The more a civilization progresses, the more liberties there are available to those comprising it-at least that is the theory of our Western social democracies. With liberty comes freedom of expression ... and with freedom of expression comes freedom of choice. But freedom of choice (and there, as Polonius would say, is the rub!) brings with it responsibility. And responsibility entails restriction-albeit self-imposed! So the wheel comes full circle and the squirrel within it must start turning again....
Sartre and the Existentialists adhere to the maxim crystallized by Shakespeare as "This above all-to thine own self be true". And the better part of our present-day social mores rely to a greater or lesser extent on the precept that in the final reckoning Man is ultimately responsible for his own actions. But it has also been pointed out that "No man is an island" and
-more flippantly-that if a goldfish flicks his tail at the North Pole, then the ripples, no matter how faintly, will eventually be discernible at the South Pole. Man, therefore, may be responsible for his own actions ... but how is he to cope with their effect on others?
For no matter how valid an action may be in terms of the person who initiates it, that person has no absolute control over its repercussions or its effects on those surrounding him. This is nowhere truer than in the case of "enclosed" societies-minorities, for instance, and especially that largest minority of all: women.
Author Richard Danmark's provocative new novel provides a breathtaking illustration of this modem dilemma as it affects the later twentieth-century female. Sally Ann Hughes is young, beautiful, intelligent, and what it is now fashionable to call "involved"-. that is to say she has a well-developed social conscience and a mission. Sally Ann works for ' a privately financed community center bringing aid to those most in need of it. She is a free-thinking, liberated young woman whose energies and loyalties are wholly taken up by her work and her attachment to a promising young artist, Dean Garrett II, heir to a fortune and the good life ... if he behaves!
It is a moral slip on the part of Dean that plunges this modem American couple into an inferno of suspicion, doubt and anxiety from which there seems no possible escape. But it falls to Sally Ann to make the agonizing decision which may either lift them from the morass or ruin her lover's career, wreck her own, and set at naught the work of the center which to her means so much. And it isn't even as simple as that, for the Damoclean sword hanging over the girl's lovely head is double-edged: if she takes the step that may save them, she will unfailingly compromise her own principles and integrity, and lose her self-respect, perhaps even the self-respect of Dean.
Sally Ann's reaction to this gripping problem
-and the steps she is forced to take to deal with it-make A Wanton Young Niece a book with a peculiar relevance to the complexities of urban life today. The author's penetrating insight into the behavior of the human female under conditions of stress provides a psychological drama as spine-chilling as any suspense story. The story of Sally Ann's decision-and how it effectively alters the tenor of her life with Dean
-is a warning to all those who attempt to balance the chosen obligations of a career against the imposed incumbencies of a personal relationship ... and a salutary illustration of the fact that freedoms and privileges never come unaccompanied. It should be taken to heart by all those unaware that with the new rights come fresh responsibilities, more arduous obligations, and harder debts to pay.
-The Publishers
CHAPTER ONE
Dean Garrett slung the strap of his portable easel over his shoulder, picked up the weathered box containing his paintbrushes, oil-paint tubes, turpentine and rags, tucked a freshly stretched canvas under one arm, and took a final look around his small apartment before leaving for the two o'clock life class. Sally Ann was due back in town on the five-thirty plane, and she'd give him hell if the place was messed up tonight.
He chewed the last of the roast beef-on-pumpernickel sandwich he'd had for lunch, washed it down with beer, and tossed the beer-can into the trash bucket. It had been a good lunch, much tastier than the one they served in the art school cafeteria-but it only made him miss Sally Ann more. She'd been gone the best part of a week, visiting her folks in Nebraska, and he'd made the roast she'd cooked for him the night she left last until today. It had been delicious, like everything she made ... but somehow it had only made him miss her more!
He'd never realized until now how much he needed that chick! Not just in the normal way, like any two young people in love, but in an absolutely basic way: he needed her to give him strength to get through the day, to find the energy to finish a painting he should have completed weeks before, to give him a reason for putting on a clean shirt or changing his socks ... or keeping the apartment tidy! Christ, he needed the girl just to live! The week had seemed like a year, and five-thirty seemed like a week away still....
Nothing would please him better than to see Sally Ann Hughes come through the door at the top of the rickety stairway right now-all hundred and eighteen pounds of her, complete with that tawny, red-gold hair that hung down her back almost to the crack of her ass. Shit, how that girl could eat away at his brain! It was a good thing today was the last day he'd have to manage without her. With luck, she'd already be back here by the time he finished classes. But right now, it was almost time for the nude model to begin posing ... something that gave him reason, as a serious painter, to head back to the studio as quick as he could. He took a last look through the attic window at the Golden Gate Bridge in the afternoon sun, and then hurried down the stairs into the street.
He'd only gone half a block when he heard someone call his name, and he hesitated on the edge of the sidewalk, looking over his shoulder. Jim Kennedy, another art student and a fellow senior, was hurrying up with his long hair flying and his spotty face cracked open in a smile. "Dean!" he called. "Hey, Dean! Hold it a minute, willya?"
Dean halted with a puzzled frown. Kennedy wasn't one of his best friends. In fact he wasn't anybody's friend really. There was nothing wrong with the guy: it was just that he wasn't serious; not about art anyway. It was obvious that he was at school on his father's money ... and four years of art classes seemed an easier stint than chemistry or math or English lit. His lack of real interest showed in everything he touched. None of the teachers could stomach him-but like the other students, they put up with him because he seemed harmless. Dean was surprised that Kennedy even knew his name. "Hi, Jim," he said warily. "What's cooking?"
"Hi!" Kennedy said, suddenly very friendly and animated, not at all the anonymous nonentity that wandered around the halls looking for a way out of class. "Listen-you gotta minute? There's something I want to talk to you about."
"Sure, Jim. But make it quick. I have a class in a few minutes."
"This'll only take seconds, pal. And it may change your whole life," the boy said earnestly.
Dean raised his eyebrows. It was difficult to walk away from a conversation that began like that, however much you distrusted the talker. What was he going to come out with? A sure-fire offer for a set of used encyclopedias?
"I gotta tell you what I stumbled on," Kennedy said. "I talked to your girl Sally Ann a few times when she was waiting for you outside. You know, after classes and such. She mentioned once that you needed money...."
"Who doesn't?" Dean said. "But make it fast, Jim. I have to make that life class on time." Kennedy swallowed. "Well, Dean, it's like this: I know where you can spend the wildest night of your whole damned life-and still come home a hundred dollars richer! How does that grab you? It's legal too, and it's easy. There's nothing to it!"
Dean's curiosity was aroused. There was no denying he and Sally Ann needed money. His rent was due in a couple of weeks, his allowance was as usual overspent, and that meant going to his stepmother for a handout unless he could raise the loot himself. But he'd rather take a beating than face that cheap bitch again: the very thought of it turned his stomach! "Okay, Jim, don't stop there! Give, give!" he urged.
Kennedy grinned. "I thought that might catch your interest! Well ... there's this couple that live not far from the Nob Hill district. And-I'll make it short because you're in a hurry-the woman's a nympho. You know, one of those broads that needs a different guy every night of the week. She's around thirty-five, forty, and--"
"So?" Dean cut in swiftly. "What's in it for me? Make it fast, Jim. I should be in class right now."
"Okay, okay. Like I say, this woman's a nympho ... so while her old man's away, she pays guys to come in and fuck her at a century a throw! It's as simple as that: a hundred dollars for a few hours of the most unbelievable pussy you ever saw in your life! I tell you, pal, it's fantastic! And she ain't ugly either! Nossir, she's a damned fine looking piece for her age. You know, big tits, tight thighs and ass ... Man, you should see that ass!"
Dean was shaking his head. "Aw, come on, Jim! Are you out of your mind or something? What makes you think I'd fall for a weirdo deal like that? I'm not that hard up for bread ... or for a broad, either!"
"It's you that's out of your mind," Kennedy insisted. "It's the easiest hundred bucks you'd ever make, pal! Sally Ann told me you could use the loot. What could you lose?"
"Uh-uh." Dean shook his head again. "I'd never do something like that, Jim. It's just not me. Some old broad with hot pants wouldn't turn me on: I wouldn't be able to throw it to her however much she paid me!"
"But wait'll you see her! Man, those titties! And such a sweet ass! She's too much, I'm telling you! You'd want to fuck her even if she wasn't paying!"
Suddenly Dean frowned. "Why me, Jim?" he asked levelly. "Why tell me all this? There must be a hundred guys in school who need money as bad as I do. Why me?"
Kennedy's spotty face reddened slightly. For the first time since he began his pitch he seemed a trifle hesitant. "Uh-well, to tell the truth, you're not the only one I've put on to this, Dean pal," he said with an embarrassed grin. "There's been others. It was just that-uh-seeing you reminded me of what your girl friend had said about needing money ... and I figured you'd be a natural for it."
"Well, thanks, but it's strictly not for me."
The long-haired student grabbed his arm as he started away. "Okay-but think about it. Look, in case you change your mind, here's the number you call. Just call and give them my name. That's all you have to do: they take care of the rest. I'm telling you, friend, you won't be sorry!"
Dean thanked him again and stuck the card with the telephone number on it in the pocket of his windbreaker. It wouldn't be seen again for two weeks ... but it wasn't going to be forgotten as easily as Dean thought. That small 3x5 card was to play a bigger part in his life than the young art student could ever have dreamed....
Dean hurried on down the street toward the studios, a tall, muscular young man with dark hair and a lean lithe figure, outwardly no different from the thousands of other students in San Francisco. But in fact there was one great difference that put him apart from all other students, all other artists and all other young men in the city-unless those young men happened to be worth three-quarters of a million dollars in hard cash. For that was what Dean Grantham Garrett II was due to come into on his twenty-fifth birthday in a few weeks time!
Not a sum to be lightly brushed off, even by Dean, who was slightly less than infatuated with the capitalist system that had allowed his father, Dean Grantham Garrett I, to amass several times that much money in the lumber business on the shores of the Great Lakes.
He'd often thought of refusing the money, just to get even with his father's ghost, but Sally Ann had talked him out of that. It was great to have principles, she said-but principles would hardly pay the rent, and artists were not notorious for being the best credit risks around! Nevertheless, Dean would have given up the inheritance long ago if it had not been for her, mainly because he would never forgive his father for the conditions attached to it in his will. The old man wasn't content just to leave three-quarters of a million to his son and heir; he had to be as sure as he could that the boy would turn into something more than the deadbeat and drop-out he expected a painter to be. So although Dean Senior had been dead over five years, his presence was something the boy felt every day of his life. The old bastard was rotting in his grave-but his son was forced to pattern his every move according to the father's wishes. Otherwise the money went to Dolly, old Garrett's second wife, twenty-five when he married her at sixty-two and a former bubble-dancer from Abilene, Texas. Dolly had come on to the old man like a bitch in heat when some crony of his father's had wheeled the buzzard backstage at the Las Vegas clip joint where she worked. But Dean Senior was either too old or too dumb to see it, or maybe he just didn't care.
Anyway, Dolly was left with enough to keep her rich and happy for the rest of her life when he died ... except that she wasn't exactly one for thrift. She'd zipped through that fortune like there was no tomorrow; apartments in Rome and Paris, Mediterranean villas and powerboats, ski lodges in Colorado, first-class airline trips anywhere and everywhere-and with them the new cars, furs, jewelry, anything that cost big money. So now it was all gone, or most of it, and Dolly was left with just her Malibu apartment and her six-foot-two-inch houseman, Luis, to keep her mind off her grief. Unless of course she could get her hands on that three-quarters of a million left to young Dean....
To qualify for it, the boy had to stay on the straight and narrow long enough to satisfy the trustees at Lakeside Consolidated-the men entrusted with the decision on Dean's inheritance, those empowered with the authority to determine if on his twenty-fifth birthday he had "honored the terms of this testament by completing an accredited four year university or college syllabus, further shown himself to be a worthy citizen, free of moral turpitude and remained single until that date."
Dean had just squeaked in with his art school: only by the widest interpretation of the terms of the will and a bit of point-stretching by the trustees, did it qualify as an accredited syllabus under those conditions. But they had agreed to it ... and now only his graduation and the little matter of keeping his nose clean stood between him and all that money, all those future years in which he could pain, travel, do anything he wanted. Which was why graduation was just a little too close for comfort right now!
With Sally Ann around most of the time, the boy could feel the pressure-so much so that sometimes it seemed almost as though each day took him further away rather than closer to what had been promised him. His final exams were six weeks away, his birthday just a month later.
