On the tenth of each month she received a check in the mail for $2500, tax-free, drawn on a post-office box in Baltimore, Maryland.
When her doorbell rang on this particular morning at nine o'clock, she thought the check might have come early. But that, she knew as she stirred out of a deep sleep, was impossible. She got out of bed and padded to the closet and got a robe. She always slept naked, and in the privacy of her lavish apartment she often ate, read, and watched television naked. She moved briskly to the door, tossing back her long dark hair, her legs sleek and tanned, her high, luscious breasts and full hips filling out the robe. She gave the strong impression of being a rich man's mistress.
She opened the door. The mailman tried not to gape at her ripe cleavage.
"Miss Wilson? Miss Erica Wilson?"
"Yes."
"Registered letter."
She signed the receipt and took the letter. A faint excitement stirred in her blood, jarring her awake.
"Thank you."
She shut the door in his hungry face. She moved across the huge living room into the kitchen, deliberately strangling her curiosity for the moment. She made a fresh pot of coffee and lit a cigarette. The letter lay unopened as she sat at the kitchen table, waiting for the coffee to perk. Her face was calm and serene.
At the age of twenty-four, Erica Wilson had remarkable control over her emotions, and her destiny. She had $85,000 in cash saved, in three safety deposit boxes. She had a wardrobe that did rare justice to her beautiful body, but was selected with such taste and care she could pack it all into two trunks. She paid three hundred dollars a month for her apartment, in Chicago's Marina City, yet she spent less than six months a year in it. She ignored her neighbors, who were certain she was an expensive call girl. She had killed three men with calm detachment, but didn't own a gun and had never fired one except in target practice. Two of the men were ex-lovers, but she felt no emotion afterward.
Her poise deserted her only once each week, when she picked up a stranger, always on a Friday night and usually in a bar, and brought him back to her apartment. She gave in to her pent-up urgency with frantic animal bites and rapidly swinging hips, always dazzling her partner with her remarkable skill and vaginal control. She never slept with the same pickup twice. She never kissed a man on the lips, but her passion for oral love was insatiable. She could arouse a man so expertly he could perform five and six times in a few hours, and afterward she was always cold and abrupt, ordering him out of her apartment.
She had a passion for phallic symbols, which showed in the strange paintings and sculptures and books she'd collected. She also had numerous books on philosophy, pharmacology, psychiatry, and a rare collection of illustrated erotica which consumed her Friday afternoons.
She was, in her own words, obsessed with immense pricks.
She knew her apartment was bugged electronically, and had long ago found the tiny transmitters, yet ignored them. She had no friends, no steady lovers, no pets, and no family. She was a bastard, the daughter of a Polish janitor and a Swedish maid, and the thought amused her.
When the $85,000 she'd saved mushroomed into $200,000, she intended to buy a small villa on the coast of Portugal, and retire from the hazards of her profession. She anticipated a life of quiet luxury and a steady stream of lovers. She had no desire for marriage, and being aware she was a latent nymphomaniac, wanted the time and freedom to pursue that as a career.
The coffee perked and Erica poured a cup. When she'd sipped half of it, she opened the letter.
There was a reserved ticket on a jet flight to Baltimore, and a business card. The card read: John Butterfield Confederate Historical Society 67 Waverly Place Baltimore, Maryland There was a tiny Confederate flag printed on the bottom of the card. She smiled dryly, and stopped smiling when she checked the ticket and discovered her flight left O'Hare Airport in less than two hours.
Ten minutes later she was in the shower, lathering soap on her full breasts. She shivered as her nipple grew taut under her own fingers, as a faint ache began throbbing in her loins.
Only then did she realize that the day was Friday.
She was moving with the line that was entering the ramp to board her flight when it happened. Her attention was on the two men standing next to the ticket agent, their faces casual but their eyes alert. Federal marshals, she knew, watching for a variety of symptoms that could betray a hijacker.
Someone touched her arm and she spun around.
He had grey hair and a nondescript face.
"You dropped this, miss."
Her lips began to form the word no, but her eyes dropped to the Manila envelope. On its corner was a small red asterisk. She took it, smiling.
"Thank you."
He moved away, grey coat and hair lost in the stream of people. The envelope was very light in her hands. She knew they couldn't trust it to the mails, and that was why it was delivered personally and at the very last minute. The lightness meant they'd used onionskin paper, ideal for quick destruction.
The stewardess guided her to the last row of seats on the jet, on the right side. She took the seat next to the window. No one would sit in the two adjoining seats, she knew-they were reserved so she could read in privacy. Nor could anyone look over her shoulder.
She fastened her safety belt. The jet taxied to the edge of the runway, and with a tremendous roar began its takeoff, a gigantic metal bird soaring away from the sprawling dirt and glitter of Chicago. When the jet leveled off in the bright sunshine, Erica slit the flap of the envelope open with her fingernail. She took out four typed onionskin pages. The top sheet was marked:
OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR INTELLIGENCE SERVICE CENTRAL WASHINGTON, D.C.
TOP SECRET DESTROY AFTER READING FAMILIARIZATION BRIEF G-712 Authority: I.S.C. 12/12/70 Dissemination: *FOR GYPSY VIRGIN ONLY*
Erica leaned her head back against the seat. Familiarization meant she had to memorize every detail. Her code name, in print, always brought a smile to her lips. The smile faded as she began the exercise. She focused her eyes on a metal rivet on the back of the seat before her, concentrating on its shiny center, aware that the edge of the rivet was fading, that nothing existed but the shiny core.
After a minute she bit her lip with frustration, and began again. It was Friday, dammit, and her body was so accustomed to its ritual of excitement on Friday, its preparation for a night of deliciously exhausting sex, she couldn't concentrate. Usually at this time, she would be neatly stacking her collection of erotica- books and illustrations-on the living room table of her apartment for an afternoon of pleasant reading.
She focused again on the shiny core of the rivet, piercing its steel heart with her mind, obliterating everything else from her consciousness. After a minute, she began to read the onionskin pages:
SUBJECT: Vivian Marchand; aliases on appended page.
DATE OF BIRTH: January 22,1943 BIRTHPLACE: Shanghai, China CITIZENSHIP: American, French, Chinese, depending on circumstance. American and French identities unknown.
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Five feet seven, one hundred twenty-two pounds, green eyes, hair color frequently altered.
PHOTOS: None available CODE NAME: Nitro Five RATING: Volatile Erica looked up, her concentration shaken. Volatile! The rating was that of an executioner, given only to those foreign agents who had killed as a primary mission. She herself had never killed as a primary mission, only out of necessity and to protect her identity.
She suddenly knew why there were no pictures of Vivian Marchand.
Erica lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply before she resumed: LANGUAGES: Chinese (Cantonese and Mandarin), French, German, Italian, Spanish and English. No detectable accents.
EDUCATION: University of Peking, Sorbonne, Chinese Special Corps.
Again Erica paused. The Chinese Special Corps, as it was politely called, was fashioned after the Russian KGB, but was far more effective and ruthless. It was only the elite who were recruited into the CSC, and they were recruited from everywhere-including the United States. There were rumors of a defection from her own unit, Intelligence Service Central, which in turn was the elite of the Central Intelligence Agency.
She read on: SUMMATION: Vivian Marchand was born of a French father and German mother. The father was a mercenary agent, acting variously for the KGB (prior to World War II) the SS (during World War II) and the CSC, after Mao Tse Tung's rise to power. He was a commando instructor for the CSC for approximately seven years, after which he was liquidated on suspicion of being a double agent for the KGB. Vivian Marchand's mother was not, according to our current knowledge, an official agent but pursued a liberal sex policy with numerous party officials in Mao's regime, with the consent of her husband. The possibility exists she culled information from these officials which she turned over to her husband, who in turn passed it on to the KGB. She disappeared shortly after her husband's execution-no definite knowledge of her death exists. No other relatives, besides the daughter, are known to exist. CODE NAME NITRO FIVE was recruited into the CSC at the age of ten, after which she attended Perking University and the Sorbonne. She is thoroughly trained in electronics, psychology, languages, execution, and espionage organization. She is a highly skilled seducer of both men and women. On March 12th, 1970, CODE NAME SALAMANDER informed the director he had made contact with a woman believed to be Vivian Marchand in San Francisco. The following day, an hour before his scheduled rendezvous with another agent, he leaped or fell to his death from his tenth-story hotel room. He was totally naked at the time. The possibility of execution by NITRO FIVE seems negated, since SALAMANDER was definitely alone at the time of his death. However, information has come into the Office of the Director which suggests a new method of assassination has been developed by the CSC; this method has a purported psychological basis of a radical nature unknown to us. The possibility that NITRO FIVE is an expert in this method, and SALAMANDER'S death was due to this is conceivable. Since he was alone at the time of his fall, the nature and execution of this method is urgently required. OF SPECIAL IMPORTANCE: Although no known photographs of NITRO FIVE exist, foreign agency reports confirm she is extremely attractive physically and has a singular vulnerability-although bisexual in practice, she is basically a lesbian and has a strong psychological addiction to the act of cunnilingus. "Aliases appended.
END BRIEF WARNING "DESTROY AFTER READING" Erica memorized the aliases and returned the pages to the envelope. She got up and went into the ladies' room directly behind her. After locking the door she laboriously tore the onionskin into tiny shreds and flushed them down the toilet. She did the same with the manila envelope.
Then she returned to her seat and ordered a vodka martini from the stewardess. The details of the sketchy brief were etched into her mind permanently now. She did not believe the information was for her eyes only. Other agents would have read it, and there would probably be a weeding-out process in Baltimore.
Erica wondered about Vivian Marchand's strange addiction. She herself had attended a school in West Virginia three years before, in a quaint white house. The school had touched on lesbianism, but only briefly. The main course had been seduction, and it was pleasantly thorough, with assignments and grades.
She sipped her martini and wondered if they were going to send her back to school. She didn't speculate on what the assignment might be, or even whether she'd be chosen. They could put her back on the jet for Chicago tomorrow morning. She also had the option of refusing any assignment.
Erica Wilson, alias Ellen Janowski, born of a Polish janitor and a Swedish maid in Chicago's slums, never accepted an assignment out of patriotism. Like Nitro Five's careless father-and most of her fellow agents- she was a mercenary. She was paid $36,000 a year, assignment. The more danger involved, the greater the bonus.
It was a well-known fact in her profession that patriots were bad risks, and the more fanatical the patriot, the worse the risk. They had an amazing way of shifting ideologies under stress, and were far too emotional.
The best agents, like herself, were cool, nonpolitical and hungry for money.
An amused smile flitted across Erica's lips as she closed her eyes to nap.
Hunger for money wasn't the only thing that seemed to motivate Nitro Five. Maybe, she thought, the Chinese paid her off in girls.
CHAPTER TWO
The taxi driver didn't leave after Erica had paid him, and she knew he was studying her lush buttocks and legs as she stood on the sidewalk. She moved up the walk to the large red brick building that housed The Confederate Historical Society. Located in a fashionable suburb of Baltimore, it had white columns and two shining artillery cannons on the front lawn, survivors of the Civil War. Side by side with the American flag flying over the building was a Confederate flag.
A corny cover, Erica thought, but effective.
She went inside, and the taxi finally sped off. The reception room was adorned with portraits of Jefferson Davis, Robert E. Lee and other lost heroes. A prune-faced woman with sharp eyes sat behind a desk.
"May I help you?"
"Mr. Butterfield, please."
"Do you have an appointment?"
"My name is Erica Wilson. He's expecting me."
The thin lips tightened with skepticism, and Erica realized the cover was perfect. The woman pointed her pencil to a door marked Private.
"Mr. Butterfield is out for lunch. You can wait in his office. No smoking, be quiet, and don't wander."
Erica's heels echoed on the tile floor as she entered the office. Another receptionist sat behind a mahogany desk. She was close to forty, but striking: Erica had an impression of power as the woman's cool, lustrous grey eyes swept over her ripe-breasted body in a glance.
"I'm waiting for Mr. Butterfield," Erica said.
The woman nodded. "I see. You're... " She glanced down at index cards spread out on her desk. "Erica?" The voice was husky and full of authority.
"That's right."
"Sit down, Erica. Luggage?"
"At the airport. I didn't bring much. I wasn't told how long I'd be staying, or where."
The woman's eyes lingered on Erica's breasts.
"You'll be staying here. Your stay will range from one day to a week. You'll be taking an advanced indoctrination course. Give me your baggage ticket and I'll have it picked up for you. You cannot, of course, leave the premises during your stay, but you'll be provided with every comfort."
"Every comfort?" Erica murmured, remembering it was Friday.
The sensual mouth curved in a thin smile.
"Security is such that you may have to make a sacrifice or two. I'm sure you won't mind. I'll have to ask you a few questions before we get you settled, Erica."
She picked up a dossier from a stack and thumbed through it, her face thoughtful. Erica knew better than to ask the woman's name, or what kind of indoctrination course she would be taking. The woman would be a victim of security herself, and probably didn't even know the existence of Nitro Five, which was why Erica was given the information enroute.
The woman put down the dossier and looked brisk, but her eyes were the slightest bit hungry.
"Have you ever had a lesbian experience, Erica?"
The word psychiatrist flashed on Erica's mind. Of course. The questions would be fast and vicious now this; was the initial weeding-out process.
"No."
"Have you ever had the desire to?"
"No."
"Ever have a simple crush on another girl?"
"No."
"Are you curious about lesbian sex?"
"... a little."
"Are you aware of the fact that you're a potential nymphomaniac?"
Erica smiled. She was trying to rattle her, of course.
"Yes."
"Did you know your mother was once a prostitute?"
"I'm not surprised."
"Smoke if you like, Erica."
When she put a cigarette between her lips, the woman leaned across her desk with a lighter. Her shining eyes caressed Erica's throat. She snapped the lighter shut.
"Would you perform a lesbian act if you were ordered to by your superiors?"
Erica exhaled smoke through her nostrils.
"Yes."
"Including cunnilingus?"
"Yes."
"Right here and now?"
"No."
The woman didn't change expression.
"What would you do if the Chinese Special Corps offered you $20,000 to defect?"
Erica hesitated.
"I don't know. I'd be tempted, but I don't trust them."
The woman nodded. She picked up the dossier and leafed through it, selecting a page.
"On May 14th of this year, a Friday, you picked up a man in a bar on Merritt Boulevard in Chicago, and took him home with you. The man's name was Hawkins. You indulged in a masochistic act with this man. In a whisper too low to be picked up by electronic transmitter, you asked him to penetrate you anally. Why?"
For the first time, Erica's composure was shaken. Her face reddened. Dammit, she thought irritably, didn't she have any privacy?
"I don't know. I suppose... I wanted to be hurt, in the heat of passion. That's all."
"Did it hurt?"
"You know it did," she flared. "He had a ten-inch penis. You've got the tapes."
Easy, she cautioned herself, easy. This is the weeding-out process.
The woman nodded crisply.
"His phallus is ten and three quarters inches, erect. Phenomenal. Which of these four pictures excites you the least?"
From the corner of her desk, she took four eight-by-ten glossy photos and handed them to Erica. The first showed a naked man and woman, both beautiful, the man on top of her, half penetrating her with his thick erection, the woman with her legs resting over his shoulders. The second showed the same man and woman locked in mutual oral love. Erica's pulse quickened. The third showed two lushly curved girls in the same oral position, their faces buried in each other's thighs. The fourth was simply a picture of a naked girl, perhaps fifteen. Her face was lovely and her delicate breasts were silky smooth, with large pink aureoles. Between her plump, tender thighs was a fringe of curly golden hairs.
Erica bit her lip, thinking fast. It was a trap, of course, a psychiatric game. She suddenly knew what the indoctrination course was for: not just perversion, or lessons in lesbianism. It was deeper and far more cunning than that. She decided to play along with the game, temporarily. She glanced at the four pictures again. Not the two girls making love; that was the obvious choice.
The correct one was easy, actually: Which one would an aroused man choose?
"This one," Erica said. She handed the woman the picture of the adolescent girl. "It doesn't do a thing for me.
Their eyes met, and they both suddenly laughed at the same time.
"Very good," the woman said. "You're doing beautifully. I think you'll be an exceptional student. Let's get you settled now, shall we?"
The woman stood up, revealing a small waist and voluptuous hips. Erica followed her to another door.
"By the way," Erica said, "when do I get to meet Mr. Butterfield?"
The woman opened the door, and smiled gently, the tip of her tongue dabbed at the corner of a full lip.
"You already have," she said. "I'm Mr. Butterfield."
School had begun.
CHAPTER THREE
The room had pale green walls, a thick carpet and a view-through a barred window-of a spacious lawn enclosed by a high brick wall. Erica learned that most of the red brick building, except for its historical cover, was actually a well-equipped training center with its own kitchen, library and gym.
"You must not wander out of your room at any time, unless accompanied by your guide," Mr. Butterfield said. "You'll meet her shortly. You must never enter a door painted black. You must not talk to anyone you meet in the hallways. This room will be your home, and your private classroom. This," she said, tapping a portable television set, "will be your teacher. Channel ten is a closed circuit. You will be expected to take notes and you'll have written examinations. Your meals will be served here, and if you should want anything in the meantime-a sandwich, or a drink, or cigarettes-just push this button on the bedside table. Room service," she added pleasantly. "I told you your stay would be comfortable."
Everything but the one thing I need, Erica thought.
"I could use a drink," she said. "Vodka martini."
Mr. Butterfield pushed the button, her hungry eyes never leaving Erica as the dark-haired girl kicked off her shoes and stretched her silken legs out before her on the bed. She deliberately wriggled around as if to settle herself, so that her skirt rode up to reveal the golden flesh of her thighs. Her composure was perfect as she lit a cigarette, knowing Mr. Butterfield would just love to bury her avid mouth to her hot, fragrant thighs but didn't dare. Not in this line of business.
A blond girl in a crisp white uniform came into the room. The recruit was twenty or so, with wide blue eyes and a soft mouth.
"This is Shirley," Mr. Butterfield said. "She will be your guide during your stay. She'll serve your meals, and generally cater to your needs. You mustn't leave this room without her. You'll find her indispensable.
The girl smiled and left, her plump breasts and curved buttocks straining at the snug uniform.
Erica's eyes quickly found the small telephone connection against the wall. The building phone had been removed, of course, so that orders for room service had to be personal. As subtle as a sledge hammer, Erica realized. But, then, it was meant to be.
"Shirley is trained in Swedish massage," Mr. Butterfield said. "She has a marvelous touch. She's also a karate expert, should you become curious about doors painted black. Your classes won't start until tomorrow morning, so you can spend the rest of the day relaxing." She gestured to a stack of books on the dresser. "Those are required reading. You'll find a menu and wine list there also. Our cook is a graduate of the Cordon Bleu."
At the door, Mr. Butterfield paused, her glittering eyes making a final, devouring sweep over Erica's smooth thighs.
"I think you'll have a memorable stay," she said, and disappeared.
Erica stared at the ceiling, thinking. It was becoming painfully clear.
The blond girl returned with her drink and placed it on the bedside table.
"Anything else?" Her voice was soft and sweet.
Erica's face became grim and her voice was husky and full of authority: "Have you ever had a lesbian experience? Have you ever had the desire? Why not?"
The girl laughed. "You're being taped, you know."
"I know." Erica searched the shining blue eyes, and detected something. "There are no men on the premises, are there, Shirley?"
"No. Just women."
"Of course," Erica said softly. "Just beautiful women. That's all for now, Shirley. Thanks."
The girl flashed her a warm smile and closed the door behind her. There was the gentle click of the lock. Erica sipped her drink, amused. In a few days, Shirley would begin to look infinitely sensual and lovable as Erica's normal desire began its frustration-suppression process, as the need for body contact and release in the form of an orgasm began to build up dangerously. It was no coincidence they'd sent for her on a Friday.
In a week, the blond plump, tender thighs would look delicious and tantalizing, and very, very kissable. Already her soft mouth looked intriguing.
How intriguing would her vaginal lips seem in a week?
And there were no men on the premises, because exposure was the key to conversion.
Because their real intention wasn't just an indoctrination course into the tricks and positions of lesbianism, Erica was convinced. They intended to convert her. She didn't know exactly how, what sort of psychological devices they'd use besides exposure, but they'd try. They loved to experiment, the bastards, and she was to be the guinea pig.
Obviously, too, they wanted an agent for Vivian Marchand who couldn't be detected faking pleasure in lesbianism. They wanted an agent who actually felt what she appeared to feel. They didn't want an experienced lesbian like Nitro Five seeing through an act.
As she finished her drink, a delicious feeling of euphoria crept over her. She stared at her glass. Drugged, of course, but with a euphoric, a drug to peel away the layers of inhibition.
Erica smiled. She was going to beat them at their own game. They underestimated her capacity for acting. Did the fools honestly believe they could convert her-a lover of men and a collector of phallic symbols -into a lesbian, or even a bisexual, in one short week?
She laughed, feeling brilliant and superior.
The dinner was superb, coq au vin with tender carrots in a delicious sauce.
Afterwards, she soaked in a hot bath, glancing through the books they'd given her. Two of them were on the environmental factors predisposing young girls toward homosexuality. Another, and to her far more interesting, book was a slim volume on the Chinese Special Corps, and their unique methods.
At nine, her skin glowing and a faint tingle of excitement stirring in her blood, she went to bed. She lay in the darkness of her locked room, wondering what they'd put in the sauce to make her feel both wonderfully relaxed and still passionate. Cantharides mixed with a tranquilizer? Probably.
She fell quickly into a deep, drugged sleep.
She dreamt vividly: A girl was looming over her bed, naked, her lips reaching down to kiss Erica fervently, tasting sweet and pliant. Her plump, hot breasts were crushed to Erica's and her soft thighs were wet, rubbing and pressing to hers in a passionate contact, and then the girl was sliding her warm mouth down, seizing Erica's swollen nipple hungrily, kissing it with eager moans.
And Erica was growing wildly excited at the hot, tingling pressure. She parted her thighs wide and jerked her hips in a plea, stroking the girl's hair, urging her down, trembling fiercely as the girl's lips traced kisses on her soft belly, biting folds of flesh with gentle teeth, then tracing her wet tongue along each inner burning thigh.
And Erica gasped and shuddered as a stinging thrill pierced her trembling vagina, as the wet tongue probed deep around her aching walls. Wave after wave of excitement rippled through her cleft as the girl found her clitoris and used a hungry sucking motion, as Erica wriggled her buttocks deliriously in the girl's hands, sobbing as the delicious orgasm began its shattering race.
And the girl was withdrawing her beautiful lips and tongue, and Erica was begging her to finish, to give her an orgasm, crying softly, pleading, her moist vagina on fire with need...
Erica woke up with the sun streaming through the window. She felt a restless, gnawing ache in her loins. The dream was gone.
She got out of bed and threw the covers back and searched the sheets with painstaking care.
She found a long, silken blond hair.
She no longer felt brilliant and superior.
CHAPTER FOUR
The party was one of those boring social whirls that made Santell desperately wish he'd traded his shift with the other staff photographer, Blake. There were times, like tonight, when Santell felt as if he were being punished by his newspaper.
He sipped his champagne irritably-at least he had that free consolation-and wondered if it ever occurred to these brittle, overdressed idiots that no one really cared whether they got their pictures in the social columns or not. It wouldn't be so bad if there were some debs here; after three or four glasses of champagne, there was usually one who would grab any man with a bulge in his pants and rush him to the nearest bedroom.
But this chattering chaos seemed to have drawn every shrill, overjeweled hag in the city of San Francisco.
Except for her.
Santell slung his camera over his shoulder and moved closer to her. She was part of a small group that was listening to Phillips, the distinguished Professor of Behavioral Psychology at Stanford. Her luminous green eyes were melting on him.
Santell had been to too many of these glittering social bores in the past few years but he'd never seen her before. She was, at first glance, just attractive. Rich chestnut hair, intelligent face, sensual mouth and long shapely legs. A closer examination showed tiny lines around her eyes and a nose that was a trifle too long.
Santell felt a sharp surge of desire as he watched her. For some reason he couldn't define, she was incredibly sexy, and it wasn't just her creamy skin and curved body. He'd photographed too many stunning models who'd lacked exactly what she had, and still he couldn't define it.
He unslung his camera and focused it. Here, at least, was a knockout worth putting in the column.
The flashbulb clicked, and the woman jerked her head, startled. Her green eyes bored through him, and he had the chilling sensation someone had just walked over his grave.
With the single flash of a bulb, the hours of his life began a very rapid countdown.
"What we fail to realize," Professor Phillips was saying earnestly, "is the enormous potential of ultrasonics. Already we have proof that sound can heal and destroy, and still science ignores its potential. Why, just recently some ancient scrolls have been deciphered which state that the great priests of On were able to lift enormous slabs of rock weighing tons, thousands of years ago, by means of issuing sounds we don't understand. The sounds caused winds of hurricanic force to rise, which lifted the slabs, and by varying the pitch of the sounds, they were able to manipulate the rocks."
"Fascinating," a woman gushed.
"Sounds like hot air," a banker said.
"Does it?" the woman with green eyes said. "A rat can be driven insane in eight seconds by a certain ultrasonic pitch, and it will die in agony in fourteen seconds if the pitch isn't stopped. Do you think it can't be done with humans? With entire armies?"
