes leading him around the room by it. Then his sister sucked his dick off while her girl friend licked his balls. He got to use the hard rubber dildo on both girls almost every time they were together, and to lay naked next to them while they balled each other. Then, a week before his seventh birthday, his sister announced that she was leaving home. It seemed a boy named Jim had made her pregnant (something young Brian did not understand) and that they were going to be married. The wedding never took place, however, for his sister died soon afterwards as a result of a bungled abortion. Brian cried for a whole month after his sister's death. Through the fog of fourteen years and thousands of faces, Brian Mason still felt a moment's sadness when he though about Doreen-and longed to be with her again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BRIAN'S attention again focused on the two girls beside him, one a full golden white, the other a sleek, glossy black and, at the sight of their lovemaking, he felt his cock twitch inside the brunette's mouth. Helen, the black girl, was kneeling on the floor between the blonde's wide-spread thighs, her mouth even with her cunt. She stared for a moment at the blonde pussy spread out before her, the outer lips red and swollen and dripping with cream. As she began to kiss and lick the girl's cunt, her hand dropped between her own legs. She felt her cunt and squeezed it hard. It was wet, and her finger slipped easily into it. The blonde was beside herself with passion, her hips bucking frantically up and down as Helen tongue-teased closer and closer to her vagina. Her hands held her cunt lips open and, aloud, she pleaded with the black girl to lick her, to please put her tongue into her pussy, to play with her clit. Helen opened her mouth wide as she dove into the matted bush. The blonde pussy had only the slightest acrid taste and no odor at all, and Helen could not get her tongue deep enough into the wetness. She licked and licked, running her tongue up and down the inflamed cunt until the white girl was screaming with delight.
The blonde's hands were now on Helen's ass, kneading the firm, walnut flesh of her buttocks with an insane passion. Her fingers found the deep cleft between the two cheeks and began to slide down between them. When she reached the black girl's cunt she slid two... no... three fingers inside. No sooner was she in Helen's quim than she slipped her fingers out again, leaving a wet trail as she reached for her partner's asshole. She caressed the puckered sphincter for a bit and then returned to the pussy. The blonde's object was to lubricate Helen's asshole with her own cunt juice and she was succeeding quite nicely. In just a few short trips from cunt to asshole, the black girl's anus was well oiled. The blonde slipped her wet finger into the tight little hole, her other hand moving down to cover Helen's cunt. It didn't take long for the girls to make each other come. With loud animal groans and trembling bodies, they reached their orgasms simultaneously. After the final muscle spasm swept over them, Helen collapsed in a heap onto the blonde. With them, Brian shot his thick load into the brunette's welcoming mouth.
After a brief rest period and another round of coke-which Mason belatedly produced from his pouch, they were all ready to begin again. Brian told the Negress to play with his dick till it was hard, and then he had the brunette lower herself onto the stiff flagpole. As he fucked her, he held the blonde and the black girl in each arm and enjoyed the feel of the two distinctly different tits, one in either hand. The blonde's boobs were round and full, capped with light pink nipples, while Helen's were no bigger than tennis balls-and nearly as firm. From a swollen cushion of deep rose color, her two long nipples pointed straight up at the ceiling. A second orgasm filled the brunette's cunt to overflowing with thick white semen.
Still he wasn't satisfied. In turn he ate each of the three pussies, while the other two girls battled over oral possession of his cock. The early lessons from his sister had made him expert in using his tongue on a pussy, and with it he brought each of them to a moaning climax.
Mason had the two white girls jerk him off so he could watch his come shoot out all over Helen's black stomach and smiling face. He made Helen tease the blonde's cunt open with her long, hard nipples, the black girl being able to fit nearly all of her tit into the gaping pussy. When Helen had worked the blonde up, Brian pushed her aside and filled her snatch with his cock. When he was about to come he withdrew it, making Helen take the load in her mouth. Then he had the brunette lie over the arm of a chair while the blonde lubricated his still-hard prick with some hand cream and then guided it into her asshole. He pushed and grunted but in no way was he able to squeeze past the tightly pursed orifice. The brunette was screaming in pain now but, at the same time, thrusting her as out with each one of his thrusts, in an attempt to help him penetrate.
Finally, with one last thrust, he felt the head of his cock burst through the snug little hole and bury itself deep within her bowels. The girl's hot rectum grasped his cock like a tight-fitting glove. Brian worked his stick in and out, loving the way the girl held his dick so snugly in her full, well-shaped ass. Helen watched avidly, shouting encouragements to both of them.
"Fuck her Brian!... Fuck her right up the ass.... Can you feel his big rod up your asshole?... Doesn't it feel good?"
She got down between their legs in order to improve her view, masturbating herself and then letting the blonde do it for her as she watched Mason's long cock pull nearly all the way out of the brunette's rear hole and then disappear back inside again. Mason's big balls dangled directly above her head and she couldn't resist propping herself up so she could get her mouth on them. Mason felt the orgasm building in his balls and made no attempt to hold it back. In a second, it was coming out of him for the fourth time that evening, the thick gobs of sperm filling the brunette's rectum as she fingered herself to a climax. It was now full daylight outside and wearily Brian Mason told them to get their clothes on and beat it. He had to get some sleep.
CHAPTER NINE
IT was dark again when the insistent pounding oh his door finally brought Mason to consciousness. With a groan, the young star buried his head under two pillows, but still the knocking continued. There was no way but to get out of bed and punch whoever the motherfucker was-right in the mouth. Reluctantly, Brian threw back the satin bedcovers and stumbled across towards the door.
"Who it is?" Brian asked angrily.
"Jonathan."
"What the fuck do you want?"
"It's six-thirty, Brian," the bass guitar player and road manager of the Stones answered, trying to keep his patience. "We've got an eight-thirty plane to catch."
"Yeah," Mason answered, still annoyed that he had been disturbed, "where we goin'?"
"Oh, come on, Brian, you know all about this." Jonathan Geary was beginning to lose his temper. Recently this had been happening all too often. Since Brian Mason and the Stones had made the big time, Brian had become impossible to deal with. He came and went as he pleased, not giving a damn about anyone else or how long he made them wait. If, indeed, he bothered to show up at all. Since Geary had at one time been Brian's closest friend, he had accepted the responsibility of at least trying to keep the star of the Stones up with the band's schedule. It was a responsibility Jonathan wished he had never shouldered. Even more than Mason's irresponsibility, his superior, godlike attitude was driving him to where he thought seriously of doing physical harm to Mason.
"We've got a recording date early tomorrow morning in L.A. and the concert at the Bowl at the end of the week."
"Oh, yeah," Mason mumbled, remembering something about the dates Jonathan had just mentioned. "I'll be with you in a minute."
Jonathan fumed at the idea of being made to wait outside Mason's door. The two of them, Geary and Mason, had started the Stones together some five years ago. Then it was beautiful. Gigging around the small dark, noisy clubs near the waterfront, not making much money but playing harder than they had ever played and learning about music. Some nights, when a really good group of musicians got together, they would play until early morning, not even noticing that the club had closed several hours earlier. It was out of that scene that Mason and Geary had gotten the Stones together, and together they began the long climb out of the slums and strip joints. They worked hard, really hard, practicing every afternoon, playing nearly every night and, in their spare time, writing most of the Stone's songs on someone's borrowed piano. "Tight" was the word used to describe them in their first review: "The Stones are an extremely tight group with a raw, passionate sound that is sure to push them to the top." It was also during those early days that Brian and Jonathan began sleeping together.
It had happened one night quite innocently. Touring in France, the band was so broke that they had to double up in hotel rooms. Brian and Jonathan chose to share a bed together in a run-down hotel in the Montmartre district of Paris. The bed was so narrow that the two musicians couldn't help but touch. Half in a dream, Jonathan's hand felt itself resting lightly on Brian's penis.
To this day Jonathan was not sure whether his hand ended up there by accident or whether Brian had actually put it there. In either case, Jonathan was glad it had happened. Under his hand, he felt Brian's dick begin to grow and stiffen. Still thinking he was dreaming, Jonathan began to massage the hard cock, jerking it off as though it were his own, which, perhaps, Jonathan did believe to be the case. Brian was fully awake, his hips making the springs of the old bed creak as he moved them in response to Jonathan's delightful hand-job. Suddenly, Jonathan awoke with a start and, realizing what he was doing, withdrew his hand as if it were on a hot stove. He was confused and horribly embarrassed, even more so when he saw how his own hard-on was making the covers stick up like a tent.
"Don't stop," Brian had moaned and, taking his hand, returned it to his throbbing rod. Jonathan didn't know what to do. He knew that he had always felt disgust towards homosexuals but somehow, this didn't seem the same. Neither he nor Brian were actually fags and, holding Brian's hard cock in his hand and hearing how much his friend was enjoying having him play with his penis was really turning him on. He didn't know what to do. But Brian urged him again and Jonathan decided. His hand went back to Mason's big, hot cock and he began a slow, rhythmic massage up and down its swollen, satin-smooth length. He held the cock in the fist of his left hand and with his right, he played with Mason's balls. Up and down he rubbed it, feeling his own dick throb with the same excitement.
"Kiss it," Mason had told him. "Take it in your mouth and lick it with your tongue." In his wildest dreams Jonathan never thought he would do anything like that but again he found himself obeying his friend's voice. Excited beyond control, he lowered his head, not caring about anything but the feeling of that velvety cock in his mouth-the feel of the steamy, thick sperm as it would spurt into his mouth and down his throat. His mouth opened wide, he let Brian's big rod slip in, his lips closing tightly around the swollen shaft in a sucking kiss. The velvet cock completely filled his loving mouth. Jonathan bobbed his head up and down on Brian's dick, his wet tongue running round and round the delicious mouthful of stiff, pulsating flesh. Thrusting his hips forward, Brian held Jonathan's head in place with his big hands as he shot spurt after spurt of hot, viscous cream to the back of Jonathan's throat. Jonathan swallowed hard again and again in order to keep up with the continuing stream of heavy, milk-white fluid. After the last drop of semen had slid down his throat, Jonathan let the big cock slip slowly out of his mouth. Then, Brian bent over and did him.
After that, as the Stones became known and earned more and more money, Brian and Jonathan continued to share the same bed, sometimes including one or two chicks and sometimes just each other. The relationship had lasted that way for almost a year. Then, as things began to change, Brian Mason became more and more aware that it was he that was the main drawing card for their concerts and that it was he that was making the group into a bigtime rock band. The name was changed to Brian Mason and the Stones and slowly but surely, Jonathan and the other three Stones were pushed further and further into the background. Now they were nothing more than handmaidens to Mason, the superstar. The love Jonathan Geary had felt for Mason turned first to envy and then to outright hate. Someday, somehow, he would pay him back for what he did to that "tight" hard-working group called the Stones.
At last the door opened and Jonathan was allowed to enter the room. Mason had a bathrobe on but still looked like he had just gotten out of bed. Jonathan wondered what he had been doing the past ten minutes.
"Hey, Jon," Mason said without looking at him, "get me some breakfast. Eggs, bacon, orange juice. You know what I like. I'm going to take a shower."
Again Jonathan was left alone. Swearing at Brian under his breath, he called room service and ordered breakfast for Brian and coffee for himself. Then he waited.
More than a half-hour later, Mason emerged from the marble and gold bathroom and, without saying a word, sat down to his cold eggs and toast. Tasting a mouthful, he spat the cold food out and pushed it away.
"It's cold, you dumb motherfucker," he shouted at Jonathan. "Get me something that's hot! And also some newspapers. I want to read about the concert."
"Fuck you," Jonathan glared back at him. "Get it yourself." He rose to leave but the bigger man was on him in a flash, knocking over the neatly set table as he reached for him. Mason wrapped his strong fingers around Jonathan's throat and squeezed.
"You cock-sucking fag!... You ever talk to me like that again and I'll send you back to the stinkin' slum where you belong.... I'm the only thing that's makin' the Stones bigtime and don't you ever forget."
Jonathan's face was blue when Mason finally let him up. He gagged for breath and, with tears in his eyes, picked up the phone to call room service again. "Someday," he thought to himself. "Someday!"
CHAPTER TEN
THE Landmark is a big stucco building on Franklin Avenue. It is convenient to the sound studios on Sunset Boulevard and also near the offices of the record companies and music publishers. It is painted a garish "sunburst orange" and "bear brown" (according to the man at the desk) and is the favorite motel for visiting performers. Its list of transients has included the Jefferson Airplane, Donovan, The Band, Bob Dylan, and nearly every other big name in the rock world who has had occasion to spend time in Hollywood.
The motel's main attraction is its tolerance. Whenever a guest calls to complain about the noise coming from the "musicians upstairs", it is invariably the complaining guest that is asked to leave. The Landmark was where Brian Mason and the Stones chose to set up headquarters for their week-long stay in Electric LA. Mason had three rooms all to himself on the top floor of the building, with the other Stones occupying several rooms on the floor below him. Except for the time he spent in the recording studio, Mason made it a point not to see or even speak on the phone with any of the members of his band. Jonathan had called him the first day of their scheduled six-day recording session to ask if he wanted to drive over to the studio with him. Mason had told him that if he ever bothered him again so early in the morning, he would break every one of his fingers and make him play bass with his toes.