It should have been the home stretch ... but unknown to the enthusiastic young artist, the running was only just beginning....
CHAPTER TWO
Sally Ann had been back in San Francisco two weeks. She finished doing the dishes in Dean's tiny kitchen and wandered through into the living room, fluffing her red-gold hair with her hand. Dean had put a stack of Pink Floyd albums on the stereo and was sprawled on the pile of brightly colored cushions that served as a sofa. As she came through the doorway, he held up the last half-inch of a thick marijuana joint he'd rolled before leaving the table. He remembered suddenly that he'd promised her the last few drags what seemed like hours-but was really only a few minutes-ago.
"I thought you must have forgotten, honey ... and forgotten me, too," she said in that incredibly soft voice of hers. Beneath the small dishwashing apron she was wearing tights and a black leotard she used for the ballet exercises that kept her in such good shape. Dean loved the outfit and was happy for her to go through her workout at his apartment, though it was something Sally Ann usually reserved for her own apartment where she was free of distractions ... especially distractions like Dean's hands roving all over her while she was concentrating on dancing.
"I almost did," he confessed now. "Forgot, I mean. This is incredible grass! I'm stoned out of my skull on just this one joint! The guy I bought it from said it was part of a consignment the last lot of GI's brought back from Vietnam. Jesus. I don't see how they could have seen the Viet Cong, much less fought 'em!"
Sally Ann smiled contentedly. She liked to see her man happy. And he was happiest when he was stoned on grass. Not the hard stuff. Not even speed. Dean didn't want to know about that kind of high. But grass wasn't in the same class ... it was just, Sally Ann felt, a little something to take the edge off, no better and no worse than the martinis half the men in America drank as soon as they left their offices. She took the joint from his unsteady fingers and filled her lungs with a long steady pull that she could feel right away in the center of her brain. He was right-it was strong stuff indeed!
She untied her apron, hung it up and dropped onto the cushions beside Dean. As she took another puff of the joint and then passed him the tiny remnant, suddenly she felt very close to him, very warm and needed. An aching for him suddenly rose from nothing into a crescendo of desire. And all she had to do was look at him; that simple act was enough. Stubbing out the cigarette, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her down to him.
Dean's lips locked on hers, his tongue probing the moistness of her willing mouth, his teeth rubbing hard against hers in the firmness of their intense embrace. Sally Ann's response was swift and pointed: her own tongue snaked between his teeth, pushing hard into his mouth. Her arms clamped together behind his back. Their mutual passions arrived quickly and fiercely: in an instant they were grinding together on the cushions, breath coming fast, bodies aching to touch, to rub lasciviously together without the encumbrance of clothing between them. Both of them yearned suddenly to be naked, to possess each other totally in a blinding rage of passion. Sally Ann tried to slow herself down, to ease her frantic impatience just a little, but it was useless: Dean's mere touch always made her burn this way! Just the feel of his masculine hardness on her smooth soft flesh sent rippling chills of desire through her entire frame. Her nipples were already taut and firm; she could feel them tenderly jutting against the stretched fabric of her leotard. The thin garment felt all at once very tight and restrictive; she yearned for Dean's fingers to strip it from her eagerly awaiting body.
Locked together as though in combat, the two of them rolled back and forth on the pillows. The boy's lips left the sweetness of her mouth and traced a path of warm wet kisses across her cheek to her neck as his hand crept up the long smooth length of her thigh, still sheathed in the black exercise tights. Teasingly, fully aware of her gnawing passion, he eased his fingers closer to the soft cleft mound between her trim thighs. She was moaning audibly now, barely able to breathe, her senses alive, explosive with animal lust, every pore of her young body tingling. Just the electric briefness of his touch on her aroused flesh was enough to drive her insane!
Dean gripped the tight elastic material of her leotard at the curve of her shoulder, hooked the thin stuff in his fingers, and slowly peeled the clinging garment down her trembling body. The fabric stretched first over the left shoulder and then the right as she sat still, her breath coming in fast, heaving swallows, waiting for his magic touch to strip her naked, leave her totally vulnerable, unguarded and eager before his eyes, completely surrendered to his wanton desires ... and her own. The leotard was now creased across the unblemished ivory smoothness of the trembling redhead's chest. Just at the top edge, where it still concealed the treasures of her youthful body, he could see the twin blossoming swells of her proudly rounded breasts. His fingers touched the deep tempting cleavage between them, and she shivered in anticipation and excitement at the sensation. Then they probed downward into the soft warm furrow between her breasts, between the soft heaving mounds.
A moment later, his eyes eagerly awaiting the revelation of her ripe full nakedness, Dean closed his hand over the bunched up neckline and tugged downward. The leotard slipped easily over her softly yielding breasts, down over the smooth flat expanse of her belly, to halt at the swelling curve of her hips. Sally Ann's breasts sprang free of the restraining material, the rosebud nipples crinkling at the first rush of cool air across her satin skin. The excited young artist caressed each naked swell in turn with the palms of his hands, pausing as a cold wicked chill of desire raced down the girl's bare spine to the moist warm furrow between her still-clothed thighs.
"Darling," she panted. "Oh, darling Dean-strip me naked! I want to be naked for you now! Hurry, darling! Hurry!"
Her eyes were closed, her lips dry now with growing eagerness. She sat motionless, her teeth visible a little between parted lips as he grabbed the leotard again, and with it the waistband of her dark tights, yanking them both down over the flaring curve of her luscious hips.
The first wispy traces of tawny pubic hair came into view at the base of her belly. He tugged again and the fluffy, mounded "vee" was his. Sally Ann lifted herself to accommodate him, and he pulled the two garments strongly from her long slender legs. She kicked them free of her ankles with a shrug of her calves-and then she was totally naked, all five-feet-six inches of glowing young womanhood sprawled invitingly, temptingly over the multi-colored heap of pillows on his floor! Cupping her eagerly heaving breasts in her own palms, she lifted them like ripe fruit and offered the twin pink nipples to her lover.
"Hurry, Dean honey!" she urged again. "I can't stand the suspense much longer! ... Hurry!"
As midnight chimed out from some clock in the neighborhood, a chill seeped through the apartment from the night air outside the open window. Another night Dean would have noticed the cold, would have kept his sweater on and maybe donned athletic socks against the coolness of the wood floor. But not tonight. Tonight his jeans and shorts were strewn with his shirt and shoes on the worn and faded oriental rug he'd taken from his father's study before Dolly looted the place and sold everything of value. Tonight everything was a cocoon of warmth and tenderness where he and Sally Ann lay almost lost in the mountain of pillows serving as a sofa. Only the arched swell of a clenched muscular buttock could be seen above the cushions, and a pair of trim, deliciously tapered calves that were locked across the hollow of a strong male back....
Sally Ann was stretched naked beneath Dean's weight, her breasts crushed under the hard pectorals of his chest, her moist hungry lips grappling in fierce combat with his. her probing tongue worming between his teeth as their naked bodies ground together on the floor. The aroused young redhead was burning alive, her burnished hair fanned out wildly on the cushions, every taut-strained fiber of her young body afire from the agonizing inferno raging deep in her nakedly quivering belly. Her loins were searing hot, the soft flesh of her vagina trembling with the scalding maelstrom that swirled insanely through her, a seething cauldron of savage undiluted lust that threatened to spill over and consume her with its intensity.
Her buttocks were uplifted, her long supple legs twisted frenziedly together behind Dean's back. Between the warm, now moistly soft flesh of her inner thighs, her boyfriend's long, .desire-hardened cock lay nestled in the damp hair-fringed crevice of her cunt, waiting only for the quick delicious flick of his loins that would sink it wetly between the yielding resilient lips of her eager young pussy. She kissed him again and again, biting his lips, sucking his tongue into her own hungry mouth, urging him on. "Please, darling, please! ... Now! Now!" she pleaded, her voice a whimper, soft, tender and demanding.
He rocked off her for a second, lifting his weight from her nakedly squirming body. Sally Ann reacted to the cue at once, reaching down between their bellies with a sudden movement to grab the hard pulsating length of his penis with her small hand. Her fingers wrapped around the lust-bloated shaft and aimed it deftly, perfectly. She shivered from the tips of her bare curled toes to the wispy hairs on the back of her neck at the feel of its hotly rounded head against her naked waiting cunt. Then the blood-engorged glans brushed between her pussy-lips, parting the softly curling pubic hair and sliding into her cunt with a lewd wet sucking sound as she ravenously pulled him into her. "Oh yes, Dean honey ... it's in, my love," she breathed ecstatically. "It's in, darling! Push hard, now, now...."
They lay still long after it was over, his heavy weight miraculously unnoticed as they remained entwined after their frantic lovemaking. Their two bodies were sweat-soaked from sensual exertion, and the chill of the night air was beginning to make itself felt on their naked skin. In the hallway outside, somebody was leaving. From the padding and shuffling sounds accompanying the footsteps, Dean knew it must be the Roberts' from across the way, taking their aged, rheumatic Airedale for his nightly walk around the block.
Sally Ann wondered if they had heard her cries, if they had been opening their door, standing in the hallway, when she screamed with delight at the peak of her orgasm. But it didn't matter really. Surely the Roberts' would know nobody at the Lakeside Consolidated Bank at Port Arthur? For she realized only too well that Dean could never be too careful about having her around. Just the mention of a woman in his apartment at odd hours-to say nothing of the ' unmistakable cries and moans that signaled her presence only too often-was enough to make Dolly Garret a very rich woman again! Those aging directors of the bank would undeniably rule that fornication outside marriage constituted "moral turpitude" ... and would thus be enough to void her lover's qualification for his father's legacy!
The two of them had talked about it often enough ... about how dangerous it could be for Sally Ann even to be seen coming out of Dean's apartment unchaperoned. But staying apart had proved too difficult for them. They'd tried it once, tried to limit their meetings to afternoons in the park or early evenings in the library. The experiment had lasted all of one week, and now they simply trusted to their luck, trustees or no trustees.
The sound of the Roberts' footsteps died away. The street door of the building slammed.
The satiated young girl lifted her head. There was very little traffic in the street now. It must be long after midnight ... time to start getting dressed, for there was a long drive ahead of her if Dean was to get her home in time to have a good night's sleep. She nudged the young man with her elbow. He murmured something incoherent and kissed her softly on one breast. A shiver of left-over desire rippled down into the young redhead's belly and stimulated the wish for another bout of lovemaking. But this time reason prevailed.
"Dean ... darling, it's getting late," she whispered. "I have a lot to do in the morning, and I have to get some sleep. You know I'd stay all night if I could ... but it's impossible. So will you get up and get some clothes on please? Or do you want me to take the bus? I don't mind at all if you'd rather--"
"Of course I'll drive you home," Dean interrupted. "Don't be ridiculous! Just fix me a cup of coffee and I'll be ready before the water boils."
"Anything you way." Sally Ann extricated herself from beneath his muscular body and hurried naked into the kitchen. She had spooned instant coffee into the cups of boiling water and was shivering her way into her leotard and tights when Dean's voice came from the other room. "Say, honey-do you have any money on you?"
Sally Ann looked in the change pocket of her purse. "Sure about eighty-five cents. Why, darling?"
There was a wry laugh from the living room. "Not that kind of money, baby. I mean real money. The rent was due today and I guess I have about ten dollars to my name."
"Dean!" His girl friend appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the light with her hands on her bare hips, still holding the clothes she hadn't yet put on. "Ten dollars? What happened to your allowance check? Surely you haven't spent that money already?"
"Well...." His voice sounded sheepish, a seven year old who'd lost his lunch money. "I bought a wide angle lens for my camera. I thought I'd be able to see Dolly and borrow some when the rent was due. She never seems to mind; I guess she figures she'll get it all soon enough anyway. But she's away on a trip. Not due home until the day after tomorrow ... and even then I'm not certain she'd let me have it. It all depends on whether that hired man of hers has had a good hard-on recently."
"Darling, you don't make sense," Sally Ann said severely. "First you say she never minds lending you money ... then you say she might not! Anyway you shouldn't say things like that; you don't know she and Luis make it together. That's just gossip! "
"Okay, okay." Dean rolled off the cushions and stood up, stretching his arms above his head. "You could be right. But that doesn't solve my problem: I still have to have another hundred and ten bucks by tomorrow. You know that bastard from the realtor's; he'll be here before the sun comes up with his hand out. And this time I won't be able to stall him. I tried it last month and it worked ... but he said he'd never fall for it again."