The Professor stared at her in surprise.
"You're familiar with the Kensington experiments?" he asked. She didn't look like the type.
She smiled modestly, and the professor realized she was beautiful.
"Vaguely," she said.
A flashbulb clicked-the society photographer-and the woman looked startled. A minute later she excused herself. The professor watched curiously as she walked over to the photographer. He suddenly realized, to his embarrassment, that he had an erection.
She was that exciting.
Also, his wife was that frigid.
When Santell saw her approaching, he put on the uneasy smile he'd cultivated over the years for socialites. They were out of his league, he knew, but that didn't stop him from trying. He had his pencil and notebook ready.
"You're from a newspaper?" she said.
"Morning Chronicle. You'll be in the day after tomorrow's edition. Now if you'll give me your name-"
"But," she said softly, putting caressing fingers on his wrist, "I don't want my picture in the papers."
He stared down at her hand and then into her melting eyes. His pulse quickened, something wrong here.
"Why not?"
"I shouldn't... be here. You understand? My husband thinks I'm elsewhere." Her fingers pressed on his wrist, and he felt a stab of excitement.
Hell, this might be worth something.
"Sure," he said, grinning. "I understand. I'm as discreet as a minister in a cathouse. Still, I'd like your name. You know, for the records."
Her eyes flickered coldly on him. She understood.
"Can I buy the film from you?"
"It's possible," he said, feeling sure of himself now. She was reeking with money; it showed in the necklace and in the sleek, self-assured air.
But Santell didn't want money. Not from this one, not if he had the faintest chance of sampling that high-breasted, luscious body. The anxiety in her face gave him a rash sense of boldness.
"How much money?" she said.
Santell gulped some champagne to brace his nerve.
"Well, I was thinking, if we could sort of get together and discuss it, we could, ah, negotiate." He grinned to take the sting out of it. "It might not cost you a cent."
To his surprise, she calmly nodded. Her green eyes were patient.
"I see." She looked at her watch. "I'm going to be tied up until at least one in the morning. If you like, I'll come by your place after that. Is that what you want?"
"I couldn't have put it better myself," he said, trying not to brim over with triumph. He gave her his card. "The home address," he said. "One."
She nodded. "Expect me, Mr. Santell."
He watched her beautiful buttocks sway as she moved away, and he felt a wild, soaring excitement. God, he'd brought that off smoothly! She was cold, as frosty as ice, but Santell would change that. What did they call him in high school? The great pussy-tamer.
He glanced at his watch, noting it was barely ten. A few more pictures, he decided, and he'd go home early and be ready for her.
It suddenly occurred to Santell he didn't even know her name. He cornered the hostess and asked her.
"Let's see," she said, frowning. "Parks? That's it- Lorraine Parks. Charming woman, isn't she?"
For almost an hour the professor lost himself in one of the most stimulating conversations of his life. Her knowledge of ultrasonics on animal behavior, and of science in general, amazed him. He found it hard to believe she wasn't a scientist.
"I'm just an amateur psychologist," she explained demurely. "A student of that vast neurosis, the mind. Tell me, Professor, what would you do if you were offered a laboratory of your own, with the most sophisticated equipment, and unlimited volunteers as guinea pigs. Would you leave Stanford?"
He frowned.
"I don't know. Who would make such an offer? And where would you get human volunteers?"
"It's theoretical," she said, her lustrous eyes searching his. "Think about it for a few days. In such a situation, of course, you could take your wife and children with you. Although," she added softly, "your wife is frigid. A social fixture. Isn't she?"
He stared at her, red-faced, blinking his eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said, squeezing his hand. "People gossip. It's amusing," she went on, running her eyes over his trim, athletic body, "how euphemisms destroy our natural desire, and how the guttural expressions excite them. No one will admit it but it's true. Take sex, for example. It's easy to see you're inhibited, Professor. If I said to you, 'I'd like to go to bed with you,' I'm sure you'd be embarrassed and mildly excited. But if I used basic communication and said, 'Professor, I'd love to fuck you,' and all those wonderful connotations of the act leaped to your mind, I'm sure you'd be more than willing."
He stared at her, shocked. But immediately the image of her soft naked body writhing beneath his erection flashed into his mind, and his organ stiffened.
"Why me?" he finally said.
She smiled. "I'm attracted to intelligence. I'm not the rah-rah animal that chases football players or pretty men. I like brains. My apartment is five minutes from here. Let's go, shall we?"
He nodded quickly, dazed.
On the elevator down he realized he hadn't had sex in over six months. The last time his wife submitted, sighing like a martyr, her vagina had been dry and lifeless. His cock was hard as they got into his car, and glancing at her, he knew she'd done it in this bold way because she knew he would never take the initiative.
The drive was, as she'd said, only five minutes.
But for him it was the first step in a long, long journey to a cold and terrifying place.
Her apartment was decorated with subtle, expensive taste, with Oriental screens and a small gold statue of Buddha in the bedroom. She lit incense in its lap and turned to him, her eyes glittering as she wound her arms around him and pressed her hot, moist lips to his. She probed his mouth with her tongue, gently squirming her belly to his loins, her hand sliding down to rub against his hard penis before she unzipped his pants. Her fingers were soft on his cock, grasping and rubbing its thick flesh to shoot ripples of pleasure through it.
She continued to stroke his erection as her other hand reached behind her to unzip her dress. She released him only long enough to let the dress drop to her waist and take off her bra. Naked, her breasts were creamy and lush in the soft glow of the lamp, their dark nipples swollen with excitement. Phillips' blood pounded as he grasped them in his hands, stroking their fleshy nipples. He reached down eagerly and clutched one between his lips, sucking, his desire fierce as she cradled and rubbed his thick organ in her palms.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, naked only to the waist. She held his exposed penis in one hand, while the other cupped his balls in a gentle massage. The fact that they were still dressed, that not a word was spoken, that he stood between her parted thighs as she guided his cock toward the hot, soft valley of her breasts gave the act an air of exciting urgency.
He sucked in his breath as she enclosed his shaft between her bare breasts, squeezing their velvety flesh to it in a teasing thrill. With a low moan, she suddenly grasped the organ deep in her wet mouth, circling him with her tongue. She began to suck, back and forth, then side to side, using her hands to stroke his base. Phillips groaned as she worked her lips and tongue expertly, as the burning thrills became intense. The words escaped his throat, surprising him: "I-I want to go down on you, Lorraine."
He'd never done it before, except wistfully in his imagination.
Her eyes smoldered on his cock as she slipped off her dress. Phillips tore impatiently at his own clothes while she slid off her nylons, then wriggled out of her panties. She lay back on the bed with her legs parted, her milky thighs centered with a dark hair that revealed glistening pink lips.
Naked, he lay beside her, kissing her on the lips and throat, edging down over her satiny breasts and soft stomach, his excitement feverish. He couldn't recall the number of times he'd done this in his mind with beautiful, silken-skinned girls from his own classroom. His mouth lingered on a creamy thigh, where he traced teasing kisses. Her searing lips had brought him too close to the verge of a climax to make the act mutual just yet. She twined her fingers in his hair and her hot silken body trembled as he kissed her other thigh. She raised her hips off the bed and he grasped the cheeks of her ass in his hands. Raising her legs, she slid them over his shoulders, locking her ankles behind his back, shivering.
Phillips breathed in her fragrance deeply before he plunged with his tongue, tasting her hot, trembling walls with eagerness, feeling the current of her excitement trickle in his mouth. She arched her body and shuddered as he licked her clitoris, her wild moans echoing in the bedroom. He felt the fire of her orgasm rippling in his throat as she swung her buttocks passionately and pressed his mouth urgently to her wet vagina.
Dimly he was aware she was raking her nails across his shoulders like barbs, but the pain only spurred his excitement, and he quickened his tongue.
And then she was tugging urgently at his thigh, and he swung his body around, his lips still locked to her succulent flesh. She grasped his penis eagerly in her soft hands and thrust it in her mouth.
Phillips groaned as she began using her lips with ravenous skill on him in return. Violent tingles of pleasure shot through his loins as her kisses became frantic with her mouthing passion, as she increased the suction. He responded by speeding up his own tempo on her hot flesh, until she moaned wildly and shuddered with ecstasy. Just as his climax threatened to burst, she jerked away and tugged at his shoulders.
He rose quickly and lay on top of her, feverishly aroused as she clutched his prick in her hands and jerked her hips up, plunging him deep into her luscious vagina. Her walls locked on him with delicious pressure and he squeezed her buttocks. She snaked her tongue in his ear as their bodies began lunging in unison, her tight cleft flexing each time he drove forward, her breasts flattening against his chest.
And then his control shattered as her succulent vagina gripped; his climax shuddered through his loins and burst, gushing for a full minute against her quivering hot walls. He rested against her soft, damp body.
"How long has it been since you've had sex?" she asked him. "You could start a sperm bank with this."
"Six months," he admitted.
"Poor professor," she murmured, cupping his scrotum in her palm and gently squeezing. He felt his desire stir again, and wondered if she'd ever been a prostitute. For a beautiful, cultivated woman she seemed to know a great deal about arousing men.
She lit cigarettes for both of them and handed him one.
"I suppose," she said casually, you're going to the symposium in Hong Kong in two weeks?"
"You know about that?" he said, surprised.
"I told you I'm an amateur psychologist. It ought to be fascinating, don't you think? The world's leading psychologists giving their pat theories on cause and effect, war and peace. Are you taking your family with you?"
"Yes. It's going to be a sort of vacation for us, too. Even the Chinese are sending representatives. They say they're far ahead of the rest of us in psychological warfare, but of course they won't volunteer anything. They'll just listen and take notes."
"Hong Kong is a fascinating place," Lorraine mused. "Did you know you can buy anything in the world there? Any spectacle of sex you can imagine, between any creatures you name... drugs, aphrodisiacs, even twelve-year-old girls. Virgins, no less. There's nothing quite so beautiful as an adolescent Chinese girl; long, glistening black hair, almond eyes, breasts that are just beginning to bud, thighs like pure satin. And those shy, innocent smiles... "
Phillips stared at her curiously.
"You sound like you've spent quite a bit of time there."
"I lived in Hong Kong once," she said, sitting up, the supple curves of her body glowing by lamplight. Her voice was filled with regret as she held his shaft in her hand. "I have to leave in a few minutes, darling. Some late, unavoidable business. Would you like to meet again tomorrow?"
"Very much," he said quickly. His erection pulsed fiercely in her soft hand. "If we have a few minutes... "
"We can take a shower together," she said.
He followed her into the bathroom, watching her luscious buttocks ripple, still dazed by his good luck. She could have any man, he realized, but she chose him-a dull psychologist of forty-four who dabbled in ultrasonics.
In the warm spray, they soaped each other down, his fingers eagerly fondling the hot wetness of her breasts and buttocks. She caressed and lathered his penis until he thought he would erupt, then she turned to face the tiled wall, spreading her legs. Reaching beneath her thighs, she guided his cock into her vagina, clamping on it as she gasped in pleasure. He cupped her breasts as he drove in, toying the feel of her satiny cheeks against his loins, biting the soft line of her shoulder gently as he thrust harder. She wriggled her hips to give him a sudden sharp thrill, then issued a deep moan of ecstasy as he came, spurting in the slippery vagina.
Twenty minutes later, he was driving home to his neurotic wife, his body glowing with contentment, his thoughts revolving around the remarkable beauty who called herself Lorraine Parks.
It was almost one.
Santell poured himself another inch of bourbon and gulped it straight. He was naked beneath his robe, naked and ready and anxious. She knew what he'd meant by the word "negotiate," and if she showed up at all, she'd want the film badly enough to cooperate.
He went over to his apartment window and looked far down at the street below again, searching for a sign of her arrival.
The photographer lived on the ninth floor of an old apartment building, where the view of other, more sumptuous buildings allowed him the luxury of voyeurism with a telephoto lens.
At ten minutes after one, he was gulping bourbon straight from the bottle, wondering if he'd been too crude with her after all. She was class and money, wasn't she?
But Santell was convinced they were all alike when it came down to the basic essential of a good lay. Did a woman's pussy care whether it was in the social register or not?
At one fifteen there was a soft knock on his door. He opened it eagerly, and gazed into her calm green eyes.
"You're fifteen minutes late," he said to hide his excitement.
She stepped into the room, and he locked the door.
"The film," she said.
He grinned.
"It's in the bedroom."
Without a word she followed him into the bedroom. She walked over to the window and looked down.
"Don't you have a fire escape?" she said.
"At the end of the hallway," Santell said. "It's an old building."
She nodded and stepped close to him, smiling. "The film," she said.
He gestured to his camera on top of the dresser.
"Still in there on the spool. I can't give you the whole roll, you know. Besides, we were going to talk about it, weren't we?"
"If I go to bed with you, you'll give me the picture?"
He nodded quickly, his throat tight and dry with excitement.
"That's the bargain."
She slowly nodded. "Lie down on the bed."
"Aren't you going to undress first?" He wanted time to savor that stunning body naked, to arouse himself further.
She sat on the edge of the bed and patted it. "Sit down here and let me excite myself first." She smiled. "You needn't be afraid."
He sat beside her and put his arms around her and kissed her. Immediately, to his astonishment, she was ramming her tongue between his lips and stroking his erection, so frantic she was pushing him down on the bed and lying on top of him.
Her fingers held his cheeks as she kissed him, and her thumbs slid beneath the rim of his jaw. They found the nerves on each side of his windpipe and pressed firmly.
They're all animals, Santell thought triumphantly as she squirmed her soft hot body on top of his, they all want a good...
He lost consciousness at once.
She kept up the pressure for a few more seconds before releasing the nerves. His breathing was the soft, regular rhythm of sleep.
Ten minutes later she left him and went over to the dresser. She opened the camera and took the entire spool and dropped it in her purse. She wiped her prints off the camera with a handkerchief and put it back on the dresser.
In the bedroom doorway she paused, staring back at his sleeping body. Then she went to his front door and looked up and down the hallway before wiping her prints off the knob. She left the building.
Thirty minutes later, Santell was jarred awake by the insistent ring of the telephone next to his bed. He looked dazed as he picked it up.
A woman's voice spoke rapidly on the other end of the line, its urgent tone piercing the numbness of his mind. Santell listened, his eyes darting wildly to the door of the bedroom, then to the window. Sweat broke out on his forehead and his eyes shone with terror.
The woman's voice became sharper, more commanding, and suddenly he flung down the receiver and stood up, backing away from the bedroom door with spine-chilling fear.
He raced to the window, and opened it wide. He looked down below, hesitating, his face dripping with sweat, his eyes darting back to the bedroom door. He began to cough violently.
He climbed out on the edge of the window. He sat on the ledge, his bare legs dangling. He peered far below to the sidewalk. His eyes swung around once more to the bedroom door, and for one long frozen moment he hesitated. Then he pushed himself off the ledge, and he was falling, hurtling toward the concrete below with bone-shattering speed, and his robe flapped in the wind, and he thought I'm flying, my God, I'm flying...
At the other end of the line Lorraine Parks listened for a few seconds and then hung up.
She took the roll of film from her purse and went into her bathroom. She unwound it, crumpled it, and set fire to it with a match. She watched it burn in the sink, then rinsed the ashes down the drain. She went back into the bedroom, took off her robe and crawled between the cool satin sheets.
Two minutes later she was in a deep, peaceful sleep.
No photographs of Nitro Five were known to exist.
CHAPTER FIVE
Erica lay curled up on the bed, smoking. She wore only a robe, and from time to time she absently stroked her belly and slid her hand down to the hot flesh of her thigh. Most of her attention was on the woman on the closed television circuit, a woman of thirty, perhaps, with a dry, crisp voice and small breasts. Like a conductor with a baton, the woman gestured with her pencil to a life-size cardboard cutout of a naked girl.
"To refresh your memories, then," the woman was saying, "what are the most sensitive erogenous zones in a woman? The lips, of course, very tactile. The throat, the nape of the neck, the ears. The armpit is very sensitive-tonguing here has a delicious effect. The nipples, obviously, and beneath the mound of each breast is a delicate, often overlooked area. The same holds true of the zone beneath each buttock, more so perhaps then the inner thigh. The crevice of the buttocks, the cheeks themselves and above all, the anus."
Erica lit another cigarette from the tip of her last, wishing they'd get on with the film. They always showed a film after the erogenous lectures, and why the hell did this dyke repeat herself endlessly? For three days she'd said the same thing over and over, until Erica felt like screaming. Saturation, she thought dryly, like a TV commercial, until you couldn't think of anything else.
Three days of drugged food, and the nightly rituals of teasing while she was in a heavy, seconal-induced sleep. Shirley, of course, with her hot, plump breasts and silky thighs, and loving, poetic fingertips.
"... while the clitoris itself is the most sensitive part of the female anatomy," the voice droned on, "the effects of titillating the clitoris can be magnified enormously by using your fingers on the vaginal walls themselves at the same time. An orgasm can usually be induced very quickly like this lips on one, fingers in the other, with a slow, thrusting rhythm-"
"You ought to know," Erica murmured, not giving a damn if the tape picked it up. And Shirley, too, angel-faced, wet-lipped Shirley, so adorable and feminine. God, the little beautiful bitch was really getting to her. She had a habit of fixing her wide eyes on Erica each time she brought her something, of tracing her sensual lips with the tiny pink tip of her tongue and saying, "Anything else?" This afternoon when she'd come for the lunch tray, Erica found herself on the verge of saying, "Yes, hell, yes," and reaching out for those big breasts with trembling fingers.
No. She'd outfox the diabolical bastards, especially Mr. Butterfield. If she could only be alone with a man for ten minutes, a hard-muscled man with a huge cock she could clutch and press eagerly to her lips before she felt its reassuring thrust deep into her aching walls.
"... so by applying suction to the clitoris, utilizing the thumb against the vaginal membranes, and simultaneously using the middle finger to probe the anus, a triple thrill results that is highly effective. The anus is the most neglected erogenous zone in the female anatomy. Tonguing in this orifice is an... elevating experience... "
Erica couldn't help burst out laughing. To hell with the monitor and Mr. Butterfield, who was probably listening in. Here was this dry-voiced, pedantic dyke delivering a lecture on the poetic aspects of lesbian love with all the passion of a robot. Erica laughed for a solid minute, tears streaming down her cheeks, trying to rid herself of the terrific sexual tension they'd built up in her.
But only one thing could do that.
"... a silk scarf, or very fine handkerchief, tightly knotted, thusly,"-the woman held up a knotted scarf -"and inserted deep into the anal orifice, with the end protruding,"-Erica found herself hoping the woman would actually lift her dress and demonstrate-"and pulled out at the height of orgasm is another useful device. We'll have more on this subject tomorrow. Now, for a demonstration film."
The screen went blank, as usual, and Erica braced herself for the five-minute intermission. More tantalizing suspense. She pressed the button for Shirley, and a minute later the blond entered her room.
Erica's heart began to pound as her eyes swept over the ripe breasts bulging at her too-tight uniform, the plump, beckoning thighs.
"Yes, Erica?"
"Bring me a vodka martini, would you, honey?"
The eyes blinked and the tiny pink tongue darted out, circling.
"Anything else?"
"You're cute," Erica said dryly. "Bring me a knotted silk scarf too."
"What?"
Erica chuckled. "Forget it. Just the drink."
The girl disappeared, and Erica found herself trembling. God, the little vixen really looked desirable, all soft and warm and cuddly. It wouldn't hurt just this once to let that pointed little tongue thrust deep into her quivering, aching cleft, to let those soft lips sting her...
No. That's what they wanted, a just-this-once rationalization, because it wouldn't be just this once. It would be two or three times a day, because of the aphrodisiacs in her food and drinks, and she'd begin to crave it, the delicate pink vaginal lips pressed to her mouth while Shirley did the same for her, the fragrant trickle of passion warming her mouth, the curly pubic net nuzzling her face...
Shirley was back with her drink. Erica stared at it.
"More cantharides, Shirley?"
The blond looked innocent. "Pardon?"
Erica's voice became husky with excitement.
"Would you... stay and watch the film with me, Shirley?"
Shirley looked sad. "I can't, Erica. I've got other duties right now." She paused, her melting eyes intense. "But I could come by after your dinner, if you wanted... company."
The moment of weakness passed. Erica shook her head.
"Forget it, honey."
The blond smiled a knowing smile, and left. More nerve-racking teasing.
The film began. Erica watched avidly, sipping her drink and chain smoking: The two women were dressed this time, to begin with. A simply furnished room, with a large double bed, covers thrown back invitingly. The smaller one, a slender brunette with high breasts, embraced the other woman, a striking blond. Both were models, judging from their looks. The brunette was kissing her passionately as they stood by the bed, her hand sliding beneath the blonde's skirt to cup and squeeze her heavy buttocks. A close-up of the brunette's tongue snaking in the other woman's ear followed, her tongue trailing beneath her throat.
They weren't acting, Erica realized. The look of excitement on the blonde's face was real and intense.
The brunette began to undress her. Her fingers stroked and rubbed the blonde's creamy skin as she took off her blouse. She stood behind the blond and unhooked her bra and removed it.
A fine film of sweat dotted Erica's face as she watched the close-up of the milky breasts, beautifully rounded. The brunette's fingers worked on them as she stood behind her, hefted and rubbed and stroked the swollen nipples. Erica could almost feel the hot flesh in her own fingers.
"Kiss them," Erica whispered. "Suck on them."
She watched feverishly as the brunette, still standing behind her, unzipped her skirt. The blond stepped out of it, wearing only panties, nylons and heels. The brunette knelt behind her and inched her panties down, and the camera closed in on the white, heavy cheeks as the brunette kissed each in turn, her hands stroking the rounded hips, her tongue tracing the sensitive area beneath the mounds.
Erica bit her lip, shivering. She couldn't turn the TV set off, but she didn't have to look. She could go into the bathroom. And browse through the nudist magazines there, with luscious, adolescent girls?
The blond was sitting on the edge of the bed, her legs stretched out before her as the smaller woman took each nylon off in turn, loving the flesh of each shapely leg with her hands. The blond lush breasts were heaving with excitement now, and Erica's eyes were riveted to her thick triangle of pubic hair and the soft rosebud of wet lips centered there. Erica's blood pounded as the brunette kissed the soles of her feet, trailing her tongue up one inner leg, her hands constantly caressing, rubbing the creamy stomach, putting pressure on the groin.
And the brunette's dainty lips were everywhere except where Erica wanted them to be in her feverish excitement; on the white soft inner thighs, sucking eagerly on a gorged nipple, licking each armpit as the other woman jerked her hips and squirmed frantically.
The brunette turned the naked woman over on her stomach, so that her ripe cheeks jutted out, and then, almost absently, toyed with them with one hand as she sat beside her, unbuttoning her own blouse. Her fingers explored the creamy mounds, her thumb probing gently into the crevice as her other fingers squeezed a cheek.
Erica's lips and tongue tingled with desire. Her glittering eyes never left the fascinating scene as she gulped half her drink in one swallow. The brunette undressed casually, stopping every so often to bend down and kiss a tender buttock, even gently biting the ripe flesh.
Naked, the brunette was a stark contrast to the other voluptuous woman. Small and sleek, with an animal grace that was wildly exciting to Erica, herself tall and lushly curved. The brunette's body was tanned all over, so that her skin seemed to glow next to the snowy blonde's.
And Erica discovered how lovely two naked woman looked together, so much more arousing than a coarse male body in comparison. The tender curves of a woman's body were so... kissable, designed, it seemed, solely for tactile love. Her own body seemed as if it were on fire as she watched the brunette lie on top of the other woman, who lay on her stomach. The small, velvety breasts dug into the smooth white back while the brunette kissed her nape and shoulders, and squirmed her tanned body lasciviously against the creamy one.
"Do it," Erica whispered urgently, not even aware of her voice. She trembled and cupped one of her own swollen breasts. "For God's sake, go down on her... "
She was, she realized, worse off than the frenzied blond, and she knew they were increasing the doses in her drinks. Her loins ached so intensely she hoped she would have an orgasm just from the vicarious thrill of watching the blond have one. She leaned forward as the brunette slid downward, kissing the other woman's back, cupping the big white buttocks in her hands and licking the crevice of her cheeks, the blond suddenly wriggling with joy as the smaller woman's tongue penetrated her anus, her face buried hungrily in the ripe mounds.
Erica's body was bathed in sweat when the brunette finally turned the other woman over on her back. The blond drew up her knees and parted her thighs wide, trembling from head to toe. She cupped the brunette's avid face in her hands and urged her down between her milky thighs, raised her hips off the bed to meet her, her back arched.
The camera zoomed in on the scene, and Erica drank in the moist tender flesh, with the brunette's sensual mouth only inches away. She could almost feel the warm breath on her own aching thighs, a current of electrifying suspense rippling through her hot walls...
A series of numbers flashed on the screen; the end of a reel?
After a minute, Erica said feverishly: Well? Stop playing games and put the damn thing back on, will you?"
The screen was blank for a full minute. Then the dry-voiced instructor came on.