Later that day when Brian had failed to show up at the studio, a well-meaning young executive from Columbia Records came by to see if their superstar was all right. Mason threw him bodily out of the suite, knocking out a tooth and blackening the man's eye in the process. He would come when he damn well felt like it, not when some IBM-styled executive decided he should. The only people that were welcomed into Mason's private suite were the constant stream of tight-bodied groupies and an occasional drug dealer. Everyone else was told by Mason's newly hired bodyguard to fuck off or they would get seriously hurt. The cold-blooded meanness in the eyes of the two-hundred-and-twenty-five-pound Hell's Angel left no question that he meant what he said and, shaking their heads, the visitors had no choice but to leave.
Behind his well-guarded door, Brian Mason was enjoying his stay in Tinseltown to its fullest. At night, Sunset Strip is a paradise of sexy and dressed-up young things with nowhere to go. In their see-through blouses and tiny skirts, they parade up and down the Strip just waiting for something to happen to them. And, while he was in town, Brian Mason did his best to see that something did. Each night after dinner, he and Chopper John, his bodyguard, would cruise the Strip in Mason's rented limousine, picking and choosing the evening's entertainment from the wealth of beautiful people that strolled the glittering street. When the car was full, they would head back to the Landmark and the party would begin. The dope was good and plentiful and after everyone was thoroughly narcotized, Brian Mason would begin to ringmaster the three-ring circus.
A special joy for Mason was to get two girls who had never considered a lesbian affair to make love to each other. For his evening's pleasure, Chopper John presented him with two of his girl friends-both sexy little brunettes in tight-fitting Levis. The girls, June and Marge, had balled dozens of bikers but never had gone to bed with another mamma. Even for hard, red-ganging mammas, the world is full of new adventures.
After Mason had both girls creaming wet, he forced one of them to caress the other's swollen breasts. Taking her hand in his, he massaged the hard nipple, watching the fear and confusion in their eyes slowly melt away as they began to enjoy the new experience. After a bit, he tentatively removed his hand. To his delight, he found that his encouragements were no longer necessary. The two girls were touching and feeling each other's body with a hot, newly awakened lust. They toyed with the other's tits, becoming bolder and bolder with each caress. They kissed and their tongues darted in and out of the other's open mouth. Gently they brought their stiff nipples together, moving them round and round as moans of pleasure escaped from their lips. Getting still braver, one of the girl's hands snuck down to caress the other's soft curly nest. The girl shrieked in ecstasy as she felt the female hand on her cunt.
Mason had had Chopper John go out earlier and buy a long, thick, flesh-colored dildo especially for the occasion. Now, he helped the one strap the artificial penis in place and position herself between June's trembling legs. He guided the latex dick into the welcoming hole. June started, afraid of what was happening to her. Then, as she felt the big dildo slip easily into her wet, hungry pussy, a big smile spread across her pretty, freckled face. Her eyes closed in ecstasy as she groaned her thrill into Marge's ear.
The straps of the dildo, one around her grinding hips and two smaller ones around each of her thighs, held the rod securely against Marge's hot cunt. As she fucked the girl beneath her, the base of the rubber cock massaged her own pussy, driving her, too, delirious with pleasure. Her hands were on June's sharp, pointed breasts, pinching the stiff red nipples until she cried out in pleasure-pain.
June's long painted fingernails raked Marge's back, leaving bright red marks where her passion cut into the girl's flesh. All too soon she felt her cunt begin to quiver uncontrollably and, clasping Marge tightly against her, she plummeted towards her orgasm.
Marge still hadn't come and Mason, not wanting anyone to leave his room without getting their jollies, rolled her on top of June, unstrapped the dildo and slipped his cock into her. Using June as a mattress, they fucked until they too climaxed. Feeling them humping on top of her reawakened June and, as Brian grunted his load into the brunette's throbbing cunt, a second orgasm swept over her like liquid fire.
Afterwards, when the two girls were dressed and ready to leave, Mason autographed the dildo with indelible ink and gave it to Marge as a gift. She thanked him sincerely.
Later, Brian and Chopper John stopped by a small topless, bottomless club on the strip called Big Al's. The main attraction, Sherrie, was a stunning, frizzy-haired blonde who danced on the circular bar wearing only a saucy red ribbon tied around her neck. Her pussy was covered by a thick bush of curly, light-blonde pubic hair that had been barbered into the shape of a heart. When one of the men at the bar put a dollar down in front of them, Sherrie would dance over and, for a few tantalizing seconds, spread her pussy wide open just inches from their mouths, then dance away, the dollar bill in her hand. The house rules however, were very strict and the customers were permitted only to look.
Brian and Chopper John watched the act for a few minutes and then, jokingly, Mason took out a hundred-dollar bill and put it in front of the Hell's Angel. The girl's eyes bulged at the sight of the crisp, big bill. As she danced in front of Mason's bodyguard, Mason leaned over and asked him if he wanted the girl. Chopper John couldn't think of anything he wanted more. Taking out two more hundreds from his pocket, Brian showed them to the girl and then tucked them away again. Sherrie knew just what she had to do to earn them and, before she danced away, she mouthed that this was her last set.
A half-hour later, the three of them left Big Al's and started back to the Landmark. Brian drove, watching in the rear-view mirror as Chopper John mauled the beautiful young dancer. He had her skirt pushed up to her sensual hips and Mason nearly smashed into the car in front of him when he saw that Sherrie wore no panties. He had planned to give the girl to the Hell's Angel as a bonus; he himself wanted to get some much-needed sleep. After all, he did have a recording session in the morning. Seeing Chopper John playing with the heart-shaped bush and watching as she removed the Hell's Angel's hard prick from his greasy jeans and begin to jerk it off was, however, getting him pretty excited. He felt his own dick begin to grow in his pants and unconsciously he began to scan the street for something for himself. Out of the corner of his eye, Mason noticed a young couple hitchhiking. He squealed the big car to a stop alongside them and motioned them in. As they climbed into the front seat, Mason noticed that they were both wearing wedding rings.
"Perfect," Brian thought to himself, "just perfect."
The couple were in their early twenties and fairly straight-looking. The girl wore a black, summer-knit dress that molded itself to her firm, well-curved body, and a pair of high black boots. Her dark hair was done up and her make-up looked as if it had been professionally applied. Her husband wore a pair of ill-fitting, bell-bottom trousers and some love-beads around his neck. His hair was short and combed into place.
"Hi," the girl said. "Thanks for picking us up."
"Sure," said Mason, smiling. "Where you going?"
At that point, both of them glanced into the back seat, doing a perfect Groucho Marx double-take. The girl's hand squeezed her husband's thigh and the two of them ogled as Chopper John's wet dick slipped in and out of Sherrie's mouth.
Mason cleared his throat. "Where are you going?" he asked again.
"Oh," the girl started, her face blushing a scarlet red, "to... uhm... Webster Street." Then she took a good look at Brian. "Say," she gawked in amazement, "aren't you Brian Mason?"
"Uh huh," Mason nodded, glad they had recognized him. That would make it a lot easier.
"Well, wow," the girl exclaimed, "we just love your music and... and... wow! She was in obvious awe at being so close to the big star.
"Are you going to the concert at the Bowl?" Brian asked, sensing an opening to get them back to his motel.
"N-no," she answered, looking embarrassed, "the tickets are all sold out."
Mason's face spread into a big, friendly smile.
"Why don't we stop by my place and I'll give you two front-row seats. Okay?
The girl turned to her husband, her eyes adazzle at the exciting offer. Her husband's eyes were riveted on Chopper John and Sherrie, and Mason could see the big bulge in his pants as he watched Sherrie suck on John's exposed dick. He had wedged his back against the upholstered car door so that, in the bright light streaming in from the neon-lit boulevard, he could see every luscious detail of the girl's full, red lips loving their wet way up and down that big, hard rod. He imagined that her lips were on his dick too. His wife had to squeeze his thigh to get his attention.
"Could we?" she pleaded.
"Well... uhm... yeas... why not?" the boy mumbled, embarrassed that he had been caught peeking.
"Fine," Brian grinned confidently, "we could even have some breakfast or something together. Say, do you two get high?"
"Sure," the girl offered eagerly, "we've smoked pot before."
Brian laughed and the girl laughed with him, though not sure why. The laugh brought out a deep dimple on the left side of her cheek and made her green eyes sparkle.
She was really a beautiful girl and Brian tried to imagine how she would look with her shiny black hair undone and falling free about her slim shoulders. The image he conjured up was very provocative and he caught his breath in anticipation of that moment. Why, he wondered, did she ever wear her hair up? His eyes travelled down her trim body. The tight dress fit her perfectly, emphasizing the graceful, firm curves of her body to the fullest. An expensive-looking cameo nestled securely between her breasts, suspended from her neck by a thin, gold chain. Her tits were big, although not too large, and well separated so that a deep, wide valley was formed between them. They stood straight out from her small chest and flat stomach like two, gently rounded hills, their twin peaks straining against the knit material of her dress. Brian's palm itched to cup their obvious firmness. The hem of her dress had ridden about three-quarters of the way up her slender thighs. She wore sheer black stockings that fit her legs like a coat of sprayed-on silk, disappearing into calf-high, form-fitting black leather boots. "Foxy" was the word that kept flashing through Brian's head as he appraised her beauty.
The girl was acutely aware of Mason's eyes roving over her body, undressing her and gently caressing her naked flesh. She felt herself flush and her pulse increased in tempo. When his clear blue eyes caught hers for something longer than an exchanged glance, her spine tingled with excitement. Crazy thoughts started running through her head and, though she tried, she couldn't stop their flow. She wondered what Mason would be like in bed, how he would make love to her, and she felt a heat begin to glow between her legs, moistening the lips of her cunt. If only he would reach over and feel how hard and swollen her nipples were... or slide his hand all the way up her leg to touch her at the center of her passion. He would easily be able to feel her pussy, how wet it was under the thin, black nylon of her panties....No! She had to stop thinking like this or it would drive her insane. Then, just when she thought she had control over herself again, she felt Mason's hand touch her exposed thigh. It was like a white-hot branding iron on her leg and her cunt got wet all over again.
Watching for her husband's reaction, Mason pushed the skirt up just a little and let his fingers lightly close around the silken inner curve of her thigh. His hand crept higher, moving the skirt up with it, so that the husband would have no question about where or how he was touching her. The boy's eyes flamed when he noticed the singer's hand on his wife's thigh and Brian saw the fingers of his right hand ball up into a tight fist. Still Mason continued to stroke the hot, smooth flesh, sliding up even higher.
"Hey," the boy said angrily, "what are you doin'?"
Smiling a big, friendly smile, but not removing his hand from the top of the girl's leg, he calmly asked the boy if he minded sharing his chick for a while. "We'll all be able to get it on and have ourselves a good time. After all, she really is a beautiful lady."
The request threw the boy completely off-guard. The way Mason said it, he really believed that the three of them could have the best time in bed they'd ever had. He looked at his wife and saw her eyes pleading with him to say yes.
Two or three times before, in the privacy of their bedroom, they had talked about the possibility of including a third person in bed with them. Once they had even looked through the "personal" column of the Berkeley Barb and joked about answering the ad for "a swinging couple to participate in uninhibited party games." It had always seemed like such a deliriously dirty thing to do, that just talking about it had turned them both on and they had made love with a new-found passion. And now, here it was! A perfect opportunity to actually do it.
Confusion began to overtake his instinctive anger and then, an exotic excitement supplanted the confusion. His prick was bursting in his pants as he let his hand settle on his wife's other thigh.
Feeling both men's hands on her and knowing that soon they would be all over her body made the girl squirm with lust. She spread her legs apart, letting them push her skirt up slowly, inch by teasing inch. The black material crept upwards, above the tops of her dark stockings. She lifted her rear slightly off the black leather seat and rolled the dress up until it was bunched around her hips. Between those glossy, snow-white thighs, framed by the black tops of the stockings, her nylon-covered pussy lay wide open, begging to be petted. God, she had never in her life been as hot as she was right now.
Mason's hand moved up at once to caress the bursting crotch of her black panties. Through the thin material, he could feel her pussy lips open and moist, and he rubbed his finger gently along them. The boy gawked open-mouthed as the rock star's finger defined the outline of his wife's cunt lips.
"Pull her panties aside," Mason commanded the girl's husband.
At once he obeyed, grasping the elastic legband and pulling it away so that his wife's pussy was uncovered and open to this strange man's hand. Her hand went to her husband's stiff tent pole and she squeezed through his pants.
"Oh, Stephen!... Stephen... his finger... it's in me... it's in my cunt!... Oh, I'm so hot... so wet and open... he's playing with my clit.... His finger, Stephen, it's on my clit... rubbing it around.... Oh, I'm going to come on his finger... you're holding my panties aside while this man's finger fucks me.... Oh, Stephen!"
Her hand worked furiously on her husband's dick, feeling it dance and twitch under her frantic manipulations and then, felt the material that covered it get soaking wet as Stephen shot his load into his pants.