"Isn't there anyone you could borrow that amount from? What about those men at the bank? Surely they'd advance you a small bit like that?"
Dean laughed. "Are you kidding? You think I'd give those old skinflints the satisfaction of knowing I'd squandered my rent money? They'd never let me forget it. It's just the kind of thing my old man was against."
"But ... darling, surely there must be some way to get the money?" Sally Ann brought in the coffee and shrugged into her leotard. Dean, she noticed, was still naked. Punctuality had never been one of his vices! "Can't you locate Dolly? She must have left a forwarding address or something. Maybe if you got hold of her she could transfer money to your bank."
He shook his head and moved like a sleepwalker toward the fiberboard wardrobe that served as the apartment's only closet, riffling through a succession of slightly soiled shirts on a hanger until he found one thick enough to combat the unseasonable chill of the night air. He was thrusting his arm into the sleeve of his windbreaker when he noticed the slip of pasteboard sticking out of the breast pocket. Pulling it out, he read the scrawled legend on it ... and then burst into a fit of laughter.
Sally Ann watched him, her eyebrows raised in puzzlement. "What is it? What's so funny?"
"Sure," Dean said, still laughing. "It's just that I found it kind of hilarious . ,. coming on this note when I'm so stuck for bread. It's a sure-fire way of making a hundred bucks. Maybe I ought to do it, at that!"
"Do what? What on earth are you talking about?" Her voice was showing traces of annoyance. Sally Ann hated secrets, and sometimes-to tease her-Dean would deliberately withhold things from her.
She compressed her lips and tossed her head, her red-gold hair swaying angrily from side to side as he reread the crumpled card, his mind away on a trip of its own. Dean shook his head. What a helluva time to find this, the card he'd stuffed in his pocket over two weeks ago after his chance encounter with Jim Kennedy! He'd planned to drop it into the first trash basket he passed, but it had slipped his mind. With exams on the way, he'd not even had time to think about the Kennedy boy's incredible story.
"It's a way to get the money, sweetheart," he said at last, coming back to earth to see his girl friend frowning at him in mock fury. "Just like you said. Come on now ... can I do it? Would you mind? Will you let me?" He was teasing her again. "How about it, Sally Ann? What'd you say?"
"Since you know very well I don't have an idea what you're talking about, Dean Garrett," she replied angrily, "how can I possibly answer you? You're just doing this to annoy me! Anyway, this ...-whatever-it-is: is it legal?
Could you get into trouble? You can tell me that much, can't you?"
He walked quickly across the room and put an arm around her still-naked shoulders. "Don't get mad at me, Sal," he said contritely. "It's perfectly legal-or at least I think it is." He pulled on a pair of jeans and then flopped onto the cushions again, balancing his mug of coffee on one knee. "Look, seriously, I wouldn't want to do this without your being in on it. You better stay a few more minutes while we talk it over." He patted the cushions beside him and added: "And come down here with me: you'd better be sitting when you hear what I have to say...!"
CHAPTER THREE
Dean Garrett stopped in front of the once-elegant town house and surveyed the peeling facade. It was hardly the plush surroundings he had envisioned from the amount of money he expected to earn, but it wasn't a cheap place either. It was a three-story house with an apartment on each floor. He rang the bell for number three, on the top floor, noticing that it was the only buzzer without a name tag. Glancing at his watch, a present from his mother shortly before the stroke which had killed her, he saw that he was on time: nine o'clock, just as the man had said when he phoned.
The voice over the receiver had been pleasant enough. The man gave no name, but he had seemed agreeably surprised, almost delighted, when Dean gave his own, as if somehow the call had been expected. Dean had nervously run over the story of his chance meeting with Kennedy, adding that he really needed a hundred dollars and that his friend had said he could maybe earn it in a hurry here. He'd been scared to say more over the phone, for although he had decided, with Sally Ann's reluctant permission, to go through with it, he was still prey to a nagging fear that the whole thing might be some kind of practical joke, and that maybe the unidentified voice belonged to a priest or a cop or God knew what. But it didn't seem to be a joke. At least the man appeared to accept immediately what Dean was afraid to say out loud, and within a few sentences everything was arranged. Dean had tried all day to get hold of Jim Kennedy, to gain a few last minute pointers, but the boy was not to be found: he'd been skipping classes all week and even his friends had no idea where he was. So Dean was left to face his ordeal unbriefed.
The buzzer sounded, unnervingly loud in the silence of the quiet quarter, and he pushed open the door. Inside, illuminated by a single candle-shaped bulb, a dark-paneled hallway led to a flight of stairs covered by an ancient red carpet that was worn clear through to the wood on each tread. His heart thumping in his chest, the young artist climbed to the third floor.
The one door on the narrow landing was r standing ajar, and a thin beam of light spilled out across the opposite wall. From inside, there came faintly the tinny sound of old-time jazz, the kind of noise made by ancient phonograph records when they were played with a steel needle. Dean knocked softly on the polished wood and pushed the door open.
The room inside was long and narrow, with a fireplace opposite the door flanked by two tall windows looking out on a garden full of trees. Two of the walls were almost completely covered with faded prints, old photos and framed newspaper clippings. The furniture was old too, though obviously it had once been expensive-bulky pieces that would have dominated a modern room but seemed in this atmosphere of decayed grandeur to melt into the background and simply add to the genteel nostalgia of the whole building. The music was coming from an old floor-model victrola behind a huge tasseled sofa. Dean was still staring around when an inner door opened behind him and a deep, husky voice murmured: "Good evening, you must be Dean Garrett."
He swung around, momentarily startled, to see a woman standing in the open doorway leading to a bedroom. She was a tall, well-built brunette with an erect carriage-a big woman, L full-breasted and broad-hipped, who somehow contrived to avoid looking heavy. She was wearing violet lounging pajamas printed with an abstract pattern in black, which gave her a curiously modem aura in this mausoleum of a room. Her hair was rich and glossy, falling in a brown cascade to her shoulders, and her eyes were large, dark and worldly. But it was her lips that immediately caught the young man's attention. They were full, dark red, and lasciviously pouting, hinting at first glance at a well of sensuous passion. Dean recalled Jim Kennedy's enthusiastic remarks about how fantastic she was in bed, and even as he wondered how many hundred dollars the boy had already earned for himself, he could feel an aching hardness coming on, a rising stiffness thrusting against his jeans. Christ, Jim was right: she was beautiful! It was the first time in his life that he had been attracted by an older woman, but this one ... she was too much!
"You don't have to spend the night in the doorway, Dean," the woman said in her deep, suggestive voice. "Come on in. I won't bite you-at least not where it would hurt!"
He felt himself blushing and hated himself for his immaturity. With this broad he wanted to be a man of the world, a suave ladies' man, but somehow he felt more like an adolescent on his very first heavy date, like maybe he was fifteen again and had just managed to make it with the wildest sophomore in the school. He knew at once that this woman could teach him more about lovemaking than he'd ever known; there was a look of savage, unbridled passion on her face that promised the revelation of a storehouse of lust and desire, only a sample of which showed on the surface. Already he felt almost awed, just being this close to her magnetic presence.
"Would you care for a drink, young man ... something to bolster up your courage maybe?" she asked with a lazy mocking smile. Dean could feel the twist of the knife behind the words, and he reddened even more. Dammit, could she read his thoughts that easily?
"No thanks," he replied huskily. "I don't think I'll be needing one. But go on ahead if you need one." From her quick grin, he knew that he'd made the right approach. She appreciated a little daring in her men. He sensed that he'd already begun to make the grade. But the real test was yet to come....
"Come sit here beside me and tell me about yourself," she said, sinking gracefully to the sofa and patting the cushion to her left. Still suffused with confidence, he opened his mouth to speak, but she silenced him with an uplifted finger and rose again to turn off the Victrola and switch on something more modem-a complete stereo component set was concealed in the base of the old mahogany machine. She settled back beside him, noticeably closer this time. Even through the denim of his jeans and the silk of her pajamas he could feel the incredible hot pulse of her thigh.
"There's not too much to tell," he said in reply to her invitation. "You know my name. I'm an artist-or rather an art student. And like I said, I need money, fast. My rent's past due and ... well, Jim, he said something about making money here, and...." His voice trailed away as her hand touched his thigh ... just an inch below the swelling bulge pushing out the fly of his jeans. A lump rose thick in his throat, so that he wondered if the words could get past it when he tried to speak again. "I-uh-I guess maybe I'll take you up on that drink after all," he mumbled. "Could I ... could I fix one for you, too?" He jumped to his feet ... and then realized that he had no idea where the liquor was to be found in this apartment.
She was smiling again, her lids half lowered as she regarded him with her all-knowing stare.
'The booze is in that cabinet over there." She pointed to a pair of doors topping a glass-fronted bookcase. "And there's ice in a wooden bucket by the sink in the kitchen. First door on the right down the hallway." As he fumbled open the cabinet, she added in an amused tone: "I'll take Scotch, very little ice, no water. And, in case you're interested-my name's Maureen. Maureen Rimmer."
Dean returned with the drinks ... and stopped dead in his tracks. Maureen was standing by the sofa with the top of the lounging pajamas unbuttoned in an ever-widening "vee" to her navel. Beneath the gaping edge he could see the firm, ripely swelling mounds of her magnificent breasts. With a big, inviting smile, she stripped the top of the one-piece outfit down from her shoulders and along her arms. Then, shrugging her hips from side to side, she allowed the silken garment to fall in a pool around her ankles and stood breathtakingly naked before him except for a wide-angle brassiere and a pair of black nylon panties tightly sheathing her loins. With a teasing mock-shyness, she turned away from him and bent down to pick up the pajamas ... and Dean caught his breath as he was presented with an unimpeded view of the full moon-shaped curve of her buttocks, with the tiny concealing strip of the black panties creased tightly in the narrow cleft between them. He was agonizingly aware of the bulge in his pants as she walked away from him to fold the garment over the back of a chair, her ass-cheeks jiggling enticingly as she moved. Jim's description of this woman had certainly been correct ... as far as it went. But he'd fallen far short of doing her charms justice. There was more female here than most men dreamed of, Dean thought excitedly; and she was going to be his for tonight! Hell, just the thought was enough to give him such a hard-on that he doubted if he could keep it in his pants!
Maureen continued her almost offhand strip, as unashamedly as if she took off her clothes every day in front of a man she'd never met before. Then it dawned on the boy that she probably did, if she was really the nympho Jim had described. He wondered what her husband was like ... what it would be like being married to a woman like this. Glancing down, he saw that he had already finished his first drink and was still holding hers in his hand. He placed the glass on an end table by the sofa and poured himself another, diluting it with a mound of crushed ice. She was sitting on the sofa now, the lushly swelling mounds of her breasts barely contained by the twin satin cups of her black brassiere. The panties had narrowed from her movements into an inch-wide strip hiding only the furrow of her pussy, and once as she leaned sideways to reach behind her for the brassiere clasp, he thought he caught a glimpse of the moist pink hair-lined slit amongst the dark curls showing on either side of the flimsy nylon.
Her knees demurely together now, Maureen reached around in back of her and unhooked the elastic brassiere strap. With both hands cupping the mature fullness of her breasts, she pulled the restraining cups away, allowing the firm fleshy mounds to sag just a little as they left the support of the foundation. His eyes locked on the two dark circles of her areolas, with the bud-like nipples peaked out in the center of each crinkled halo. As she saw him look, she licked a finger with the tip of her tongue and then lovingly moistened the tiny shafts of dark flesh until they pulsed and grew hard. Dean thought he could detect a shiver of arousal as she squirmed under her own delicate touch.
He transferred his gaze down between her thighs, and slowly, provocatively, she shifted her legs a little apart, offering him a better view of the thin, fleshy slit only partly hidden by her panty crotchband. He felt he should be embarrassed, ashamed to be gazing so openly at the treasures of this stranger's flesh. But there was only the feeling of incredible warmth and desire burning painfully in his cock, a gnawing passion for this older woman, this magnificent female, a hunger he had never felt before, even for Sally Ann. Something newly unearthed, some potent self-realization that had lain dormant all these years, seemed suddenly to be seizing him, to be taking control. Sure, he loved Sally Ann, loved her more than anything or anyone on earth, but this total, undiluted woman seemed in induce in him a glow of powerful manhood and self-confidence that he'd never experienced in any of his sexual exploits with Sally Ann or other girls his own age. He knew, he could sense, that this night of lovemaking with this mature woman would alter his life, that some new need was being revealed to him now, that perhaps his lovemaking would never be quite the same again....