"I'm sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all but pleased, "but we're having technical difficulties. We'll finish this particular episode tomorrow. Please be ready to take notes on the following lecture: The Environmental and Other Stress Influences of Homosexuality in Adolescent Girls-"
"You bastards!" Erica exploded.
There were tears of rage in her eyes as she twisted the knobs violently on the set, knowing she couldn't turn it off or even remove the plug from the socket. She finally covered the set with a towel. She couldn't get rid of that superior, crisp voice but at least she didn't have to look at the bitch.
After a few minutes, Erica calmed down. She should have seen it coming. Childish, ridiculous in fact, but so effectively maddening. If it weren't for the heavy doses of aphrodisiacs, she'd find it downright funny.
But there was nothing funny in the way she felt- seething with frustration, ready to explode. What could she do, refuse to eat or drink? She decided their crude tactics called for some of her own-she took an icy shower for fifteen minutes.
It worked, until the stinging effect gave way, after a half-hour, to a renewed charge of energy.
She barely touched her dinner, not to avoid the drugs-there was such an accumulated dose in her system already even Mr. Butterfield looked beautiful-but because she was dangerously keyed up.
Shirley came to take her tray. She hovered patiently, her shining blue eyes sympathetic, her soft lips eternally wet and parted.
"Stop looking so goddamn cute and innocent," Erica snapped. "You're just another raving dyke beneath that doll's face, like the rest of them."
Shirley's fingers touched her arm.
"I'm sorry, Erica," she said softly. "I know how you feel. But I'm just doing my job, like everyone else. I really like you. I can... help."
Cunning little doll, thought Erica, so warm and sympathetic, so luscious and kissable, and I'm supposed to believe her. I'm just another assignment for her. Maybe I'm her graduate course.
But the blond was so radiant and desirable, Erica felt her pulse begin to pound. Just this once? Just to get rid of the nerve-racking suspense?
Erica's voice shook: "I... I could use a massage, Shirley."
The girl nodded eagerly.
"Let me collect some trays and I'll be back in a little while."
Erica lay on the bed after she left, smoking, torn with indecision. How dangerous was it to give in to the urge once, especially with a beautiful creature like Shirley? Well, hell, she thought, she didn't exactly have her choice of men at the moment. She would detach her mind from the act and make it a mechanical event, like masturbation. Of course.
But as the minutes passed, a growing sense of danger crept over her. The whole experiment-their relentless assault on her mind and tormented flesh-wasn't just to make her surrender to one perverted urge, or even to convert her to bisexuality, she sensed. There was something deeper, much more cunning than that.
She didn't trust them, especially Mr. Butterfield, with her supercilious smile and her ripe, gloating mouth. After thirty minutes, Erica got a grip on her shaken nerves. There was no need to go all the way with the plump blond. In her present frantic state, a massage ought to do the trick; the feel of Shirley's warm, gentle fingers on her naked body, the closeness of her luscious body ought to be enough.
At least she could satisfy the urge for body contact and affection to some extent this way.
Shirley came and locked the door behind her.
"Just a massage," Erica said, trembling, slipping out of her robe, aware that the girl's eyes were devouring her sleek nakedness with hunger. "Nothing else, honey. Is that clear?"
Shirley smiled. "Whatever you want, Erica."
She lay on her stomach on the bed, and Shirley sat on the edge. Her fingers applied a gentle, caressing pressure to Erica's shoulders and back, working their way gradually down her back, cupping and rubbing her lush buttocks.
Erica's heart hammered painfully against her ribs, and the blood sang in her ears. It wasn't working; she was getting more aroused than ever. She wanted desperately to undress the lovely blond, to hug her breasts to those plump ones, to nestle her mouth close to those hot, generous thighs. Shirley's fingers hovered around the crack of her buttocks, and Erica squirmed in a mute plea, spreading her thighs, but the girl simply ignored the obvious and slid her fingers down her thighs in a gentle massage.
Erica suddenly turned over, her breasts swollen and her loins arching. She stared into Shirley's smoldering blue eyes, and knew at once she had to say it, had to ask her, that it would be expected of her to take the first step. The blond was as excited as she was, but there were the rules, heavy and unspoken, the assignment Shirley had to pass successfully, too. Break her down, Mr. Butterfield probably had said, make her say the words, even beg for it; that's the crucial part.
It became a battle when, with Erica spurred to resist the words by the blonde's urgent eyes and hungry mouth.
"Massage me here," Erica said, and placed Shirley's hands on her breasts. The girl sucked in her breath at the hot, delicious contact and began to fondle them, gently pinching the dusky nipples, her parted lips wet with the desire to kiss and suck them. Erica could feel the girl's urgent passion like a vibrant shock.
Erica shuddered. I can't take much more myself, she thought desperately, I want her naked, I want to savor that sweet beautiful body, I want to do every trick I've been watching on film...
Shirley trembled, and took her hands away. Her eyes burned into Erica's.
"Say it," she whispered.
Erica's voice was hoarse. "No. You know what I want, Shirley. Please... "
"You've got to say it," Shirley whispered urgently. "I'll do anything you want, Erica, any position, any trick. But say it."
Erica's hand slid beneath Shirley's white uniform, and touched the hot flesh beneath her panties, and this first lesbian overture of her life filled her with breathless excitement.
"Say it, or I'll leave," Shirley warned, and suddenly stood up. She went to the door, pausing.
"Don't go!" Erica hissed. She shut her eyes, ignoring the warning alarm in her mind, the image of Mr. Butterfield nodding with triumph, the dangerous feeling she was being moved through a maze of hidden traps, and she said it: "Please come to bed," she whispered, loud enough for the tapes. "I want to make love to you, Shirley. I want to kiss you and taste your flesh and put my tongue deep inside of you-my God, I'm hot, so hurry... "
"Yes," Shirley said quickly, and was tugging at her uniform with anxious fingers. A fierce excitement shuddered through Erica as she watched the blond reveal her succulent breasts, their nipples huge and pink, as she wriggled out of her panties, her hips heavily curved, her body far more lush than Erica had pictured, her golden crest of pubic hairs soft and beckoning between plump, tender thighs.
All the drugs and films and lectures and provocation would culminate in the wild hours to come. At last Erica would know what it was like; the intense curiosity would end, the suspense and calculated torture would be over, her overpowering, carefully instilled lesbian urge would erupt.
The moment Shirley lay on top of her, her hot breasts crushed to hers, her soft belly writhing, her mouth sweet and eager on Erica's. Erica moaned and embraced her frantically. Her urgent need for an orgasm was thrust aside, giving way to the greater hunger, her passion for oral love.
"Let me get on top," Erica whispered, "let me do it first, darling."
Shirley lay on her back and, trembling wildly, Erica cupped a breast in both hands and sucked eagerly on the nipple, exhilarated by the new oral sensation. She trailed her tongue up to Shirley's soft armpit, and the blond moaned, and squeezed Erica's swollen breasts in her hands. Her blood surging, Erica lavished kisses down the plump, velvety body, gently biting and sucking on tender folds of flesh, arousing Shirley to a frenzied pitch as she teased her hot inner thighs with delicate kisses, bypassing the pink moist lips of her vagina. She kissed each inner leg, the soles of each foot, teasing herself as much as the sobbing blond, loving the feeling of suspense, of knowing what was coming for the first time and holding it off, like a delectable dessert.
She turned Shirley over on her stomach, and kissed each buttock, the flesh succulent beneath her lips. She traced the chasm of her cheeks, and suddenly plunged her tongue into the tender anus. The blond gasped and wriggled with bliss, her silken buttocks pressed hard to Erica's face.
At last Erica was ready. She clutched Shirley's plump hips and nudged her over on her back. She lay prone between her parted thighs, pressing on the girl's belly with one hand to draw back the nest of golden hair and expose the rosebud lips.' She hesitated, savoring the feeling of mystery, the delicious sensation of guilt that perversion brings, that becomes an addiction in itself.
"Give it to me," Shirley moaned, twining Erica's hair in her fingers, "Oh, please, give it to me... "
Erica breathed in the fragrance of soap and perfume, and trembling with desire, she planted her mouth gently to the moist, hot lips. A sticky sweetness clung, its delicate essence sparking a sudden savage hunger, and Erica lashed deep into her quivering vagina with her tongue. Beneath her Shirley gasped with joy and responded with a rhythmic jerking of her hips, her burning thighs pressed to Erica's cheeks, her buttocks writhing in Erica's hands.
Furiously excited at first, Erica used her lips and tongue brutally, stinging the girl with harsh thrills as she devoured the wetness of her walls, then her clitoris.
The blonde's first orgasm erupted quickly. Her heavy buttocks swung deliriously and her nails sank into Erica's shoulders. Her moist essence trickled into Erica's mouth, filling her with an eerie sense of fulfillment, a tingling bliss she'd never known before.
Then Erica's own urgent need rose to the surface and, her lips locked hungrily to the sweet cunt, she shifted her body around, placing a knee on each side of Shirley's face. She hovered over the girl in reverse, never letting up on her kisses, alternating a gentle sucking of her clitoris with flicks of her tongue into the luscious channel. She felt Shirley grasp her buttocks and pull her down eagerly, until her damp thighs were directly over the blonde's lips.
A sudden delicious thrill followed as Shirley pierced her vagina-the small wet mouth fired her loins, its voracious tongue probing expertly.
Shirley may have been a recruit, but in this game she was the teacher.
Erica moaned deep in her throat when the first hot wave of ecstasy burst, a blazing release that shuddered through her damp body with explosive fury. Her fierce passion, an accumulation of drugs and vivid films and nightly torment, was so intense it quivered through every raw nerve in her body.
And left its imprint seared permanently in her mind.
Shirley's frantic mouth slowly gave way to leisurely and delicate kissing. Erica did the same to the pussy beneath her. Remembering the lecture today, she gently applied suction to Shirley's clitoris while her thumb probed the hot inner membranes. Her middle finger caressed Shirley's anus, then slid in so that the blonde's plump body wriggled beneath the triple thrill, her swollen breasts digging into Erica's belly.
The night took on a dreamy sensual haze that Erica had never experienced before. For two hours they exhausted the bliss of one position, their soft bodies twined in reverse, until they were both spent, glowing with contentment.
The other positions could wait, Shirley assured her -there would be time for every erotic act and thrill before Erica left. Before the blond left, Erica tried to find out if there were other agents in the building taking the same course, or whether the TV lectures were a ruse to make her think that, but Shirley smiled enigmatically and was silent. She kissed Erica good night, and vanished.
Erica smoked for a while, deep in thought. It had been eerie and fulfilling, far more exciting than she'd suspected.
And because of that, her earlier sense of danger, of a trap, returned, shrouding her delicious contentment.
Their experiment was working. Between the drugs, the other sexual stimuli, the pressures and Shirley- fragrant, luscious Shirley-she hadn't thought of a man once during the episode. Even her deep phallic fixation was forgotten completely, replaced by another, more passionate oral urge.
It's only temporary, Erica told herself. Once men were available again, there'd be no problem. Except...
Except Shirley was so sweet and delicious, so sensual and lovable in a way a man could never be. It would be hard to look at beautiful girls again without wondering about the texture of their warm thighs, without recalling the hot, silken feel of Shirley's flesh squirming beneath her lips...
For an hour Erica lay awake, uneasy. What were they really after? It had to be something more than just a clash with Vivian Marchand-Nitro Five. More than just an affair with a highly skilled lesbian who would detect an act.
What?
She dreamed Mr. Butterfield was standing over her bed, the supercilious knowing smile on her lips, her eyes gleaming with death, like an executioner's.
She was saying: "Goodbye, Gypsy Virgin."
CHAPTER SIX
Less than a dozen people were seated in the front row of the vast, empty high school auditorium; a few parents, a handful of curious students, Mrs. Benson, the drama teacher, and her visitor, a beautiful green-eyed woman.
Mrs. Benson gestured to the stage, where students scurried around in confusion.
"Rehearsals are always such a chaos," she said apologetically, and then remembered her visitor was a drama coach herself. She should have been an actress, Mrs. Benson thought; she was stunning, and so poised and confident. And she dropped names of prominent actors and directors so casually, interspersed with fascinating bits of gossip. Mrs. Benson was properly flattered that her visitor had tome here, to the small, prosperous town of Palo Alto, all the way from San Francisco to search for that precious rarity, talent.
"There's a tremendous demand for your girls in television right now," the woman had explained in her husky voice. "Wholesome, lovely girls with radiant skin, the type the average teenager would like to identify with. For commercials to begin with-you have no idea how theatrical agents bother me for skin and hair types-but that's only a stepping stone to bigger things. The problem is not in finding beautiful girls, but finding one who can act, who can deliver a line with conviction. That's why I've given up on beauty contests- what good is a lovely face and seductive body if there's nothing behind it?-and decided to reverse the process. Look for the ability first, and then see if they're photogenic."
"Of course," Mrs. Benson said, glancing at her watch. The rehearsal should have begun at eight, and it was already half past. Finally the rehearsal, a light comedy, began its struggle. Halfway through the first act, Mrs. Benson stifled a groan. God, they were miserable brats. Fine for high school theatrics, but they must seem hilariously bad to a professional like Lorraine Parks. They were cute, they were clean, they were wholesome, but there wasn't a shred of talent in the whole miserable bunch.
"That girl," Lorraine said, indicating a ripely budding sixteen year old with shimmering black hair and a smooth, angelic face. "She might have something."
"Marcia?" Mrs. Benson said, astonished. Marcia was lovely-she'd been cast as the essence of virginity because she reeked with it-but she was painfully bad, screeching to show enthusiasm, looking like a suicidal schizophrenic to show sadness.
"She's... very attractive," Mrs. Benson said, "but do you really think she can act?"
"I didn't say that," Lorraine rebuked her. "I said she might have something. She's hyper right now, but that's because she's nervous."
"I suppose so," Mrs. Benson said, deferring judgment to her guest. Maybe the girl did have something, but she failed to see anything but a darling face and a body that drove the boys wild. If she had hidden potential, Mrs. Benson thought dryly, it was buried in a beautiful place.
"She's won a few local beauty contests," she told Lorraine, "and in a few years she'll be stunning but she can't sing or dance very well. You can see why she's so popular with the boys, though."
"I can see," Lorraine said softly. Her eyes swept from the girl's luscious breasts down to her shapely hips and legs. Her lips tingled as she imagined the girl naked on her bed, velvety thighs parted and trembling, the soft pubic lips wet and beckoning, infinitely sweet and delicious...
"I'd like to meet Marcia," she told Mrs. Benson when the rehearsal was over.
The drama teacher introduced her, hovering for a few minutes as Lorraine talked to her, then went to castigate the student director.
"So you see, Marcia, potential is one thing, drawing it out is another." Lorraine stared into the wide dark eyes as they drank in her every word, and marveled at the girl's innocence. At the age of sixteen, she herself had already assassinated two men and seduced the fourteen-year-old daughter of one of them.
"Do you have a ride home?" she asked the girl.
"I usually take the bus," Marcia said.
"Not tonight," Lorraine said, taking the girl's arm, guiding her offstage. "Tonight I'll drive you home. We have a lot to talk about."
Lorraine stopped at a drive-in and bought the girl a hamburger, watching the soft mouth devour it as she talked, knowing that Marcia's age gave her a voracious appetite-an appetite that could be twisted, with care and cunning, to include other delicacies. As Lorraine's appetite had been carefully channeled, beginning at the tender age of ten, before her psyche and glands could even grasp what was happening.
But sixteen wasn't too late, either. With Marcia's innocence and sheltered upbringing,, the age factor couldn't be better.
Lorraine baited the girl with ease: "You remind me a lot of Sharon Peters, Marcia. She was seventeen when I discovered her in a San Francisco high school, in a small character part. After six months of coaching, she began to get commercial contracts. Within a year, she was in such demand she was turning down most of the offers. That was followed by a demand for a series on television, which she got and dropped after one season, because she felt too constricted. You know where she is now, of course."
"Hollywood," Marcia replied with awe. "But you don't really think I can act half as well as she can, do you, Lorraine?"
"Why not, darling?" She squeezed the girl's soft thigh. "Coaching is the secret. You're too hyperemotional at your age, too eager so you overact. What you need is criticism and discipline, and a lot of polishing."
As she talked, she watched the girl's face register fascination, and she knew Marcia had no reason to doubt her. She would seem the epitome of sophistication and charm to this gushing adolescent, the essence of glittering success. When the bait had dangled and been eagerly snatched up, she casually jerked it away.
"The real problem isn't in developing your talent or in proper coaching, Marcia. The real problem lies with your age."
The smooth face grew anxious.
"But I'll be seventeen soon. You said Sharon Peters started out at seventeen-"
"That's not what I meant, Marcia. You're a minor, you see, and as such your parents have to approve of every one of your actions. They have to sign your contracts. Now Sharon's parents were very understanding; they wanted her to be a success as much as she did. I can tell you any number of cases where the exact opposite happened. Earlier this year, I was positive I'd found another Sharon, a brilliant, lovely girl like yourself.
Lorraine sighed, and squeezed Marcia's soft warm hand in hers. It was getting hard to control her excitement over this innocent creature. As soon as she brought her home, she would hurry back to San Francisco, to a contact in Chinatown where she could procure a Chinese girl. The younger the better, but they all claimed they were fifteen and virgins.
Lorraine had no doubt this one was a virgin. It showed unmistakably in the wide eyes and glowing skin. That air of purity, of waiting for the awakening, shone in her face; it always triggered a sharp, insatiable hunger in Lorraine and a streak of perverse cruelty.
This part of the assignment was going to be pure joy.
"And what happened to this girl?" Marcia said anxiously.
"Nothing," Lorraine said. "Because her parents felt show business was too superficial, that it would ruin her character. So because her parents were overprotective, she lost her chance, her one golden opportunity. There's a time of ripeness, and if you miss it-perhaps never again."
Marcia's face was almost frantic with anxiety. "My parents are a little strict, but if I told them everything you told me, I'm sure-"
"No." Lorraine's tone was final. "That's exactly what you must not do, Marcia. You can't expect them to see your viewpoint in five minutes. And you'll become emotional, and anxious, and that will upset them and make them wonder if it's all worth it. No. In time, a few days or weeks perhaps, I'll talk to them myself. First, let's make certain you've got the potential. I've been mistaken before. I'll have to hear you read something besides high school comedy. And there's more, much more to discuss."
"I'll work hard," Marcia said fervently. "I'll do anything you say, Lorraine. Honest."
Indeed you will, Lorraine thought, amused. Her glittering eyes swept over the swelling breasts and smooth thighs. She would work hard, but not at acting.
"First I want your solemn promise you won't mention me to your parents. Not until I say so."
"I swear it," Marcia said, gripping her hand tightly. "Not a word, on my life."
That too, if necessary, thought Lorraine.
"Good. Now, would you like to meet me tomorrow night, after you've had dinner at your house? You can spend the evening with me in San Francisco, at my apartment. We'll talk some more, you'll read, and I'll criticize. All right?"
The girl nodded eagerly.
"I'd better pick you up outside the high school. Seven-thirty all right?"
"Seven-thirty is perfect."
Lorraine drove her home, but left her off a good distance from her house.
"Not a word to Mrs. Benson, either," Lorraine cautioned her as she got out. "Or to anyone."
"I promise," Marcia said.
Lorraine lit a cigarette, watching the girl's luscious buttocks sway as she walked down the block. There was a restless ache in her throat as she swung the car around and headed for the freeway. She debated with herself about the issue of procuring a Chinese girl for tonight, and finally decided against it. For one thing, she wanted this particular beauty, not a hasty substitute. And she had only to wait twenty-four hours for that lovely experience.
Another more important reason was psychological-by denying her passionate urgency tonight, she would be that much more charming and seductive tomorrow night, when it really mattered. She would be that much hungrier, and the feast of virginal, tender thighs that much more delicious.
Besides being a succulent morsel, Marcia Phillips had inherited at least some of her father's brains. The professor's daughter was bright and quick, although a terrible actress, and fatally naive.
Peking would fix that.
Lorraine was buying insurance in the form of the girl. This was the second phase of her complex operation-Marcia was going to be the final, crushing convincer for the professor.
Lorraine's mind hummed with activity as the car sped through the night. Nothing must go wrong in Hong Kong, or Nitro Five would forfeit months of delicate planning.
And possibly, her life.
CHAPTER SEVEN
She spotted the girl waiting under a street lamp in front of the high school, her wide eyes shining with eagerness, her ripe curves outlined in the snug dress. She looked ready to burst with excitement.
"You're sure you didn't mention this to anyone?" Lorraine said when Marcia got in the car.
"Not a soul, I swear."
Lorraine headed the car toward San Francisco. She didn't want to stress secrecy too much, but after all, this was only a child, and children babbled. Lorraine smiled as she drove, recalling herself at sixteen. Her virginity trampled years before, the victim of a sadistic colonel in the Chinese Special Corps. And the years of diligent training that followed; the punishment for errors she preferred to forget-mass rape by the guards and teachers, who never seemed to tire of her tender buttocks as well as her thighs-and the delectable rewards of supple Chinese girls with the oil of lotus blossoms rubbed on their slender bodies, their moans of ecstasy echoing through the long nights in Lorraine's room.
Lorraine smiled as she glanced at Marcia, wondering what this one would taste like. There was a unique savor and fragrance to every girl, to her nipples as well as her mouth, the satiny crevice of her buttocks as well as her delicate vagina.
And this one looked desperately anxious to please; her hair shimmering with radiance from a long brushing, her sandaled feet dainty, virginally clean everywhere.
Lorraine's hunger leaped to the surface, and she couldn't resist a warm caress of the girl's thigh, her fingers gentle. The wide eyes remained innocent.
"You look just lovely, Marcia. I'd like to ask you something personal, because it does have a bearing on your career. It's about sex."
The girl's cheeks reddened, but there wasn't a hint of suspicion in her face.
"Oh. We've got a sex ed course in school, but I don't go around... balling boys." Her voice grew anxious. "It doesn't matter, does it? I mean, I don't have to be experienced in bed to be an actress, do I?"
Lorraine laughed, delighted at her innocence.
"No, darling. I was wondering if you were still a virgin. It shows, you see, but in a very charming way. It helps, especially in concentration."
In the silence that followed, Lorraine stepped on the accelerator, her desire now a sharp, relentless ache. There was a deep satisfaction in knowing she would be the first to pierce those succulent virgin lips with her tongue, a sense of mystery and conquest that even her jaded experience couldn't resist.
The Chinese had conditioned her too well.
In her apartment a half-hour later, she settled the girl with a glass of wine on the sofa, and made herself a martini.
The professor's daughter, she thought dryly, is about to get a true education.
"Now read this, and try to be relaxed until you get the feel of the part," Lorraine told her as she handed Marcia a script with a part marked. She winced inwardly as the girl began to read in a tense, stumbling voice. The Chinese had taught Lorraine a great deal about acting, especially that motivation was the most important part. This sheltered creature was motivated by an adolescent desire to be famous.
Lorraine had been driven by pure survival, and by harsh punishment and blissful reward. When your life literally depended on a role, you could become the part easily.
Someday soon, Marcia would discover that.
"No, no, darling," Lorraine sighed, and took the script from her. "You're sitting on the edge of the bed with the man you love, and you've concluded your sexual affair is hopeless because he's happily married. Your voice is torn with despair. You can't see any future, but you can't help loving him either, mainly because he's a fantastic lay. I can't expect you to understand that at your age, but let's try it again. I'll take the man's part."
She nestled close to Marcia, the script on her lap so they could both see it, and put her arm around the girl's waist. The trusting eyes waited, sincere, unsuspecting. Lorraine's thigh pressed to Marcia's soft one, and her fingers slid down over the slope of her hip.
"A little longer," Lorraine read with desperation in her voice. "Just until I tell her, darling."
"No," Marcia whispered. "It's over."
"Please... "
Lorraine's fingers went to Marcia's bare thigh, and stroked it lovingly. She felt the girl tremble. Marcia's voice faltered: "Don't you see, it's got to end here and now."
The script called for a passionate kiss here.
Lorraine took the girl in her arms, her green eyes burning into Marcia's. She saw the uncertainty in Marcia's face, the protest that wouldn't leave her soft mouth because she didn't know how far they were supposed to follow the script. She saw, too, the awe- almost worship-the innocent girl felt for her, and knew from long experience how easily she could twist that emotion into surrender.
She kissed the sweet lips fervently, tracing their outline with her tongue, rubbing Marcia's thigh with her palm. She could feel the confusion racing through the girl's mind, and the passion at the body contact that both frightened and excited her. Marcia trembled, then tore her mouth away.
"No," she whispered. "Please."
"Darling, don't be afraid," Lorraine murmured in a low, hypnotic voice, both her hands beneath the girl's dress now, stroking the smooth flesh. "I'm going to be good to you, open a new world of excitement you never dreamed possible. Trust me, sweetheart, just trust me."
She let the words flow reassuringly for a minute, kissing the girl's cheek and throat, while her fingers slid beneath the rim of her panties. Marcia sobbed, shaking her head, but Lorraine's fingers expertly probed the tangle of hair. At the same moment she crushed her lips to the warm, red mouth, she gently thrust a finger into the moist cunt. Marcia moaned and shivered fiercely.