Brian eased the car into its parking place underneath the Landmark, and shut the engine off. In the sudden silence they heard Chopper John grunt loudly, then Sherrie began to slurp and swallow. Laughing, they left them in the back seat and headed upstairs to Brian's suite.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE couple had never used speed before, and at first refused. Brian assumed them that all it would do would wake them up and turn them on. Finally they agreed to take just a pinch but, after feeling the exhilaration of the "pinch" explode inside them, they both asked for more. Then Mason directed them to take their clothes off.
The girl began to undress first, asking her husband to undo the zipper running down the back of the clinging, knit dress, and then pulled it up over her head in one swift motion. Under it she wore a sheer, black half-bra, matching bikini panties and long, dark nylons supported by a black garterbelt. Her high, cone-shaped breasts filled the light bra to overflowing. Large pink nipples, swollen full by her mounting excitement, peeked saucily over the lacy border. Her thick bush of black pubic hair was covered by only a gossamer of fabric. A few of the black, curly hairs had escaped and lay beautifully framed against the white of her thighs. From under her panties, the suspenders of her garterbelt stretched across that lovely expanse of creamy flesh and held her stockings firmly in place. The men's openly appreciative stares made her glow with pleasure.
Slowly, with an exaggerated motion, she reached behind her to undo her bra. Her tits thrust forward, threatening to tear the thin black material. She found the snap and opened it, and the bra flew open. Taking hold of the shoulder straps, she slipped the bra off and tossed it aside, revealing her snow-white, rosebud-tipped tits. Even without the bra, her boobs stood out just as proudly as they had under the tight knit dress. Stripping her tiny panties off, she stood before them clad only in the black garterbelt and taut black nylons. Her pussy lips were so swollen that they formed a deep, pouting valley through the center of her dark triangle.
"Leave the stockings on," Brian said. "They add a bit of... uh... evil to the scene. Now, Stevie boy, you gonna dig it while I ball your old lady."
The three of them climbed onto the king-size bed and Mason had the girl play with both their dicks for a while, running her lips and tongue over his rod first and then giving the same treatment to her old man. Each time she took Brian's big cock into her mouth, her husband leaned forward to watch her kiss and lick the singer's penis. It thrilled him so much to see his wife's sweet mouth around the other man's cock that he pushed her head back to Mason when she shifted to give him his turn. Then Mason rolled her over onto her back and let her husband guide his rock-hard prick into the girl's creamy wet vagina. She wrapped her black-stockinged legs high up around the singer's waist and the two of them fucked away for all they were worth. Stephen was enraptured, licking his lips and panting, just as hard as his wife with Mason screwing her. Tammy squirmed wildly under him, kissing and bathing his and her husband's face, and moaning her hot pleasure into both sets of ears.
"He's doing it to me.... He's fucking me, and you're so close... watching his cock in my pussy.... Feel his dick inside me.... Take your hand and feel his cock in my pussy."
Stephen put his hand between their legs, feeling Mason's slimy wet piston push in and then draw out of his wife's vagina. Tammy's hand went for her husband's hard-on and, to her amazement, she found Mason was already there, stroking the full, hard length of the other man's penis. Together, Tammy and Brian jerked him off, keeping tempo with their own coupling rhythm. Stephen had twisted around on the big bed so that he could have a better view of Brian's prick working inside his wife's creaming twat. When he did, Mason and Tammy drew his throbbing shaft up to their kissing lips, putting it between their lips and covering it with hot, wet kisses. Tammy held her husband's dick in her hand and offered it, like a big lollipop, to Brian's open mouth. The singer flicked his tongue avidly over the long shaft, kissing away the glistening drops of milky-white semen that began to fill the deep ridge in the tip of it. While Tammy laved the thick shaft and lapped at his heavy balls, Mason let his lips slide over the velvety, tightly stretched skin of the glans until he had the whole head of it in his mouth. He stopped there, his tongue running crazy patterns over the sensitive end of it before he let it slip full-length into his sucking mouth. Tammy was beside herself with passion. Her lips and tongue fought Mason's for possession of the luscious, hard cock while her hips heaved and humped under him, her inflamed pussy filled with the strength of the man's big dick. She and Mason could feel Stephen's hand at the point of their union, caressing her pussy and Mason's swollen joystick as it pumped in and out.
Uncontrollably, Stephen's cock began to jerk and twitch against the inside of the singer's cheeks. Mason let the rod slip from between his lips and offered it to the man's wife. She accepted it eagerly, holding it just at her lips so that Brian could share it with her. With Stephen's cock between them, they kissed and tongued each other until the boy could hold his load back no longer. Long, hot spurts of semen shot out of his cock into both mouths. The come bathed their lips with its sticky wetness as they licked and sucked Stephen's penis until they had milked it dry. Tiny droplets of her husband's sperm glistened on Tammy's full red lips and Brian kissed each one away, his tongue probing deep into the girl's loving mouth.
Mason felt his own floodgates begin to open and pushed his penis deep into the girl's cunt. Groaning with the heat of her passion, she returned Mason's thrust by drawing her legs up even further and pushing her ass high up off the mattress. He bucked away on top of her, his hands filled with her firm tits. His cock began to convulse inside her and the thought of the famous superstar shooting his load of sperm in her while her husband watched made her, in turn, convulse on the violent grip of her orgasm. Screaming their pleasure, they came together and then, after the last spasm of lust hand passed, Mason tumbled off her to rest.
It was five in the morning when Mason finally gave them cabfare and told them to be on their way. He had a recording session scheduled to begin in a few hours and had to get some sleep.
He had almost drifted off when an insistent rapping hauled him out of bed. He opened the door to find Tammy and Stephen smiling at him.
"What the fuck do you want?" he growled at them.
"Well... uhm..." Stephen mumbled at the floor, "you... uhm... forgot the tickets you promised to give us."
"You stupid, cock-sucking assholes!" was the best Brian could come up with at that hour and, with all the violence he could muster, slammed the door in their faces.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE recording sessions were nothing short of a joke. Musicians, record company officials, a few music critics and sound technicians were in the studio at ten in the morning, anxious to begin work on the Stone's new album. Fiddling with their instruments, drinking coffee, adjusting dials, and playing poker, they waited... and waited... and waited. Finally sometime in the afternoon, Mason walked in, preceded by his motorcycle-chain-carrying bodyguard. He said nothing, looked at no one. Haggard from excessive drug use and the previous night's partying, he walked straight to the back sound-booth and, after the Hell's Angel shoved everyone out of it, sat for more than an hour sipping hot chocolate and trying to get himself together enough to hold his guitar. He took handfuls of whites, but the only effect they seemed to have was to make his mood even uglier.
On Monday he didn't even bother to pick up his instrument, leaving the studio without a word shortly after he had arrived. On Tuesday he did try to play but was constantly out of tune. When Jonathan asked if Mason would mind if he tuned his instrument for him, the superstar became enraged, telling Geary that he didn't know his ass from his elbow about music and that it was everyone else that was out of tune.
"For two cents," he snarled," I'd fire the whole bloody lot of you. None of you are good enough to be playing with me."
The room went dead quiet as Mason threw down his guitar and left for the day.
On Wednesday he attacked his drummer for pushing the tempo when, in fact, it was Brian who couldn't keep up with the Stone's hard-driving rhythm section. He was so wasted that he would have had a hard time keeping up with the street-corner Salvation Army Band.
By Thursday, Columbia Records had decided that they had wasted enough time and money and that it would be wiser to postpone the recording date until some time after the Hollywood Bowl concert. They rationalized that it had been unwise to schedule a recording session right before such an important concert. Mason was probably so wound up over the Bowl appearance that he had become a nervous wreck and that was why he was acting the way he was. Everyone, including the man that made the press statement, knew that it was pure bullshit. Physically the hottest property in rock music had himself so fucked upon hard drugs that his playing and singing had become worse than horrible. It was useless, like some five-year-old piddling with a dime-store ukulele. But that didn't worry them nearly as much as what was happening to Brian's head. They could always dry the drugs out of his system; an expensive sanitarium would take care of that. It was the warp that had appeared in his brain that really had them panicked. For too long, his screaming fans had told him over and over again that he was god-and now, he had begun to believe it. Dealing with that kind of sickness would take a lot more than fresh orange juice in the morning, ten hours of sleep at night and a walk in a sunny garden every afternoon.
On Friday afternoon, Jonathan visited Brian in his room in the hopes of talking him into getting some rehearsal time in before they stepped out onto the stage of a packed Hollywood Bowl. It was the last straw for both of them.
The door was opened for him by a naked, stoned, fourteen-year-old chick who had to hold onto the brass doorknob to keep from falling flat on her face. Splayed out in various positions on the thick carpet were three other equally young Mammas, one with a tattoo on her round ass that read "Property of the North Hollywood Hell's Angels". Her other cheek was decorated with "I Love to Fuck" in elaborate scroll-above a set of crossed penises. Mason sat grinning while Chopper John tried to perform cunnilingus on one of the girls but he was so heavily drugged that he kept falling asleep with his head in the girl's muff.
On the table next to Mason was a tall pile of open caps of reds, a tablespoon, and a set of works fitted with a large red rubber bulb-all the equipment necessary to inject Seconal. It was sadly comical to see their orgy so slowed down by the reds that the girls had fallen asleep and neither of the men were capable of raising even a stir from their shriveled, baby-sized penises.
When Brian looked up at him, his jaw hung open slackly and his eyes rolled back into his head. All Jonathan could see were his bloodshot whites and a little trickle of drool running out of his open mouth and down his chin.
"What do you want?" Mason slurred his words so badly that Jonathan had trouble understanding him. The bass player wondered if there was any point in continuing.
"Well, Brian," he said finally, "you know the concert's tomorrow night and..."
"Don't worry, Johnny, ole boy," Brian interrupted him, "I'll be there on time. Why don't you shoot up some of these reds? It's really a groovy high." He spoke like a six-year-old, drunk retard.
"Hey, really, Brian," Jonathan tried foolishly to reason with him, "we gotta rehearse at least a little before the concert. There's gonna be fifteen thousand people there and..."
"Rehearse?" Brian interrupted him again. "I ain't gotta rehearse. I'm the greatest there is and I doan need no fuckin' rehearsal. Now you tell me I'm the greatest there is.... Go ahead, say it." His face was twisted into meanness. Geary turned to walk out but Brian was able to grab his foot, tripping him to the ground.
"Come on, John," he growled, "let's beat the shit outta this bastard."
Jonathan tried desperately to pull his foot free of Mason's hold before the big Hell's Angel was able to crawl over to them. He had just managed when he felt the big arms wrap themselves around his chest. He fought like a tiger to break free but the weigh was too much for him. They pressed their combined four hundred pounds down on him and there was no way he could throw them off. He squirmed and kicked and bit like a wild dog until, at last, he connected with Brian's balls. The singer howled in pain and fell off, clutching his wounded crotch.
The exhilaration of the battle had, however, begun to bring Chopper John back to life and, raising himself up, he slammed his broad-knuckled fist into the side of Jonathan's head. Jonathan's ear rang as if he had just run into a gong and, for a moment, he felt himself black out. The Hell's Angel hit him once more in the stomach, before he was able to get away and scramble out of the room. Outside the door, Geary threw up twice and fell over. As he lay in a pool of his own vomit, he swore he would repay Mason for tonight and for the thousand other nights that he had been forced to grovel at his feet. For that, he would get revenge! Then, he passed out.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BRIAN Mason arrived at the Hollywood Bowl an hour before he and the Stone's were scheduled to begin their concert. The huge amphitheater was already filled to capacity. Outside, thick crowds of young people pressed anxiously against the ticket windows. Every ticket for the concert had been bought up weeks ago, but still they came. Maybe there would be one or two tickets that someone had returned, or maybe they could muscle their way past the line of burly guards that stood, nightsticks in hand, at each of the gates.
With the help of Chopper John and four other Angels hired for the occasion, Mason worked his way through the milling throngs of fans towards the entrance of the under-the-stage dressing rooms. Halfway there, he was recognized. Like a school of minnows who had just discovered a morsel of food, they descended on him. The Angels had been told to keep people away from him no matter what they had to do, and with a lot more enthusiasm than their hundred-dollar salary required, they turned on the happy, exuberant crowd pushing in on them. The screams of "Brian... Brian... Brian!" quickly turned into groans of pain and horror as the heavy motorcycle chains connected. Leaving a bloody trail of cracked heads and fallen bodies, they whipped and beat the rest of their way to the "Performers Only" door.
Waiting for Brian in his dressing room were the dozen or more reporters and photographers that he had told to meet him there. Seated comfortably on an overstuffed maroon velvet couch, he smiled for a barrage of flash bulbs and clicking shutters and then cleared his throat to speak.
"Tonight," he said, "is the last night I will be playing with the Stones. After the concert, the Stones as a group are breaking up and I'll be appearin' and makin' records by myself."
In the back of the crowd of buzzing, questioning reporters, Jonathan Geary smiled. "That's what you think, Brian Superstar," he said to himself. "After tonight, you'll be lucky if you can get work at a Polish wedding in Kokomo."