"You're not ... disappointed, are you?" Maureen asked softly, spreading her thighs a little more. "You don't look like you are!" She deliberately lowered her eyes and stared meaningfully at the obvious erection threatening to burst the seams of his pants. Lifting her heavy buttocks slightly, she held his gaze while she peeled her flimsy black panties down over the ripe swell of her hips, down the marble columns of her thighs, and off over her shapely ankles. At once he saw what he wanted to know. She was already excited herself, turned on by the sensual pleasure of stripping herself naked and vulnerable before him! There was a thin line of telltale moisture beading the rim of her parted vaginal lips, a narrow trail of warm moist dampness along the furrowed pinkness of her cunt as she shamelessly exposed herself to him.
"You're incredible! You're ... you're so beautiful!" The words burst from his lips almost without his knowing it. And at once Dean regretted having spoken them. He felt like an inexperienced adolescent, hating himself for giving away his eagerness. He had to restrain himself from dropping to his knees right then and burying his face in that soft, deliciously moistening crevice between her naked thighs. There wasn't any doubt that she knew all there was to know about making love, and nothing would have betrayed his relative inexperience than jumping the gun like that! This was a broad made for sex, not the kind for a quickie but the sort you began slowly with, following her lead as she sucked you into a whirlpool of passion and pleasure. He'd have to keep his head, keep control, try to make his body respond as he directed-and this restraint, he knew, would offer its own heady reward.
Maureen smiled up at him slowly, measuring his response as she moistened her lips with the wet tip of her tongue, rolling it tantalizingly from side to side. "I'll bet that's a real piece of equipment you've got there!" she said, nodding towards the obtrusive swell along his upper thigh. "You-uh-you wanna show me what you've got in there, Dean?"
Momentarily confused by her boldness, the twenty-five year old painter was at a loss for words-and then, before he could speak, the nakedly voluptuous woman reached her arms up and curled them around his back, pulling him down on her so that the two of them sprawled flat on the sofa, the excited boy pressed tightly against her lustful, quivering body. As they fused together, she opened her smooth thighs and then clamped them around one of his legs. Dean gasped at the warm suppleness of her flesh, the eager firmness of those thighs. He could tell at first touch that this was a woman who knew all there was to know about sex. As their lips smashed hotly together, their tongues lacing in the scalding twin caverns of their mouths, she ground her bare pelvis hard against his still-clothed loins. He could feel her shiver from head to toe as her naked flesh grazed maddeningly against the throbbing ridge of his hardened cock, aching now to be freed from the restriction of his jeans. He wanted her ... wanted her more than anything now. But that wasn't what excited him most-it wasn't his own lust that fanned the incredible desire burning through his loins-it was Maureen's own passion, her own unconcealed, unashamed lust for his young body, for the satisfying thrust of his eager young cock into the warm, milky sheath of her wanton pussy.
The wet secretions from the head of his pulsating shaft were streaking the outside of his pants. He was sure she could feel the moist spot against the skin of her thigh, but she didn't ease her thorough, practiced massaging of his erection. She continued to grind against him teasingly with the flexing of her thigh and the firm gentle undulation of her naked pubic mound, stirring an agony of lustful passion in his aching testicles. He was sure that he would burst apart at any moment from the intolerable pressure building in his guts.
For a moment Dean pulled his tongue from the voraciously sucking oval of her lips and snuggled his face alongside hers, easing one hand down her side to fondle the ivory cheeks of her buttocks. His thoughts flashed to Sally Ann. She was at a staff meeting of the welfare center where she worked tonight; that was why he had chosen this Wednesday to make the date with Maureen. He tried to imagine his lovely red-haired girlfriend being here now, seeing him like this with another woman, and it staggered his imagination. Sally Ann was ultra-liberal in a lot of ways, but this would be beyond the limits, even for her. He knew she had really only agreed to this rendezvous to prove to him that she was as hip and swinging as any of the girls he knew at art school. But in fact Dean knew better: no matter how unbridled their lovemaking always was, Sally Ann was still innocent of the ways of sophisticated sex, of the skilled practices that came only with experience. She and Maureen Rimmer were worlds apart.
"Oh, you handsome young stud, I'm going to show you some tricks you never dreamed of!" the big, hippy brunette whispered softly into his ear, almost as though she had in some way tuned-in to his thoughts. "I'll give you a few presents you can take back to that girlfriend of yours!"
"Girlfriend? How did you...? What girlfriend?" Dean pulled back his head alarmed at this sudden chink in the armor of his anonymity.
For a fraction of a second Maureen hesitated ... and then she rallied before he could notice the fact that she was momentarily disconcerted. "Oh," she said easily, "I guess that friend of yours ... Jim Kennedy, isn't it? ... I guess he must have mentioned something. Anyway, what good-looking young guy like you doesn't have a girlfriend someplace?" She glanced quickly at him through narrowed lids, searching his face to see if the explanation satisfied him. A detectable relaxing of the muscles hugged between her bare arms told her that she had been successful. Oh, there was more to it than that! she thought to herself with an inward grin. But that was not for him to know ... at least not yet!
Dean squeezed a thick handful of her ass-flesh between his fingers, and she responded with a shiver of desire that shook even his own body as he lay on top of her along the sofa. She was trembling beneath him, her pelvic mound pressed up hungrily against his young male loins, her thighs still clamped around his leg as she squeezed the firmness of his rigid flesh against the hot, eager lips of her cunt, pushing the soft, hungry, secret folds against the fabric of his jeans. The roughness of his Levi's stroked deliciously over the pulsing, nerve-filled bud of her clitoris, already erect and hardened with anticipation. She released her grip around him and slid one hand between them, her fingers groping for the rock-hard outline of his cock. "You want to put it in me, don't you?" she whispered. "You want to ram that prick right up into my belly?"
"Oh, shit, yes! Jesus, there's nothing I want more!" he groaned.
He moaned again as she gently squeezed the sac of his testicles through the tight denim below his wetly throbbing cock. She had him where she wanted him and there wasn't any way out for him now. He was all hers, just as she had planned it....
"You gonna fuck me real good, Dean cutie?" she taunted. "You gonna make me like it, sweetie?"
"Goddamn it, I'll split you in half! I'll fuck you better than any guy ever has! You'll be begging me for some more when I'm done with you!"
She pushed him away with a sly smile. "That's what I wanted to hear, honey ... now get those clothes off and show me some real meat!"
Dean nearly ripped his jeans yanking them from his legs, followed by his shirt and his undershorts. He sat down on the edge of the sofa beside her and pulled off his socks. Maureen eyed the fully erect cock that jutted up from his belly like a thick young sapling. A gnawing hunger seared through her insides as she watched the fleshy organ with lewd excitement-he was built just like she'd hoped he'd be, firm and hard, without a trace of excess fat, and his long thick cock was everything she'd wanted, firm and hard like the rest of him, capped with an immense, lust-bloated head that she could already feel in her thoughts parting the ravenously hungry lips of her vagina. Christ, she thought she'd die before he got that marvelous, youthfully virile thing up inside her!
Pushing down his mammoth erection with his hand, Dean climbed on the sofa beside the naked woman he'd only just met. Instantly, she rolled tight against him and his hand cupped the soft warmth of her buttocks, squeezing the tender cheeks together along the crevice of her ass. Her entire naked form was warm and yielding against his masculine firmness; her lips once more soft and moist as they crushed against his own. He arched his back away from her as he felt her hand slip down between them, her fingers eagerly searching for the rigid shaft of his young hard cock. A cry of joy escaped his throat as her cool fingers gripped tightly around the lust-ridden staff and he kissed her harder, probing hungrily with his tongue between her teeth, grinding against her as her very touch brought a wave of maddening desire to his loins. Her fingers slipped deftly from the pulsing rod of his penis, brushed through his wiry pubic hair, and began massaging the hotly swollen spheres of his balls. Dean was insane with need for this magnificent woman; he was certain that another second of this caressing would be more than he could take.
He parted her thighs with his own muscular leg, and Maureen rolled over on her back, spreading her legs farther apart, eagerly opening her naked vagina to her new young lover.
* * *
There was barely enough space between the door and the jamb for a man's arm to reach through, but it was more than enough for the lens of Mark Rimmer's Hasselblad, and the spectacle the superb camera was recording was enough to melt the film.
Maureen was always magnificent, but tonight she was outdoing herself! Mark could hardly suppress the urge to rush through the doorway and join this handsome young man fucking his wife. He knew better than anyone that the task was too much for a single man, even an awesome accomplishment for two! Most of her one-night lovers had been pretty amateurish, some laden with boyish fat, most cursed with a stubby little joke of a cock that was insulting to a woman like Maureen. He'd known when he married her that she was a nymphomaniac, but the thought had only excited him more. He'd been young then, though, and capable of the two and three times nightly that Maureen demanded. But not now; now it took some outside help, young boys with stamina and endurance to take on a hot bitch like his wife. But more especially with youth-youth was something Maureen valued highly; she had a thing about the trim, athletic firmness of young men, their flat hard abdomens and their equally hard penises.
He felt his own formidable member pushing against his undershorts. Damn, how he'd fuck that cunt when this young stud was finished with her! Watching her get fucked first by another man always made it more enjoyable afterward, and tonight he'd have to make it something special, because this particular fuck was going to be more important than all the others, and Maureen wasn't wasting any time showing this boy the night of his young life!
Mark clicked the shutter again and advanced the high-speed film; the naked couple on the sofa wouldn't have noticed the sound anyway, so engrossed were they in their own heatedly entwined bodies, but Mark was glad Maureen had remembered to turn up the stereo. This way he could snap away to his heart's content, catch every movement as this unknown young man screwed his wife half silly just a few feet away.
He fumbled with the advance lever, making certain that he was operating the expensive camera properly. Taking pictures was not his field, but this too was part of the significance of this night, and he couldn't afford to botch it. He felt his penis stiffen again and nearly burst from his pants as he watched the young man's cock ride up between his wife's widespread thighs toward her now visibly throbbing cunt.
Oh Jesus, Maureen, I hope you make him cum in your hot little pussy fast. I don't think I can take too much of this!
* * *
Maureen's searching hands were all over the young artist's body, probing and exploring every inch of his firmness, nestling between his hard hairy thighs, fingertips trailing over the ring of his anus, then along the trim line of his back and shoulders. His cock had settled between her firm milk-white thighs, squeezed between her legs as if she feared it might escape. She pushed him up off her, and as he assisted with a lift of his muscular belly, her hands went quickly down between them, brushed the rigidly throbbing staff of his cock then down the curve of her own pelvis. With two fingers of each hand, she pulled apart the soft hair-fringed lips of her vagina, opened the pink furrow wider so that the throbbing head of his cock could press against the sensitive flesh between the moistly pulsating folds.
She nibbled his ear. "My, but you feel nice! So strong and hard, and so ... so naked." She pushed her pelvis up against his, grinding the soft dark triangle of her pubic hair against his belly. Dean's hands reached the soft cheeks of her buttocks, and grabbing one warm mound in each hand, he maneuvered her now unprotected cunt up even tighter against him, dragging the lust-inflated head of his long penis back and forth through the moist pink furrow of the open lips, flicking the end of his cock along the taut slit as it grew wetter and warmer with every smooth caressing stroke. Her whole pelvis began to rotate desperately, her splayed cuntal lips sucking eagerly at his thick hard organ. Suddenly, with an anguished cry of impatience, she snaked her legs up around him, locking them behind his thighs and pressuring him still harder against her writhing nakedness.
"Darling, please, I've got to have you! I need that magnificent cock in me, lover ... please! Please now!"
She grabbed for his aching penis and pressed it forward into the deep fleshy-pink sheath of her pussy, guiding it through her luxuriant pubic curls and into the opened, quivering entrance of her burning vagina. He could wait not an instant longer. He thrust his hips toward her upraised loins with all his strength; his cock rammed home with a vicious, driving thrust that sliced like a spear into the soft yielding walls of her open cunt.
"Aaaaahhh!" Her eyes closed and she moaned with relief as she felt her own warm constrictive pussy-sheath slip like a tight butter-filled glove over the full length of his throbbing cock, giving way before it as the huge swollen head squirmed between the now widely stretched lips. With her well-practiced vaginal control she could offer a man a tight, cunt-sucking fuck that not one woman in a hundred could match. She knew this boy would go for it; they all did. And Maureen knew she'd leave this strong young stud drained and exhausted, sapped of everything he could hope to offer.