Lorraine eased the girl down on the sofa beneath her, keeping up a steady rhythm with her fingers, exploring Marcia's mouth with her burning tongue, never letting up the pressure. She shifted her probing fingers to the clitoris, and Marcia shuddered and suddenly flung her arms around Lorraine, sucking on her tongue.
Her surrender was violent and complete.
For ten minutes, Lorraine fired the girl's passion, until she was lunging her hips feverishly. When Lorraine thought she might have an orgasm, she withdrew her fingers.
They're all glands and eager pussy at that age, she thought with a smile. She stood up, taking Marcia's hand. The girl's eyes were glazed, and her breasts were heaving.
"I'll undress you," Lorraine told her, leading her into the bedroom, "and we'll listen to beautiful music, and I'll make love to you, and teach you some wonderful secrets."
She was still afraid, Lorraine saw, bur wildly excited and curious. They're so sweet and vulnerable at that age, Lorraine thought as she switched on the stereo. Take their cherry, whisper a few loving words, and you take their simple heart. Afterwards, she would cling to Lorraine and her eyes would shine with adoration and she would whisper she loved her.
Marcia closed her eyes and shivered as Lorraine took off her dress. She caressed the girl from behind for a minute, tantalizing her, savoring the feel of her warm, squirming buttocks against her loins. Then she removed her bra and faced Marcia, devouring the luscious naked breasts, their nipples huge with excitement. She cupped them in her hands, stroking their hot flesh eagerly, teasing herself now as well. She placed Marcia on the edge of the bed and knelt between the golden, parted thighs, lavishing kisses on them before she took off the girl's panties.
The sight of the naked adolescent, soft and succulent and tender, almost spurred her to lose control, and burrow her mouth to the dark moist fringe. But the first time had to be long and unforgettable. She quickly undressed herself, and sat beside the waiting girl, embracing her and kissing her, stroking her buttocks, writhing her breasts to Marcia's swollen ones.
Then she positioned the girl on her lap, her blood singing as the hot, plump buttocks nestled on her loins. She tongued the nape of her neck as her fingers probed her cunt, sliding into the tight channel. Her other hand toyed with Marcia's breasts, and for fifteen minutes she drove the girl into a frenzy as she aroused her, purposely removing her fingers each time Marcia approached her orgasm, using them instead to fondle and rub every inch of flesh she could reach. When Marcia was crying steadily, she placed her on the bed, her legs drawn up and parted.
Her own hunger was now a burning ache in her mouth. She positioned herself between Marcia's thighs and clutched her buttocks, raising them off the bed. Her wet tongue traced a circle first around the fringe of hairs. The girl gasped with surprise as a sharp thrill stung her, but not where she expected. It rippled like wet fire through her buttocks as Lorraine, postponing her wild hunger for another minute, vibrated her tongue deep into the tiny orifice between the ripe cheeks.
Then, her excitement surging, Lorraine immersed her mouth in the soft lips between the tangle of hair. Marcia cried out as the piercing tongue drove deep, licking in a frenzy. With the girl's thighs nestled to her cheeks, her buttocks squirming in her hands, and her delicious essence trickling in her mouth, Lorraine Parks was in her own strange bliss. The virgin's clitoris seared her mouth with a shuddering orgasm as Lorraine kissed it fiercely. Again and again, Marcia cried out with ecstasy as Lorraine shot ripples of fire through her, sobbing and twisting beneath the woman's frantic hunger, trying to wriggle free of the stinging lips and tongue.
Lorraine clung to her soft hips, unable to control herself. After an hour, when the sated feeling glowed in her mouth, when the girl's trembling body was damp with exhaustion, she released her. Lorraine sat up, licking her lips with satisfaction. She held Marcia in her arms for a few minutes, caressing her tenderly, listening to her sobs with pleasure. She stroked the hot breasts, comparing their lushness with the delicate buds of the hundreds of Chinese girls she'd had. She'd been conditioned to slender Oriental girls, and preferred their exotic fragrance, but this simple child was a luscious diversion.
Marcia's eyes were glazed, and she continued to moan. Lorraine chided herself for her greed, but after all, she didn't get a virgin every night.
"There, there," she soothed the girl, "it wasn't that terrible, was it, darling?"
"It was beautiful," Marcia whispered, "but... strange, so strange. I almost fainted."
You may as well get used to it, Lorraine thought with irony. In Peking, they wouldn't be so kind.
She decided on a dreamy, sensual thrill after the wild episode. While Marcia lay on her back, she mounted the girl, sitting astride her hips and placing a folded leg on each side of her. Marcia caught her breath as their moist cunts came in contact, and Lorraine began a gentle riding motion, sparking a sensual friction. Her eyes smoldered on the naked girl as she reached down with her hands to fondle her swollen breasts, their flesh hot and yielding beneath her fingers. For a few minutes, she kept up the rhythm until the girl was moaning restlessly and jerking her hips. Then she placed Marcia on her side. Lying in reverse, her head near Marcia's feet, she parted her legs and nestled her organ to the girl's. The contact was more intense this way, and as they both squirmed, Lorraine stroked her plump calves and kissed her dainty toes, exploring the soles of her feet with her tongue.
A few minutes later, Marcia was sobbing with excitement, writhing her wet pussy to Lorraine's with urgency.
Now, Lorraine decided.
She untwined their thighs, and rose to sit astride the girl's breasts. Her cleft was inches from Marcia's soft mouth. She saw the hesitation and fear in the girl's eyes as she nudged her thighs closer to Marcia's lips. She knew the girl was feverishly excited, close to an orgasm, and from the position it was clear to Marcia she wouldn't have one until Lorraine was gratified.
"Go ahead," Lorraine urged, hovering her organ close to the girl's wet lips. "Don't be afraid, darling."
Marcia shook beneath her as she reluctantly pressed her mouth to Lorraine's clit. Her tongue made an awkward, wriggling thrust, a tentative probe that sent soft shivers into Lorraine's body.
And then, with a deep moan, the girl plunged, her excitement at the new sensation a current of fire that shuddered through Lorraine's cunt. Her eager tongue was a greedy, stinging whip at first, clumsy, shooting violent thrills to Lorraine's burning walls. She sought out her seducer's clitoris, and licked eagerly until Lorraine's orgasm burst. Her sharp moans sparked a new hunger in Marcia. The girl's fingers dug into Lorraine's buttocks, urging her thighs closer so she could plunge deeper with her frantic tongue.
The seduction was now a complete success.
But the words Lorraine waited for didn't come until she drove the girl home shortly after that. All during the ride Marcia was silent and thoughtful. Lorraine frowned, smoking. Naturally there would be shame and remorse, but she thought she'd done a fantastic job on the girl, so thorough it would override any remorse.
It came as she pulled the car to a halt a block from Marcia's house. The girl turned to her, her eyes moist with worship. She flung her arms around the woman, hugging her fiercely.
"Lorraine," she whispered, "I love you, I love you."
"And I love you, darling," Lorraine said smoothly, fondling a plump breast. It took five minutes of reassurance and caresses to get rid of the infatuated girl.
Lorraine yawned as she headed back toward the freeway. Just another night's work, but a delightful one. The trick now would be to juggle Marcia and her father, the professor, in and out of bed without a collision.
And the hardest part was yet to come.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Erica woke on her last day at school in Baltimore with the glow of fulfillment warming her sleek body. She pressed the button for Shirley, then lit a cigarette, watching the lazy curl of smoke as she lay in bed. The covers were down to her waist so that her beautiful naked breasts were bared. She smiled as she thought about the night before with Shirley; a farewell orgy, long and torrid and wildly satisfying. She'd be glad to get out of her school prison, but she was going to miss the hungry blond. There'd be others, but none like her first. o Shirley brought her orange juice and a pot of coffee, and a radiant, sexy smile.
Erica patted the bed. "Sit down, honey."
Her eyes devouring Erica's silken breasts, she sat. "I can't stay, darling. Only a minute."
"What time will they let me go?"
"Only Mr. Butterfield knows." The blond shivered as Erica's fingers casually crept beneath her hem. She pressed her thighs tightly on Erica's hand.
"I wish we had time," she murmured, her fingertips stroking a breast. "I'm going to miss you, Erica."
Erica laughed. "Until the next assignment, the next lucky agent." She flung back the covers to show her naked body. Shirley's eyes swung down to her dark pubic hair, and her wet lips parted.
"Come to bed," Erica urged in a husky voice. "Ten minutes, darling."
The blonde's eyes glittered. "I-shouldn't. I really shouldn't, Erica."
But her hand rubbed Erica's belly, and, as if hypnotized by the parted thighs, her mouth was drawn down, hovering, kissing Erica's soft belly hungrily- The door opened.
Mr. Butterfield stepped in briskly, an envelope in her hand, a thin smile on her lips.
Shirley jumped up, flustered.
"I was just-"
"About to have breakfast," Mr. Butterfield finished dryly. "You've got other duties."
The blond hurried out. Erica deliberately kept her naked thighs parted as she lit a cigarette, taunting the psychiatrist.
Mr. Butterfield tore her eyes away with an effort. "I should think," she said crisply, "you would be exhausted after the last few days. This is for you."
She put the envelope on the bed. It had the familiar red asterisk on it.
"Can I leave soon?" Erica asked.
"Tomorrow morning."
Mr. Butterfield left quickly, locking the door and leaving questions on Erica's lips. Erica tore open the sealed envelope and put the contents on the bed-a few typed onionskin pages, and a small newspaper clipping. She read that first: San Francisco (AP)-A staff photographer for the Morning Chronicle leaped or fell to his death from the window of his ninth-story apartment, shortly after one a.m. this morning.
Peter Santell, 31, attended a social affair in Pacific Heights for the Chronicle a few hours before his probable suicide. Witnesses say he seemed cheerful, and did not appear to be intoxicated when he left.
Santell was unmarried. Friends and co-workers can offer no motive for his probable suicide. Santell wore only a robe as he fell nine stories to the sidewalk, and an unusual aspect of his death was the expression of morbid terror on his face, which, because of the unusual position of the body when it struck, was almost unmarred.
Police theorize Santell may have had a nightmare and walked in his sleep.
Erica put the clipping aside and turned to the onionskin pages: OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR INTELLIGENCE SERVICE CENTRAL WASHINGTON, D.C.
TOP SECRET DESTROY AFTER READING ASSIGNMENT BRIEF R-411 Authority: I. S. C. 12/19/70 Dissemination: "FOR GYPSY VIRGIN ONLY" Erica closed her eyes for a few seconds and the information of the earlier brief, stored permanently in her mind, rose to the surface, every detail at her fingertips. She read on: SUBJECT: Vivian Marchand, CODE NAME NITRO FIVE; FAMILIARIZATION BRIEF G-712 refers.
INTRODUCTORY INFORMATION.
Re: PETER SANTELL , article enclosed, and CODE NAME SALAMANDER, G-712 refers. The manner of SANTELL's death, and the evident terror motivating his leap, is remarkably similar to the death of CODE NAME SALAMANDER, also occurring in San Francisco. Although SANTELL was known to be taking pictures at a party shortly before his death, his camera was found empty in his apartment. No trace of the film has been found. Because of the peculiar manner of SANTELL'S death, and the illogical disappearance of his film, it can be speculated that CODE NAME INTRO FIVE may have attended this party and was photographed by SANTELL, who may have refused to sell or barter the film to her. A list of people attending this party is attached (Appendix A), along with addresses. A cautious preliminary investigation, utilizing local as well as central files of information, was undertaken and submitted to the new 1680 Computerization Processing Program. Eliminating those identities which could not be feasibly be CODE NAME NITRO FIVE by virtue of local birth and history, physical proportions, and so forth, two possible suspects remained, both female Caucasians. One of these has definitely been established to be in Rio de Janeiro at the time of SALAMANDER'S death, and subsequent investigation reveals she is an alien of Italian identity in this country illegally. Our agency in Rome confirms.
REFER NOW TO APPENDIX A.
Erica paused to glance at Appendix A. Two names on the list were underlined in red: Professor John Phillips, and a Lorraine Parks. She resumed reading.
Phillips, a professor of psychology at Stanford University, is an authority on animal response to ultrasonic wave stress. In the past, he has done classified research for the United States government, and was instrumental in the success of Project Alter Ego at Butte, Montana. Lorraine Parks is not a known alias of Vivian Marchand. However, her birthplace and schooling cannot be verified, and almost no information on her past exists at either the local or central level. A brief surveillance has indicated she is very attractive physically, and has the same approximate physical characteristics of Vivian Marchand, including green eyes. She has no visible means of support, but lives in comparative luxury. The hostess at the party recalls seeing her talk briefly to Santell, who questioned the hostess about her identity. SUMMATION: It can be speculated that reasonable possibility exists Lorraine Parks is Vivian Marchand, and that a possible liaison exists between Lorraine Parks and Professor John Phillips, an authority on psychological warfare. The hostess states they arrived at her party separately, and left together.
PRIMARY ASSIGNMENT: # Ascertain with caution if Lorraine Parks is CODE NAME NITRO FIVE. # Ascertain if a liaison exists between Lorraine Parks and Professor Phillips, and if so, whether this is basically a sexual affair, or has espionage potential. # If the suspect Lorraine Parks is CODE NAME NITRO FIVE, attempt to establish a sexual affair with this lesbian agent. If successful, attempt to discover the method used to induce suicide in both CODE NAME SALAMANDER and the photographer, Santell. If successful, report this information without delay to CODE NAME STARBIRD, using our San Francisco relay.
***DO NOT CONTACT STARBIRD PERSONALLY: You are authorized telephone contact ONLY. # If unable to ascertain the technique for assassination-suicide after seventy-two hours, attempt to induce NITRO FIVE to defect to Intelligence Service Central, offering $100,000 in U.S. currency and maximum protection from the Chinese Special Corps. Priority is clearly and strictly stated: A. Attempt to discover the method of assassination first. B. Only after failing in this, propose defection.
Erica frowned, unable to figure out the priority. If they had NITRO FIVE, they would have the method as well, wouldn't they? It came to her after a minute, filling her with anger. If she proposed defection at first, it would reveal herself as an agent. She might be assassinated on the spot. If, however, by a long shot she could discover the method before being killed, and managed to report it, then Intelligence Service Central would regret the loss of Erica, but they'd have the valuable information anyway. The cold-blooded bastards, she thought. She lit a cigarette and resumed reading.
5. If unable to persuade NITRO FIVE to defect within twenty-four hours, contact STARBIRD for further instructions.
OF SPECIAL IMPORTANCE: DO NOT RELY ON THIS AGENT FOR ASSISTANCE . This agent is to be contacted for instructions ONLY. Operate alone for maximum security purposes.
6. Under no circumstances are you to execute NITRO FIVE, unless certain your own life is in peril. 7. REMUNERATION: 8. For the successful completion of paragraph 3: $25,000 upon delivery of this information. For the successful completion of paragraph 4: $50,000 upon safe delivery of NITRO FIVE to this agency. THIS MUST BE A VOLUNTARY DEFECTION. 9. Total remuneration for the successful completion of paragraphs 3 and 4: $75,000.
END BRIEF WARNING DESTROY AFTER READING Erica memorized the addresses of Professor Phillips and Lorraine Parks, then took the pages to the bathtub, set fire to them, and rinsed the ashes down the drain.
Still naked, she lay on the bed, thinking. A number of questions plagued her: Why did they want NITRO FIVE to defect voluntarily? Assuming Lorraine Parks was NITRO FIVE, were they afraid to seize her for fear she'd execute herself on the spot, and destroy any chance of ever getting the assassination technique from her?
The whole operation left her uneasy. Paragraph six in particular rankled her: Under no circumstances was she to execute NITRO FIVE, unless she was certain her own life was in danger.
So the bastards admitted they considered the enemy agent's life more valuable than GYPSY VIRGIN'S.
She thought about the $75,000, weighing it against the risks. She didn't have to take the assignment, but the bonus would bring her assets up to $165,000 in cash. Short of her ultimate goal, but enough to get out, a fortune in Spain or Portugal.
Besides, she was curious about her rival now, anxious to see her in the flesh. And not just see the legendary agent-if NITRO FIVE had been recruited at the age of ten, she must, by now, have mastered every sexual trick and technique in existence.
She felt a growing excitement, a sense of danger that exhilarated her. But it wasn't only the prospect of danger that excited her. She glanced at the nearly empty coffee pot, as she felt the drug beginning to grip her, coursing through her blood.
They were arousing her again, with a massive does this time, judging from her fierce excitement. Why?
And why were they keeping her here another night, since she was through with the course and had already memorized the assignment?
Another trap, or a test of some sort. She began to pace the floor, her skin feeling as if it were on fire. To hell with their games-she stabbed the button to summon Shirley. A minute later the door opened.
Mr. Butterfield stood there.
"Where's Shirley?" Erica snapped. "I want Shirley."
Mr. Butterfield's eyes caressed and stroked Erica's naked, stunning body.
"Shirley," she said with relish, "is not available."
"Well, neither am I," Erica snapped back, "so you can stop eating me with your eyes."
Mr. Butterfield disappeared, and the lock clicked.
Erica took an icy shower.
CHAPTER NINE
The day passed with agonizing slowness, becoming pure hell for Erica. Her meals were served by Mr. Butterfield, and in spite of her keyed-up passion, Erica had a voracious appetite.
She realized the food was spiked with a stomachic, as well as cantharides. She felt as if she were on a treadmill-she couldn't resist eating, but with each meal her lust became more violent.
Did Mr. Butterfield actually think she could torture her this way to the point of surrender? Even in Erica's frantic state, that didn't make sense-Mr. Butterfield didn't dare risk twisting the strict rules around for her own desires.
After a delicious dinner-steak tartar, the insinuation of raw meat obvious to Erica-Erica lay in bed, shivering and hugging her swollen breasts. She imagined Shirley's hot body pressed tightly to hers, their legs twined and their bodies softly jerking in unison, and Erica moaned out loud.
She stabbed viciously at the button.
Mr. Butterfield opened the door and stepped inside.
"I want Shirley," Erica said in a dangerous voice. Her eyes were feverish, and her fingers shook. "I want my blond lover, and I want her now, dammit."
Mr. Butterfield looked thoughtful.
"The girl has really gotten to you, hasn't she?" the psychiatrist said. "Is it Shirley herself, individually, or is it simply the concept of delicious pussy? Because you are getting a vaginal fixation, Erica-"
"Why am I being tortured like this?" Erica demanded. "What the hell are you trying to do to me?"
"I know what I'd like to do to you," Mr. Butterfield said very softly.
"Not on your life," Erica warned her. "Is that the game? You work me up with aphrodisiacs, and I'm supposed to leap in your arms, and let those fat lips slobber all over me? Not on your life, lady. I'll never be that horny."
Mr. Butterfield leaned against the door, her eyes gleaming, her voice cold: "You just finished dinner and the full effects of the drug haven't impacted yet. When they do, you'll be in a manic state, uncontrollable. And when that happens, you'll beg me on your knees to perform every act of perversion on me you can think of, and perhaps invent a few new ones of your own. I could, at that juncture, bring in a wrinkled hag of ninety, you would gladly do the same to her. Or I could have you strapped to your bed by yourself if you become violent. So watch your tongue, Gypsy Virgin."
Erica trembled, stroking her thigh feverishly.
"What do you want from me? I'll do anything you want, perform any act you name, if you'll just let me have Shirley afterwards." She licked her lips, the blood surging wildly in her loins. "Name it and I'll do it," she whispered.
Mr. Butterfield stepped up to her with a thin smile. She gently pinched one of Erica's erect nipples between her thumb and forefinger.
"Lovely," she murmured. "Isn't it amusing the way Shirley makes those infantile, cooing sounds when she sucks on your nipples? But it isn't half as funny as the animal sounds you make when you're devouring her. Like a starving tigress."
"Take your clothes off," Erica whispered, "and I'll do what you want. But swear you'll give me Shirley afterwards."
Mr. Butterfield took her pulse, her free hand rubbing Erica's soft belly.
"Patient exhibiting symptoms of great agitation," Mr. Butterfield said coolly, her eyes glittering with sadistic pleasure. "Which shall we give her, a sedative or a delicious young girl?"
"Shirley," Erica pleaded, "please give me Shirley."
The woman suddenly cupped Erica's breasts in her hands, sucking in her breath.
"God, I wish they'd let me have you for a few hours," Mr. Butterfield whispered in a hoarse voice. "You'd never think of Shirley again. I'd have you screaming for mercy in ten minutes. I'd do justice to this fantastic body of yours, every beautiful inch-" She shuddered, and stepped back, regaining her control as Erica began moaning. Her face was red as she glanced at her watch.
"Put your robe on," she said crisply.
Erica snatched up her robe. "Where are we going?"
"You want to see Shirley, don't you? I'm going to take you to your lover."
Erica sensed a trap instantly, but in her frantic state didn't care. She followed Mr. Butterfield down the empty corridor to a black door. Mr. Butterfield took a ring of keys from her jacket and chose one. She unlocked the door and opened it. It was dark inside.
"After you," Mr. Butterfield said.
Erica stepped inside the small room. There was a large picture window, looking into a lighted adjacent room. Beneath the window were a desk and chairs; there were folders on the desk.
Erica's mind suddenly reeled with shock as she looked through the viewing window into the next room. Shirley lay on a bed, naked.
With a man.
"Have a seat," Mr. Butterfield said, sitting down at the desk. "They can't see us. It's a one-way mirror. A sort of voyeur's paradise."
Stunned, Erica sat down, her eyes riveted to the scene before her.
The man was young and muscular, with an immense cock. Shirley was stroking it as she kissed him on the lips. Erica realized with a shock that Shirley was bisexual; she'd been convinced the blond was a lesbian to the core of her soul, partly because of her wild passion, and partly because she was so adept in lesbian techniques.
A new respect for the blond rose in Erica. She was not only a clever actress-she had Erica convinced somehow that she'd never hungered for anyone but girls-but a superbly trained lay.
As Erica watched her rub and fondle the man's erect prick, she trembled with excitement. It occurred to her she hadn't even seen a man in a week, and her phallic fixation, buried in the long, torrid nights with Shirley, quickly gripped her again.
She was dimly aware that Mr. Butterfield was calmly making notes beside her.
"Beautiful couple, aren't they?" Mr. Butterfield said. "I'll have to watch the replay on this some night when I'm bored."
"Replay?"
"It's being filmed, of course, for Shirley's benefit. So she can spot her own errors in technique later on, and correct them. Do you want to make a bet, Erica?"
"A bet?" Erica barely heard the psychiatrist. She was watching the couple intently, her breath coming rapidly, her fingers inside her robe caressing her aching flesh.
"I'll bet you Shirley can't make him come. There's a hundred-dollar bonus in it for her if she does, but," Mr. Butterfield chuckled, "she won't."
"Why not?"
"Look at his eyes."
They were glazed, Erica saw, with a wild light.
"Drugged?"
"Drugged and thoroughly fucked this afternoon by another recruit. He isn't capable of having an orgasm, but do you think he knows that in his state? The point is, he can't help having an erection and he can't do anything about it. He's a mechanized fucking machine, mindless. We use him as a sort of reward for our straight girls, when they deserve it. But if anyone can make him come, Shirley can. Watch her."
The man lay on his back, his mammoth cock poised in the air. Shirley straddled his hips, facing him, as if mounting a saddle. She gripped the thick base of his organ in her hand, and hovered her soft thighs over it for a minute, her face contorted with pleasure as she rubbed the giant knob against her vaginal lips, moistening it. Then she plunged down on it, and Erica heard her wild moan of bliss, and shivered with envy.
Then the blond began a series of gyrations, swinging her hips back and forth in sharp jerks, then in wide, sinuous circles, her large breasts bouncing and her sensuous body covered with a film of perspiration. When she began jerking up and down on him, Erica could see the huge cock, and she shuddered with passion.
For ten minutes, Shirley's luscious body twisted and squirmed on the man. He was trying; his face had a tormented look and his hands stroked Shirley everywhere, as if feeling her lush body could help.
Shirley suddenly wriggled to a frenzied rhythm, and a look of ecstasy shone on her face. With a sigh, she climbed off the man.
But she wasn't through trying.
She urged him to sit on the edge of the bed. She knelt between his legs and cupped his balls in her palm, gently massaging. Then she seized his rigid phallus in her lips, and began to work furiously, pausing every so often to flick her tongue lasciviously against the swollen knob.
Erica moaned, and her lips tingled.
"A shame Shirley has to waste her fantastic oral skill on him," Mr. Butterfield observed, making a note. "Look at her plump cheeks wiggle-isn't she adorable?"
Shirley tried another tactic. She enclosed his cock in her soft breasts, squirming their hot flesh to it, rubbing and squeezing.
"Well," Mr. Butterfield sighed, "that leaves about one more trick. Considering the voluptuous beauty of Shirley's ass, it just might work, too."
A minute later Shirley stood up, her breasts heaving with effort. She sat on his lap, holding his thick cock in her hands. She twined her ankles around his, and for a couple minutes merely stroked him in her palms, squirming her heavy buttocks to his loins. Then she raised her hips and immersed his knob in her pink cleft, moistening it. Gripping his organ firmly in her hand, she raised her hips higher, and positioned him so he was poised at the crevice of her cheeks.