In his left hand he held a small orange tablet containing one thousand micrograms of LSD-enough acid to freak out five people. Ten minutes before show time, the tablet was dissolving in the hot chocolate that sat on the table in front of Masci. As the Stones laid into the opening bars of "I Am the Devil", Brian drained the last drop from the cup, buttoned his shirt and started on the stage.
The acid hit just as the roar of the crowd began to subside. Mason had done "I Am the Devil" a thousand times before but now, he couldn't remember the chords or the words. The sound became horribly distorted, reaching immeasurably loud volume and then fading away to a whisper. His fingers felt like soft clay on the guitar strings. He put his hands over his ears in an attempt to block out the roar of discordant sound that was building around him. It did no good. The cacophony got louder and louder, and louder until, Mason thought, it would burst his eardrums. He screamed in pain but it wouldn't go away. Then, suddenly, it was silent. Not a whisper. Mouths moved, the drummer's sticks beat furiously on the big floor cymbal but... not a whisper. Then, with a roar, the sound came crashing in on him again, then times louder than before. Again it was gone, just as suddenly as it had come.
A sea of faces grinned up at him with rubber mouths. They were saying something to him yet he heard not a word. Black on white, white on black, they flickered back and forth from negative to positive a million times in the space of one breath. Fifteen thousand bodies fused into one, melting and flowing to form a giant, oozing amoeba. Its cytoplasm streamed with a brilliant red and green luminescence as it crawled towards him. Shimmering, pulsing, it oozed closer and closer, bent on engulfing him within its gelatine mass.
"No! Stop! I command you!" Mason screamed at it, his arms stretched out in front of him as if he were capable of emitting a deadly ray from his fingertips.
At once, the glowing mountain of protoplasm stopped and shrunk backwards. It had been made of glass and Mason had smashed it into a million glittering fragments. He stood on the highest mountain-or at the brim of a deep hole in the earth. Below him a fire boiled and bubbled and he basked in its glowing heat. Rats with jewelled eyes scurried round his feet and giant bears with gold rings through their noses danced for his pleasure. In the fuming well of red-hot lava he could see bodies twisting in agony. They were people he thought he knew and they were begging him for mercy, pleading and crying his name before they disappeared under the molten waves of orange fire. He could save them, he could simply raise his hand and they would be saved. Instead, he let them die, laughing at their terror-stricken faces.
Near him a handful of bare-breasted young dancers who had somehow gotten past the police and wire mesh barrier, stared at him in disbelief. Mason grabbed the closest one by her tits and pulled her to him. They were all his for the taking. He could do with them, with anyone, as he wished. Letting her go for a second, he fumbled with his pants, tearing them down to reveal his penis, swollen in erection. Holding his stiff cock in one hand, his pants falling around his knees, he tried to chase the girl around the stage but, instead, fell flat on his face.
A cold, damp blanket of death covered him and, with heavy chains, he was lowered into his grave. Witches and warlocks clothed in the robes of the church performed their Black Mass over his lifeless body.
The thirteen were bedecked with dazzling necklaces, bracelets, and pendants of amber, bloodstone, cat's-eye, jet and turquoise. In their hands they held cups carved of animal horns, and long silver knives with ancient runes etched in fire along the shiny blades. Brian lay naked in the center of their circle, a mask of a ram covering his face. Casting her robes aside, a woman knelt by his body and applied sacred oil to it. First she anointed his phallus, which grew hard as she smeared on the mixture of smallage, cinquefoil, hemlock, and mandrake. His penis was bigger than Mason had ever seen it, and it was covered with hard, green scales. Then the woman consecrated his left and right breasts, returning to his penis for a solemn kiss before she chanted the following words:
Emen Hetan! Emen Hetan!
I am of thee and thou art mine,
I have nothing which is not thine.
In thy name, O Prince of Light
Behold they servant anointing thee.
I should some day be great like thee!
Thout a thout, thout, throughout and about!
Lead us, O Lucifer, I pray thee.
Up to heaven I pray
And down to earth I call thee!
Then the priestess straddled his hips and taking his phallus in her hand, she guided it into her vagina.
The others now also cast aside their robes and, holding hands, danced around the mating couple-singing the word "IoEohe" again and again. They danced and sang while each girl was given a turn to mount Mason, and each cloven-hooved male took his penis into his warm mouth and sucked it until he was rewarded with a mouthful of semen.
As the gray light of dawn approached, the coven bade him farewell and sang:
It is the Great Mother who giveth birth to him;
It is the Lord of Life who is born again.
Darkness and tears are set aside
When the sun shall come up early!
O, Prince of Light,
Illumine the land, light up the world.
Illumine the seas and the rivers,
Sorrows be laid aside, joy to the world!
Blessed be the Great God
Without beginning, without end,
Everlasting in eternity
IoEohe, blessed be!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WHEN Mason woke, he could not figure out where he was or what had happened to him. The bright lights sent pain scorching to the back of his retina and he blinked over and over again, trying to get his eyes to focus. He was lying in a bed in a large, white room, surrounded by unfamiliar faces.
"Where am I?" he asked, surprised at the sound of his own voice.
"You're in a private hospital in Beverly Hills," a man dressed in white answered calmly. "You were brought here over twelve hours ago from the Hollywood Bowl. It seems that while you were on stage someone slipped you a massive dose of lysergic acid diethlamine, LSD, and we've been treating you with thorazine. You should be all right now. How do you feel?"
"Fine, I feel okay. My head hurts a little and I'm a bit woozy... but I feel pretty good."
The other faces in the room came into focus. He recognized Nick Adams, the Stone's business manager, several members of the band and Chopper John standing by his bedside. Jonathan Geary was conspicuously absent. There was also a strange man in an ill-fitting, three-piece suit who stepped forward and announced that he was serving him a warrant for lewd and indecent behavior. "But," he smiled, "under the circumstances, I'm sure the charges will be dropped."
"What happened at the concert?" Brian searched their faces.
"Man," Chopper John laughed, "you really blew it. After that acid hit, you couldn't play worth shit. Then you took your pants off and tried to ball one of the chicks on stage. Me and the boys had all we could do to keep those punk kids from tearing you to pieces. Man, were they pissed off."
"We... ah... took quite a loss on the concert," Nick interrupted. "The Bowl had to refund all the bread and now they are suing us for a quarter of a million bucks. Everybody is pretty uptight with you. The press is crucifying your ass."
"Fuck 'em!" Brian snapped, dropping his head back down onto the pillow. "I don't need them any more. Now, everyone beat it. I wanna get some sleep."
Brian slept fitfully. He dreamt of the coven that had visited him and called him Lucifer, Prince of Light. He woke up with a start and tore away the bedclothes to look at his penis. The reptile-like scales were no longer there and, with a sigh, he fell back to sleep. He remembered every detail of the Black Mass, every word of those weird chants. How could he have hallucinated them? He didn't know the first thing about black magic. He wondered, tossing and turning, sleeping and waking on and off for a full twenty-four hours. Then, on Monday morning, he demanded his clothes signed the release papers and left the hospital.
Chopper John was waiting for him with the black limousine. Mason got in and John eased the car out into traffic.
"Where to, boss man?" he asked, doing a poor Amos-and-Andy imitation.
"Let's go out to the country someplace. I've got a lot of things I got to work out and I don't want to be bothered till I do."
"Sure thing, boss," the Angel persisted in his bad impersonation.
The two of them stopped by the Landmark, packed suitcases, and went to the desk to check out. There was a crowd of reporters that had been waiting for this moment for two days. Chopper John had to knock one of them unconscious before they would leave them alone. Mason paid his bill with hundreds and, not waiting for change, hurried out of the motel before the police arrived.
Twenty miles outside of Palm Springs they pulled into the long, well-guarded driveway of a hotel called, poetically, "Alone In The Desert", and they took the two best rooms in the sprawling one-time private estate house. They stayed there a week, lounging by the pool, riding horses in the early morning and evening into the desert, playing cards, and not saying more than ten words to each other.
All the time, Mason thought and brooded about his vision. In his dreams he saw the coven again and again calling to him, naming him Prince of Light and exhorting him to lead them in a life of joy and uninhibited carnal passion. This, he began to truly believe, was to be his mission. Each night he was visited by the high priestess, her naked flesh glowing red in the light of the balefire, and each night she mounted him and they fucked like animals in heat. When he woke his penis would still be rock-hard-yet the sheets were covered with his semen.
On Thursday morning, after a particularly vivid re-enactment of the Black Mass, Mason hit upon the idea for his commune. He would buy a secluded comfortable ranch somewhere near L.A. and there, with the help of Chopper John, gather to him a hundred or so beautiful, tight-bodied young groupies and a few equally attractive studs. It would be a life solely devoted to sensual pleasures. They would live to worship him and he would guide them toward joys beyond their wildest dreams. The idea excited him so, that he began to tremble. He stood up, almost knocking over the breakfast china in his enthusiasm, and told Chopper John to begin at once to look for a ranch somewhere near Hollywood. He wanted it private, perhaps with a dozen of John's biker friends to act as guards, and big enough for about a hundred people. Money was no object. Then he got off a letter to a popular rock weekly, announcing his retirement from the music scene, and another note to Nick Adams charging him to get as much cash to him as soon as he could. Through records and concert appearances, Mason had earned upwards of three million dollars and he hoped his business manager would be able to lay his hands on at least half of that money.
Two days later, Chopper John returned to tell Mason he had found "just the place". With him was a nervous, gray-haired real estate broker. They showed Mason aerial photos of a two-hundred-acre estate that was "going for only a quarter of a million dollars". It was high above the glitter of Hollywood, set on a peak over Malibu, and had once been used as a movie set by MGM for their old Tom Mix westerns.
From the photos, Brian could see that there was a huge, Victorian-type mansion in the center of the property with, the real estate agent commented proudly, "forty-two bedrooms and a heated swimming pool". Scattered around the main building were several smaller guest houses, the remains of a Hollywood-set western town, and a large barn and corral. The decaying structures had faded signs marking them as a livery stable and a blacksmith's shop, a saloon, the sheriff's office and jailhouse, and the barbershop. All had been constructed years ago as settings for shoot-outs at high noon and Indian ambushes. Even from the photos, Brian could sense the quiet and stillness that hung like a low flying cloud over the area. Yet, it was only fifteen miles northwest of downtown Beverly Hills. There was only one entrance to the ranch-a winding narrow old road sealed off from the black-topped main highway by an impressive steel and barbed wire fence. It was perfect and, to the amazement of the broker, Mason signed the papers at once-without even questioning the price.
All that remained now was to recruit young followers willing to devote themselves to his cult. That proved to be even easier than Mason had thought it would be.
After renting the top floor of a casting studio in North Hollywood, he placed several ads in the underground papers, explaining his intention of starting a commune of freedom and love on his newly acquired property, and inviting all those interested to come to see him at the casting studio. His name was still magic to the swarms of hippies that lived in and around L.A., and the first day he had more than two hundred eager applicants.
For the next week, he and Chopper John carefully selected a hundred of the most beautiful candidates- seventy-five tight-assed, full-bodies groupies and twenty-five handsome, well-hung young men. They were ushered into his private office, ten at a time, and told to take off their clothes. Then he and Chopper John walked slowly down the line of naked girls, touching their tits or telling them to spread their legs a bit so they could get a better feel of their pussies. The girls just stared at Mason in awe and did whatever he told them.
Mason carried a long, tapered candlestick with him and, choosing the most timid-looking piece of ass out of each group, told her to masturbate with it front of the others. If she refused, she was told to get her clothes on and get the fuck out, while nine other eager hands reached for the candlestick.
It was a weird mixture of people that filed in and out of Mason's plush office. Well-tanned and ravishingly beautiful young movie starlets mingled with the gaunt, burned-out skeletons of over-drugged street children.
One body, who introduced himself only as Raka, claimed that his body had been inhabited for nearly a year by the spirit of a werewolf, and begged Mason to cure him. Two summers before he had left his home in Iowa to make the scene in the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco. Once there, he had panhandled passers-by for spare change, took every drug he could get his hands on, and slept wherever he could find a place to lie down. And several weeks in the streets, Raka had joined a commune, a family of ten that lived in an abandoned farm near the city. There, he said the spirit of the werewolf had entered his body during a trip on mescaline and he had been unable to rid himself of its evil. He said he was able to sense people with power and that was why he had come to see Mason. Only he, he felt, could save him.
A girl-thin, with a helmet of tight blonde curls -called herself Princess Leda and carried a black swan into the office with her. She said that she made love to the swan every night. Laughing, Brian told her to do so right then. The girl sat on the floor and drew her long, flowing skirt up to her waist. She was naked under it and her pubic hair had been shaved clean. From her bag she took a handful of golden brown meal and sprinkled the grains all over her bald crotch. At once, the swan's cobra-like neck arched forward to peck at the grains that clung to her pussy lips. She wriggled on the floor as the swan feasted at her twat. When it worked its beak into her slit to get at the last few morsels, the girl came.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ONE of the first girls chosen was a stunning seventeen-year-old blonde named Simone Lawson. When Mason saw her, his mouth went dry and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He closed his eyes and there she was-the high priestess of his vision, her mouth open in a wild laugh and her eyes dancing like burning stars as she impaled herself on his penis. When he opened them, she was still there, and smiling at him. She told him her name was Simone Lawson and that she would like to be part of his commune. The resemblance was uncanny. At once Brian chased everyone from the room except Simone and, tearing his clothes off, they made love on the thick red carpet.