Her eyes were still closed, and she gasped again as the boy's eager cock, long and bone hard, pushed its way to the depths of her wetly trembling cunt.
She'd underestimated Dean's endowment, for when he finally rammed the end of her ravenously gripping tunnel, she cried out sharply in pain. Dean grinned widely, delighted that he'd gotten the upper hand at last. He rammed his cock's pulsating head deep inside her, his balls slapping lewdly against the firm fleshy cheeks of her upturned ass, and she squirmed to ease the startling pain. It made him feel good to skewer her like this, to fill her so full of cock that she couldn't escape. Just moments ago, he'd been putty in her hands, but now the tables were turned, and he had her just where he wanted her, pinned down beneath him, unable to strike back as he swiveled his hips and sadistically ground the tip of his penis deeper and deeper into her hopelessly impaled belly. The sheer delicious wickedness of it all inspired him almost as much as the sight of her voluptuously naked body speared beneath him; he'd never fucked another man's wife, and it pleased him immensely to wield this manly power over her, to reduce her to utter helplessness and subjugation.
With inspired vitality now, Dean ground his muscle-hard pelvis into the soft flesh under his weight. As he pushed hard, she pushed hard back against him, arching her loins to lift them both from the sofa as a long low moan issued from her parted lips. With rhythmic fluidity, she opened and tightened her thighs around him with every deep punishing thrust that he buried deep in her now hungrily clasping pussy; her head tossed from side to side on the sofa, her dark glossy hair trailing over the edge as she squirmed and writhed like a fish impaled on a spear. His long hard strokes had found their mark, and a hoarse cry punctuated her moans as the blood-filled tip of his lust-hardened penis slammed against her cervix at the end of every deep, thrusting drive.
"Baby, baby, it's so good! Listen, listen...." She was trying to raise her voice, but every time she spoke, the naked young man on top of her rammed another piercing jab far up into her belly. "Listen, lover," she whispered, "put your finger up my asshole! Shove it all the way up me, darling! Hurt me! Hurt me bad! Make me scream, you marvelous hunk of man, you!"
This was something new for Dean, but he wasn't wasting any time; his hand reached under her and slid between the lust-dampened cheeks of her buttocks. His fingers searchingly pulled apart the soft globes of her ass as he probed for the forbidden orifice, his middle fingertip suddenly locating the tightly-puckered ring of her anus, moist with an oozing stream of liquid that seeped down from the warm wet slit above where his thick hard penis was sawing into her in long deep thrusts. He pushed at the tight ring of muscle, gently at first, then a little harder. He could feel it tense to resist his entry in quivering spasms, and he pushed harder still. This time his finger slipped into the tight dark passage, and she shook violently beneath him from the sudden sharp agony.
"Yes, lover! That's it! Hurt me, baby! Hurt me good!"
Another push and his finger was sunk to the base inside her rectal tunnel. He wiggled it from side to side, watching her squirm helplessly from the delicious pain. He had to fight to keep her powerful thighs and back from throwing him off her as she thrust and ground against his cock and his finger like a wild savage, completely lost in her own wanton madness. Dean could hardly believe the fantastic sensation! He could feel with his own finger his cock tunneling into her cunt through the fleshy membrane that separated the two passages, and he timed his thrusts with perfect rhythm, shoving both his finger and his penis into her in slow steady strokes that were driving her insane with intolerable desire. His cock felt swollen and distended beyond belief, yet the soft wet walls of pink flesh held him securely, the moist edges of her pussy-lips sucking him deeper and deeper in. Every inward thrust slammed his testicles against the widespread crevice of her buttocks and the edge of his hand as he shoved still another finger now into the tight, fleshy opening. She screamed as the two stiffened fingers stretched the delicate ring of her rectum unbearably wide; her nails bit into his back and left thin streaks of red across his shoulder blades as she writhed frantically against him, struggling to swallow this virile young man up inside her, to suck every muscular inch of his firm, hard body into the ravenously hungry orifices up between her passion-wracked legs.
Dean doubted he could hold back the searing flood of thick hot sperm that was aching to burst from his testicles as he pumped into her faster now, every thrust taking him to the hidden reaches of her belly, every deep lunging motion bringing another cry of anguished ecstasy to her parted red lips. Her thighs were gripped around him with incredible strength; he knew she would reach her climax soon, there was only a little way left to go. She moaned from deep in her throat, and he responded with a savage, plundering assault on her pussy from his skewering cock, matched by a steady ravishment of her painfully stretched anus with the two hard, stiff fingers of his right hand.
Her knees were pressed tightly back, nearly doubling her naked body in half; her upturned loins, moist with the flowing juices of her eager cunt, were open and vulnerable to his thrusts. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted ... and finally she choked the words from her throat:
"Oh God, I'm cumming! I'm cumming! I'm cumming! That's it, lover, that's wonderful! I'm cumming! Fuck me hard, hard! Tear me open with your big cock!" Her ankles were locked behind his shoulders as she ground her buttocks hungrily upward, lifting them both bodily from the sofa, her whole frame writhing with unbelievable strength, strength drawn from the fathomless well of passion this young stud was unable to breathe or speak as be brought her to the brink of her savage and consuming climax.
* * *
Mark was nearing the end of the roll of film-only two more exposures left to take, but he was getting all he needed. He could hardly remember how to operate the goddamned camera, cursing under his breath that he had to bother at all, that he couldn't get out there on that sofa and join in the action. Christ! He knew he was a voyeur-that was something he'd faced a long time ago-but it didn't stop him from enjoying a nice piece of ass, especially after some well-hung kid like this had done all the hard work for him! He focused the long lens on the frantic action and clicked another shot, locked in on the wanton spectacle of his beautiful wife getting the shit fucked out of her by a boy young enough to be her son.
Damn, he loved it ... especially the hung ones, the ones who had the equipment and knew how to use it! He reached down without looking and fondly rubbed the painful erection that was something to be proud of, and he was confident that he'd never feel threatened by these young lovers of Maureen's, not as long as he had that log between his legs to throw to his hot-blooded wife when he felt the urge. But hell, he could get just as big a hard-on watching like this, so why not go along with his old lady's habits! Jesus, that kid was really sticking it to her! She'd really be ripe for a good reaming out tonight; maybe a nice blow-job first ... she owed him that much for setting this up.
He focused for the last exposure and waited for the right moment, that final moment when Maureen came, when every muscle in her naked body would quiver and the juices oozed warmly down from her elastically clenching pussy-lips to drench the boy's hand, still embedded all the way to the palm in her tightly pulsating ass-hole. Watching her get it like this reminded him of that Cuban boy ... Jesus, that was some fuck! That greaser had a cock on him like an Angus bull! He laughed to himself as he remembered the Cuban, remembered he owed him a lot now, because without him this whole thing couldn't be happening. Sure, he'd always be able to find Maureen another good stud to fuck, but this was something special ... all they'd ever wanted was riding on this one night, riding on that a magnificent tight pussy that Maureen used so t skillfully. Yes, after tonight, they'd be on easy j street. No matter what Maureen wanted from j now on, he'd be able to get it for her!
Mark smiled at the prospect and steadied the lens against the frame of the door. He could see the muscles tightening in his wife's lust-contorted face as if she were trying to scream but couldn't. That's it, boy, fuck Her good! It's gonna be the most expensive fuck you ever had! It may cost me a hundred dollars, but it's going to cost you a helluva lot more!....
The room suddenly echoed with a shrill scream blasted from Maureen's lips with all the fury of her pent-up passion. Her body tensed along its full sweat-moistened length, arched high off the sofa so that only her shoulders and heels touched the cushions. She ground her upturned loins into Dean's, fused the two of them together in one lewd, writhing union; her hands locked on the firm muscular half-moons of his young buttocks, pulled him deeper into her belly, quivering with the agony of enduring this one last second before the shuddering relief.
"Aaagggghhh...." Her cry trailed off to a whimpering moan of anguished pleasure, and Dean let go the seething torrent of hot, liquid cum building up in the confines of his swollen balls; he felt the current of viscous fluid race along the shaft of his organ, pause for an instant, then spurt in an unending stream into the wildly shuddering woman's voraciously quivering belly. He tensed galvanically once, then again, and his balls were empty. He felt her taut muscles loosen as she collapsed in his arms. He fell forward onto her, so weakened that he could not support himself a second longer outstretched over her still-trembling naked body; she still gripped his buttocks, held his softening cock inside her, cradled in the wet, flesh-lined sheath of her sperm-flooded pussy. She opened her mouth to speak, to thank him, to say anything, but the words wouldn't come. She held his naked firm body tight against hers and then lay still.
Mark watched it all eagerly, not taking his appreciative gaze away for a second until the young man's body had jerked several times, his buttocks contracted, and he had emptied the last of his cum into his wife's voraciously milking pussy. Then he eased the door silently closed, made his way through the bathroom and into the adjoining guest room. Closing the door carefully, he noted the number he'd left on an index car by the bedside telephone. A jarring sound of water running from the bathroom froze him perfectly still. Waiting until the boy had finished cleaning up, he stood quietly without breathing until he heard the sound of footsteps leading away. Only when he could again hear voices from the living room did he cautiously dial the number he'd been instructed to call.
When he eased himself back to the front of the apartment, the boy was gone, and with him the brown envelope he'd left beside the antique Victrola. Maureen was still lying on the sofa, naked, her arms hanging limply over the side, her breasts heaving. Mark noticed her thighs were quivering slightly, rubbing together as she unconsciously massaged her own clitoris with the motions of her stirring legs. He liked that; always a good sign when she looked like this. He had to admit he was surprised; when he'd agreed to take part in this deal, he'd never have guessed the prize pigeon would turn out to be such a stud! Not many men could leave Maureen like this.
"You gave him the money, I suppose?" Mark asked.
Maureen opened her glazed eyes for the first time. "Sure, he took it ... I'd have paid him ten times that out of my own pocket if I'd had any idea he was so fantastic! Christ! My insides are sore right up to my throat!" She rolled over on her side, lifting herself on one elbow; her breasts dangled loosely now before her husband, her nipples still taut from the wanton excitement of the young lover's virility. "How about you, honey? Did you make the call?"
Mark nodded, but his sly smile told her there was something he was concealing.
"What is it Mark? What are you hiding from me?" she demanded. "You did call her, didn't you? You haven't blown this whole deal with one of your crazy stunts?" Maureen was sitting now on the edge of the sofa, her thighs apart, her pussy-lips still wet and trickling with the remnants of her orgasm.
"Don't worry your empty head about it," replied Mark patronizingly. "Just leave all the thinking around here to me. All your brains are down between your legs."
He brushed her dark hair away from her eyes and gazed down at the magnificent white body before him, her breasts and belly still gleaming with beads of perspiration from the workout the boy had given her. Just looking at her like this, naked and ravished, her belly filled with the sperm of another man, her pussy bruised and sensitive from his plundering thrusts ... Christ, it really turned him on!
"I called her all right," he said, "but there's been a little change in the plans. From here on out it's Maureen and Mark calling the plays. No more middleman."
Maureen was furious; here was the opportunity of a lifetime, and this jerk husband of hers had let it slip right through his fingers. "You fucking clod! It was all so simple! You got the pictures, didn't you? God knows there was certainly enough action for you! How could you be so stupid! Why do you have to go and louse it up? You ... "
Maureen's biting epithet was lost in the piercing scream that cut off her sentence; Mark knotted the fingers of his left hand in her hair and brought her in one swift yank to her knees before him, her painfully contorted face close to his crotch.
"I've told you, honey, time and time again-let me do the thinking and you do the fucking. We'll both be better for it, okay?" His hand twisted her hair until she couldn't speak for the pain. With his free hand, he opened his fly, pulled his flaccid penis out and laid it across her face. She turned away, but a quick sharp yank at her hair brought her back into place. "You've had your fun for a while, baby; now let's see what you can do for your old man!"
He shoved his soft, rubbery cock-head against her lips and grabbed another handful of hair on the other side of her head. A moment of the excruciating agony was all she could stand. Her red-glossed lips reluctantly parted and the softly flopping cock slid wetly into her mouth. She tongued it gently, distastefully; it hardened quickly, already stirred by the night's earlier action. Mark watched her for the signal, watched her until her arms came up from her sides, her fists unclenched. Smiling, he loosened his painful grip on her hair. Her arms reached around him and fastened at the wrist behind his back. A low guttural moan escaped around the thick shaft of his moistened cock as the insatiable wantonness that possessed her again took control ... in seconds, her nose was burrowed in his pubic hair as she sucked hungrily on his rising rod of flesh, tonguing and swirling the lust-distended head. And suddenly ... not half a minute later ... the throbbing staff jerked violently, rippled along its gleaming length and disgorged its hot swirling stream of male cum. into her hungrily working throat. She gulped and swallowed again and again, sucking until there was nothing left.