She slid down with a look of anguish on her face.
She squirmed to a gentle rhythm on his massive cock, her face a blend of pain and ecstasy, her hand touching his balls. Erica saw the man's teeth sink into Shirley's shoulder, while his hands squeezed her breasts. Shirley's skin shone as she jerked faster; perspiration gathered in tiny drops on her fringe of pubic hair.
"She'll do it," Erica said with exultation. "She'll make him come."
Mr. Butterfield's laugh was cynical.
"No, she won't. I'll give her an A for effort, but that's all. The poor girl, subjecting that delicious ass to brutal treatment like that. She's enjoying it though, in a masochistic way. She's quite a girl. Did she tell you that when she first joined us, only six months ago, she was a virgin?"
"You're kidding."
"No." Mr. Butterfield chuckled. "Her mother was a religious fanatic who'd convinced her sex was filthy. Well, there's no better lay than a rebellious prude. She responded to treatment within a week. She's a beautiful example of what conditioned response can do. I only wish Pavlov could be here to see this."
Even in her frantic state of passion-her flesh was a burning ache, her throat was tight and dry, and she felt as if she would explode soon-Erica had to satisfy her curiosity about Shirley.
"Who took her virginity?" she asked Mr. Butterfield.
"Specifically, you mean? I can't tell you her identity, of course, but it was a girl. Dark and slender for contrast, and the best in the business. We use her strictly for conditioning recruits. We discovered her in a brothel in New York, and at the age of seventeen she was making up to $500 a night. She had a list of society matrons you wouldn't believe."
And you were on the list, Erica thought, and you discovered her, you sly, hungry bitch.
Shirley had given up.
She climbed off the man, whose cock was still stiff, and lay back on the bed, heaving for breath.
"You see?" Mr. Butterfield said superciliously. "She couldn't do it. I told you."
"Let me try," Erica said eagerly. "Please."
Mr. Butterfield couldn't contain the sneer in her voice.
"You'd love that, wouldn't you? You know that his penis has penetrated just about every part of Shirley's body, and her essence is still clinging to it."
"Please," Erica whispered, squeezing the other woman's heavy thigh, "let me try."
"I don't know... " Mr. Butterfield said doubtfully.
But Erica caught it then. She wasn't brought here just to witness two beautiful people having sex, or to be tortured further for Mr. Butterfield's sadistic pleasure. This was another trap, a weird psychiatric game she couldn't understand-yet.
In her wild state, she didn't give a damn about the game. Her skin was on fire and her nerves quivered dangerously with the need for sex.
Nevertheless, she called Mr. Butterfield's bluff. She knew it was a bluff. She stood up.
"All right, then," Erica said. "Take me back to my room."
The cold eyes gleamed. Mr. Butterfield chewed on the rubber tip of her pencil, licking it wishfully, as if it were the tenderest part of Erica herself.
"If I had my way," Mr. Butterfield murmured, but then stood up with a sigh. She selected a key from her ring.
"Leave your robe here," she said. "You can try."
Erica tore off her robe, her blood pounding with excitement. Mr. Butterfield unlocked a door next to the viewing window, and as Erica stepped through it into the lighted room, she felt the woman's fingers squeeze her buttock-a furtive, greedy touch.
Erica's heart hammered against her ribs as she hurried to the bed. Neither of them seemed surprised to see her-Shirley's face shone with pleasure, and the man's eyes leaped at her, glinting with hope.
Erica fell on the man. She clutched his immense cock in her fingers, nestling it to her cheek, feeling its throbbing pressure spark all the wild, familiar associations of her phallic obsession.
She raised her lips and parted them, hovering over the huge tip inches away. She felt the sharp thrill of anticipation only oral sex could give her, the reassuring thrust of hard, pulsating flesh in her mouth.
Her eyes swung to Shirley's lush thighs, beside the man, soft and golden, her hairs delicate where the man's were coarse, her moist cunt tender and beckoning.
Erica hesitated, torn. She still gripped the surging prick, and her lips still hovered over it, but her eyes were hypnotized by Shirley's glistening cleft.
For a full thirty seconds, her natural desire raged against the powerful associations they'd built up in her in the past seven days. She wavered between them, the memory of Shirley's fragrance and wet sweetness, her luscious flesh tingling on Erica's tongue, and the urge gripped her fiercely.
She suddenly released the man and with a soft moan buried her face to Shirley's hot thighs, wriggling her tongue deep, probing against the succulent walls in a frenzy of bliss.
She realized-and didn't cared-that Mr. Butterfield was watching, and the purpose of the strange game flashed on her mind. The test was to see which she'd choose first, a man or a woman.
Shirley's thighs trembled against her cheeks in a fiery orgasm, and Erica licked eagerly, the trickle kindling her hunger to a voracious pitch.
They'd won, but Erica couldn't have cared less at the moment.
In the viewing room, Mr. Butterfield leaned forward, watching avidly. After a minute she made a notation on the dossier before her: The oral fixation of CODE NAME GYPSY VIRGIN has been successfully transferred from the male genitals to the female.
In a test situation, under massive stimuli, she readily chose an attractive female over an attractive male.
She now exhibits a strong psychological addiction to the act of cunnilingus.
Project completed.
She entered the date and the time and closed the dossier with a glow of satisfaction. Her assignment was finished, a total success.
But as she watched the stunning agent make love to the ripe, passionate blond, a deep bitterness gripped her. She could watch, she could analyze, she could even direct the orgy-but she couldn't take part. The rules were strict and severe.
Her hand crept beneath the hem of her skirt as she watched the beautiful couple, and she sucked in her breath.
The view from the top was a cold and lonely one.
CHAPTER TEN
The lecture hall at Stanford University was jammed that afternoon, and Erica was lucky enough to be offered a seat by a student who couldn't resist her sleek sex appeal. Like most of the others around her, she made notes of Professor Phillips' lecture on behavioral psychology, but her attention was mechanical-she was busy planning a course of action.
From the moment she arrived in San Francisco, two days earlier, she began operating on the assumption that the Professor was having an affair with Lorraine Parks. She also had to operate on the assumption that Lorraine was Nitro Five; any blunder at this early stage-a careless or clumsy approach-could be fatal.
It took two days of surveillance to discover that the professor was seeing Lorraine at night in her apartment. The first night Lorraine had a beautiful young visitor, a dark-haired teenager with a ripe, budding figure.
Erica's respect for Lorraine Parks soared enormously at that point. The girl was in her apartment for two hours, and as they left the building together, Erica, even at a distance, seated in her car, could see the girl's eyes shining with worship, her face glowing with sexual contentment.
If Lorraine wasn't Nitro Five, she was still a sharp operator with a taste for beauty that stung Erica with envy.
In the lecture hall, the students were applauding and beginning to file out. Erica studied her notes for a minute. The professor had left the stage and was talking to a student. His face was earnest, and he had an air of naivete that Erica, decided would make him an easy victim for the particular approach she'd decided on.
She rose from her chair and filed out just behind the professor. In the hallway, he left the student and started walking briskly by himself. Erica caught up with him. She touched his sleeve.
"That part about the Werner isolation experiments in London was fascinating, Professor, but weren't you exaggerating the effects of psychosis a little?"
He paused, frowning, thinking back.
"No, I don't think so. The information came from Werner's paper. If you knew Werner, you'd know he has a tendency for understatement. The effects were probably worse than he reported."
"But how could he be so certain the damage is permanent? It's only been a year."
"A year is enough time, if no symptoms of recuperation are present." He glanced at his watch, and began moving again. "I'm sorry," he said, "but I've got a class in ten minutes. If you'd like to read the Werner report yourself, you'll find it in the reference section of the library... "
Erica slipped and stumbled, clutching at the professor's jacket. He caught her, putting his arms around her. She squirmed gently for a second, her soft belly pressed to his loins, then stepped back.
His face reddened. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, thanks. They just waxed the floor, I guess." She smiled. "I'll see you, Professor."
She turned and walked away, feeling his eyes on her curved buttocks. In her car, ten minutes later, she took his wallet from her purse and studied the contents- credit cards, membership cards, twenty-two dollars in cash, pictures of his wife and family- Erica's fingers froze.
There was no doubt now that Lorraine Parks was Nitro Five. The girl in the snapshot smiled up at her, younger, but with the same shining eyes and sweet smile, the same air of radiant innocence.
Erica put the wallet in her purse and drove back to her motel, her mind racing. She'd expected almost anything from Nitro Five, but this was fantastic.
Lorraine Parks was juggling the father and daughter in and out of bed at the same time, each of them ignorant of the other's affair. A surge of admiration for the brilliant agent coursed through Erica, a feeling of awe. Reading a cold report on the beautiful lesbian was one thing, but seeing her in action was like being jarred awake. Erica could understand the affair with the professor, an obvious maneuver, but why the daughter? Why take such a diabolical, risky chance?
Pure pleasure, maybe. The girl was ravishing, a lesbian's dream-Erica felt an instant hunger the moment she first saw her-but Nitro Five was too efficient and disciplined to risk an assignment just for some action on the side.
Seducing the girl, then, must be part of her assignment. And she's getting paid for it, Erica thought dryly. Was the girl leverage for blackmail?
Erica cut off all speculation when she reached her motel. She took a long hot bath, leisurely thumbing through nudist magazines featuring a variety of sensuous girls, daydreamed about Shirley while she lathered soap on her long legs, and finally had herself in a state of restless excitement when she finished the bath. She put on make-up, dabbed perfume on her nipples, belly and thighs, and, deciding the professor should be home by now, dialed his number from a card in his wallet.
"Hello?"
The voice was girlish, excited. The daughter, probably, hoping from a call from her lover, Lorraine. She couldn't be more than sixteen. God, thought Erica with a twinge of lust, I'd have given a month's pay to see that seduction in detail.
"Professor Phillips, please."
Ten seconds later he was on the phone.
"My name is Erica Wilson, Professor. I was on the Stanford campus this afternoon, and I found your wallet-"
"That's a relief," he sighed.
"But I didn't turn it into the dean's office, because I was in a rush to get back to San Francisco. If you'd like to come by and pick it up, here's my address." She gave it to him, fingering a small vial of liquid cantharides.
"I'll be there in a half-hour, Miss Wilson. I can't offer a big reward-"
"Don't worry about that," she said, smiling, holding up the vial to the light. "I'll see you soon."
She hung up. It was a damn shame, she reflected, that she couldn't have gotten the daughter to pick it up. She debated for a minute whether to bother to dress or just wear a robe. Her clothes would come off anyway, but it would add a little suspense and excitement to the act. She compromised by putting on nylons, heels and a dress, but no bra or panties. She would leave the nylons and heels on during the session. Most men found it a spur to their lust.
She ordered ice from the motel office, and sipped a vodka martini, going over her plan. It was complex and very dangerous-but fast. She'd get results, one way or the other, within hours. She'd already decided two things.
The best way to approach Nitro Five was indirectly, through the professor. Lorraine Parks would come to her, not vice versa.
Second, she was going to ignore the step-by-step phasing detailed in her assignment. Her chances of discovering Nitro Five's assassination technique without becoming a victim of it first were negligible.
She would try at once for the defection proposal, and to hell with her superiors'. They'd already admitted Nitro Five's life was more valuable to them than her own. Erica was braced to kill the moment she thought Lorraine Parks might trick her.
There was a knock on the door.
Erica opened it, smiling warmly, and faced the professor. His eyes widened in surprise.
"You're the woman I talked to, this afternoon. After the lecture."
"Come in, Professor."
He stepped inside, and she closed the door. She went over to a side table where she had vodka, scotch, a mixer and a bowl of ice. Behind the bowl, with the cap off, was the vial.
"Scotch, or vodka, Professor?"
He was watching her with a frown.
"Scotch and water," he said absently.
With her back to him, she mixed it and poured in the contents of the vial. In less than fifteen minutes, the distinguished professor is going to be about the horniest scholar in history, Erica thought with amusement.
She handed him the drink, seeing the realization dawn in his eyes.
"You took my wallet," he said. "You picked my pocket, when you stumbled against me. That's why you left so quickly."
"Of course," she said. She sat in a chair, crossing her legs, squirming slightly to ride up her dress. "Sit down," she said.
The professor sat down, puzzled. He sipped his drink.
"Why?"
"Because I'm a spy. An espionage agent."
He stared at her, and then laughed.
"That's ridiculous. This must be a joke."
She held up his wallet. "Take a good look at me. Do I look like I pick pockets for a living?"
His gaze swept from her face down to her superb breasts and legs, and he swallowed.
"No. No, you don't."
Then where did I learn the art of pickpocketing? How do I know that you did classified research on psychological warfare-the top secret project called Alter Ego, by your government-at Butte, Montana three years ago?"
He gulped half his drink down. "Who do you work for?"
Erica lit a cigarette first.
"The Chinese government."
At his surprised look, she laughed.
"Did you think I'd have almond eyes and a red armband? The Mao regime is more sophisticated than your propaganda would have you believe, Professor."
He nodded, and finished his drink.
"All right. I believe you. What do you want?"
"You," she said, and got up and took his glass. She made him another drink, noting the initial wave of the sex stimulant-a gigantic dose-would hit him in about twelve minutes. She brought him the drink sat down again. He was leaning forward tensely.
"We want you in Peking, Professor. We have a critical shortage of specialists on psychological warfare. If my guess is right, you're a scientist first and a patriot second. If you come over to us, we can guarantee you unlimited funds for research and the most modern equipment in the world. We can give you an unlimited supply of human guinea pigs. You and your family- and I suppose you'd want to take them with you-will live in lavish comfort, with the best servants we can provide."
As Erica talked, she saw his eyes flicker with memory; he would be recalling another, similar proposal, from Lorraine Parks.
This was the crux of Erica's plan.
"You will be free to travel anywhere in the world," she went on, "but you will have to leave your family behind, of course. Your research will not be confined to psychological warfare. We know you're deeply interested in ultrasonics, and we know it can be developed for beneficial purposes. Under our protection, you could become a benefactor of mankind."
Erica went on in glowing terms, telling him what he expected to hear. After a few minutes, his face became flushed and his eyes glinted, darting from her breasts to her silken legs. He loosened his tie. His fingers shook as he raised his glass to his lips.
"We don't expect you to become involved in our politics," Erica said, standing up and going over to him. She sat on the arm of his chair. "You would be the pure scientist, left alone to work as you please. And," she added softly, her fingers brushing the nape of his neck, "there would be other rewards too, Professor, the kind our government understands so well. A different woman every night, if that's what you wanted. Any nationality or description you desire, trained to submit to your slightest whim... "
She put one arm around her shoulder to support herself and leaned down, her lips to his ear, while her other hand rubbed and stroked the throbbing bulge in his pants.
"... A different erotic pleasure every night," she murmured, "with the most beautiful girls in the world -Chinese, African, Japanese, Swedish... Of course, you'll need time to think all this over, Professor, time to grasp it... "
He was controlling himself only with violent effort. Erica unzipped his pants and exposed his thick, rigid cock and the moment her soft palm gripped it, the drug overwhelmed him.
He pulled her down on his lap, clutching a hot, ripe breast in his hand, ramming his tongue between her lips. His fingers groped beneath her dress, squeezing the naked flesh of her hip. His wild excitement infected her at once, and Erica felt the familiar thrill of holding a cock in her hand.
There was no tawny, golden-thighed Shirley to distract her this time.
She stood up, already unzipping her dress.
"Let's go to bed," she told him.
His eyes devoured her naked breasts and plump, rounded hips as he stripped urgently. She turned and walked to the bed, knowing she looked more lascivious with nylons and heels on, that the contrast of her bare buttocks against the misty black nylons would bring out his stifled urges.
She sat on the bed. Naked, he hurried to her, his erection huge, and Erica grasped it and circled the tip with her tongue.
"No," he panted, pushing her down on the bed and mounting her clumsily, "I'm too aroused this time. I've got to fuck you now. You're beautiful, Erica, as beautiful as she is, no, more, much more-" He was raving, she realized she'd given him an overdose. And there was only one way to wear it off.
Her suppressed need for men-denied at the school and overwhelmed by lesbian pleasures-was still alive, she discovered, the moment his throbbing penis brushed her vagina. The thick knob pierced her tingling walls, and she gasped and raised her legs, clamping them around his waist.
For the time being, at least, her other, newly awakened hunger was forgotten.
His searing flesh thrust deep as he sucked eagerly on her breast. He began a fast, driving rhythm that sent hot ripples of bliss through her. She twisted and squirmed her hips, moaning as the pressure of his thrusting cock shifted inside her. She held her breath as a wave of ecstasy shot through her loins, and she felt the familiar ache for the bursting fluid that would follow, stinging her walls.
It didn't come.
He was a relentless machine, a fiery mass that thrust wildly against her slippery membranes, but he couldn't come. It was a frequent result of an overdose.
But the professor wasn't complaining.
"That feels wonderful," he panted, plunging deep into the hot wetness of her cunt and squeezing her writhing buttocks, "you're fantastic, Erica. It's never felt so... good."
She flexed her tight vagina on him, shuddering as his cock plunged faster, sucking on his tongue and clawing his back. Still, the thick fluid wouldn't be coaxed.
"Let's change position," she suggested.
She turned over on her stomach and he mounted her from behind. She trembled as his erection pierced to the hilt, and lifted her buttocks, trying to experience more of the delicious feeling. His hands clutched her breasts as he drove, and his tongue tingled on her neck. She reached between her thighs to cup his balls, squeezing it gently until his throbbing became fierce.
A series of hot orgasms raced through her as she clamped on his prick, writhing her buttocks in a frenzy.
"We'll try something else," she panted.
She told him to lie on his back. Shifting her body around, she placed her legs on each side of his head, while she gripped his phallus in her hands. She thrust it in her mouth, using all her artistry to coax his orgasm, squirming her tongue and fondling his balls. A minute later a stinging thrill pierced her wet cleft as he returned the act, with harsh lips.
After the delicate skill of Shirley, the poetry of her soft lips and wild tongue, Erica tore her thighs away from him.
Five minutes later, she gave up with a sigh.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I can't seem to come."
His eyes were glazed with excitement his cock seemed more erect than ever. Erica vaguely remembered a man she'd picked up in a bar in Chicago once, and the strange urge that gripped her when she saw his massive erection.
"Sit on the edge of the chair," she told the professor, shivering at the memory.
When he did, she sat on his lap, nestling her lush buttocks on him, holding his organ in both hands. She twined her ankles around his, and raised her hips, plunging the knob into her wet cunt. Then she slid forward a few inches as she probed the crevice of her silken cheeks-she guided his cock out of her pussy and toward her anus.
She let out a low scream of pain as she slid down heavily. The professor gasped, and the blood surged in his thick shaft at the incredible tightness.
Erica squirmed, very gently at first, gritting her teeth at the searing fullness. There was an odd sensation of ecstasy in the pain, a bliss in being entered this way; it was brutal, and she liked that.
She began jerking faster on him, lust tearing through her, and the professor responded with groans of pleasure. His hands stroked her thighs feverishly, feeling the hot flesh through her nylons, then gripped her hips as she wriggled on him in wild excitement.
His orgasm exploded for a full minute, and Erica trembled from head to toe at the sensual thrill. Her damp breasts heaved as she sagged against him.
A moment later, his shaft stirred in her tender anus. Erica quickly climbed off.
"I'm ready again," the professor said excitedly. "I can't understand it, but I'm aroused again."
Erica put on her robe and lit a cigarette.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Professor."
He came over to her, his erection poised and throbbing again, his voice anxious.
"But I'll be careful this time, Erica. I won't hurt you. Just one more time," he pleaded.
"It's not a matter of desire, Professor. It's a matter of time. I've got an appointment in a few minutes, you see."
His face fell. "Oh. You couldn't... postpone it?"
"No." Her tone was flat and final. She made drinks as he dressed. The drug would last at least two more hours. And where would the professor, in his urgent sexual state, run to?
His only outlet, of course. Nitro Five.
"I want you to think over everything I said," Erica told him as he gulped his drink. "Give the idea time to grow in your mind. Weigh the offer carefully, as a scientist and not as a patriot. If you want to discuss it in detail, I'll be here."
Dressed, the bulge in his pants was painfully obvious. The professor finished his drink in one swallow, and went to the door. Erica smiled; he was hardly in a condition to discuss anything.
"I'll think it over," he lied, anxious to run. "And I'll get in touch with you, Erica. In a few days."
"Do that, Professor."
He was gone. Erica chuckled, and went to draw another bath. There was no appointment. Aroused frantically, he would rush to Lorraine. And Lorraine, experienced in pharmacology, would recognize the symptoms at once. It would be easy for her to elicit the story from him, in his feverish condition, and even if the professor tried to hide the sexual part of it, she'd know.
She tried to imagine Lorraine's reaction-astonishment at first, then curiosity about the woman who'd dare to impersonate her.
Erica settled in the hot bath. She wanted to be clean and fragrant for her visitor. Lorraine would ease the professor's wild lust only after she'd gotten the story from him. Then she would get rid of him quickly, clean up and dress, and take perhaps an hour out to think and plan. According to Erica's estimate, Nitro Five would knock on her door sometime between ten and ten-thirty.
As for the professor, he was the least risk of all. He wouldn't report it to the American authorities-not after being seduced, which involved him. He knew what they would think-if the man was too weak to resist going to bed with an enemy agent, what kind of a risk would he be in the future?
Erica smiled. She'd thought of everything. Everything except Nitro Five's brilliance. A chill ran up her spine at the thought of Nitro Five's method of assassination. Not knowing what it was, how could she protect herself? She would have to be on guard every second, her reflexes hyperactive.
She spent an hour and a half putting on fresh makeup and dressing in a snug, curve-hugging dress and black nylons.
Then she took two benzedrine pills and paced the floor, waiting.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Erica's estimate was off by exactly twelve minutes.
At ten forty-two, there was a soft knock on her door. Her nerves hummed with tension as she opened the door and stood face to face with the deadly agent.
For five seconds neither of them spoke. The cool green eyes swept over Erica, from her gleaming dark hair to her full breasts to her long legs.
Erica appraised her in return. Up close, every flaw of Lorraine Parks was evident, the tiny lines around her eyes, the slight off-tint of her dyed chestnut hair, the nose that was a trifle too narrow and long.
But it was the imperfections that made her stunning; that, and the shining, magnetic eyes. Her sex appeal was a vibrant current that struck Erica at once.
"Erica Wilson?" she said.
Erica smiled and opened the door wide. "I've been waiting, Lorraine."
She stepped inside and Erica closed the door, her nerves quivering from the benzedrine and the impact of facing possible sudden death.
"If you reach in your purse for cigarettes, please do it very slowly," Erica said. "Scotch or vodka?"
Lorraine settled herself in a chair.
"Vodka, straight, no ice."
"Do you want to pour it yourself?"
Her laugh was mocking. "Don't be childish, Erica. You shouldn't take drugs; you'll overreact. Your eyes look like points of fire. Ritalin or methedrine?"
"Benzedrine."
She poured two drinks, turning her back defiantly. Her fingers shook and she cursed herself for taking the pills. She must look like an amateur to this calm, perfectly controlled machine.
She gave Lorraine the drink and sat across from her. The Chinese agent reached in her purse and brought out cigarettes. The tension in the room was electric.
"Perfect," Lorraine said, exhaling smoke. "You did a perfect job on Professor Phillips. When he got to my place, he was like a bull in heat. Raving, clawing at me, almost impossible to satisfy." She chuckled. "I pity his wife tonight."
"How's the daughter?" Erica asked.
Lorraine's eyebrows rose, but her mouth was amused.
"You know about Marcia?' "I guessed. Lovely girl. You were the first?"
Lorraine sighed. "She was a virgin, yes. That's part of my problem-she's infatuated now, and getting dangerous. She calls at all hours, writes me gushing love notes. Sweet, but explosive."
"I should have your problems," Erica said, and they both laughed, but their eyes were wary.
"You're very beautiful," Lorraine said frankly, her gaze lingering on Erica's legs. "You set the professor up with superb skill; you knew he'd come to me, and you knew he'd tell me the whole story. And you knew I'd come to you." She smiled, but only with her sensual mouth. "Who are you, and who do you work for?"
"I'm Gypsy Virgin. I work for I.S.C."
It would be fatal to try to trick her; the green eyes shone with intelligence, watching and waiting.
And, from time to time, devouring Erica's ripe curves with interest.
Lorraine nodded. "I've read your dossier. The physical description left a lot to be desired, I see now." Her slender fingers traced circles on her thigh. "Of course you know who I am."
"Vivian Marchand. Nitro Five."
"And you must know my orders concerning people who are able to identify me?"
Erica smiled, hiding her nervousness.
"Salamander, and the photographer, Santell, never knew what hit them, did they, Vivian?"
"Never call me that," she said in a soft, ominous voice. "Don't even think that name. You could slip in front of the wrong people. My name is Lorraine. As for Salamander and Santell, their last conscious moments were pleasant. I suppose your assignment is to discover my technique of execution?"
"That's part of it."
Lorraine chuckled. "Your director must be a hell of an optimist. You're operating alone?"
"Yes."
"Your people are very generous with your life, Gypsy Virgin. What else do you want?"