Brian lay flat on his back, his cock standing up stiff as a flagpole and told Simone to get herself wet and then climb on. She felt for his stiff dick and, holding it in one gentle hand, began to massage her own genitals. In just a few short minutes she was rewarded by the feeling of cunt juice lubricating her pussy. She tested her wetness with her index finger and, finding a well-oiled passageway, slipped her finger deep into her cunt. Then she threw her right leg over Brian's hip and, still holding his cock in her left hand, eased herself down until the hard joystick was at her door.
Below her, Brian seemed to be dreaming, lost in another world. She wondered what sexual fantasies were finding their way into his dream world, causing him to moan with such unbridled passion. Pulling her finger out of her twat, she quickly replaced it with the larger, more rigid dick, guiding it home deep within her.
Slowly, relishing every subtle sensation, she worked herself up and down on the stiff piston, thrilling at the way it completely filled her pussy. She couldn't get over the fact that it was Brian Mason she was fucking, and bent to kiss him tenderly again and again on the lips. Again she found herself thanking whatever lucky spirit had guided her the night she packed her knapsack and walked out of her parent's house. Since that time, she had experienced nothing but the joys of freedom.
In New York City, her first stop, she lived for a while with several other people in a commune on Christopher Street. There she had been loved by fourteen-or was it fifteen-different men. Four in a night once, she remembered, plus a beautiful Japanese-American girl named Lolita.
One night, while she was in bed with Lolita and a boy named Randy, she called her parents collect from the bedside telephone. It was an impulse she could not resist. Her mother had answered.
"Hello, Mom, how are you?" Lolita had one of her nipples in her mouth and Randy was playing a delightful cat-and-mouse game with his tongue on her clitoris.
"Simone!" her mother's voice sounded like she was truly happy to hear from her. "We've been worried to death about you. We called all your friends and even the police. Your father didn't want to get them involved though. He was afraid of a scandal. But I insisted. Are you all right?"
"Sure, Mom, I'm just fine." At the moment, Randy's tongue caused a soft moan to escape from her lips.
"What was that?"
"Nothing, Mother." Simone brought herself under control. There was a long pause-as though her mother was having trouble thinking of things to say to her. Finally, she asked where she was and what she was doing.
"I'm in New York, Mom, and you really don't want to know what I'm doing, do you?"
"Yes, of course I do, Simone. We're very concerned about you."
Simone struggled to repress her laughter. "Well, Mom," she said, "if you really want to know, right now I'm in bed with a girl who's sucking on my tits while some guy is eating my pussy."
Simone heard her mother gasp, then there was absolute silence on the other end of the line. Smiling from ear to ear, she would have given anything to see the look on Vivian Lawson's face at that moment. Simone was about to replace the phone in its cradle when she heard her father's voice yelling her name through the receiver.
"Simone, Simone, what the hell's going on?"
"I just told Mommy," she giggled. "I'm in bed with a guy and some chick. The chick's playing with my boobs and the guy's got his tongue up my twat. Yummm, it feels so good."
"Who... who are these people, I demand to know!" Dick Lawson's voice was choked with anger, and that pleased Simone no end.
"Wait a minute, Daddy," she cooed, "I'll ask them." She held her palm over the mouthpiece so that her father could not hear her laugh.
"They don't know," she told him after a few second's wait. They're both pretty stoned on acid."
Click. The phone went dead. Terribly pleased with herself, Simone hung up the telephone and got into some serious lovemaking.
The next day, with Lolita and a boy named Rick, she had left New York and travelled west in Rick's old VW bus. Their voyage was anything but fun. Time and time again they were rousted by dumb, sneering cops and forced to submit to their vicious teasing and rough handling. Twice, on the pretext of a search for illegal drugs, they had been made to strip and stand shivering under the leers of drooling deputies, while their bus was ransacked and their belongings strewn all over the ground. The first time this happened, a quantity of marijuana was found in Simone's bag. The cops used it as blackmail to force the girls to service each of the ten policemen. On their knees, they had to blow each one of them, taking their come into their mouths while their breasts were pinched and squeezed and rough fingers jabbed into their vaginas.
Rick had tried to intervene but he was clubbed to his knees with their nightsticks, then handcuffed wrists to ankles so that he could do nothing more than watch his two companions being raped. One of the policemen produced a sharp pocketknife and, sadistically, Rick's long hair was shorn from his head.
Lying on her back in the dirt, small pebbles and bits of glass cutting into her naked flesh, Simone was ravaged over and over again by the officers. She was turned over and made to support herself on her hands and knees while the men fucked her doggie-style. Her face was pressed flat against the ground, the cold dirt cutting and scratching her delicate skin and filling her nostrils so that she couldn't breathe.
Someday, she swore, she would take her revenge on the fat, fucked-up American establishment that was making her grovel around in this dirty field. They would pay in blood, she promised. And Simone never forgot what happened to her that night in Missouri. It would always be there, haunting her, making her wake up in the middle of the night screaming for them to let her go. Right now, however, it was Brian Mason beneath her, with his big prick sliding in and out of her pussy- and that was foremost in her mind.
The pace of their fucking now became more urgent and Mason drew his knees up to lend support to her squirming body. Simone's tits bounced and jiggled with every motion and Brian, his eyes still closed tight, felt for their full, round shape as they moved above his head. Her nipples were very large and stood out like oversized pencil erasers from the swollen, more lightly colored areolas. As they came, her pussy squeezing every drop of semen out of the singer's throbbing cock, she heard Mason scream the word "IoEohe" over and over again. Drained and still shaking from the frenzy of their orgasm, they lay quietly in each other's arms for a long time. From that moment, Simone never left his side.
She helped him choose the other members of the commune, playing with his penis behind the desk while the hopeful candidates shed their clothes and paraded before them. Mason was thrilled when she, too, asked them to caress their own breasts or their pussies and to masturbate with the candlestick.
Brian had given her full rein over helping him select members for the commune. He thoroughly enjoyed sitting behind his big desk and watching her put willing applicants to the test. She felt the girl's bobos and rubbed their nipples until they blossomed into stiff, red buttons. Or, she made two female applicants play with each other.
"Do a sixty-nine," she commanded a pair of wide-eyed sixteen-year-old blondes.
"Do what she says," Brian reinforced the command.
The girls obeyed, lying head to pussy on the floor and lapping at the other's open wet cunt as Brian and Simone observed. Brian's hand was up Simone's skirt, fondling her pussy lips. She wore no panties under the short blue skirt and Brian was easily able to feel her extended clit under his finger. Casually, he fingered the bud while they enjoyed the two blondes rolling around at their feet, their tongues licking passionately in each other's vagina.
Male applicants that Simone and Brian thought to be worthy of serious consideration were made to stand at rigid attention-naked as coatracks-while Simone toyed with their stiff hard-ons. She measured their cocks and rejected anyone who fell below the eight-inch standard. Then she jerked them off, holding a large wine goblet in her left hand.
"Stay at attention," Brian snapped as the young studs, lost in the thrill of Simone's expert hand fondling their dicks began to lose their ridiculous military-like stances. One by one boys ejaculated into the wine glass, their thick, milky-white come never quite filling it up to the red line Simone had drawn on the goblet. It really didn't matter since Brian and Simone had invented this test purely for their own amusement. Both knew that only a bull elephant would have been able to pass it.
"Mmmm, you've really got a big one," Simone cooed, measuring a tall dark-haired boy's gigantic hard-on at a fantastic eleven and a half inches. "Can I take this one in my mouth?" she asked Mason.
Then, not waiting for an answer, she dropped to her knees in front of the boy and placed a long French kiss on the swollen head of his huge tool. The boy groaned aloud as Simone took more and more of his hard hose into her wet, loving mouth, winding her tongue round and round the throbbing mouthful in serpent-like caresses. She could fit only half of it in her mouth and almost choked on that. When he came, Simone was sorry she didn't have the wine glass ready. He might have filled it to overflowing. She swallowed hard again and again, drawing the hot, thick spurts of come out of the huge prick and down her throat. When she finished, drops of sperm glistened on her lips and ran down her chin in sticky little rivers.
"You'll do," she said with enthusiasm, wiping her face dry. "Come again.... I mean, come see us again on Friday."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
AT the last stroke of midnight during the time of Midsummer, the balefire for the first Sabbat held at the Mason ranch was lit. In the center of the circle, cast in the eerie orange glow of the blazing fire, Simone and Brian undid the clasps of their black velvet robes and shrugged them from their shoulders. They were both naked, tall, and slender, and their bodies seemed to glisten in the light of the fire. Simone's long hair flowed like a golden river to her shoulders and, upon her forehead, she had bound a silver lunar crescent, horns upward. Her lips and the halos around her nipples had been painted a bright red, as was the deep slit that marked the opening to her vagina. In her left hand she held a large amber bottle containing the sacred Sabbat oil.
The same deep red rouge had been applied to Brian's stiff phallus and to his balls. On his head he wore a shamanic horned helmet, rather like that of a Viking warrior; in his hand he held a short, thick staff. Arising from the center of Mason's headpiece was a short candle, symbolizing his role as the Lord of the Sun, Lucifer, the Light-Bearer. In a loud, unfaltering voice, Simone proclaimed her purpose.
"Listen to the words of the Great Mother, who was of old called among men Artemis, Diane, Aphrodite, and many other names. At mine altars the youth of Lacedaemon made due sacrifice. Once in a month and better it be when the moon is full, meet in some secret place and adore me-who am queen of all magic.
"There assembled, to those who would learn sorcery, I will teach things yet unknown. And you shall be free, and as a sign that you really be so, be naked in your rites, dance, sing, feast, make music and love. All in my praise, for I am a gracious goddess, who gives joy upon the earth; certainty, not faith, while in life; and upon death; peace, unutterable rest, and the ecstasy of the goddess. Nor do I demand aught in sacrifice, for beheld, I am the mother of all living, and my love is poured out upon the earth!
Having said this, Simone opened the bottle of perfumed essence.
The oil had been brewed by Simone according to a recipe remembered from her childhood. It had been given to her by the old, wrinkled Negro-Haitian servant that had worked for her parents. Recently, if she sat very still for a long period of time, and thought about the dark-skinned woman, she was able to hear the sweet, singsong voice again, as though a dozen years had suddenly been rolled back and the stooped, white-haired figure was sitting by her, telling of the voodoo rituals she had seen when she was a girl in Haiti.
"There is a sacred oil known only to those who believe," the woman had told her. "It smells of nighttime jasmine, jonquil and hyacinth, sweet and heady, like the night air in the mountains of Haiti. Just one sniff is enough to make the senses reel and the body glow warm. In my homeland, it was used especially during the Rites of Fertility, for it also inspires love and great passion.
"It is made of petals of the jasmine, jonquil, and hyacinth, plus poplar leaves, wolfbane, and mandrake. The herbs should be cut fresh while the moon is waxing, crushed and steeped in purified vegetable oil until a day before it is to be used. Then it is to be strained through muslin and stored in a dark, well-stoppered phial.
"The holy words Sarat, Ligum, Eval must be said while it is being prepared and when it is being strained.
"Take care," the voice had begun to fade, "it is a powerful potion. Use it wisely and only in love."
The members cast aside their robes and beat softly on small tomtoms and tambourines or played long sustained notes on the flutes and recorders they held in their hands.
Lovingly, Simone applied the oil to all of Mason's body, dwelling for a long time on his erect penis. She coated the organ until it dripped with oil, and then placed a long, solemn kiss on the very tip. His balls also received the same treatment and, afterwards, she took each one into her mouth and sucked on it for a long while.
Now it was her turn. With the same care, Brian applied the oil to her body. Her nipples swelled under his slippery caresses and her legs parted to allow his hand to reach into the red furrow between. Mason rubbed the oil again and again over the rouged pussy lips, turning her to each corner of the circle so that all could see his hand on her pussy. With her hands, Simone spread the lips of her cunt open for him and he licked the deep coral trough up and down, lashing over and over the stiff nub of her clitoris until Simone could no longer stand it. She pushed Mason onto his back and, with his cock standing straight up like a flagpole, she lowered herself down onto it. The thick shaft disappeared slowly between the lips of her pussy.
Around them the noise of the drums got louder and faster, matching the rhythm of their fucking. Other couples, aroused beyond control by what they were watching, began to imitate the coupling of their master and mistress. Soon the ground around the balefire was littered with naked couples or threesomes squirming and moaning in the joy of sexual delights. It didn't matter who was next to whom, male or female; it was all the same. Men took penises into their mouths and sucked them until their mouths were filled with come. Girls kissed each other's pussies and fondled each other's breasts, delighting in the groans of passion they were bringing to their partner's lips. One girl-a slim, platinum-blonde with huge round boobs-managed to arrange herself so that she was penetrated by two dicks at the same time, one buried deep in her pussy and another well-oiled cock probing her tight asshole. While the two opposing pistons pumped away inside her, her mouth closed around the long pink nipple offered by the girl next to her. To do this, the girl had to sit on the face of one of the boys fucking the blonde, her wet, open pussy pressed against the boy's mouth. She held her full, swaying tits cupped one in each hand, up to the blonde's adoring lips and let her lick and kiss them while the boy sucked on her twat. She, as everyone else at Mason's ranch, was beside herself with ecstasy.