"Oh yes, bitch ... suck it good! Lick it clean, you slut! Lick it clean!" Mark cried in rapture.
CHAPTER FOUR
Sally Ann received the telephone message that Dean was going out and would be unable to pick her up after the staff meeting at the end of a day that was full of disappointments. Perhaps because of this the full significance of the message didn't penetrate her mind until later. Dean needed money; he was going on out and earn that money tonight. That was as far as it went.
It had been a lousy day right from the beginning. Sally Ann worked at a privately financed dockland community center. There had been the usual nine a.m. crowd packed into the cramped reception section when she arrived-pregnant mothers carrying their sixth or seventh baby, most of them accompanied by two or three pre-school children, all bored, restless and dissatisfied with the center's understaffed facilities; a more varied, considerably hairier collection of teenagers and adults there for the weekly city-funded venereal disease clinic: the misfits, the homeless, the underprivileged, all with grudges against the administration. The VD clinic was destined for new quarters if the city grant was approved as had been promised, but for the moment it simply added to their acute space and staff problems in this neglected slum neighborhood of the sprawling city.
The air, as usual, had been thick with cigarette smoke and loud with the cries of discontented children and impatient grownups when she arrived. As usual, the noise was such that it was impossible to make oneself heard without shouting. But this crowded, dingy basement of a run-down apartment building was a second home to Sally Ann, and she loved her work here almost as much as she loved Dean. The neighborhood residents were close to her, especially those who needed the center's services most, those who had found that not all of the Californian streets were paved with gold, the migrants who had discovered like the Okies in the thirties that prejudice and squalor were everywhere, that promised jobs were nonexistent, and when they were miraculously found, the migrants were the first to be laid off. along with the Mexicans and the blacks, when money grew scarce. Most of the center's
"clients" were on welfare; less than one in ten had worked in the past six months.
Sally Ann had taken her job there right after college. The money was barely at subsistence level and the chances of promotion or pay rises almost nil. But the challenge was there and the rewards were great-for anybody who cared, who cared badly enough to want to give these people another chance, a helping hand when there was nowhere else to turn. The center offered almost every service they needed: psychiatric counseling, employment advice, marriage assistance to families on the edge of breaking up after months of no income, leaking apartments, toilets that wouldn't flush, sinks that refused to drain. There was a twice-weekly well-baby clinic. And with the help of volunteer doctors, most of them interns, the center tried to heal those sick ones that needed their help most, babies often on the verge of malnutrition from an inadequate diet.
There had been other job offers for Sally Ann from Los Angeles, Denver, Sacramento, even Chicago, for there was a crying need for young graduates like herself with four years training in the social services. She could easily have started as a field social worker with some city's welfare department. But there was something lacking there for her; somehow she didn't think she'd fit in on that side of the street. Maybe it was just the idea of being part of the Establishment and therefore more closely allied with the problem than its cure. Whatever it was, she never had any regrets. Sure, it was frequently exasperating, often maddening, with the noise and the frustrations and the endless work. But it was never boring, and those fleeting moments when she wondered whether she had done the right thing were quickly swamped by the real joy she found from being able to contribute something, something real and visible, to a world that seemed about to come apart at the seams.
These people, these social misfits, were in a way like herself and Dean, castoffs from a system that didn't need them, "factory seconds" that a busier world had no time for. Sally Ann loved them all. They needed her as Dean needed her, and she welcomed every one with open arms, sharing their problems, sharing their hunger with them when they starved, bleeding with them when they hurt. When the center stood in danger-when the funds were lower than usual or when the city administration ordered yet another investigation into the radical origins of "these long-haired do-gooders," to harass them as much as possible, she lay awake nights, as fearful for the center's future as for her own. That was why today had been a lousy day.
A bearded young man with long dark hair breaking over the collar of his white institutional jacket had entered her cubicle of an office before she even had time to sort the mountain of mail, appointment cards and memos on her worn old desk. "Sally Ann-have you heard the news?" he asked glumly. She looked up, unwilling to be disturbed from a moving letter sent to her in hand-drawn block capitals by a six-year-old girl whose mother had unjustly been dismissed from a job as a domestic ... and then reinstated after representations from the center. "You mean about the VD clinic? They're moving it at last?" she inquired absently.
The young man shook his head. His name was Martin Webster. He was twenty-five years old, a part-time resident MD at the center and full-time intern and medical student at San Francisco General. Besides which he had two small daughters and a wife who waited table at an airport restaurant to help pay for their three-room apartment in San Leandro. With all this, he still found time to devote three days a week to the center, mostly at the well-baby clinic. "Uh-uh," he said soberly. "It's not the VD section this time; it looks like we might all be moving soon-out into the street!"
"Marty!" Webster was Sally Ann's best friend at the center and her closest confidant. But she had never seen him look so serious. His young face was lined and drawn beyond his years. "Whatever's happened? Don't say the city finally hung something on us?"
"Worse," he said. "At least we could fight that in court. No-the Stephenson Trustees are cutting off the grant, effective in three months. After that runs out, we'll have no choice but to shut up shop."
Sally Ann was too stunned to reply. The Stephenson Foundation, old Joseph Stephenson's one decent contribution to this earth, the ample remains of his successful years at the helm of the Stephen Shipping Line, had long sustained the center with an appropriation of just under a hundred thousand dollars a year, not a terribly large amount but enough to pay the salaries and rent. With the odds-and-ends contributions from other sources and a lot of corner cutting, they had been able, thus far, to scrape by. Presumably they could still benefit from the other donations, but without the money from the Foundation, the center was doomed.
At the staff meeting that evening, Harlan Leonard, the Director of the center, read out the telegram informing him that the governors of the Foundation had decided to withhold the grant for the following year ... and then continued with a brave smile to outline a number of doubtful possibilities-including a couple of federal funding programs-that might be induced to sponsor the organization. But it would take time, and in the meantime the center would be out in the street and would die. Leonard, an ex-professor once in line for the UCLA department chairmanship in psychology who had found that teaching no longer afforded the challenge it once did and founded the center five years before, tried to infuse the fifteen staff members with optimism. But it was in an abysmally pessimistic mood that the meeting broke up.
Sally Ann was still stunned with the impact of the shock that the biggest part of her life, with the possible exception of Dean, was likely to be taken away from her as she accepted a lift home from Martin Webster. Her own problems and Dean's-including the way in which he was earning money tonight-seemed far away from reality. She thought of the thousands of people living in the mean streets they were traversing, those they might have helped but would not be able to now ... the unwed mothers, the dope addicts searching for a way out, the desperate fathers on the verge of suicide for lack of a job, the crying babies bloated from malnutrition. And it was as much as she could do not to break out crying herself then and there. How unimportant their own little difficulties seemed in the face of all that!
But by the time she reached Dean's apartment nearly an hour before he came home from class the following day, the shock had worn off slightly, though she was still in no mood to start anything. She had spent a trying day already-the center had enjoyed all the lively optimism of the crew of a sinking ship-and she was tired. Nevertheless it was obvious as soon as the young artist came in carrying a huge portfolio of lithographs he had borrowed for study that the night before had not been without interest for him. The sheepish grin on his face was enough to tell her that.
Exhausted and worried as she was, Sally Ann was determined not to give Dean the opportunity of knowing how curious she was. In fact, she was dying to know what had gone on in that nympho woman's apartment. It had nagged her all day, try as she might to dismiss it.
She hated herself for feeling it, but that infamous green-eyed monster of jealousy ... despite the fact that she had given her boyfriend the go-ahead-had reared its traditionally ugly head! It didn't seem possible. After all, this was something they had often discussed. Both of them had agreed when they first started dating that there might be occasional "indiscretions that one or the other might be tempted to go to bed with someone outside of their near-marriage-because there seemed no other logical approach for modem, liberal young people. Sally Ann had always allowed Dean the freedom to have another woman if he wanted, though she herself had no inclination that way. But now that it had happened...? Now she wasn't so sure. It felt like a part of her had been sliced away, that Dean would never again be as close to her as he had been before....
What's wrong with me, thinking like this? We're not even married yet, and here I am, thinking like a suspicious wife! Dean hasn't done anything wrong; he did what he did just for the money; there's absolutely no reason to feel jealous of that woman ... she'll never have him the way I do. He doesn't love her. He did ... what he did ... to make a few dollars to pay the rent. Or did he? Is she beautiful? Does she have more than I have to offer? ... I've got to stop thinking this way! I've got to!
Dinner was over and Sally Ann was into the dishes ... and still no mention of last night! She'd almost brought it up twice, but decided against it. It had to be his move if she wasn't to seem a prying busybody. Dean finished a quick shower and changed out of his paint-streaked jeans as she washed the last of the dinner dishes. "Honey, could you bring me a beer from the refrigerator when you come in?" he called from the living room, where he was poring over the lithos.
She opened a bottle and went in. He was sitting cross-legged with the big sheets of paper spread around him on the floor. "Mind you don't spill any on these prints," she warned. "I don't think we could afford to replace even, one of them." That should give him all the lead he needed!
Dean didn't rise to the hint; he was absorbed in a green and brown nude. She decided to try again. "That material I told you about." she said brightly. "For the drapes here. It's on sale at the fabric center. Do you-think, darling, we could afford to get it before the sale ends?"
His face screwed up as though he was trying to remember why they needed drapes at all.
"Oh ... yeah ... that'll be okay," he said finally. "The rent's paid, and I have a few pennies left over. You can go ahead, sweetie." Sally Ann drew a deep breath and compressed her lips. "Oh," she said. "The rent's paid, is it? And that's all you have to say, Dean Garrett? I don't even get a juicy tidbit or two, not a word about what went on last night? ... Or is it a terrible secret between you and that ... that woman?"
Dean exploded into raucous laughter. "I knew it! I knew if I waited long enough you'd finally break down and ask me!"
She was standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips. Evidently the humor of the situation had escaped her. "All right, smarty; you've had your laugh ... now let me have mine. What happened?"
He was stacking the prints back in the portfolio. "Nothing much to tell, really," he said evasively, "You know what I went there to do; you knew what the money was for. Well ... I did it. And that's about all."
"All? The man I love hops into the sack with some sex-crazy old woman-for' money already!-and has nothing to say about it! Is that all you're going to tell me. Dean? Don't you think I might at least know what went on? What did you do? What was she like? If I have to share you with another woman, I think I'm at least entitled to know what the competition is! I'm sorry. I love you, Dean. That's the only reason I brought it up. It didn't mean to pry. I...." Her voice, which had risen to a shrill note, suddenly relapsed into near-tears and trailed away.
At once he tossed the tied portfolio aside and was on his feet, his strong arms around her shaking shoulders. "Gee, baby, I'm sorry. I should have known better than to tease you. I'd be out of my mind with jealousy if it'd been you out with someone else ... I love you too, and of course you have a right to know. But it was nothing really. I screwed the woman and that was it," he explained, hoping she'd believe him. "It happened, and now it's over. There's nothing more to tell."
Sally Ann hugged him with all her strength, pressing her tender young breasts into his chest. "Oh darling! I'm so glad! Forgive me; there's such a depressing mood down at the center, what with the grant going and all. I suppose being there all day has gotten me kind of low. I should have known better than to worry. You can take care of yourself, after all. There's nothing you can't handle, darling!"
It was at that moment that the room resounded to a loud double rap on the door. Astonished, they sprang apart, for they had heard nobody on the stairs. Dean, conditioned to expect the worst by a boyhood spent in the rich Gold Coast sector of Chicago, hooked on the night chain and opened the door the six inches it allowed. Outside stood a man he didn't recognize, a nondescript middle-aged middle-height man with a mustache, wearing a sport coat and an open-neck shirt. He was carrying a small manila envelope tightly clasped in his left hand.
Dean frowned. "Yes...?" he said enquiringly.
"Mr. Garrett? You don't know me, but I think we have a little something to talk about. Could I come in?" the stranger said ingratiatingly.
"You seem to know my name. I don't think I caught yours," Dean said suspiciously.