"You. Alive. On our side."
"How much?"
"One hundred thousand, U.S. currency. Maximum protection from your own people. A lot of... interesting fringe benefits."
"You wouldn't believe how interesting my current fringe benefits are," Lorraine said dryly. "How do you people propose to keep me alive if I defect? You don't know how persistent they are in Peking."
"Plastic surgery," Erica said. "They wouldn't be able to recognize you when we finished with you."
"I like my looks."
"They wouldn't ruin them. Just change them; you'd still be beautiful."
Lorraine sipped her drink, smiling.
"What makes you think I'd even consider defecting?"
"Because you've had it," Erica said. She suddenly felt confident as the languid green eyes betrayed surprise. She'd struck gold.
"You're twenty-seven but you look thirty-five. By the time you're thirty, you'll look forty, if you keep up the pace. I know you have no choice about accepting assignments; when your people give an order, you obey. On our side, you're not forced to accept. They'll give you a desk job, if you want; an instructor's position. There's a school in Baltimore, where your particular talents would be ideal-"
"I know the school," Lorraine broke in with an amused smile. "One of your prize graduates is on our side now. We put her through our own training center in Peking, and she was a little shocked to discover she hadn't really learned a thing in Baltimore. Our methods aren't subtle, but they're effective."
"You'd be safe with us," Erica went on. "You can't take this kind of stress forever. And what will your people do when you've outlived your usefulness? You've had it, Nitro Five. It shows."
Lorraine was silent for a while, staring at her drink. There was a trace of pain in her voice.
"I'm tired," she finally said. "They took me when I was ten, and I was tired by the time I was twelve. No one but myself will ever know what it was like. They're geniuses at alternating paradise and hell. There were the guards, peasants chosen because they preferred anal rape on young girls, with white skin. And there was a Great Dane, also trained; they would let him loose once in a while simply to prove to you the human body is the least sacred of all earthly possessions. And then there was the paradise... "
She sipped her drink, and closed her eyes.
"The girls, chosen for their loveliness and passion, trained in every lascivious trick. They knew how to bring out the urge, how to cultivate your hunger until you craved it like a drug. They mixed sympathy and sweetness with their hot young bodies; they knew more about conditioned response than Pavlov. If I had to go through it all over again... I would. Gladly. Because of the girls. And they know that. They know almost everything."
"Do they know you've had it?" Erica asked.
Lorraine sighed. "No. They don't know that yet. But they're getting suspicious. I've thrown a few hints about not being a field agent for a while, about taking an instructor's job. You don't make formal requests in this regime, Erica. You don't even ask for something. If you have a superior that likes you, you can hint. My immediate superior is a woman. Chinese. And she likes me very much. But she has her own position to protect." Lorraine shrugged.
Erica poured more vodka in Lorraine's glass. She felt a sense of kinship with the green-eyed beauty, and an intense physical desire for her. The desire, she saw as Lorraine's eyes smoldered on her lush body, seemed to be mutual.
Still, she didn't trust her. The kinship she felt was real-they were sisters in a rare, dangerous profession-but the other agent was too quick to show her feelings, to let her guard down.
"You're wondering why I'm telling you this," Lorraine said. "Do you know I haven't talked to anyone about it in seventeen years? From the day they took me when I was ten, I've been trained to lie, steal, betray and kill. I'm an expert in all those arts. You couldn't pry a word out of me if you tortured me. Not even if you used the bell."
Erica knew she referred to the ancient Oriental torture of placing a huge bell over a victim, and hammering on it. Insanity, convulsions and death followed.
"They still use it in China?" Erica said, surprised.
"Only on peasants," Lorraine said. "We have faster techniques now. But, as I said, I've never talked to anyone about my past. And yet, I'm here thirty minutes with you, and," she snapped her fingers, "I'm prattling like a housewife. For some odd reason I trust you, Erica."
"I don't trust you," Erica said, smiling.
"And I don't blame you. But after seventeen years, I've got to talk to someone. I've got to trust someone. Because I'm slipping, and I'm afraid. The moment I saw you, I felt as if I were looking at myself. I knew I could talk. Are you afraid of me?"
"Of course," Erica said.
"Because of Salamander?"
"Yes."
Lorraine's eyes veiled over. "Salamander was marked for death before I met him. Someday you'll know why. I have no intention of harming you, Erica, unless you make it necessary. If your people wanted me dead, it would have been done by now, so it's obvious your offer isn't a trap." She paused, thinking. "You found me through Santell?"
"Yes. The cocktail party."
She sighed. "I wouldn't have slipped like that five years ago. I would have exposed the film and put it back in his camera. I had other things on my mind. My superiors would say the slip was subconsciously deliberate, that I wanted to be traced. They could be right. Did you... attend the school in Baltimore, Erica?"
"Yes."
The green eyes glinted beneath their long lashes.
"Your dossier says you have a phallic fixation. The transference to the other sex isn't difficult, especially when you're orally inclined to begin with. Especially when they put you in Mr. Butterfield's efficient hands."
"You know her?" Erica said, astonished.
"Not personally. We have a file on her. Psychiatrist, voyeur and sadist. She picks up girls at the library and the zoo."
Erica laughed. "The zoo?"
"That's right," Lorraine chuckled. "She has a fetish for spanking them and biting them on the buttocks. Half the whorehouses in the East won't let her in their doors. She bites like a shark, I suppose. But she's very good at her job. But of course you ought to know that."
Erica's blood quickened. The way she'd said it sounded like a proposition. The languid green eyes watched her, melting, flickering on Erica's high breasts and smooth legs. There was no subtlety in the look, but in their profession there wasn't time for dainty overtures. Each night could be their last.
Erica sipped her drink, her sharp desire struggling with caution. She wanted to, badly; there was an air of depravity, of pure sex in Lorraine's face that hypnotized her, and that, coupled with the knowledge that Nitro Five had seduced and corrupted countless girls- the professor's virgin daughter among them-made her almost irresistible.
But it could all be an act. She might have made the same weary, touching confession about her past to Salamander before she went to bed with him. And he leaped to oblivion.
She was brilliant, ruthless and treacherous. Her dossier had reported the facts, with icy statistics. But nothing on a cold page could convey the hypnotic eyes and sultry mouth, the magnetic sex appeal she radiated, the promise of a hot, unforgettable adventure gleaming in the green eyes.
"Don't be afraid of me, Erica," she said softly. "Come here."
Erica hesitated, the benzedrine goading her excitement so that her heart hammered wildly. Her mind flashed with the image of the beautiful lesbian, naked, sitting astride Marcia, stroking the girl's plump breasts as she jerked on her to a gentle rhythm, and Erica realized part of her desire was sheer envy. It was as if she could capture some of Lorraine's sex magnetism by physical contact, by letting herself surrender to it, like Marcia.
"Come here," Lorraine repeated.
Erica trembled, aware of the danger. She put down her drink and went over to her. Lorraine stood up, and Erica made the first move, putting her arms around her and kissing her passionately on the lips But by tacit agreement, it was Lorraine who was going to be the natural aggressor Sucking eagerly on the other woman's hot, probing tongue, Erica let her body melt against her.
"I'll undress you," Lorraine said huskily.
She stepped behind Erica, one hand rubbing a soft buttock as the other unzipped her dress. It dropped to the floor, and Erica stepped out of it, shivering. She caught her breath as Lorraine embraced her from behind, squirming her loins to Erica's buttocks, snaking her tongue in her ear as she squeezed Erica's ripe breasts in her hands. Slowly, one hand slid down over her stomach and inside her panties, rubbing her mound of pubic hair.
"The girl," Erica whispered, feverishly excited at a thought. "Marcia-how was she? I've never had a virgin."
"She was like honey," Lorraine murmured, her fingertip gently stroking Erica's clitoris. "She was deliciously sweet and tender. She screamed with joy, and then she cried, and her luscious pussy was like nothing I've ever had before. The idea of a virgin excites you?"
"Yes," Erica whispered, her skin on fire. She shivered as Lorraine's tongue trailed her shoulder.
"She couldn't stop coming," Lorraine said. "And I couldn't stop making her. Do you know what their breasts are like at that age? Not fully formed, yet succulent... with big, perfect coronas. And her ass was plump and silky smooth, and when it got moist in my hands, I licked the perspiration off... "
Erica moaned as Lorraine slid her finger into her cunt and bit her shoulder softly.
"But she was only a child, Erica, a lovely one, but still a child. And you're a beautiful woman. Let's see your breasts."
She unhooked Erica's bra and took it off. She faced her with a hiss of pleasure, her fingers stroking the hot, satiny flesh, rubbing and squeezing their swollen heat until Erica was kissing her frantically, biting her on the lips.
"Sit down," Lorraine said, in a husky command.
Erica sat on the edge of the bed and Lorraine knelt and took her nylons off, kissing and gently sucking on the flesh of her inner thighs. She slid off Erica's panties, her eyes staring at the dark mound of hair. She placed her lips gently against Erica's pink cleft, and her tongue merely slid along the crevice, a teasing probe that made Erica gasp.
Then Lorraine was undressing, so casually Erica knew she'd gone through this scene hundreds of times before with hundreds of girls and women. Her eyes burned on Lorraine's creamy skin as she stripped, revealing soft breasts and lush hips. Her pubic hairs were thick, with a reddish tinge.
Erica closed her eyes, moaning as Lorraine lay beside her, sucking and tonguing her swollen nipples while her fingers explored the crevice of her buttocks.
"Ride me," Erica urged, wanting to prolong the first orgasm.
Lorraine straddled her hips, nestling her hot buttocks on Erica as she positioned herself. Their moist vaginas came in contact, and a soft thrill shuddered through Erica's blood as Lorraine began the rocking motion. Her fingers stroked Erica's belly, then her silken calves as Erica drew her knees up.
Erica stared up at the beautiful agent, whose eyes glowed with excitement, and she squirmed with bliss at the hot friction of their organs and reached up to caress her breasts.
"Did you do this to Marcia?" she asked. "Did she like it?"
"You want the girl yourself, don't you, Erica?"
"Yes, yes. But I want you there, too. A threesome... "
"I can arrange that," Lorraine said. She shifted to a side-to-side motion, and a sharp thrill tingled through Erica.
"Yes, she liked this," Lorraine whispered, jerking harder. "She cried with happiness, and she couldn't stop flowing. And the more she came, the more excited I got, and I couldn't seem to get my fill-" With a soft cry, Erica suddenly sat up and hugged Lorraine's breasts to her face. She clutched the swollen flesh in her mouth, sucking hungrily, wriggling her tongue on a nipple.
After a minute, Lorraine broke the embrace. She lay down on the bed, on her back. She told Erica to lie on top of her, but on her back. Erica trembled as the other woman's damp nest writhed against her buttocks, as Lorraine twined her legs around Erica's. One of her hands pulled back the flesh of Erica's belly, exposing her vaginal lips, while the other hand cupped the mound, a finger thrusting hard and deep in her quivering cleft. Erica jerked and shuddered as Lorraine lavished tiny bites on her shoulder, her stroking fingers bringing her quickly to a wild orgasm.
Panting, Erica rolled off and reversed her body, facing Lorraine's creamy thighs. They both lay on their sides, and as if by unspoken consent, began a strange teasing ritual. Erica grasped Lorraine's buttocks in her hands and showered kisses on her stomach, her pubic fringe, her thighs, her lips and tongue circling the silken crevice, coming within an inch of the pink slot, but never reaching it. She moaned as Lorraine did the same to her, but with more imagination; she wriggled her tongue through the curls of Erica's nest of hair, then slid her mouth up to grasp a fold of soft belly-flesh in her mouth, biting and sucking, vibrating her hot tongue on it. And all the while Lorraine's hands rubbed and squeezed her ripe buttocks, finally spreading the cheeks to expose her asshole.
Erica groaned as the tongue snaked deep in her, lashing and squirming, and Erica quickly returned the hot thrill, sinking her nails into Lorraine's white cheeks in her passion.
Too excited to keep up the ritual, Erica suddenly buried her mouth to the searing wet flesh of Lorraine's clit. She felt the powerful current of the other agent's sex instantly, rippling through her lips with delicious force. She kissed the clitoris eagerly, aware of the tingling fire in her loins as Lorraine's mouth did the same to her. She hugged Lorraine's thighs to her cheeks as she worked her tongue deep in the succulent walls, exploring the wet fragrance.
Her week of intensive training-the lectures, the films, her long, sensual nights with Shirley-made her reflexes automatic. As her mouth explored the yielding flesh, her fingers thrust in rhythm, one in Lorraine's anal passage, another in her cleft, until the other woman was jerking wildly against her face, her moans of ecstasy deep.
Erica felt a surge of pride; she'd given the beautiful lesbian the first orgasm in the mutual act, and the generous trickle in her throat sharpened her hunger. A moment later, a stinging wave of bliss shot through her loins as Lorraine flicked her burning tongue against her swollen clitoris, as her hot breasts dug into Erica's stomach.
An hour later, trembling after the long series of orgasms, Erica rolled over with a moan. She lay, panting, as Lorraine nestled her cheek to her damp thighs.
"You were wonderful, darling," Lorraine murmured. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were doing this for years."
"I have," Erica sighed. "But with men."
The other agent shifted her body around and lay on top of Erica, gently squirming her wet thighs on her, kissing her throat.
Erica shivered, desire stirring in her again. I could fall in love with her, she realized.
"Lorraine, I hate to bring business up now, but I've got to know about the defection."
Lorraine sighed and lit cigarettes for them both. She lay next to Erica, her free hand caressing Erica's breast.
"Do you realize what you're asking me to do? If my people thought I actually considered it for an instant, I'm dead. But, you see, I have been thinking about it for a long, long time. Escape. The whole problem is timing, Erica; it's not just a matter of hopping on a plane with you to Washington. The timing has to be perfect. And the place, too. This is not the time or the place. Hong Kong is the place. And the time is soon."
"You'll do it, then?" Erica said cautiously, hiding her surprise.
Lorraine's eyes gleamed in the darkness.
"I'll do it," she said.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Erica's pulse raced with excitement.
"When?" she asked.
"When I've completed my assignment. It's imperative that I finish this mission, because there are lives at stake. Not just mine; a girl I'm very fond of is being held as a hostage near the border to Hong Kong."
"Then they don't trust you?"
Lorraine's fingers gently played with Erica's curly pubic hairs as she talked.
"They don't trust anyone. But I'm not being singled out. The hostage procedure is normal for them. Let's just say they understand fear as an incentive. The girl is fifteen, a ravishing creature. She became my mistress when she was thirteen. So I'm quite attached to her, you see."
"Is she Chinese?"
"Yes. You should understand I don't think like you; I'm a Caucasian but not a westerner. I was raised in China, and my mind follows an Oriental pattern of logic. It's natural for me to fall in love with a Chinese girl, as natural as chopsticks are to my fingers, and a diet of rice and fish to my digestion. I'm conditioned beyond change in many ways."
Erica was curious about something.
"Lorraine, do you... enjoy sex with men?"
"Of course. It's not the same, but I get pleasure out of it. The first dozen or so times I was raped by my guards, I was terrified. But I gradually came to look forward to it; there's an element of sexual excitement in brutality, you know. My superiors understand this, and when it got to the point where I was enjoying my punishment, they stopped it. They didn't want a masochist on their hands."
"How soon will your mission be completed?"
"A week at the most. You know what it is?"
"The defection of Professor Phillips to Red China, of course."
"The Chinese Special Corps is extremely interested in his experiments with ultrasonics. They have a critical shortage of psychologists, especially men of his caliber. Don't be fooled by threats of the hydrogen bomb-the war of the future will be for the enslavement of minds, not the destruction of bodies. My people have vision, Erica, and that's what makes them terrifying."
"But you don't think the professor will defect voluntarily, do you?"
"Of course not. He's not a superpatriot, but he isn't foolish enough to change sides just for glowing promises, either. But he will walk into China voluntarily."
"So that's why you seduced Marcia!"
Lorraine laughed. "Did you think I did it just for the hell of it? She is a lovely thing, but this is strictly business. The good professor will walk over the border because he won't desert his beautiful daughter; she's the precious one to him. I made certain of that before I involved her." 142 "Then you intend to get her over the border first? How?"
"That part is the easiest, Erica. The girl is infatuated. If I say hop, she leaps. I'll prove it to you." She glanced at the luminous dials of the clock on the bedside table; it was one in the morning. "Tonight I'll share her with you, darling."
Erica shivered with excitement at the thought of Lorraine and herself making love to the girl at the same time.
"Will she go that far for you?"
Lorraine chuckled. "She'd walk into the bowels of hell for me. And that is exactly what the poor darling will do, in about a week."
"How will you get your mistress"-the word sounded strange to Erica, speaking of a fifteen-year-old girl- "out of China?"
"They'll release her to me for a vacation in Hong Kong, when I've delivered the professor. That's when their security will be minimal, too; they probably won't even have me under surveillance in Hong Kong. Even if they do, it's the easiest place in the world to slip a tail. Have you ever been there?"
"No. I've heard stories, though, about the sex market there."
"The stories were probably an understatement. You can buy a ten-year-old girl-I mean buy her, like a pet -for $200. But chances are she won't be a virgin at that age. You can buy anything there, even a mass rape if it suits you. And there are people who do, and they're almost invariably Americans, and they always specify the men have to be endowed with huge penises. But it's their wives who really get their kicks watching a girl of fourteen or fifteen getting raped by a half-dozen men. They identify with her, you see they'd love to be rammed by a half-dozen immense cocks, but do you think they'd ever have the chance, looking the way they do? They're usually in their forties, and even in Omaha no one would look at them twice. Do you know what the most popular exhibition is for American tourists?"
"Two girls?"
"Right. Two girls going down on each other. The average American housewife-please excuse the phrase, darling-eats that up. And chances are she won't bring her husband to watch that one. She'll arrange it on the sly, or with other wives. And they act embarrassed to hide their excitement. 'Isn't it sickening, Martha?' "Sickening, my ass," Lorraine said contemptuously. "They'd love to pile into all that sweet hot flesh, but this is as close as they dare to get."
Erica's hand stroked Lorraine's thigh.
"Are Chinese girls different than Americans? Sexually, I mean."
"To me they are, because I was raised on them. You know that the professor is going to Hong Kong for the symposium, don't you?"
"Yes. I heard it at Stanford. But I didn't know he was bringing his family."
"He's making a vacation out of it. That's how we got Korzetsky, you know."
"The Russian biochemist?" Erica said, surprised. "The Russians said he died."
"They won't admit he defected. He came over voluntarily, though. They let him go to Hong Kong on vacation, with his wife and two daughters. He waited years for the chance. We gave his tails the slip and got the whole family over."- Lorraine turned on her side, facing Erica, her leg resting on Erica's.
"These are the terms, darling. I'll come over to Intelligence Service Central, if your people will agree to let me deliver the professor and his daughter to my people. I also want safe passage guaranteed for Kim, and I'll want her placed in a Chinese home in this country. She can't stay with me, because my people will find me easily if she does. I also want it clear that under no circumstances will I ever accept a field assignment again. I'll take the offer of plastic surgery, and an instructor's job. And," she added, "the hundred thousand, of course. Those are my terms-no exceptions. How soon can you get an answer?"
Erica switched on the lamp. She studied the tired, beautiful face, and believed her.
"In a few minutes, I think."
She thumbed through the phone directory under Physicians and Surgeons, and dialed a number.
"Yes?" A woman's voice, sleepy.
"Dr. Higgins, please."
"He's asleep-"
"This is an emergency."
"All right," she sighed.
A few seconds later a man's irritable voice came on the line.
"Dr. Higgins."
"This is an emergency, Doctor. You gave me a prescription the other day, and I think it was filled incorrectly. I think it was toxic. I had the prescription filled at the Starbird Pharmacy. Can you get me the pharmacist's home phone number?"
The voice was wide awake now.
"I'll have him call you. Give me your name and number."
Erica gave it, and hung up. She lit a cigarette, shivering as Lorraine's finger traced the crevice of her soft buttocks.
"If they agree to the terms, they'll tell you to come to Hong Kong with me, you know," Lorraine said. "They're afraid I'll get traitor's remorse if I'm alone."
Erica smiled. "In other words, they don't trust you."
Lorraine sat up and ran her pointed tongue over one of Erica's nipples, her fingers caressing the hot flesh of her breast. Erica moaned with pleasure and started to lie down again when the phone rang.
His voice was without emotion.
"This is Starbird. What is it?"
Erica told him the terms in detail.
"That's a heavy trade," he said when she was finished. "I'll have to call the man upstairs on that. Can it wait 'til morning?"
Erica stared into the cool green eyes.
"No. She wants the answer now."
"Is she there with you?"
"Yes."
"Be very careful," he said in a flat voice. "She's murder. I'll call you back."
The line went dead.
Lorraine smiled. "I heard what he said. Don't you think if I were going to do it, I would have done it by now?"
"How did you do it, Lorraine? To Salamander, and the photographer. How did you make them commit suicide?"
Lorraine held her arms out, beckoning.
"Come here, darling."
Erica trembled. Lorraine looked sultry and exciting in the soft glow of the lamp; her creamy breasts rose and fell to a fast rhythm, and her eyes shone a deep brilliant green.
"Trust me," Lorraine said.
Erica's heart beat wildly as she lay on top of Lorraine, their hot breasts crushed together. Lorraine's fingers stroked her neck, then her throat.
"How did you do it?" Erica whispered.
Lorraine kissed her on the lips, exploring her mouth with her tongue, twining her legs around Erica's and squirming her belly to hers. Her fingers slid down to Erica's cheeks and probed.
"If you come to Hong Kong with me," Lorraine murmured, "I'll get you a beautiful Chinese girl. And if you're half as good to her as you were to me, she'll fall in love with you."
"How did you do it?"
"I'll tell you-in Hong Kong."
The phone rang.
"The director said only one word," Starbird told her. "Yes. Stay with her as much as possible. You'll have to go to Hong Kong with her. Can you get the execution technique from her before you leave the country?"
"No."
"That's what makes her indispensable and she knows it. Pick up the expense money for the trip at Higgins' office tomorrow. It will include jetfare for her and the girl from Hong Kong to Washington. Be very, very careful in Hong Kong. Goodbye, and good luck, Gypsy Virgin."
Erica replaced the phone, an uneasy shiver running up her spine.
"They agree to all your terms, Lorraine. I'm going to Hong Kong with you."
"That's wonderful," Lorraine said, putting her arms around Erica. "We'll have a vacation together. I'll show you the sights, and... "
Her voice trailed off when she saw the look on Erica's face.
"What is it? What's wrong, darling?"
"He said good luck, dammit."
It was a taboo in the profession; no agent ever wished another one good luck. It was tantamount to a permanent goodbye.
"He's just being a bastard," Lorraine said, hugging her. "He was probably a friend of Salamander's, and he knows I did it. And he undoubtedly knows we're in bed together." Lorraine looked at the clock and stood up.
"I'm going to have to leave, darling."
Erica watched her dress, devouring her ripe curves and milky skin with fascination. I'm falling in love with her, she thought. I feel like Marcia must have felt when Lorraine took her virginity.
"I'm not surprised they snapped at my terms," Lorraine was saying, as she flexed a leg to put on her nylon. "The professor is expendable, you see. There are other, more qualified experts in his field, but your people are keeping them under very tight security. As for Marcia... "
Lorraine shrugged. "They couldn't care less about her, of course. She's just a statistic."
"What will your people do with her?" Erica asked curiously.
"With a lovely child like that? They'll recruit her, of course. She's going to be ravishing in a few more years. She's bright, very good material. Naive to the point of sin, but they'll tear that out of her fast."
Lorraine paused, staring at the wall.
"Like they tore it out of me," she murmured, and an icy shiver swept through Erica's blood.
"What time will you bring her over tonight?" Erica asked.
"About eight. Pick up some good sherry; she'll drink wine. And don't bother spiking it with cantharides. I've got a Chinese aphrodisiac that makes yours feel like a tranquilizer."
Completely dressed, Lorraine sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Erica's thighs.
"You know the situation we're both in, Erica. It's beyond our control; if we struggle against it, we're torn to shreds. If we accept it, we survive, and learn. We have to squeeze what little pleasure there is out of it. We understand each other, don't we?"
Erica nodded. "I think so."
"And tonight we're going to have an orgy with an innocent child we've both agreed to betray, along with her father. How do you feel about it?"
Erica thought for a minute.
"Considering her tender age, and her plump little ass, actually I feel pretty excited."
They both laughed.
Lorraine switched off the lamp. Her lips were soft on Erica's.
"Good night, Gypsy Virgin."
"Good night, Nitro Five."
The door closed, and Erica fell into a deep sleep. It occurred to her briefly that things were moving too fast, too beautifully, but the thought was barely a ripple on the surface of her mind.
It did not occur to her she might be a pawn in a treacherous, complex game.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
There was a strict rule in Professor Phillips' house- the only rule he'd managed to enforce over the hectic years-that no one, not even his thin, neurotic, hypertense wife, invade the privacy of his den except in a crisis.
He'd just begun immersing himself in the warm security of his den after dinner that evening, an article on telepathy in his hands, when there was a soft knock on his door.