"Suck on my tits," she kept murmuring over and over to the other girl. "Can you feel their pricks inside you?... Are they big and hard?... Fucking you in the cunt and up the ass at the same time.... When they're finished I want to eat your pussy... stick my tongue inside your twat and lap out the come... oh... oh...!" Her voice trailed off into groans as the boy's lips captured her swollen clit between them and drew it into his mouth.
Their cries of orgasm blended in perfectly with the wild, shrill notes coming from the flutes and the ever-quickening pounding on the drums around them. To this accompaniment, Brian filled Simone's vagina with a sacred oil of his own, and then the two parted, each seeking a new partner with whom to continue the night's festivities. The party continued until dawn had chased the stars from the sky. Mason regained his horned helmet and, his arms wrapped around Simone, bade everyone "merry be" before disappearing into the main house with his priestess. The Sabbat was over, the old gods had been reinvoked, and a new season begun.
In this way, life at Stone Head, the name given to the commune by Simone, continued throughout the rest of the summer and into the autumn. The rules established by Simone and Brian were unquestioned among the members. They were complete masters over the rest, and could do with their young bodies whatever they willed.
Next in line was Chopper John and the eight other burly bikers he had enlisted as a security force. They too could do anything they wanted with the beautiful young girls that lived at Stone Head. For the most part, their tastes ran to choosing one girl at a time and gang-banging her all night as she begged them to please, please stop. They would force the girl to lie spread-eagled on her back while, one after another, they stabbed their hard tools into her pussy and then into her mouth to be cleaned. She would be made to lie across the back of a chair, her tight ass pointing straight up in the air as each one of them bum-fucked her. Crawling around on all fours, doggie-style, in the middle of their circle, she was surrounded by stiff rods, all pointing directly at her. She would have to crawl over and lick their cocks and balls clean. Sometimes, instead of covering her with spurts of thick white semen, the Angels would piss on her. She had no other choice but to submit to whatever they wanted, and she would crawl round and round, hemmed in on all sides by the laughing men, her naked body burning from the hot acid urine bath.
"Hey, now that she's been pissed on, let's see if Brutus will ball her," a huge biker named Tiny offered one night with a laugh. The girl was then made to stretch out across a leather ottoman, her hands and legs held tightly in place, and the giant Great Dane named Brutus was led into the room. The dog approached the girl cautiously and began to sniff at her open pussy. Then he started to lick it.
To her surprise, the dog's cold wet nose and slobbering tongue were turning her on. She felt herself getting wet and involuntarily she raised her ass high in the air and spread her legs as wide apart as she could. Her hips rocked in a sensuous grind as the animal's huge red tongue lapped noisily at her vagina. The dog's cock had now become unsheathed and, with a little encouragement from the bikers, he mounted the moaning girl. She didn't have to be held any longer. She was returning the dog's humping with enthusiasm, supporting his big, black weight on her back and panting just as he was. The dog's dick was fully inside her, longer than any man's cock she had ever had and, when he came, she could feel the animal soak the top of her womb.
"How'd ya like that piece of ass?" the men gathered around, patting and congratulating the Great Dane. "Why don't you fuck her again? She really wants it." The Great Dane had intercourse with the girl two more times before she was let free to go to bed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DURING the heat of the day, the members of Stone Head roamed around completely naked, enjoying the cool of the swimming pool; or they slept in each other's arms, exhausted by the previous night's debaucheries. At night, the girls were allowed to wear either short skirts and see-through blouses or long flowing robes clasped only at the neck. Under their clothes they could wear no underwear at all. When they sat, they had to pull their skirts up above their hips or open their robes so that their pussies would be exposed. They were always to sit with their legs parted so that the way into the pussy was clearly open. Never could they refuse to do whatever was asked of them by another member of the Mason family. They had to make love to whomever they were told and in whatever manner was requested. They accepted these rules willingly, not even thinking to question the power Brian Mason and his priestess, Simone, had over them. They did not fear, but loved them dearly and would follow them anywhere.
Mason even forbade them to use their own names, giving each one the name of a witch; from that day on, they were always to use it. Hertha, Sadie, Circe, Morgana, and Brisen were a few of the names chosen by Mason. On the night a girl received her witch name, she was honored by spending a few hours in bed with Simone and Brian. The males too-except for the nine Hell's Angels who, for the most part, remained aloof from the black-magic hocus-pocus-were named as warlocks from a list of names of legendary sorcerers. On the night of their naming, they were also accorded the same honor of a few hours in bed with the master and mistress.
Drugs were as basic to the diet at Stone Head as the home-baked bread and brown rice that they ate at nearly every meal. That was Chopper John's special job. Huge quantities of marijuana and drug store coke were always available in the main room of the mansion. At any time, the room was filled with half-naked witches and warlocks passing joints around a big circle, or sniffing some coke to wake them up. Mason also had a very special psychedelic that he had had specially brewed up by a chemist in Laguna Beach. The basic ingredients of the fine brown powder were LSD and cantharidin, or Spanish fly. Several times a week, and especially on the nights when a Black Mass was to be performed, Mason had the food liberally dosed with his drug. The wild, free-fucking orgy that followed one of these meals attested to just how good Mason's drug really was.
"Tonight, boys and girls," Mason commanded the group's attention. They had just finished a meal highly seasoned with the fine, brown powder and the giddy lightheadedness they all felt told them it was already taking effect. "Tonight is the night that this beautiful little girl," motioning to a well-stacked brunette at his side, "is going to get her witch's name."
The girl snuggled into Brian's extended arm, her face glowing with anticipation. Under her sheer blouse one could easily see the dark brown circles that centered at the tip of each of her tits.
"First," he said with a smile, fondling her heavy breasts as he spoke, "we'll take a good look at your body. Pull your skirt up."
The Spanish fly in the drug was now also beginning to come on, evidenced by the tingling excitement everyone felt in their genitals.
The girl stepped away from Brian and bent to lift the hem of her skirt. The knowledge that she was naked underneath it and that in a few short seconds, she would be holding her skirt high up so that her pussy was completely exposed, made her nipples stiffen to rigid attention and the juice boil in her twat. Slowly, she drew her skirt upwards, revealing inch after gleaming white inch of long, perfectly sculpted thighs. The skirt rose to the very top of her luscious legs and then, after pausing for a second, she raised it the rest of the way. The black, curly bush stood out boldly against the soft, milk-white of her inner thighs.
"Turn around... slowly," Mason directed her. The girl obeyed, pivoting in little steps until her back was to her audience. Her saucy, tight little ass arched out gracefully from the small of her back, forming the perfect complementary curve to the arch of her boobs.
"Bend over," Mason said flatly. He had to fight to control his hands from reaching out and grabbing the firm globes of her buttocks.
The brunette bent over at the waist until her head appeared upside-down, from just above her knees. The tight cheeks of her ass were high in the air and from between their bottom curves, the pouting mound of her vulva was clearly visible. Mason gently tapped the in-sides of her thighs with the wand he was carrying and the brunette spread her legs further apart, opening the lips of her vagina. She was creaming wet at the thought of being so exposed and the walls of her pussy twitched with the thrill she felt.
Using his wand again, Mason stroked the lips of her cunt before slipping it into her. The girl moaned aloud as she felt the wooden stick penetrate her pussy. She worked her ass round and round on the wand, stepping backwards a little to force it in deeper. With her finger, she massaged the erect point of her clitoris. Mason let her work herself off like that until, he thought, she would come. Abruptly, he removed the wand and told her to turn around. Startled, the girl turned to face her attentive audience, her face still contorted in the throes of the sexual pleasure she had just been experiencing.
"Let's see those big tits of yours," Brian commanded hoarsely.
Dumbly the girl began to unbutton her blouse, wondering when she was going to get to ride again on the magic wand Mason held in his hand. The blouse came off and fell at her feet. Her breasts were even larger than they had appeared to be under the wisp of a blouse. Pure white, satin-smooth mounds of delicate flesh, capped by large, light-brown circles. From the center of each silver-dollar-sized halo, thick, dark-red nipples stood out, hard and erect. For their almost unreal size, the girl's breasts drooped only a fraction of an inch, giving them a graceful, sensual arch as they jutted out from her flat, perfectly smooth stomach.
Mason's and Simone's hands went to them at once, kneading and molding the firm flesh and toying with her rock-hard nipples until the brunette was nearly swooning in their arms.
Then, in mercy, Mason handed her the wand he was holding. The girl's lips blossomed into a broad smile and, taking the short, thick stick in her hand, started to work it into her hungry pussy. While everyone in the room watched, the brunette masturbated with the stick until she fell to her knees under the sweeping strength of an orgasm.
"From now until forever," Mason said in a loud voice, "your name shall be Hertha. Come, enjoy the Gods' embrace."
Leaving the others to their own devices, Mason and Simone led the newly-christened Hertha into the quiet of their master bedroom.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MIRRORS. The walls and ceiling of the master bedroom were covered with them, carrying perfect, unbroken reflections of everything in the room. Brian and Simone quickly removed their robes and, with Hertha between them, stretched out on the larger-than-king-size custom-made waterbed that was the only piece of furniture in the bedroom. The satin sheets felt cool and luxurious and, from hidden speakers, the music of a sitar and tabla wove an intricate, delicate pattern of sound around their naked bodies. The drug had taken full effect now and they whirled in a wonderland of beauty and lust.
For a long while, they lay quietly on the bed, cuddling Hertha between them and gently stroking her soft, young-girl's body. It was a game that Mason and Simone sometimes played, seeing how long they could contain their passion before they exploded in a frenzy of uncontrollable desire. Hertha squirmed and moaned between them, wanting so badly for them to take and ravage her trembling body. Twice her hand went to her own pussy and twice Simone gently moved it away, explaining that she and Brian would take care of her soon enough.
Slowly, their caresses became more insistent and intimate, fondling her big full breasts, toying with her hard red nipples, and touching the soft, warm velvet of her inner thighs. Then, they too could endure the teasing no longer. With their hands and lips they attacked the girl's burning hot flesh, their caresses spinning her up into a dizzying whirl of excitement. Two distinctly different fingers probed the throbbing wet trough of her twat. She could tell by the delicate gentleness that it was Simone's hand that was providing the most exquisite sensations from her clitoris, rolling it round and round in a slow circular massage.
Mason's heavier, much more insistent finger was working furiously deep within her, making her pussy scream with delight as it pushed against the sensitive walls of the creaming passageway.
Simone's turgid nipple brushed along her lips and Hertha opened her mouth, capturing the full, pink bud and sucking on it eagerly. She thought of how big and rock-hard Mason's cock must be by now and reached between his legs to hold it. Simone's hand was already clasped around the stiff rod and Hertha joined her in stroking the master's big prick. Quickly, the two girls brought hot, creamy white globs of sperm flowing up from his balls and into his cock. He could not hold back, and released the heavy globs of come all over Simone's and Hertha's hands.
"Lick it up," he groaned, "both of you lick it up."
Immediately, both girls dove down to tongue the wet dripping cock. As they lapped Brian's still-hard shaft they could not resist touching each other's lips with their tongues. Simone felt herself get hot all over again when she tasted the drops of semen that covered Hertha's sweet mouth. She kissed the brunette deeply on the lips and then let her mouth slid down along her incredibly soft body until she reached the moist, open ridges of her cunt. The brunette cried aloud in ecstasy as she felt Simone's lips on her pussy and she spread her legs wide apart, drawing them up to her ass to give Simone better access. She used her hands to open her cunt even wider, spreading the lips of her vagina with her fingers. Her pussy was wide open now, the deep red slit framed in a soft triangle of dark pubic hair. Hertha's breasts were so large and young that even flat on her back, they stood up and out, nipples erect.
Simone crawled down between the long, well-curved legs. Exerting her tongue, she began to lick the open lips of Hertha's vagina. Her hips gyrated wildly in response to Simone's loving tongue. The brunette's face was distorted with sexual excitement. Her eyes rolled back, her nostrils flared, her face flushed to a brilliant red, she panted for breath. The pink cavern of Hertha's mouth was too inviting to resist. Dick hard and ready, Brian knelt above her and offered his penis.
The girl's mouth closed eagerly around the big cock. With Simone lapping away at her pussy and her mouth filled with Brian's thick, hot flesh, she was suffused with lust and passion. She sucked and licked the cock as if it were the world's most delicious candy.
With his cock still held tight in Hertha's soft wet love grip, Mason twisted around so that he could minister to Simone's needs. He pulled his priestess' legs towards him and, spreading her pussy lips open with his fingers, inserted his tongue into her swollen wet slit. The circle was no complete. Each one licked and kissed the other's genitals as, in turn, they were thrilled by having their own sex organ loved by someone else's mouth.