The man smiled, revealing a row of gold-capped fillings along one side of his mouth. "We never really met, Mr. Garret ... but we talked once on the phone...." There was no need for him to go on, for Dean recognized the voice now, knew where he had heard it before, knew with sickening certainty who the man was before he added: "The name is Rimmer. Mark Rimmer ... Maureen's husband."
There was a moment of numbed silence, with Sally Ann standing innocently by, the only one unaware of what was happening. Then Dean closed the door, unhooked the chain, reopened the door and held it wide to say curtly: "You better come in."
He was disconcerted and his face was flushed. This was more than he had bargained for; he had never dreamed he would even hear of Maureen again, much less meet her husband face to face. He felt embarrassed just being in the man's presence: obviously he knew what had gone on-in fact, he was the one who had set the time and arranged the details over the phone.
Rimmer's eyes flicked appraisingly over Sally Ann, but then he said with some reluctance: "Uh ... I guess it might be best if we talked alone, Mr. Garrett. Sorry to intrude if you're-uh-busy. But this is kind of important, you know?" Dean knew. He didn't need to be asked twice. The less Sally Ann knew about this, the better for both of them!
"Okay," he said, "darling-would you mind fixing yourself a Coke or something in the kitchen? This won't take long."
The luscious redhead was confused. "Sure," she said dubiously. "But is there anything wrong? I mean is everything okay?" The questions were dumb, she knew, but she hoped Dean would take her up and let her in on whatever it was. She hated being left out of any part of his life; she wanted to share the problems as well as the highlights. And this was evidently some kind of problem.
"Just don't ask questions," Dean said brusquely. "I asked you to please leave us alone." She shrugged angrily, stalked into the kitchen and closed the door.
FIVE
Dean glared at the intruder. "All right. Now just what is this? What d'you mean, coming here like this? And how did you know where I lived?
Let me tell you, I want some--"
"I'll give it to you straight, boy," Rimmer interrupted. "I'm here about money, lots of it.
And you're the guy's gonna give it to me."
"Money? From me? You must be joking!"
Dean laughed bitterly. "Why the hell do you think I agreed to that insane deal of yours? If I had money I wouldn't have needed that hundred bucks that bad! Come on, act your age!"
Rimmer grinned. "Nobody's doubting your present financial condition Mr. Dean Garrett ... the second," he said smoothly. "But there's always tomorrow, right?" Dean was starting to get the message. If this creep knew he was Dean Garrett II, then he had to know about his father, too.
"Go on," he said curtly. "What is it you want? And what makes you think you could get anything from me?"
"You got it wrong," Rimmer said. "I have something you want. Or rather something you will want when you know what it is. You see, when you were over at my apartment last night, you thought you were alone with Maureen. But you weren't. There was a third party present-one armed with a Hasselblad camera loaded with high-speed color film. Maybe you'd care to take a look at these?" He opened the manila envelope and took out a handful of color transparencies in cardboard mounts.
Dean needed only a glance to tell him the story was on the level. That was him all right in those shots. And the voluptuously naked woman beneath him, around him, all over him, was this man's wife, Maureen. The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fit....
"Try not to touch the film portion, lad," Rimmer said. "They're still a little damp: I just collected them from a most cooperative processor's studio ... compliments of Mrs. Dolly Garrett!"
Dean started. "Dolly! What the hell's she got to do with this? How did she find out?"
"Find out?" His visitor chuckled unmusically. "Shit, she planned the whole thing! You don't think I have the kind of money to pay punks like you a hundred bucks to satisfy Maureen? Jesus, I'd be in the poorhouse in no time, the rate she brings the boys home!"
It was Dean's turn to be confused. The chance meeting with Kennedy in school ... the telephone call to Rimmer ... last night with Maureen ... how could it have been arranged by his goddamn stepmother of all people? And why?
As if he was reading the young man's mind, Rimmer went on: "She set you up, lad! She hired me and Maureen for the job. She'd heard about my wife's ... problem ... and how she solved it with that Cuban houseboy of hers. He was around at my place one time, you see."
Dean nodded weakly. The puzzle was almost completed.
"It was all quite simple," Rimmer said. "We were to set you up ... pay some jerk to sell you a line when you were short of bread ... get you in the sack with Maureen ... take the pictures ... and then Dolly would take care of the rest when we delivered them. Only it hasn't quite worked out that way. I got a little curious, you see. I mean it didn't make too much sense, so there had to be a reason. So this investigator friend of mine, Guy, handles lotsa big divorce cases and such; he did a little checking and found out who you were. Like how you're gonna be a helluva lot richer very soon ... if you can satisfy the conditions of your old man's will."
"So you decided a tiny piece of the pic wasn't enough?"
"You're so right, my friend. Your-pardon the expression-stepmother only offered us five hundred for the whole operation. And it was me and Maureen did all the work!"
"Your wife didn't seem to find her half too disagreeable!" Dean couldn't resist scoring the point. He had a feeling it might be his last.
"Maureen never minds that kind of thing. She said you were quite good, in case it interests you. But you should be grateful to us. If I'd handed over those prints, you'd stand to lose half a million. As it is, I'm not a greedy man-I'll settle for a paltry ten thousand, and the pictures are yours. Don't get any crazy ideas though: those slides you're holding are only a sample of the lovely photos we have!"
Dean felt an overwhelming desire to throw up, as if maybe this might cleanse him of this whole disgusting mess. The money had brought nothing but trouble since his father died; now it was getting even worse. "Suppose I refuse?" he asked wearily.
Rimmer shrugged. "It's up to you, lad. But unless I get the loot, those pictures go to the trustees of your old man's bank along with a heart-rending story of how you seduced my wife and broke up my happy marriage. And believe me, Mr. Garrett, I can do a most convincing job. I used to be an actor." He opened the door and hesitated on the threshold of the hallway.
Sally Ann came back into the room, thinking the stranger had gone when she heard the squeak of the opening door. "Oh ... sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt," she faltered.
Mark Rimmer beamed approvingly. She was quite a number. Young and vibrant, with that rare kind of sexiness, that explosive sensuousness you only find in young girls new to physical love. Just the type he liked! Somewhere in back of his brain an idea sparked. He filed it away for now. Maybe he could fan it to life later...."Don't apologize, miss," he said smoothly. "I was on my way out. I'll expect the first installment, Garrett-sort of a deposit, you might say-by Friday. Let's say twenty-five hundred now; the rest when you get it later." He backed out and closed the door.
For a long time after he had left, Dean stood speechless, aware that Sally Ann was at his side, waiting for an explanation. And he knew that the only answer was to tell her the whole truth, everything ... how he'd been turned on out of his mind, how he'd sort of lost control, what the pictures would show, everything. For he needed her now as never before, needed her badly if he was to figure a way of this. But there didn't seem any answer: he knew he didn't have a hope up in smoke. But there didn't seem any answer: he knew he didn't have a hope in hell of raising that kind of money in two days. Between them, if Sally Ann had gotten her paycheck from the dwindling funds at the center, they might raise a hundred dollars at the outside! And it was no good going to Dolly this time: she was the bitch who had planned it all!
He sat Sally Ann down on the cushions and told it. And when there was nothing more to tell, he lay on his back on the floor, his arms folded behind his head, just staring at the ceiling. Sally Ann took it calmly. He looked suddenly very vulnerable and afraid, and she loved him all the more for it. This was no time for histrionics: her man needed her help and she didn't plan to let him down. She'd do anything to bail him out of the mess he'd gotten himself into. "Do you want to pay him off?" she asked quietly.
"I guess so. It's that or lose the legacy, isn't it? But the question's kind of academic. There just isn't any way for me to raise the money right now."
Sally Ann cradled his head against her breasts and stroked his brow. "What if I could get the money-the first twenty-five hundred, I mean?" she asked softly.
Dean sat up suddenly. "Aw, come on, honey-where could you get that kind of money? You have no more than I have."
'There's one place ... maybe ... that I could borrow it," she said. "We could pay it back after you get your inheritance. I have an uncle up in Forest Lake-you know, where all the millionaires hang out, up in the hills. He just might let me have it."
Dean's eyebrows shot up. "You never told me about a rich uncle, Sally Ann! How come you never mentioned him before?"
"He's just an uncle by marriage. You know--married one of my mother's sisters? But he always liked me and I think he might lend me the money, even though we haven't met in years. Should I give it a try?"
Dean was too beaten to argue. "Sure, sure," he said, "Anything's worth a try at this stage. But how d'you know he'll even see you?"
Sally Ann bit her lower lip. "I think he will," she said quietly.
Oh, Dean my love, if I told you the truth you'd never let me go to Forest Lake! Forgive me, my darling, forgive me ... but it's for us!
CHAPTER FIVE
The telephone receiver hit the wall and dropped, the cord dragging the instrument from the inlaid Chinese end-table to the parquet floor with a jingling crash. Dolly Garrett stood trembling in the center of the huge room, the beringed fingers of the hand that had thrown it still outstretched.
"Jesus!" she shouted furiously. "Can't anybody do anything right? Do I have to be surrounded by incompetent schmucks?"
Lurching off balance from the effects of the second bottle of champagne she'd drunk since noon, she veered to one side and dropped heavily into a soft armchair beside the fireplace of her apartment; her blonde hair was mussed and she'd neglected to touch her make-up since climbing out of bed at eleven, but there was still evidence of the sexiness and pert sensuality that had attracted Dean's aging father to her when they'd been introduced by one of his younger golf-club cronies, a real-estate man she'd dropped like a hot rock when she'd found out about old Garrett's fortune. She had a figure like a showgirl: saucy, firm breasts that stood out without a trace of sag from her trim torso; legs, long and perfectly formed, still taut and strong from her dancing days. In fact, these last five years of spending her late husband's legacy had hardly left their mark at all; she still remembered to get her exercise, at least when she was sober enough to stand up.
She'd still been in her middle twenties when Dean Senior died, an eager and anxious young woman with more money than she knew existed. And Dolly had nearly set the world on fire spending it, especially in those first two years. She had been faithful to the old man as long as he was alive; it had seemed the only thing to do at the time. But with the bastard in his grave, a whole new life had blossomed overnight for the lovely ex-dancer. Literally overnight: that young assessor from her husband's insurance company had been the first of more than she cared to count. Dolly liked to remember how awkward and clumsy that poor chump had been, a college man just out of business school and still wet behind the ears. But he'd been wet in a lot of other places when she'd finished with him; the poor kid never knew what hit him! All those long lonely nights she'd spent with a feeble, useless man she couldn't love had left her a time bomb of passion, just waiting for a man to come along and set her off. Sometimes she wondered what had happened to the guy: one thing was for sure, he'd never forget Dolly Garrett! There'd been an endless succession of men in her life after that; millionaires on the Cote d'Azur, dude ranchers in San Antonio, Manhattan advertising executives. She'd even taken on a half-dozen truckers at the same time in an isolated truck stop in Amarillo, Texas one night when she'd been driving east in her new El Dorado.
The telephone receiver was whining now in a rising and falling tone that annoyed her. "Luis! Luis, I need you!" she yelled; there was a buzzer for him beside the living room doorway, but she didn't want to be bothered with it. Besides, the way her luck was running tonight, the damned thing wouldn't work anyway! Everything had been so simple, not a tricky turn to negotiate, not one difficult part to go wrong; yet somehow it had. All the planning! What could have fouled up? Her one last chance, her final opportunity to get her hands on the rest of her old man's fortune-and two dumb fucking idiots like Mark and Maureen Rimmer had to drop the ball! Nothing had been left to chance, nothing; from the first mention of Maureen by the punk kid Mark had hired at the art school, not one little detail had been left untended. Yet something had happened; Mark had been a little shaky when he called, but he didn't leave much room for another effort. The bastard hadn't shown up, he'd said. Everything had been agreed on, just as planned that night they'd met in her apartment, but the kid just didn't show. Chickened out, maybe, or changed his mind; whatever the reason, he wasn't there as they'd agreed.
Dolly was mad enough to scream; this whole plan had been hers, and it was foolproof, locked tighter than a drum. She knew Dean would have to fall for the bait when the Kennedy kid earned his five hundred bucks and told him about this quick painless way of earning money, money she knew Dean would need; she'd conveniently arranged to be away when his rent was coming up.
The Garrett son never had been any great shakes at handling loot, so it was only a matter of time about the rest. And sure enough, just like she'd figured it, he'd swallowed the hook and called Mark, made the date for a little action with Maureen, set himself up as the lead in a most interesting series of color stills she was certain the trustees of Dean's inheritance would be delighted to examine.