He sighed. "Come in."
But his face lit up with pleasure when Marcia stepped in. Her eyes glowed with excitement and her skin was radiant from a bath. She was so lovely, so indescribably pure and innocent, the professor felt a lump in his throat. She wore a minidress with what he thought was a radically high hem-it made her look sensual beyond her tender years-but that was the current style. Besides, if there was one person in the universe who could truly be considered moral-even incorruptible-it was Marcia.
"Am I bothering you, Daddy?"
"No, no. I'm always delighted to see you, sweetheart. What is it?"
She came around his desk and faced him. She held a piece of paper in her hands. Her excitement was contagious, like an electric current, radiating from her soft young body.
"Daddy, I want you to read something I wrote. I want your opinion. It's... a poem."
He nodded solemnly.
"A poem, then. All right, Elizabeth Browning, let's have it."
Embarrassed, she handed him the poem. There were only a few lines scrawled on the piece of paper, but the professor felt a jarring shock as he read the lines: Your lips Your hungry lips of fire, Your thighs, Your soft thighs of honey, Your tongue, Its hot blade of love Seared me, and pierced me, And bound me, Forever.
The paper trembled in the professor's fingers. He stared at his daughter, and tried to keep his voice calm. The poem could only mean one thing.
"Who is the poem for, sweetheart?"
She blushed. "A friend."
He leaned forward. "Who, Marcia?"
She hesitated, and then the words burst forth, bubbling with joy: "I'm in love, Daddy, really in love."
He nodded, hiding his fear. He patted his lap.
"Sit here, baby. I want to ask you something personal."
She nestled her warm buttocks on his lap, her arms around his neck. She's such a child, he thought, too sheltered, too naive, and it's my fault...
"Marcia, we talked about sex a few years ago. Remember? I answered all your questions truthfully. We talked about petting, and pregnancy, and abortions, and the risk of sexual involvement at your age."
He paused, and stared at the poem.
"Be honest with me, baby. Did you have sex with this boy? Any sex act at all?"
Her wide eyes stared into his.
"No."
He felt a deep wave of relief. She hadn't lied to him. He knew she hadn't.
"Do I know the boy?"
Her lips trembled, as if she were about to confess something. But she merely shook her head.
"No."
"It's a pretty... passionate poem, Marcia. It implies a lot."
Her face shone eagerly. "Do you like it? Is it good?"
He bit his lip. "Well, it's poetic. It's good, because you used your imagination-" She snatched the poem from his hand, got off his lap. Her wet lips brushed his cheek.
"I've got to run, Daddy. Thanks."
"Marcia!"
She paused, her hand on the doorknob.
"Are you going to see this boy now?"
A strange smile spread across her lips, a smile far beyond her years, supercilious, knowing, even scornful. It was almost-depraved.
"No."
The door closed behind her. The professor stared at it, frowning, but he knew she hadn't lied to him. In his mind, he went over a list of boys interested in Marcia.
Soft, honeyed thighs... Most boys around that age were smooth skinned. Even if she'd spent time with him naked, their bodies in contact, there was no harm in it, but sooner or later, he'd have to get her some pills. He didn't want his little girl pregnant and heartbroken by some clod.
He sighed, and turned back to the article, but an embarrassing realization struck him, filling him with shame.
He had an erection.
In spite of the fact that she was his own daughter, the contact of her buttocks on his loins had stirred him.
After a minute, he tossed the article on his desk, an urgent excitement coursing through his blood. He dialed a number. He drummed his fingers anxiously as the number buzzed a dozen times. Reluctantly, he put back the phone.
Lorraine Parks wasn't home.
The car purred along the freeway at seventy as Lorraine shot a smoldering glance at the luscious girl beside her.
"You wrote a poem for me? That's sweet, darling. Read it to me."
In a self-conscious voice, Marcia read it, looking eagerly at Lorraine for approval.
Lorraine patted her bare thigh. "It's beautiful, Marcia, very esthetic."
"My father said it was good-" The car swerved dangerously, the tires screeching in protest. Calmly, Lorraine switched on the emergency flashers, and eased the car onto the shoulder of the freeway.
"What's wrong?" Marcia said innocently.
Slowly, Lorraine turned to face her, her green eyes blazing with such fierceness Marcia trembled.
"Your father said it was good?"
Marcia swallowed hard, nodding. She'd never seen Lorraine angry, and it was terrifying. She tore her eyes away from the woman's; it was like staring into the face of death.
"Did you tell your father about me, Marcia?"
"No, I swear I didn't, Lorraine! He asked me a lot of questions, but all I wanted was to show him the poem, and -"
"All right. Calm down."
Lorraine's fingers brushed the girl's throat, near her windpipe.
"Now tell me exactly what he asked, and what you said. Every word, from beginning to end."
In a broken voice, Marcia repeated the entire conversation. When she finished, Lorraine sighed and lit a cigarette.
"He's going to question you further, Marcia. You're to tell him you had a crush on a boy, purely platonic, but it's over with. Act casual, even disgusted. Tell him the poem was a result of a daydream, an erotic fantasy. Is that clear?"
"Yes."
Marcia stared at her knees, tears in her eyes.
The goddamn little fool, thought Lorraine, the gushing, simpering little bitch almost destroyed everything-months of planning.
With an effort, Lorraine got a grip on herself. She might as well be nice to her; in Peking, in the long years to come, Marcia would desperately cling to memories of kindness. They would preserve her sanity.
"I'm not angry, darling," Lorraine said soothingly, squeezing the girl's thigh. "I was upset. But it's all right now."
Marcia looked at her anxiously.
"Do you still... love me, Lorraine?"
Lorraine kissed her cheek. "But of course, Marcia. Forever."
The girl's face lit up, and Lorraine pulled the car back onto the freeway. Her anger still seethed beneath the calm surface, and she decided to double the dose of aphrodisiac she'd give to Marcia.
After tonight, the little bitch would be too exhausted to hold a pencil, much less write a gushing poem.
Erica was more than ready; she was primed. Bathed, perfumed, stunningly dressed, looking sleek and sophisticated, she'd spent the last thirty minutes leafing through magazines that featured naked girls, most of them little more than adolescents. Her palms were moist and her heart raced nervously.
Sixteen years old, and still a virgin-as far as men were concerned, anyway. Only Vivian Marchand had penetrated that tender vagina, had kissed and tongued and savored the girl's sweet flesh. Would Marcia be as flawless and lovely up close as she seemed from a distance?
Erica lit a cigarette, noting the time, and realized with amusement she felt, for the first time in her life, romantic. She felt as if she were actually dating the girl, instead of subjecting her to an orgy. She wanted Marcia to like her, the way she'd like a boy, to sit on her lap and kiss her and allow herself to be fondled.
Erica shivered. The school in Baltimore had gone deep inside her, much deeper than she expected. With Shirley and with Vivian-Lorraine, dammit-it had been different; terrifically exciting in a purely passionate way, but this was... emotional. She wanted the girl's affection as much as her lusciously curved body.
Before she could follow that train of logic to its frightening conclusion, there was a knock on the door.
Lorraine smiled at her, and Marcia looked awed. She was lovelier up close; pure, lustrous eyes and a soft mouth, luminous skin and plump, budding breasts.
Lorraine made the introductions, and also made the drinks. Erica talked to the girl, smiling warmly, and discovered that Lorraine had told her she was a model.
It was part of the game that there was no general technique for the orgy. They would improvise as the aphrodisiac took hold, but Erica sensed an undercurrent between Lorraine and the girl that was uneasy. Once she caught Lorraine's green eyes glittering with vengeance at Marcia, but she was too absorbed in the girl to care, too fascinated by the tender skin.
Marcia sipped her wine and asked countless questions about modeling. Erica knew enough about the subject to overwhelm her, and as she talked, she watched the girl's skin flush and her pupils dilate as the drug began working. She sat across from Marcia, and already the girl was naked in her mind's eye, sitting on Erica's lap as Erica kissed her throat and squeezed her breasts and thrust her fingers in and out of the girl's succulent cunt, working slowly toward the final delicious act...
Lorraine took Marcia's empty glass.
"You look warm, darling," she said, feeling Marcia's forehead. "Do you feel all right?"
"I guess so." Her eyes burned into Lorraine's. "I do feel funny, though. Sort of... "
She whispered into Lorraine's ear, and the woman laughed and stroked her hair.
"And you're complaining?"
She refilled the empty glass and gave it to Marcia, whose eyes followed every movement of Lorraine's sensual body.
Five minutes later the drug was starting to reach its apex; Marcia's breasts were heaving and her eyes glowed like coals. She squirmed restlessly in the chair.
"I think I have a fever," she stammered.
Lorraine felt her forehead again. "You are running a temperature, poor baby. But it's not warm in here. Take your clothes off." It was casual, but a command.
The girl bit her lip and looked at Erica.
"But I don't think-"
"Don't be a brat," Lorraine said sharply. "Erica knows what a naked girl looks lie. In fact, she used to be a nurse. Do you want her to help you undress?"
"You help me, Lorraine, please."
"Do you want me to take you home now?"
"No, no-"
"Then Erica will help you undress. Go ahead, Erica."
The girl stood up, a dazed look on her face. Erica's pulse sang in her ears as she unzipped Marcia's dress, slipping it off over the girl's arms. Marcia was trembling wildly as Erica unhooked her bra and took it off. She wore only panties and sandals, and Erica's hunger was fierce and urgent as she stared at the soft, perfect breasts, each centered with a huge corona, and outlined through her sheer panties, between the plump hips, was her dark pubic mound.
Lorraine disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door.
"You're still feverish," Erica said, touching a damp breast, making Marcia moan.
"The wine," Marcia whispered, "I shouldn't drink. I feel hot, so hot... "
"Let me hold you," Erica murmured, putting her arm around the soft waist. "Sit on my lap, Marcia."
The girl's eyes were enormous, brilliant and fiery, and her whole body was covered with a sheen of dampness, giving her a glossy aura of sex.
"My God, I'm hot," she moaned, "but... sexy hot, Erica. Hold me, please... "
Erica embraced her from behind, shivering as she cupped the luscious breasts in her hands, as the hot, ripe buttocks squirmed to her belly.
She eased down on the chair, with the girl on her lap, writhing and moaning, almost delirious, and she realized now what the look of vengeance on Lorraine's face had meant-she'd given the girl a gigantic dose.
Marcia twisted her head around, her lips to Erica's ear, her voice frantic: "Help me, Erica, do it to me, do it to me... Lorraine's mad at me, you do it, now, now... "
Erica kissed her burning lips and her hand slid down over her soft stomach and inside her panties, pressing on her wet mound, her finger sliding deep into her tight pussy. Instantly, Marcia shuddered and cried out, her narrow vagina clamping in a frenzy on her finger, her hips jerking. She locked her ankles to Erica's and sobbed loudly as Erica found her clitoris, using her thumb while her finger probed the hot, squirming walls.
"Yes, yessss," she moaned, her hands squeezing Erica's thighs, her breasts bouncing as she slid up and down in a frenzy.
The familiar ache tingled in Erica's lips, the hunger that craved oral contact with the succulent wetness on her finger as she kissed the smooth shoulder, controlling herself until Marcia had her first orgasm.
"I want to come," Marcia gasped, wriggling her buttocks convulsively on Erica's lap, "I want to but I can't, please kiss me down there, Erica, I need it-"
"No-."
It was Lorraine who spoke. She stepped out of the bathroom naked, her statuesque body a sharp contrast to Marcia's plump one.
Sobbing, the girl obeyed. Erica began to undress, watching with fascination as Marcia flung her arms around Lorraine, reaching down to suck hungrily on a taut nipple. The agent undulated her belly to Marcia's in a sinuous, teasing rhythm while her fingers kneaded and stroked the ripe heat of her buttocks. Lorraine murmured to the girl and they went over to the bed. Quickly, Marcia wriggled out of her panties. She lay on her back and Lorraine mounted her, straddling her hips, leaning forward to clutch Marcia's swollen breasts in her hands as she jerked back and forth on her wet mound, teasing her in the gentle position.
Very slowly, Erica undressed, unable to tear her eyes from the lascivious scene. Naked, she sat on the bed. Lorraine climbed off the girl.
"Let me have her," Erica said, drinking in Marcia's glistening pink lips between the dark triangle of hair.
"Take her," Lorraine said. "I'll sit this one out."
Erica lay on top of the sobbing girl, kissing her soft mouth, squirming her breasts to the plump ones, writhing against the wet nest of hair. She slid down by degrees, sucking on each breast, loving the tender nipples, then grasping folds of her belly between her teeth and licking the flesh. Marcia parted her thighs wide and lifted her hips off the bed, her fingers digging into Erica's shoulders, her sobs urgent.
Erica clutched the girl's buttocks in her hands and kissed each inner thigh, a teasing ritual, while Marcia rested her legs over her shoulders, nudging her cleft eagerly to Erica's mouth. Trembling with a wild excitement, Erica reached beneath the pubic lips, her pointed tongue finding Marcia's anus and plunging into the tiny hole for a minute. The girl's hot cheeks squirmed passionately to her mouth and her nails raked Erica's back.
Then Erica lashed into her cunt with a moan of hunger in her throat, and Marcia screamed beneath her wild, stinging lips, shuddering and twisting as Erica, fired by the succulent wetness, buried her mouth ravenously. She loved the feel of Marcia's swinging buttocks in her hands, the pressure of her burning thighs to her cheeks, the quivering walls against her tongue. She shifted her attention to her tiny clitoris, her suction hard on its delicate swelling while her finger thrust into her.
She opened her eyes to see Lorraine sitting on the girl's breasts, a folded leg on each side of her face. Lorraine's thighs were hovering over Marcia's lips, and the girl raised her head eagerly to met the silken fringe, her mouth frantic with passion. Erica burrowed deeper with her tongue, fiercely excited by the sight of Lorraine's buttocks jerking, but in spite of her hunger and skill, Marcia couldn't reach her orgasm. Her body was covered with perspiration, writhing and jerking furiously, her fingers hugging Erica's face closer, imploring her even while she brought Lorraine to her peak with her frenzied mouth.
After thirty minutes, Erica released the girl with a sigh. Lorraine was sitting on the bed, her eyes gleaming with voyeuristic delight.
"More," Marcia sobbed, "don't stop, please... " They both ignored the girl as they embraced, Lorraine ramming her tongue between Erica's lips, cupping and squeezing her hot breasts in her fingers. The blood surged in Erica's loins, impatient for her own orgasm.
Lorraine tore her mouth away and looked down at the pleading girl.
"You'd better let me try," she told Erica. "But at the same time, we'll keep her busy. I want to show you how well I've trained her."
At Lorraine's suggestion, they formed a triangle on the bed, lying on their sides. Marcia clutched Erica's hips eagerly, kissing her stomach and thighs, while Erica faced Lorraine's thighs. Lorraine nuzzled her face to the girl's wet cunt, gripping her hips firmly.
The orgy began in earnest.
The girl's tongue was frantic in Erica's pussy, wriggling wildly against the hot membranes, shooting violent thrills throughout her body. And again Erica felt the dreamy bliss in her mouth as Lorraine's delicious mound jerked to a gentle rhythm beneath her lips, as Erica caressed and fondled her buttocks.
She discovered Lorraine hadn't exaggerated about training the girl. Wave after wave of sensual ecstasy shuddered through her loins as Marcia kissed her feverishly, her tongue a fiery barb, her lips searing and greedy.
Almost an hour passed before Erica rolled away, panting for breath, her loins tingling with a delicious glow. Lorraine sat up.
"More," Marcia pleaded to Lorraine, "I can't come, please do it some more... "
Lorraine sighed, and lit a cigarette.
"I think we've got a slight problem here," she told Erica. The girl was trembling and moaning deliriously.
"You can't bring her home like this," Erica said. Her fingers stroked Marcia's soft belly. "You and your Chinese elixirs," she murmured to Lorraine.
The agent shrugged. "She deserved it. I'm going to take a shower. Help her-if you can."
"I can," Erica said. "Come here, baby," she said to Marcia. She held the shivering girl in her arms as Lorraine left the room. Marcia's skin was like wet, silken fire.
"I'll lie down," Erica said, "and I want you to lie on top of me, but on your back."
It was the same position Lorraine had used with her the night before, and it was an exciting one. Erica lay down and the girl lay on top of her, her smooth back crushed to Erica's breasts, her ankles twined to Erica's.
While one hand stroked Marcia's belly, her other hand went to her thighs. She slid two fingers into the tight orifice and began a steady rhythm, feeling a strange bliss as the girl's hot body jerked on hers. She thrust her tongue in Marcia's ear, her other hand fondling a breast. She decided to use psychology in the form of suggestion: "Feels wonderful, doesn't it, baby," she whispered in her ear, "so good you're going to come, you're terribly hot and it's going to be delicious, so wonderful...
And narcissism: "You're beautiful, darling, you know that? You're really lovely, and I'd rather do this to you than anyone else in the world, because you're sweet, and your pussy is adorable and exciting... "
It worked.
Marcia issued a low scream of joy and shuddered convulsively, craning her neck around to bite Erica on the lips, her slippery cunt clamping in a frenzy on Erica's lunging fingers.
"I can't stop... coming," she gasped, "Oh, Erica, Erica, faster, darling, I love you, I love you... "
The girl's excitement was electrifying, and her words triggered a ripple of ecstasy in Erica's loins. For twenty minutes, Marcia moaned and twisted as Erica kept up the fast pace, soft thrills coursing through Erica's blood as the hot body wriggled with bliss on hers, as Lorraine returned and joined in. She sucked on the girl's breasts while Erica lunged her fingers deep, until, slowly, Marcia's wild trembling subsided.
"You did it," Lorraine said to Erica with a touch of envy. "I don't know how, but you did it, You're getting pretty good at this."
"A little psychology," Erica said, still holding the girl, kissing the tears on her cheek.
"We'd better get going," Lorraine said.
Erica sipped a drink, watching them dress. Marcia still looked dazed, but glowing and contented now. The girl shot Erica a grateful look from time to time. When Lorraine disappeared into the bathroom for a minute, Marcia came over to Erica and whispered in her ear: "I still love Lorraine, Erica, but I love you, too. Do you know what I mean?"
Erica smiled, stroking her buttocks.
"I know, sweetheart."
When they were ready to leave, Lorraine turned to the girl.
"Kiss Aunt Erica goodnight," she said dryly. "And then wait in the car for me."
Marcia gave Erica an affectionate, lingering kiss, and left. Lorraine sat on the bed, lighting a cigarette.
"She really likes you, Erica. You gave her a night to remember. Help yourself to her any time, but be damn careful to avoid her father. By the way, has the professor contacted you?"
"About my defection offer? Not yet."
"He probably won't. You frightened him. You also complicated matters enormously with that phony offer. When I talked to him in Hong Kong about my offer, he won't know who to believe."
"You're using the girl for leverage, anyway," Erica said. "Why were you angry with her tonight?"
She told Erica about the poem. "Do you see what I mean about being careful? She's only a child, too spoiled and too sheltered for her own good."
"I hate to think of her in Peking," Erica said grimly.
"Do you?" Lorraine said, and her eyes flickered in a way that filled Erica with uneasiness. "Don't let your emotions get in the way of business, Erica. That's rule number one for survival. You know that."
Erica closed her eyes. "It's a filthy fucking business. I want out."
Lorraine's voice was hard: "That's impossible right now. After Hong Kong, they'll let you out."
"A small villa on the coast of Portugal, or near Madrid," Erica said in a dreamy voice. "The sun is hot, and you feel lazy. There's no danger, no treachery, no death. Just girls, beautiful girls with dark eyes and soft skin, naked in the sun... "
"Yes," Lorraine said thoughtfully. "Yes. But first Hong Kong. Goodnight, Gypsy Virgin."
"Goodnight, Nitro Five."
The door closed and Erica switched off the lamp. She lay in the darkness, caressing her dream.
She slept.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Their first day in Hong Kong, Lorraine showed Erica the sights. They milled through incredibly thick crowds of people on the narrow streets, past endless bazaars, fish vendors, ceramic wares, jewelry, jade, silk, and above all, food.
"The Chinese philosophy toward food is beautiful and basic: If it moves, eat it. They eat constantly, work eighteen hours a day, and fornicate every night," Lorraine explained. "That's why you see so many people."
Erica pointed to a cage of live snakes.
"They eat that?"
"Of course. It's tough, but pungent and nourishing. They buy the food live whenever possible and slaughter it themselves. It's cheaper that way."
Erica's senses were assaulted by a gigantic din from the crowds, by the exotic smells and frantic pace, Rickshaws hurtled past, their coolies gaunt and indestructible. Lorraine took her to lunch at a small pier restaurant, and ordered in rapid Chinese. The food was strange and delicious.
"What did I eat?" Erica asked afterwards. "Pork, octopus and eel. Eel is considered a potency factor by Orientals."
Erica's eyes followed a delicate, lovely Chinese girl across the room.
"And," Lorraine added, smiling, "if it is, you don't need it, darling. I think I know what you need."
That night they shared a beautiful Chinese girl, in their hotel room on the mainland. She was fourteen, with delicate breasts and slim, almost boyish hips; Lorraine had procured her from a contact.
Before the girl undressed, Lorraine talked to her, putting her at ease. She'd lost her virginity at eleven to a German banker who paid her mother $500 for the privilege. He was a pig, the girl said in vehement Chinese, and she ran away from home the next day. She'd never had another man; she eventually found her way into the most sumptuous lesbian brothel in the colony, where her childlike beauty made her a favorite of wealthy, jaded Chinese matrons.
Her name, she said proudly, was Elizabeth. "And don't laugh," Lorraine warned Erica. "She calls herself that because she believes she'll be a queen when she grows up." Lorraine held the girl tenderly. "And who knows, she might. Never shatter a dream out of cruelty, Erica. Only necessity."
Those words would sting Erica's soul with bitterness in the next twenty-four hours.
Lorraine undressed the girl, fondling her gently. Naked she was breathtaking, with pure, poetic loveliness, part child, part woman, slender, and exquisite.
"Like a lotus blossom," Lorraine said, holding the girl on her lap and kissing her gently. Erica deferred to Lorraine's passion for Chinese girls, and simply watched for the first hour.
The night had none of the violence of their shattering session with Marcia. They savored the girl in turn, with a slow, sensual hunger, a dreamy probing of her vagina with lingering kisses, a gentle thrusting of fingers as each held her soft body tightly.
And Erica was surprised at the change in Lorraine. She was tender, almost motherly with the girl, giving her a series of thrilling orgasms with loving care, taking pains not to hurt her.
"She reminds me of Kim," Lorraine explained as they lay resting with the girl between them. "She's also the symbol of my sanity in those first years of training. She's the only warmth and security I knew... the rest was hell."
Lorraine and the girl talked in Chinese for a while, Lorraine laughing every so often.
"She's telling me about her customers in the brothel," Lorraine explained. "She says there's an old lady who visits her every week, who has a horror of germs, so she brings along a quart-size bottle of mouthwash. Some of her regulars bring their husbands with them, but only to watch. She also has a mother-daughter team who tried to adopt her."
"Sounds like an interesting family," Erica said, chuckling.
Erica showered with the girl, and the dreaminess of the affair was shattered under the warm spray as their slippery bodies came in contact. She assaulted the girl's thighs frantically, kneeling, savoring the girl's sharp moans of ecstasy, the tender flesh.
The night was a little too perfect.
The day moved swiftly.
Lorraine called Professor Phillips at his hotel and arranged to meet him that night. Then she wrote a note, and she and Erica took a taxi to the professor's hotel. In the lobby, Lorraine cornered a bellboy and talked to him for five minutes in Chinese. At the end of the conversation, he looked frightened. Lorraine handed him the note and a five-dollar bill.
Back in the taxi, she explained: "We can't call Marcia, obviously, because if the professor answers, he'll want to know who it is; she doesn't know anyone in Hong Kong. The same holds true if the others in his family answer, except Marcia. And I doubt if she can talk without the others hearing. I wrote her a note and gave the bellboy her room number and description. He'll slip it to her."
"Why did he look frightened?"
"Because he is. I want to make sure he just doesn't pocket the money and conveniently forget the note, so I mentioned the name of a tong-terrorist society to you-here. He'll deliver the note as if his life depends on it. And it does. Marcia will slip away from her family and take a taxi to our hotel tonight."
"You're taking her to the border tonight?"
"Yes."
As the day wore on, Erica felt a faint uneasiness. Lorraine was cold and distant. She made a series of phone calls, speaking Chinese. She answered Erica's questions in a curt manner. She was a machine now that her plans were moving swiftly to a climax, a precision machine that had no time for charm or warmth.
Once Erica caught the green eyes boring through her, as if she didn't exist, and she felt a sharp sense of danger.
But her curiosity persisted, and she continued to ask questions: "How will you get Marcia through the first border station?"
She referred to the non-Communist side, where, similar to the double barrier of East Berlin, large signs glared in English and Chinese: WARNING-YOU ARE NOW APPROACHING THE TERRITORY OF THE PEOPLE'S REPUBLIC OF CHINA.
"There is a small border station that allows direct access into China," Lorraine said tersely. "There is a trade agreement between China and Hong Kong, but you won't read about it in the papers."