Mason was the first to have an orgasm. He unloaded his gun quickly, firing a total of seven rounds of thick come into Hertha's waiting mouth. Feeling the hot, viscous juice filling her mouth sent Hertha careening into a wild orgasm; spiralling upwards, she rushed headlong into the blinding heat of her climax. Involuntarily she squeezed hard, locking Simone's head between her thighs. The brunette's cunt began to throb and contract in her mouth, driving Simone insane with passion. She was her captive, her head held fast by those warm, soft, sweet-smelling thighs. She wished she could totally immerse herself in the brunette's soaking wet pussy. Hertha's cream was running freely down her chin and her pubic hair filled her mouth. Her face buried in the girl's still-convulsing snatch, Simone came, the orgasm sweeping through her body like wave after wave of liquid fire. Every muscle tightened and locked, relaxing only after the climax had passed.
It was at least fifteen minutes before anyone moved again. Simone was the first to regain her sexual desire. She reached over but was disappointed by Brian's limp cock. Not discouraged, she began to play with it.
"Come on, Brian," she whispered, "get it up for us."
Her well-practiced manipulations brought quick results, and soon Mason's dick was again standing straight. Then she turned to the beautiful brunette and told her to turn so that her firm little backside was facing them.
"Higher," she said as the girl raised the two white globes of her ass towards them, "get it higher up in the air."
The girl was on her elbows and knees, her tight ass thrust high and her big boobs hanging straight down till they touched the red satin bedsheet. Simone leaned forward and, cupping both white cheeks of the girl's ass in her hands, spread them wide apart. Between them the tight rosebud of her asshole was clearly visible.
"Have you ever been fucked up the ass before?" Simone asked the girl.
Hertha shook her head no, her pendulous boobs swaying gently with the motion. She was a little frightened about how it would feel but at the same time, her cunt juice was flowing in anticipation.
Simone slipped her finger into the girl's twat, carrying her pussy cream to her asshole to lubricate it. Then, Simone worked first one, then two of her long fingers into Hertha's anus, hoping to stretch it enough to accommodate Brian's thick rod. The girl groaned with pleasure, feeling Simone's fingers up her ass.
Finally, thinking that she had stretched the brunette's asshole as wide as she could, she took Mason's prick and aimed it at the target. He pushed and grunted against the rear hole but was not able to get the swollen head of his penis past the tightly pursed sphincter.
Hertha was screaming in pain but, at the same time, pushing her ass towards him in an attempt to help him penetrate.
Simone came to their rescue with a bottle of thick oil. She emptied nearly half the bottle into her hand, most of it spilling over to stain the expensive sheets, and rubbed the lubricant all over Brian's joystick. Then, guiding his slippery cock, she took careful aim at Hertha's anus. He slipped right in, the thick head of his dick bursting through the previously unyielding barrier with ease.
Mason was now buried deep inside the brunette's bowels, her hot rectum holding his cock like a tight-fitting sheath. He worked his cock in and out of the hole, loving the way she held his prod so snugly in her full, well-shaped ass. Simone watched, whispering encouragement to both of them.
"Screw her, Brian.... Your cock's in her asshole... can you feel his giant rod in your ass, Hertha?"
She then lay down between their legs to improve her view, masturbating herself as she watched Mason's prick pull nearly all the way out of Hertha's asshole, then disappear back inside. Brian's big balls dangled directly above the blonde priestess' mouth and they looked too good to resist. She propped herself up on one elbow and took his testicles into her mouth, licking and bathing them as though she were a mother cat and Brian's nuts were her new-born kittens. Again Brian felt the sperm fill his rod and after one last, deep thrust into the brunette's rectum, he exploded, filling her bowels with his hot come.
After recovering his breath and wiping himself clean, Mason stood up and draped his velvet robe over his shoulders. Leading Hertha by the hand, he turned and asked Simone if she would rejoin the party.
"In a minute," Simone answered, her fingers working frantically inside herself. "I still have something to finish."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
TWO days before Halloween, Nick Adams showed up at Stone Head to tell Mason that before any more money was released, he would have to appear in person to sign some papers at the bank.
"Why the hell can't you just bring me the papers?" Mason asked him, obviously annoyed.
"It just doesn't work that way," Adams answered. "The bank is in Beverly Hills, only a half-hour from here. It's not asking too much for you to drive down and sign the papers. The whole thing should take only an hour or so."
Begrudgingly, Mason agreed. He and Simone would be there that afternoon.
"She doesn't have to come," Adams said as he started for the door. "You're the only one that has to sign."
"Yeah, I know," Mason said, mocking politeness. "Is it okay if I just bring her along for the company?"
"Do whatever the hell you want," Adams closed the door behind him.
It was the first time in four months that either of them had left the ranch. They had almost forgotten what the world outside looked like. In silence they drove through the wealthy suburb with its big, gaudy houses and neatly manicured gardens. Cardboard devils and craggy-toothed witches decorated the front doors of many of the mansions and, from their bulging bay windows, smiling jack-o'-lanterns ogled them as they drove past.
"The fools," Mason hissed, "they make a mockery of the Feast of the Hallows. They think it's some kind of silly game played only by children and weirdoes. Someone should teach them a lesson."
Simone took his hand in hers and kissed it. "Perhaps we should," she said.
Brian looked at her but didn't understand.
"Do you remember how the tarot cards fell the other night?" Simone's eyes were full of sinister intent. "The cards open strange windows into the world, revealing to those who believe, the secrets of life and death.
"The first card that fell last night was the Devil, with wings, claws and horns. He holds a man and a woman on a leash of chains. The Devil is you, and the card is a symbol of power and the mastery over the world.
"Next there was the Hanged Man, swinging from a gibbet, with two bags of gold clutched in his greedy hands. That was them," she gestured out the car window, "piggies stuffed with greed and evil in their beliefs.
"The last card that fell was Death, a skeleton with a scythe. He is mowing a field of human heads, but hands and feet are growing in their places. The lopped heads are seeds which fall to the ground and from which new shoots, the hands and feet, grow. The card is a symbol of purification, a purge of death which will bring new life to the earth.
"The meaning of these cards is obvious," Simone was dead-serious. "On the night of the Feast of Hallows, the moon will be in Scorpio, a time decreed for death and violence. Then," her voice filled with the contempt she felt for the rich establishment, and for those ten pigs that had raped and humiliated her so that night in Missouri, "these piggies must die."
Brian had listened carefully to every word she said. He believed in her. The cards had fallen just as she had described them and it was her sacred trust to interpret them. His hands turned cold and damp. She was telling him that, two nights from now, he must commit murder. No, it was not murder! It was, as Simone had said, purification. Murder was the word that they would use. It had no meaning to him. He sat in judgement above them, untouched by their meaningless laws and rules. He could do with them, with anyone, whatever he willed. Slowly, he idea began to appeal to him. It would be a sign of his power, the power of Satan, Prince of Darkness.
"So mote it be," he said in a whisper, "so mote it be!"
CHAPTER TWENTY
IVAN Dellum had not always had money. When he graduated from New York City College he was, in fact, dead broke. That was twenty-one years ago. Now, at forty-two he was one of the wealthiest men in Hollywood.
Jokingly, Ivan passed off his success as blind luck. A matter of being in the right place at the right time. Luck it was, mixed with a heavy amount of Clark Gable-type good looks and charm. Plus a liberal dash of ruthlessness. All the ingredients necessary to be a successful agent.
He had started out with one girl, a young, wide-eyed beauty contest winner from North Dakota. He knew nothing about being an agent but, to get the girl into bed with him, he had told her that he was one of the biggest in Hollywood and would make her a star if she cooperated. The next morning, he had begun to take his own bullshit seriously.
He had some pictures taken of her, quit his job as an insurance salesman and devoted his full energies to pushing and shoving his way into producers' private offices to flash the pictures on their desks. Once, to get publicity, he arranged to have her raped on Hollywood Boulevard near Vine. To get her bit parts, he had forced her to bed down with nearly every casting director in town. But, it had worked! The girl-whom he had married, and who had a son by him and then divorced him two years later-began to be known. She was offered a supporting role by a major film company and, to Ivan's amazement, it turned out that she could actually act. Combined with her breathtaking figure and adorable pixie face, she was a big success.
Dellum found other girls, promoting them the same way. He was becoming known as the best pimp in Hollywood. Everything he touched turned to gold. He invested in a low budget movie and, within a year, had gotten his investment back tenfold. He had talked a hungry, naive writer into letting him show his script around town. When the script became a number one box office hit, the boy came to Dellum to ask for his cut. Ivan wrote the boy a check for fifty dollars (he made close to a hundred thousand on it) and told him that if he ever saw him in Hollywood again he would have both his legs broken. The boy had filed suit but, two days before the trial, was killed in an auto crash. The police established that the steering mechanism of the writer's car had been tampered with but, they were in no way able to link Dellum to the tragedy.
Now Dellum owned major interests in three of the biggest movie companies in Hollywood, and a stable of highly successful actors and actresses. It was also rumored that he did a lot of business with the Mafia.
Five years before, as wedding gift for this third bride, he had bought the twenty-five-room, white, American Colonial mansion in Beverly Hills. It was located on a quiet street just off La Cienega Boulevard and was surrounded by a dense wall of evergreens, elm trees and dogwoods. The trees had been planted the same year construction of the house had been completed-in 1922. The tree house that Ivan's youngest son had built when he was ten years old still stood in the crotch of the big elm that shaded the front walk. Ivan would not it be torn down. He left it as a reminder of his near-sighted stupidity. Oh, how he wished he had fought for possession of the sons he had sired by his first and second wives.
At the time the boys had been just as much of a bother as their mothers and he was more than happy to pay the alimony and child support to be rid of them. He was an up-and-coming agent with people to see and places to go, and wives and children simply got in his way. Now he would give anything if he and Rachel could have a child. They had tried but, it turned out, Rachel was as barren as she was beautiful. Two years ago they had filed for adoption papers but, with his background as an adulterer, deserter, and child-beater, "it was difficult. Maybe, they hoped, maybe this year the papers would come through.
Rachel Dellum stood looking out of the living room window at the big trees. In the full moonlight, their leaves shone a pale silver. It was hard to imagine that they were only two miles from the center of one of the largest cities in the world. She felt so secure here, so safe and away from the noise and pressure of the big city. She was hardly aware of the blurred conversation going on behind her, occasionally punctuated by a loud burst of laughter or the clinking of ice cubes in crystal glasses. In honor of Halloween, the Dellums had invited a few guests over, eight in all, for a small drinking party. They were all supposed to wear costumes, but only Rachel and Eugene LaFarge, her hairdresser-and on occasion, her lover-wore them.
LaFarge was dressed as Louis XIV, King of France. He was resplendent in his richly brocaded gold-and-silver waistcoat, white ruffled shirt and red tights fitted into high, silver boots. Rachel was dressed and painted as a Babylonia courtesan. Her fingers, toes, slender arms, long neck, and ankles were covered with hammered gold and shiny silver ornaments, all studded with expensive jewels. The eyes of the matched golden serpents twining around the soft, upper part of each of her bare arms, were fire rubies, as was the stone she had pasted in her navel.
Rachel enjoyed turning men on. It was not only her profession but also a constantly practiced hobby. She had designed her outfit tonight especially to tease, and delighted in the open, yearning looks she got from the men in the room. Ivan didn't mind. He got a kick out of showing her off. He still continued to use her in the X-rated films he produced. Dellum would then take her to the theater to see the movie and, when his wife's round, naked breasts filled the screen, he would glance around at the audience and chuckle to himself.
This evening, Rachel's breasts were covered by a gossamer of transparent silk. The deep red of her nipples perfected matched the color of the ruby she wore in her belly button. Her harem pants were made of the same material as her halter top. Through them, the high, white cheeks of her ass and the small patch of light brown pubic hair were clearly visible. When she sat, it was possible to see the lips of her vagina, slightly parted. At twenty-three, Rachel still had the body of a seventeen-year-old. If anything, she had become even more beautiful since the day Ivan had married.
It was eleven-thirty and everyone at the party was well on their way to a good drunk. In addition, Tony Blake, a business associate of Ivan's and a known Mafia chieftain, had brought some pot. Rachel could smell the joints as they were being passed around. She looked out at the trees and waited-waited until her husband was drunk enough so that she could sneak upstairs with Eugene for a quickie. At that moment, her reveries was broken by the sound of their front door chime.
"Get that, will you, honey?" she heard Ivan calling to her from across the room. "It's probably some of the neighbors out trick-or-treating."
"Kind of late for that, isn't it?" she said, not really wanting to open the door.
"Hey, this is Hollywood, remember? Town of the night people," he shouted over the giggles that were being brought forth from smoking marijuana. "Now, be a good girl and answer it."
Rachel was used to obeying her husband so, against her better judgement, she went to the door. Outside, Brian Mason and Simone stood, robed in white velvet, their faces hidden by masks of Capricorn. Near them, crouching in the shadows, were Raka, the Werewolf; Moloch, Prince of Tears; Baal, Chief of the Infernal Armies-and four young witches, including the newly christened Hertha. They were all cloaked in black and each held a long, white-handled dagger. Baal also carried several lengths of heavy, sisal rope.
"Yes?" Rachel asked, a bit taken back by Brian and Simone's costumes. But, after all, this was Halloween.
"Our car just broke down," Brian said, his voice charming and soft. "We're sorry to bother you but could we use your phone?"
Rachel really didn't want to let them in. There was something strange and somehow evil about them. She was frightened, yet at the same time, attracted to the tall blond man wearing the mask of a goat. She wondered if his face was as handsome as she imagined it would be. An uncontrollable urge to see him without the mask swept away the fear she felt. Besides, she reasoned, there were only two of them and what could they do against ten people, drunk as her guests were.
"I... I guess so," she said, feeling herself blush under Brian's warm stare. "Just a minute, let me ask my husband."
She turned to call Ivan. As she did so, Brian pushed the door and, followed by his band of devils, rushed into the room. Before Ivan or any of his guests could do more than scream, they were surrounded by the pack, long knives held at their throats. The men were too drunk to offer any resistance and, besides, why get stabbed, maybe even killed, over a simple robbery. They could all afford to lose the money they had with them, and the jewelry they wore.
"If it's money you want," Ivan Dellum announced, "you'll be well taken care of." He was used to buying his way out of any situation. "Look, look at the jewels my wife is wearing. Why, they're worth over fifty thousand alone. Take them... and this," he removed the large, white diamond he wore on his forefinger and offered it to Mason. "And the others, they have jewelry and money too. Take them and get out.... We promise we won't call the cops till an hour after you leave." His usual calm, measured voice had become high-pitched and agitated. He had to admit this weird mob in black cloaks scared the piss out of him.
Brian slapped him hard across the face, knocking him back down in his chair. "It's not your money or jewels we're after," he sneered, "it's your souls."
"Huh?" Ivan blinked at him, rubbing the bright red blotch on his cheek. "I... I don't understand what the hell you're talking about. Listen," he said, lowering his voice, "there's a safe upstairs in our bedroom... it has over ten thousand dollars in it... in cash... I'll get it for you if you promise to leave." He was sweating profusely.
"I told you, we've not come for your worthless stolen money. We've come for your souls." Then, turning to Baal, he said, "Bind them, and let's see how the piggies squeal."
Only LaFarge put up any kind of struggle. Raka's knife convinced him, however, to be still, and quickly they were bound in couples, sitting back to back and arranged in a circle in the center of the room. The women were all crying now and the men were offering fortunes if only they were released. Their pleas fell on deaf ears.
"Her," Brian said sharply and pointed at Rachel. "Strip her and place her in the center of the ring. She shall be our altar."
Rachel was untied from Ivan, her clothes torn from her body and, naked, led into the center of the room.
"The jewels too-they must go." Simone ordered.
Cruelly, Baal, Circe, and Brisen yanked and pulled the bracelets, rings and necklaces from her body.
"Carefully." Simone chided them. "Do not mark her skin. She is to be our altar."
"Aaaah!" Rachel's scream pierced the room. She knew now what they were after. She knew now that they were going to kill her. "No... please don't... please... please!" Again she screamed-as loudly as she could. She looked from masked face to masked face. In her eyes was the look of a hunted beast seeking some gap in the ring of death that surrounded her.
"Let her scream!" Brian laughed and walked over to turn up the volume of the stereo. He browsed through the record collection and, finding his first L.P., Feast for the Devil, he put it on the changer. Strength surged through him as he listened to his voice singing the opening lines of "I Am the Devil". Then, he returned to Rachel.
The girl lay on her back in the middle of the coven, her arms and legs held securely in place by the four witches. Simone and Brian knelt on either side of her. Simone produced a bottle of sacred oil from the folds of her white robe and carefully she and Brian anointed the girl's body with it. Their hands played with her breasts, rubbing and massaging the nipples until they stood up firm and hard. The lighter halo of pink around them also swelled under their caresses. Then, together, their hands strayed across her stomach to her vagina. They parted the lips of her pussy and let their fingers explore the deep, red slit. Fighting the sensation with all her might, Rachel nonetheless felt herself getting wet under their skillful caresses. When her pussy was thoroughly wet and drops of cream formed shiny white beads on the swollen outer lips, Mason stood and removed his cloak. Under it he was nude and his penis was rock-hard. Rachel's legs were spread wide apart and, with Simone guiding his cock, he entered the girl. Rachel groaned in pain. To her, Brian's cock felt as if it were covered with hard scales. Around her, she heard his voice building to a climax. He was singing with the record.
I am the Devil, Beelzebub or Satan
Call me what you will
I am the Devil, can't you feel my chill?
I've come for your heart made of gold
And I've come, I've come from Hell just for your soul.
But don't you believe the evil that you've been told.
I am the Devil, that's who I am
The Devil the Devil, the Devil.
With the vibrating crescendo of the last, long note, Brian withdrew his cock from Rachel's cunt. Simone's hand held the slippery rod and, as she aimed it, he squirted his load of sperm all over the girl's breasts and thighs. Using the sticky fluid, Simone solemnly drew the sign of Lucifer between Rachel Dellum's breasts. She closed her eyes, about to repeat the Sacred Hymn of Death and rebirth when a heavy cloud of sadness gathered over her. The first words caught in her throat. Why were these people about to die? The poor girl that lay at her feet was so pretty. The cloud suddenly passed, and clearing her throat, Simone chanted:
Rachel was crying and, though she tried to speak, no words came from her throat. The others, however, formed a mournful chorus, pleading for their salvation. Brian and Simone rose and started for the door.
"Kill them, kill them all," Brian commended as he passed Raka.
"Ivan Dellum's voice screamed after them, "No... not me!... Do what you want with the rest... not me!... I'll pay you one hundred thousand dollars to let me go... two hundred thousand...."
The ante was cut off at half a million when Brian closed the door behind him. What followed was a horror, a blood-drenched nightmare of killing and stabbing that painted the room a crimson red.
First, Rachel was killed; the witch Circe knelt at her side and, raising her knife high over her head, plunged it to the hilt-into the center of the sign Simone had drawn between the breasts. Rachel died at once, but the witch continued to stab the blade into her body, delivering, in all, nearly fifty wounds to her chest and abdomen. The moment Circe's dagger cut into Rachel's helpless body, the others went wild, like hungry sharks given the scent of fresh blood. They cut and hacked at their bound victims with a mad lust. They were fiends let loose in a slaughterhouse. Necks were slit from ear to ear and heads completely severed. Breasts were cut from women's bodies and the chests rent open to reveal their still-beating hearts. The sign of Lucifer was scrawled again and again on the white walls-using, as ink, their victim's blood. Only Hertha did not use her knife. She huddled in a corner, her head turned from the ghastly scene-crying for her mother.
Outside, the screams of pain, the begging, weeping pleas for mercy rang in Simone's ears-and would for the rest of her life. The minute she and Brian stepped out into the chill night air, the monstrousness of what she had done hit her like a jolt from a shock treatment. Suddenly she woke as if from a bad dream, to find that the nightmare was a reality. Was this horror her revenge? On whom? The piggies? Her parents? Millburn, Connecticut? She stood frozen on the front steps. Was this the expression of the freedom she had longed for? Somewhere, somehow, she had gone insane. She turned to go back into the house, crying for the killing to stop. Maybe she could still have them. Brian's strong arm grabbed her and spun her around.
"Where do you think you're going, my love?" he sneered at her. There was no love for her in his eyes. They burned red with wrath and were wild with an evil lust. "Lost your taste for blood, little priestess?" the madman mocked her. "You would betray me? You, who first planted the seed for this good work, would now uproot it?"
"Oh, God," she moaned, "please make them stop.... Please leave those people alone."
Mason stood over her, his face twisted into a laughing snarl. "No, Simone," he said, "I will not stop them. Not tonight, nor tomorrow night, nor the night after. There will be many more nights just like this one and you, you will come with us and watch as the blood flows."
"Dear Lord," she whispered helplessly. It had all been her idea. She had condemned those-and now others-to die. It was her hand wielding those knives, killing those poor, helpless, innocent people. As their blood flowed, she died with them. Simone fell into the lush, green grass and wept until she lost consciousness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
WITHIN twenty-four hours, the news of the killings was front-page headlines in every newspaper in the country.
MASS MURDER IN HOLLYWOOD
Fiends on Rampage on Halloween Night
This morning, residents of the wealthy Beverly Hills suburb of Hollywood woke up to the news that ten of their neighbors had been butchered to death in one of the most gruesome crimes of the century. Ivan Dellum, wealthy movie magnate, his wife and onetime actress, Rachel Dellum, Eugene LaFarge, well-known Hollywood hairdresser, Tony Blake, L.A. business executive, Wanda Ferrill, movie starlet who also used Dellum as her agent; Morris Stanley, prominent lawyer, and his wife, Sherry Stanley, Dr. August Dwight David, wealthy plastic surgeon, and Mrs. Jane Reilly, heiress to the Creel Wheat fortune, were all found dead early this morning in the living room of the Dellum's secluded Beverly Hills mansion. Police-Inspector Michael Leary described the scene as a bloodbath, "apparently the work of a pack of insane fiends."
The bodies were discovered by the Dellum's maid who ran screaming from the house. Neighbors called the police.
Some of the bodies had been stabbed over a hundred times, apparently after they were already dead. LaFarge had been beheaded. Miss Ferrill and Mrs. Stanley had had their breasts cut from their bodies and their chests ripped open. All except Mrs. Dellum were found with hands bound behind their backs with lengths of rope. Rachel Dellum was found nude and, the county coroner said, may have been sexually assaulted prior to her murder.
A quantity of marijuana and some pills described as Seconal were found in the Dellum house.
Robbery was obviously not the motive as numerous valuable jewels were found strewn over the floor. A combined sum of six thousand dollars was found, untouched, in the victims' wallets.
Most bizarre of all were the strange symbols emblazoned in several places on the walls of the murder room-in human blood. Experts have identified them as the sign used by cults of Satan worshippers to signify their lord, Lucifer.
Police said they had not established a motive for the grotesque killings, but that they were following several leads. (cont. on page 3)
It was Hertha, alias Lois Babbit, that provided all the answers to the puzzling crime. The morning after she had witnessed the savage murders, she left Stone Head while everyone still slept and walked and hitchhiked into downtown Los Angeles, where she told her story to chief homicide detective Frank Eclante. The man stared at her in goggle-eyed disbelief. In his twenty-six years on the police force in one of the wildest cities in the world he had never heard a tale so bizarre. Devils? Witches and warlocks? Sacrifices to Lucifer? He would have passed the girl off as one of the never-ending stream of crazies that line up outside the L.A. police stations to confess to any crime. But, she knew so many details of the massacre, including small, intimate details that had been omitted in the press reports. He looked into her frightened, green eyes and a cold chill ran up his spine. She was telling the truth!
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
WHEN Eclante and his men, supported by the California Highway Patrol, arrived at Stone Head, they found the place nearly deserted. Only Mason, dressed in the same white robe he had worn on Halloween night, Simone Lawson, and a handful of the faithful remained. Among them were Baal, Raka, Moloch, Circe, Melusine, and Brisen. The others had fled Stone Head in a state of panic and disillusionment after seeing the nine return drenched in blood and listening to their boastful account of the "good work" that had been carried out that night. Some wept openly as they looked behind them at the road that led to the ranch. To them it had not been a place of evil. It had been a refuge, an escape from the world of hassles and greed that they had been born into. Stone Head was a place of non-stop pleasure and joy- until it had been shattered by the reality of bloodstained knives and grinning tales of the insane slaughter of innocent people.
The police burst into the main house, guns drawn, to find fifteen young people, some totally naked, seated around a low table, calmly passing a long golden pipe engraved with the head of Satan. A thick cloud of hashish smoke hung over their heads. Only Mason looked up to greet them.
"May I help you?" Simone asked in a low voice, obviously unconcerned with what was happening. Mason was stroking Simone's hair as he spoke. Her once clear, dancing eyes were faded and empty. She stared as him blankly, bewildered, as if she had no idea who he was. A twisted, imbecilic grin was permanently etched on her once beautiful face. Perhaps someday, a long time from the present, she would again be able to distinguish reality from the childhood fantasies into which she had now retreated.
"Are you Brian Mason?" a puzzled Captain Eclante addressed himself to the tall, blond singer.
"You have not need for those things here," Mason said, pointing at the .38-caliber snubnose revolver that was aimed at his heart. "Yes, I was once called by that name."
Never had Eclante met anyone like him. For a moment, he forgot why he was there and just stared in bewilderment at him and the strange blonde girl he held in his arms. Then, coming back to his senses, he told Mason that he and eight of his followers were under arrest, charged with homicide in the first degree. He took a step toward the man, but Brian's sudden wild laughter stopped him in his tracks.
"Me?, Arrest me? You have not the power. I do not obey your silly laws. They mean nothing to me. I am above them, above all of you," and he drew himself up to his full height. "I am Lucifer, Prince of Light, Beelzebub or Satan, call me what you will I am the devil, the devil, the devil!"