"Will Kim be waiting for you there?"
Lorraine's eyes veiled over, and she said no more. They had a silent dinner in the hotel restaurant.
At ten to seven there was an impatient knocking on their door.
Marcia stood there, her face flushed with excitement, her wide eyes confused, sweeping from Lorraine to Erica.
"I thought you were in San Francisco... " Lorraine pulled her in the room and closed the door. She changed at once, like a chameleon, becoming warm, charming and magnetic.
"Our little darling," Lorraine said, hugging and kissing her. "You followed my instructions exactly?"
Marcia nodded, breathless.
"I told my parents I was going to the theater with a girl I'd met from the States, a girl whose father was here for the symposium. So they don't expect me back until ten. But what are you doing in Hong Kong-both of you?"
"We're here on vacation," Lorraine said. She stroked the girl affectionately as she talked.
"I know your father's a famous psychologist," Lorraine went on, "and when I heard about the international symposium, I called the hotels until I found Professor Phillips registered. Isn't it a lovely surprise?"
The innocent face nodded eagerly.
Lorraine picked up her purse. "I'm going to take you to meet some friends of mine, Marcia. Actors, here for a film being shot in Hong Kong."
The girl looked at Erica.
"Aren't you coming?"
"She has a date," Lorraine said.
With a lump in her throat, Erica stepped up to the girl and held her tightly.
"Remember me, sweetheart," she murmured.
Lorraine's eyes pierced Erica with warning. She took Marcia by the arm.
"Let's go, darling. We'll be late."
The door closed on Erica. She made herself a stiff drink and turned off the lights, sitting by the window in the darkness.
There were tears on her cheeks.
In the taxi, Lorraine held the girl's hand. Marcia looked out the window, at the glittering lights and endless streams of people. She squeezed Lorraine's hand.
"I was afraid I'd never see you again," Marcia said. "You didn't tell me you were coming to Hong Kong."
Lorraine smiled.
"Erica seemed... sad," the girl said. "Is something wrong?"
"Everything is perfect, baby."
The taxi stopped in front of a Buddhist temple. Lorraine paid the driver and they got out. Marcia followed her to a black sedan with the lights on.
There were two cold-faced Chinese men in the front seat.
Lorraine opened the back door.
"Get in, Marcia."
The girl hesitated, but when she saw the look on Lorraine's face, she quickly got in. Lorraine followed, and the sedan roared off.
Marcia's hands felt clammy. She held onto Lorraine's hand tightly.
"Is this another taxi, Lorraine? Where are the actors?"
One of the men turned around and stared at her, and Marcia felt suddenly faint with fear. Lorraine spoke sharply and the man turned back.
"You spoke Chinese!" Marcia said.
"So will you. Soon, darling."
The girl stared out the window, feeling strange and frightened. Lorraine lit a cigarette. They'd left the crowded city and were moving over a rough dirt road in darkness.
"I'm scared," Marcia whispered. "Lorraine, where are we going?"
"Don't be frightened, Marcia." Her voice was reassuring.
"You've always wanted to be an actress, and now you're going to have the chance. You're going to be a great actress, Marcia, but not in the cheap, superficial world of the stage. In the real world. And you're going to a very special school, an elite school where they'll teach you some remarkable skills. Not just acting; languages, psychology, seduction, execution. You're going to be a great woman, Marcia. I want you to study hard. Don't ever argue with your teachers and listen to them very carefully. Because your life will depend on it."
Marcia was sobbing. "I want to go home-" She reeled under a vicious, stinging slap.
"Pull yourself together, dammit!" Lorraine blazed. "All your life you've been overfed and coddled, a bourgeois brat shielded from life. Now you're going to really live, and if it hurts-and the pain will be unbelievable hell-it's for your ultimate good. The discipline will be terrible at first, but you need it."
The girl's face was huddled on Lorraine's lap, and her body shook with sobs. Lorraine sighed, and stroked Marcia's hair.
"I was a child once, too," she mused. "A million years ago. The day you were born I was eleven years old, but I wasn't able to cry. Soon you won't be able to cry, either."
She helped Marcia sit up and wiped the tears from her cheeks with a handkerchief.
"Will you-come with me?" Marcia gasped.
"I can't, baby. But your father will join you very soon." She glanced at her watch. "Within two hours, in fact. But not your mother and sisters-not if I know anything about your father."
The girl shook her head wildly.
"But I don't want to go, Lorraine-"
"But you must," Lorraine said gently, holding her. "That fact is immutable, Marcia. Accept it. Steel yourself. In the next few years, you'll wish for death many times, but you'll cling to life, you'll survive."
One of the men spoke. They were nearing a brightly lit area, the floodlights glaring on a small grey building and barbed wire. A half-dozen guards in brown uniforms with red armbands and machine guns watched tensely as the car pulled up.
Lorraine got out and flashed a green card with three red stars on it. She spoke to the guards in harsh, rapid Chinese. They quickly opened the huge mesh gate. The car waited outside the gate, its engine humming.
Lorraine reached in the back of the car and gently tugged at Marcia's hand.
"They won't hurt you, darling. I promise."
She got out, terror in her eyes. She winced under the blinding lights.
Lorraine held her.
"You won't see me again. Be brave."
She pushed the girl toward two guards. A scream escaped from her lips as they grabbed her, dragging her inside the gates. One of the guards slapped her, and Lorraine barked in Chinese. The guard shot Lorraine a look of fear, and they handled the girl more gently.
When the three of them disappeared into the grey building, Lorraine got back in the waiting car. She put Marcia's small purse in her own.
The car roared off back toward Hong Kong.
An hour later, Lorraine walked into the lobby of Professor Phillips' hotel. Her face was calm and assured as she entered the softly lit bar.
He stood by a booth, smiling, watching her approach.
Lorraine kissed him and they sat down. A Chinese waitress took their order, and he said: "When you said you were coming to Hong Kong, I didn't really believe you, so I can't tell you how delighted I am."
"Let's skip the laborious charm, Professor," she said, glancing at her watch. "I haven't much time, so I'll sum it up. Do you remember Erica Wilson, the woman in San Francisco who made you a defection offer?"
It took him a minute to recover from her sudden harsh manner.
"Yes, I remember her."
"And do you remember her terms, in detail?"
He gulped his drink nervously. "Yes."
"It was my offer. It still stands."
"What?"
"I am asking you to defect to Communist China. The terms are generous. Will you come over voluntarily?"
For a minute, he stared at her, frowning. Then he laughed.
"You must be joking, Lorraine, but I don't see-" Her voice was as cold and cutting as steel: "1 am not joking, Professor. Will you defect voluntarily?"
A look of alarm crossed his face.
"No. Of course not. Are you telling me you're a Communist spy?"
Her cool green eyes bored into his as she lit a cigarette.
"That's your final answer?"
"Yes. Do you think I'm a traitor? If I'd known for a minute-" She withdrew her hand from her purse and laid the small blue purse on the table.
"Recognize it, Professor?" His fingers shook as he picked it up, turning it over.
"This is my daughter's purse. What are you doing with it? Marcia must have left it... "
His voice trailed off and his face turned a ghastly white.
"Gullibility must run in the family," she said with contempt, sipping her drink. "Your daughter is a beautiful girl, Professor, but fatally innocent. Marcia is in China."
He shook his head. His voice trembled as he clutched the blue purse.
"You're lying. I saw Marcia, less than two hours ago. She went to a play with another girl, a friend... "
"What play, what friend? She met me at my hotel, as I instructed her. She is now over the border, and heavily guarded-"
"You're lying," he said hoarsely. "I don't know how you got her purse, but this is a trick-"
"Your thighs," Lorraine said softly, "Your soft thighs of honey, Your tongue... "
She finished the poem. The professor's face registered shock, and he suddenly looked very old.
"You," he whispered. "My God, she wrote the poem for... you." His eyes closed, and for a moment she thought he'd fainted.
"All that time you were having an affair with me," he said in a voice like death, "you were... you and Marcia... "
He was unable to go on.
"I was screwing your daughter," Lorraine finished for him in a crisp voice. "Marcia and I were having sexual relations, as they put it so quaintly in the textbooks, and she was enjoying it immensely." She smiled. "That's quite a little girl you've got, Professor."
Her cruelty was methodical and businesslike. He was deteriorating before her eyes, dazed with shock and unable to think clearly. He was a broken man. He sagged in the booth.
"And you're pure and righteous," she lashed. "Marcia is now in China. I'll give you exactly five minutes to make up your mind about defecting. You have one hour to join her. If you don't show up at the border station in an hour, your daughter will be punished accordingly. I've instructed the guards in detail. First, she will be subjected to mass rape. The guards are peasants, Professor, and they seldom see luscious white girls like Marcia. They can be very brutal. I know. They have an obsession for anal rape-a Mongoloid characteristic, I think-as well as the ordinary variety."
The professor's eyes shone with horror as the calm monologue continued: "She will be forced to commit other acts, which will make your concept of perversion seem like a healthy romp in the hay." Lorraine paused to sip her drink. "Physically, she might survive. But mentally, the effect on a sheltered girl like Marcia would be violent and traumatic. You're a psychologist, Professor. Use your imagination."
He watched her, crushed and shaking.
"Every minute you sit here, undecided," Lorraine said, glancing at her watch, "you bring her that much closer to danger. We're running out of time. I have a car waiting outside to take you to Marcia. And please don't try to call the police or the American Embassy. You'll only condemn her beyond hope. And you wouldn't do that to your little girl to play the superpatriot."
His eyes burned on his watch.
"You can bring the rest of your family, if you want," Lorraine added. "I don't think you will, though."
"I want to call my wife," he whispered.
She gestured to the house phone on the end of the bar.
"Hurry, Professor. Time... "
Her face was a study in contempt as she watched him hurry to the phone. For a man reputed to be one of the world's great psychologists, she thought with scorn, he was a rank amateur.
He was back in three minutes.
"Let's go," he said hoarsely.
"You're leaving the others here?"
"Do you think I'm fool enough to bring them with me? At least they'll be safe. I have no choice." His voice trembled with urgency. "Please, let's go."
He hovered beside her as she walked casually through the lobby. Outside, the black sedan pulled up as they descended the steps. He got in the back first, Lorraine following.
She spoke to the driver, and the car lurched into the traffic. The professor wrung his hands.
"She's only a child. God have mercy on your filthy, depraved soul. You used her like an animal-"
"But Professor, you used me like an animal. Odd how you forget."
"If I'd known what you were-cold-blooded, inhuman, a pervert-how could you do that to an innocent child?"
"Actually, it was easy. She's very impressionable and naive. Tell me, Professor," she said coldly, her eyes gleaming, "hasn't the idea of incest ever crossed your sanctimonious mind? Stolen across it like a thief, perhaps, while you held her in your arms or on your lap?"
"You're sick." He peered out the window anxiously. "Why are we still downtown? Why aren't we leaving? The time-"
"Be calm," she said. "They're dropping me off at my hotel first. They'll get you to the border in time."
He squirmed. Lorraine drummed her fingers on her purse, lost in thought. Suddenly he made a sound of rage and flung his hands at her throat. Her fingers tore like a wedge into his solar plexus with murderous force and he doubled over, gasping.
The Chinese man next to the driver whirled around, a gun in his hand. Lorraine snapped at him sharply and he put the gun away, watching the professor, who was desperately sucking air in his lungs.
"You have rotten control for a psychologist," Lorraine said dryly. "I could have killed you. Your knowledge of psychology is based on textbooks and tidy theories gotten from other tidy psychologists. Everything is on paper, neat and secure, so many statistical reactions for so many clinical situations." Her voice stung with contempt. "Do you have a reaction for this situation, Professor? Do you know what my knowledge of psychology is based on?" He made a soft sound of pain.
"Mine is based on rape, assassination, torture, fear, and practice. I learn from reality. You learned in the classroom. You are an amateur, insulated from life. But the Chinese will enlighten you. Believe me."
The car pulled up in front of her hotel.
She got out, and the man next to the driver got in back with the professor. She slammed the car door and had a final glimpse of the professor's face, numb with shock.
The car sped off.
In the lobby, Lorraine made a phone call, her Chinese harsh with authority. Then she took the elevator up to her floor. An amused smile played on her lips as she went to meet Erica.
She was going to put the final, artistically perfect stab of treachery in motion.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The room was dark.
Lorraine switched on the lights. Erica sat by the window with a drink in her hand, her face somber and her eyes moist.
"Is it over?" she said.
Lorraine nodded and kissed Erica's cheek. "Marcia is over and the professor is on his way. You look tired, darling. Depressed?"
Erica bit her lip.
"I don't care about the professor, but that girl, the look of trust and love on her face, all for you... she worshipped you, Lorraine."
"You can call me Vivian now. I'm almost free. Seventeen years, and I survived... "
"You're a legend," Erica said bitterly. "Vivian Marchand. The indestructible Nitro Five."
"Here, let me make you a fresh drink. We'll toast the future." She took Erica's glass and went over to the table and poured vodka. Her back was to Erica.
"I'm getting out," Erica said. "I've reached the end."
"Sometimes," Vivian said, "when we think it's the end, it's the beginning in disguise. Life is a cruel paradox. Here, darling."
They raised their glasses.
"To the future," Vivian said.
"To my dream," Erica said.
They drank. Vivian sat on the arm of Erica's chair, stroking her cheek absently.
"Seventeen years," she murmured. "Armies have marched over me. God, if he exists, laughed at me. I've burned in hell so many times, I am hell, incarnate. When most girls my age were trying out their first lipstick, I was being spat on, raped, defecated on, beaten, even used sexually by a dog for the titillation of my superiors. But I lived. And I didn't cry."
"Can you cry, Vivian?"
"No."
She stood up, glancing at her watch. "There's a car waiting outside, by now. Drink up. We're going to pick up Kim. And then I'll be free."
Erica gulped her drink down, and got her coat and purse. They walked toward the elevator.
"Will you visit me in Spain, when you get your first vacation?" Erica asked.
"We'll see."
On the elevator down, Erica's face paled.
"What's wrong?" Vivian asked, squeezing her hand.
"I feel faint. Dizzy."
The elevator doors opened onto the lobby. Vivian stepped forward, but Erica didn't move. She stared at Vivian.
"Why did you drug me?"
Vivian nodded at a squat, powerful Chinese man waiting outside the open doors. He moved in quickly, taking Erica's elbow with a viselike grip.
"Come on, darling," Vivian said gently. "Don't make a scene. He can stun you and carry you out if he has to. I want our last hour together to be pleasant."
Fear made Erica's knees tremble. They propelled her through the busy lobby, and down the steps to the curb. A heavy Chinese quickly opened the rear door of a black sedan, waiting. They pushed her into the back seat, Vivian on one side, the squat man on the other. There were two more Chinese in front.
The car gunned away from the curb.
"Good girl," Vivian said, patting Erica's hand. "You know a hopeless situation when you see it."
Erica's heart hammered as she looked at the three Chinese, then into Vivian's lustrous green eyes.
"Why?" she whispered.
Vivian lit two cigarettes and handed her one. The car lurched slightly as it almost hit a rickshaw. Vivian's voice was calm and pleasant.
"You've been given a sedative in your drink, to calm you, darling. We're not going to pick up Kim. We're not going to Washington together. We're not going anywhere together." Her tone was almost sad, Erica realized numbly.
"You're not defecting?" Erica said, dazed at the swiftness of the last two minutes.
"No, Erica. You are."
She stroked Erica's thighs with her fingertips, an affectionate caress.
"You're going to Peking, darling. Alone. We're running a regular caravan tonight," she chuckled. "First Marcia, then her father, and now you. You're a defector, Erica. And that's how you'll be classified in Washington-a traitor."
"Peking," Erica said in a thick voice.
"Yes. There you'll be put through an intensive indoctrination course that will make your past training seem childish. You'll be subjected to a new method of brainwashing that will make you a fervent lover of your new country. Every morning when you awaken, you will kiss Mao's feet in your imagination. You will be as dedicated a Chinese inside as these agents are. And if you work hard, and study diligently, why, someday you might just be as good as I am. And that, darling, is the very best."
They were on the outskirts of town, and the shacks were becoming fewer.
The first wave of a deep terror rippled through Erica's blood. Her body felt numb, useless.
"Why?" she whispered.
"Because I want out, Erica, and I'm getting out- thanks to you and your director. He helped. It was all arranged from the beginning, you see, with the cooperation of your people. We laid the bait very carefully, and you snapped at it. With the help of your own unit, we took your virginity, Gypsy Virgin." Vivian sighed. "We screwed you, in a royal manner. I hope you appreciate that."
The words pierced Erica's brain like hot barbs.
"I don't understand."
"All right, let me clarify it. The only way anyone ever gets out of the Chinese Special Corps is to buy their way out. The Chinese are not averse to making a profit, and they're shrewd traders. But we don't use money in this subtle game, darling. We use people- like you. Months ago a trade was arranged between my unit in Peking and your unit in Washington because, as you correctly pointed out, I'm slipping. I've had it. But I still have a certain value to your intelligence unit, obviously. So the Chinese are trading one beautiful, bisexual agent of superior ability-myself-for three valuable persons: One professor of behavioral psychology, an expert in ultrasonics; one lovely sixteen-year-old girl who will be trained as an agent and one experienced bisexual agent of promising potential-you, Erica."
Erica's lips moved with an effort.
"Arranged," she said. "All arranged."
"Yes." Vivian squeezed her hand. Her smile was warm. "The whole thing is like a Monopoly game, you see, but with people instead of property. As I said, darling, you have promising potential, but you have a long way to go, and a lot to learn. If you'd been a little more experienced, a little sharper, and a lot less hungry for me, you would have seen it coming. Passion is a destroyer, a blinder of intelligence. You'll learn."
Erica shook her head.
"It's crazy."
Vivian's laugh was pleasant. "Not at all, darling. You see, there is a balance of power in intelligence circles, just as in armies, as in cold wars and nuclear stockpiles. A lot of so-called defections are actually barter agreements, carried out this way between opposing powers. But your people didn't tell you that, did they? They let you believe you were the best, the elite, the upper echelon in agents. And all the time they were setting you up. You're second-rate, Erica. As long as I'm alive, I'm the best."
The car jolted over the dirt road. The darkness outside was total.
Vivian Marchand snapped an order in Chinese, and the car slowed down.
"I told the driver to take his time. I'm going to miss you, Gypsy Virgin, and I want to prolong our last moments together."
"Please, Vivian, don't... do this to me."
"I'm not doing anything that your people didn't agree to, Erica." Her voice was a gentle rebuke. "You were double-crossed every step of the way, betrayed by your own unit. Why do you think I was so easy to locate? We calculated in advance you would use the professor to make me come to you. You do have a cute modus operandi, but predictable. Why was I so quick to agree to defect? And why do you think they converted you to lesbianism in Baltimore? It wasn't just to get you in bed with me."
She pressed her thigh to Erica's, gently.
"That was a minor issue, although I enjoyed it tremendously. Your conversion wasn't an experiment, Erica. The technique was perfected for a far more important reason. Surely, you see it?"
Erica felt faint.
"No."
"You disappoint me," Vivian sighed. "You see, women are becoming increasingly important in world politics, and most of these women are aggressive, and consider themselves liberated. Many of them are bisexuals, in fact. They emulate the masculine drive for power, and they adopt the characteristics of the male. Of course, you can see the vital need here for lesbian agents."
"I... don't want to go to Peking, Vivian." Her voice broke. "I'm frightened."
"It's going to be hell," Vivian conceded, "but there are rewards. They'll keep you very happy sexually, Erica. They'll supply you with a wide variety of girls."
"You lied to me about Kim, too? Your lover?"
Vivian chuckled. "I love all girls, everywhere. You will too, someday."
In the distance, Erica saw a faint glimmer of light. Her body was shrouded in cold sweat.
There was no way back now.
"Can't you come with me?" Erica asked desperately. "Can't we work as a team?"
"I told you, darling, I'm buying out. You're part of my price. My own defection is actually an escape, you see. Your people are paying me $100,000 and giving me a new identity and passport, in return for detailed information on my intelligence unit, just as you'll give details about your unit to the Chinese. That way, everybody keeps up to date. Simple, isn't it? Only I'm retiring. And you're just beginning."
Erica closed her eyes. It was a nightmare, and she'd wake any second, wouldn't she?
"You might like to know my assassination technique," Vivian went on warmly. "They'll teach you to be an expert in it anyway, but if I keep talking it eases the pain, doesn't it, Gypsy Virgin?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"It's based on hypnotism, on posthypnotic suggestion. There are two nerves, on each side of the windpipe, here," she pressed gently on Erica's throat, "where if just the right pressure is exerted with the thumbs, the subject goes into a light, hypnotic sleep. The method is used by some stage hypnotists. At this point, you put your victim into a deep state of hypnosis through suggestion and command. You'll be given a thorough course in hypnosis. If your victim lives on the sixth or seventh floor of a building, it's easy-you leave them, preferably locked in their room, with the posthypnotic command that they will respond only to the telephone's ring, but will remain hypnotized."
The faint glimmer in the distance was growing steadily brighter. Erica trembled.
"Then," Vivian went on, "you call them from a distance on the phone, and induce a visual hallucination that their room is on fire, that the flames are leaping under the door, the room is thick with smoke. You must be vivid here. If one of their windows has a fire escape, note it in advance and tell them this window is jammed shut. The idea is to induce panic and terror. Got it so far?"
The darkness beyond the light seemed cold and bleak.
"I'm afraid," she whispered. "Afraid, Vivian."
"Fear will be a way of life for you soon," Vivian said calmly, "but someday you won't feel it any more. You won't feel anything, when that day comes. You will be on a plateau beyond suffering."
The Chinese driver spoke, and Vivian replied.
"As I was saying," she went on briskly, "you convince them they are trapped, that their life is in danger. You tell them there are firemen on the sidewalk below their window holding a net, that their only chance is to leap into the net. Your tone is urgent, your description vivid, so the hallucination is real to them. They leap- and nothing. Clever, isn't it? A man by the name of Kanussen killed his wife in Germany in 1933 with this technique. He invented it. Unfortunately, he drank, and he boasted, and it was the end of the perfect crime. Suicide or murder? The courts said murder."
The light came steadily closer, a beacon of terror.
"Why did our people let you kill Salamander?" Erica asked in a numb voice. She didn't really care if she talked, time would stand still.
"They didn't let me,. Vivian said. "They ordered me. Salamander was a double agent for KGB, an infiltrator into your unit. They wanted him executed. As for that poor, moronic photographer, Santell, that was a shame." Vivian sounded cheerful. "But he was expendable, and I am not. As for the technique, it needn't be confined to a high building; there are a variety of situations where you can induce suicide, poison, cardiac arrest through shock, and so on. My people consider the technique obsolete. They've already developed more effective methods, and the Americans will discover it on their own soon, anyway. So my side lost very little, you see. I'll teach your people the technique, take my defection money, and disappear."
The light was very bright now, stark and glaring. In its blinding center, Erica saw the mass rapes, the humiliation, beatings, torture, the brutish faces, the searing, thick agony piercing her buttocks, the scream that was hers, the dog- "Hold me, Vivian," she cried. "Please hold me."
Vivian held her tightly.
"Seventeen years," Vivian whispered. "I did it, Erica. You can do it. You'll survive. I'm sorry it has to be this way, but I earned my freedom. Now you must earn yours. Someday, if you survive, they might allow you to escape. Maybe we'll meet again... "
"Where?" Erica sobbed, "where?"
"In Spain, darling. I have this beautiful dream: I'm lying, naked, in the hot sun, on the patio of my villa, a small villa, secluded-"
"No!"
"... and there is a naked girl beside me, young, with tender skin like velvet, and shimmering hair, and the sun is delicious on our bodies-"
"No, my dream?"
"... and she's only the beginning. The days are lazy and the nights are long, and I swim and laugh, and I'm free-"
"No, no, no, my dream... " The car had stopped, and the squat Chinese was pulling on Erica's arm.
Vivian kissed her tenderly, her green eyes shining because she was brilliant, and beautiful, and ruthless, and she'd won.
The squat Chinese was pulling Erica out of the car, roughly, and the lights were blinding her eyes, but she stared desperately after the car as it turned back, twisting her head to see it as two guards pushed her through the open gates, her feet stumbling, and they stopped inside the border to close the gates.
And suddenly Erica didn't care that she'd been betrayed, that she was trapped and the cold black mountains ahead were a prison, that the high steel gates clanged shut and the red taillights were slipping away behind her as the guards pushed her along...
And the beatings and torture, the rapes and cruelty and pain, she would absorb them, accept them humbly, love them-yes, love them-but the terrible, unforgivable thing that brought tears of rage to her eyes, and strangled her breath and clawed at her sanity, and filled her heart with murder came boiling to the surface. She wrenched free of her guards and sprinted back to the gate, stumbling, clawing at it, burrowing her face wildly to the steel mesh, her eyes blazing on the tiny red lights far, far away, and it leaped from her throat, burst from her foam-flecked lips.
"Goddam you!" she screamed, "my dream, my dream, you stole my dreeeeeam... "
It took four guards to subdue her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was bitterly cold in Peking that winter, but warm and sunny in Madrid.