That evidence, along with the typed results of a "two-month investigation" she'd arranged through a less than scrupulous private investigator that showed beyond a shadow of doubt that this young man, this very young man who was to follow in the sterling tradition of Dean Garrett Senior and take over the balance of his holdings, was carrying on an illicit affair with a married woman, one Maureen Rimmer of San Francisco.
And she had Maureen and Mark standing by in the wings to back her up (and pick up their five hundred dollar cut). Christ, how could it not have worked, she asked herself; why didn't the little bastard keep his date? Surely that mousy broad he hung around with couldn't have kept him away? Goddamn you, Dean Garrett, you haven't beaten me yet!
Dolly was so busy being pissed at Dean for not being as predictable as she thought, that she failed to notice when Luis entered the long living room. He stood by quietly, not speaking until he'd been acknowledged. And it wasn't easy not to acknowledge Luis. Six feet two inches of muscle-bound Cuban maleness, he had been part of Dolly's decor for two years now, ever since they'd chanced to meet on the beach at Pacific Point.
A refugee from pre-Castro Cuba, Luis had had his taste for American women sharpened in the days of Batiste. God knew there had always been enough of them ... passionate, middle-class tourists and well-heeled young matrons straight-laced as hell back home, but down there, safe from their neighbors' suspicious eyes, they managed to put aside all those thoughts of wifely fidelity and the P.T.A, and try their luck with some of the famously hung Latin lovers! More than one had failed to keep from gasping at the first sight of his immense cock; sometimes he thought they'd faint dead away at the mere prospect, something they'd secretly dreamed about for years as they reconciled themselves to their husbands' limp efforts. That first taste of Yankee flesh had been like an addictive drug for Luis; those island women never looked so good to him again after his first fair-skinned American! And it was that addiction that kept him here, kept him at Dolly's drunken whim, kept him placidly at her feet like a Dixie Negro house-servant.
He'd thought of leaving, thought of it many times, but there was always that image of Dolly etched indelibly in his mind. That picture of her incredible blonde loveliness lying on the beach that night in Pacific Point ... that memory of her wild, writhing savagery, an animal passion that matched his own, ounce-for ounce! He'd determined at that moment, that second that his huge dark cock eased so wetly and smoothly into her white, quivering pussy, that there was no other woman alive who could offer him more. Dolly had it all-the delicious forbidden temptations of a Yankee woman, the sureness of the luscious blonde she still was, but best of all the abandoned savagery of one of his own. That combination was lethal for Luis; he could find part of it anywhere, but never all three ... and Dolly knew it.
Luis' demanding mistress was comfortably draped across the over-stuffed chair, one leg over the arm, the other straight out in front of her on the carpet. She was wearing a thin silk blouse she'd picked up in Rome and a pair of pale blue bikini-clad panties ... nothing else. "Luis, get my massager, I need some unwinding," she ordered. "Nothing seems to be working right today. Let's see if you can make me forget."
The husky Cuban was gone for a few moments, and when he returned, sire was lying across the green velvet chair, slouched down into the deep center, her head resting on one thick arm, her legs over the other. She had pulled her panties down to her knees and left them there, obviously intending the rest for him. As he re-entered the room, she nestled down further in the hollow of the chair, pushing her trim, firm buttocks up to the middle of the supporting arm. Her thighs were together, shielding the sight of her narrow pink vaginal slit from his eyes; but the tightly clamped cheeks of her smooth white buttocks were upturned toward him, offering the tempting furrow of her white, curvaceously rounded ass in unconditional surrender.
Luis savored these moments; only when she was like this, horny and mad for the kind of physical gratification he could offer, was she really under his control. He endured the endless hours of humble servitude, the days of bowing and scraping, just for the reward of moments like this. Dolly was a masochist; sex for her was nothing if it didn't hurt her. And whenever she felt rotten, whenever she was like this, she liked it to hurt her even more. Somehow the pain seemed to ease her discomfort, smoothed away her unhappiness and left her refreshed and invigorated, ready to go on with her hedonistic life of self-gratification.
He looked at her lying there, a quivering mass of warm, white flesh ... and she was all his.
Nothing he could do to her would be rebuffed; his cock was unhindered in its quest for satisfaction. Sometimes he'd fuck her in the ass, sink his thick swarthy hardness sadistically up between those milky ass-cheeks; other times it would be in that warm, perpetually-wet sheath of her voracious pussy. But wherever she took it, whenever he fucked her with his enormous lusting cudgel, she was always eager and willing to take anything he could throw her. He never ceased to marvel at her fantastic capacity; she had the endurance of a savage, always hungry for more, not matter how brutal his assaults on her soft white body became.
Kneeling beside the chair and pulled the panties from her long, voluptuously tapered legs. She parted her thighs when the flimsy garment was stripped from her feet, the warm damp ridges of her vagina awaiting his touch, only partially obscured by the soft sparse, silky down of pubic hair. The lips had parted slightly from her excitement; the wet flanges of her elastic pussy sheath were spread enough for him to see the taut, constrictive tunnel of her always insatiable little cunt. He leaned forward and kissed her, his lips pressing hard against the soft wetness of her pussy. She quivered from one end of her luscious body to the other and moaned a soulful cry of lustful impatience, her cuntal lips shivering at the feel of his cool lips against her hot, trembling flesh.
"Hurt me, Luis," she whispered hoarsely. "Make this nasty feeling go away." She spread her legs farther, opening up the full split of her eager vagina to his view and touch; her thighs were almost at right angles to the tempting crevice of her already moistly pulsating pussy. "Now, Luis, now!"
With a flip of his thumb, her houseboy switched on the device he had held half hidden in his right hand, a foot-long vibrator shaped like a man's cock. It was one of Dolly's favorite amusements, something to tease her a bit before throwing the real thing into her; she liked to have him work her into a frenzy before he fucked her; the wilder and more desperate she got, the better she liked it.
The vibrator whirred in his hand as he aimed it carefully at her moistly interfolded pussy lips; the blunt head of the device slipped easily between the moist flanges of her cunt, and he worked it slowly along the hair-lined crevice, starting just above her tautly clenched anus. She tensed immediately as the thrill-giving machine nudged its way toward the fleshy, elastic opening of her pussy; but Luis passed by the hungrily clenching tunnel for now and edged the buzzing knob of the vibrator a little higher along her warm wet slit. Then he found what he'd been searching for ... she nearly shot off the chair as the vibrator's tingling tip electrically massaged the nerve-laden bud of her clitoris. Her hands clenched in tight fists, her head dropped back over the opposite arm of the chair, her mouth half open in a mewling cry of ecstasy. He held the whirring shaft against her sensitive clitoris for several minutes, watching her passion build in incredible waves as her whole body shuddered from the machine's near-magic touch. Her loins squirmed and quivered frantically, her legs kicked the air on both sides of her servant's kneeling body, the soft white cheeks of her buttocks opening and closing desperately as her muscles contracted from the sweet agony of the machine's vibrant touch.
"Oh God, Luis ... I can't take anymore!" she gasped between violent spasms of wanton desire, "Fuck me! Fuck me with your big cock! Put that motherfucker in me, Luis! Now, now!"
But tonight Luis had plans of his own; this time he'd dreamed up something special for his mistress. Something even that man-hungry pussy of hers might have trouble with. She'd be furious later, of course. She always was when he hurt her, but she'd get over it; a couple of days of pouting and she'd be back like this again, hot and naked and panting for more of the same. Ordinarily he would have placed the vibrator on the writing shelf of the rosewood secretary just beside the chair now, and got on with it; this was not the first time Dolly had chosen the arm of the chair as the altar for her own lascivious self-satisfaction. This time, however, Luis carefully laid the plastic device at his feet; it was wet with the wanton flow of her insatiable pussy. She didn't see him; it was her routine to keep her eyes as tightly closed as her lovely white thighs were widely open. She thrust herself salaciously at her servant, grinding the fully-spread moist plane of her naked loins in his direction, offering her yearning nakedness to the Cuban giant.
Luis opened his fly and unsnapped his beltless pants in one swift motion; they dropped around his ankles and he stepped clear of them. He pushed them aside with his toe, being extra careful hot to disturb the vibrator resting conveniently at his feet. Another tug and pull and his shorts were free of his thick muscular legs; his enormous penis sprang fully erect as it cleared the top of his shorts. His long glistening organ reached nearly to the pinkly quivering lips of his blonde mistress's hungry pussy as it jutted out from his wiry-haired loins like a thick blunt spear. He cradled the huge shaft in his left hand and brushed the uncircumcised tip against Dolly's pussy-lips, sifting through the soft pelt of her blonde pubic fluff; she shivered convulsively as the lust-bloated head touched her sensitive flesh.
Luis squeezed the long pole of dark male flesh between his fingers and slowly eased his clenched fist back towards his hairy loins; the ring of soft skin around the blood-engorged head of his cock suddenly parted, slipping back on the thick, hard shaft, exposing the swollen knob at the end of his huge cock. He pulled the soft pliable flesh back until the head of his penis was completely free, then moistened it in the damp furrow of the young blonde's quivering pussy. Like a cat with a mouse, he teased her a moment, rubbing the inflated bulbous head over her nerve-filled clitoris a couple of times, slowly taunting her, delighting himself with the agonizing moans he could bring so easily to her half-parted lips.
"Please, Luis, don't tease me this way ... put it in me, put it in me all the way! Split me open with your big hard prick! Now, Luis, now!" With a grunt, the big Cuban rocked forward on the balls of his feet, throwing his entire weight into one vicious, skewering thrust that sank his long throbbing penis all the way to the hilt in her hungrily clasping cunt. She gasped with delight as the huge organ ground to its full depth inside her voraciously constrictive sheath. She could feel it far up in her belly as he leaned hard on her upturned buttocks, sinking the enormous shaft as far as it would go in her moist cuntal passage.
Dolly had pushed her buttocks up as far as she could push them, levering against the opposite arm of the overstuffed chair, her long blonde hair falling nearly to the floor as she shoved against the chair arm with her neck and shoulders, grinding her pelvis up at the big Latin standing with his loins pressed firmly into hers. She moistened her dry lips, "Ooooohhhhh, it's so good! Nobody fucks me like you do, Luis; nobody's got a cock like that marvelous thing between your legs!"
Her words were like fuel for the raging inferno in his belly; his cock slithered in and out of her tightly nibbling pussy lips now with a faster rhythm, each deep skewering thrust impaling her whole body on the immense, throbbing shaft. His dark balls slapped against the crevice of her buttocks with each deep ravishing lunge, grinding against the soft furrow, damp with the warm gushing of her tautly spread pussy. He looked down at the union of their two bodies; the swarthy luster of his long gleaming staff contrasted sharply with the whiteness of her creamy upturned thighs, the open pink flanges of her hungry pussy, the ivory globes of her ass as his pelvis ground against them.
His savage thrusts continued, again and again and again, each delicious stroke buried deep in her white belly, until she was insane with ecstasy, writhing continually now, a constant cry escaping her lips. Her eyes rolled wildly in her head as she neared her climax; this was the moment Luis was waiting for, the special surprise he'd dreamed up for his Yankee bitch....
"No, Luis, don't stop now; I'm almost there, Luis lover, don't stop!" Dolly was confused, enraged, as the big houseman suddenly yanked his wet, shiny cock from the tight grip of her vaginal sheath and pulled away. She couldn't believe it; he'd never dared to leave her like this before!
"Luis, please, I need more! Put it back in me, please!" But Luis had no plans to leave the naked blonde without her satisfaction; his cock was away from her voracious grip for only a second; and then she was moaning greedily as the thick, lust-distended head of his cock slipped again between the pink trembling lips of her pussy and sank warmly and wetly back into the depths of her belly. "Oh, yes, that's it, that's it! Fuck me hard, hard, hard!"
Dolly couldn't see the Cuban's hand, couldn't see the long thick vibrator he held there, his finger on the switch. He rocked his pelvis away from her wildly grinding loins, easing the long pole of his penis from the moist, lubricated sheath of her cunt. He paused there a moment as if resting on the long, slow outstroke ... then his finger switched on the vibrator as he placed the whirring device alongside the length of his glistening cock, resting the base of it between his huge, sperm-laden balls.
"Luis, what are you doing ... aaaggghhhhhh!" Dolly arched nearly off the chair in piercing agony as he rammed the double-thick surprise hard into her belly splitting the soft pink lips of her pussy painfully as the immense double-headed shaft sank far inside her. It was incredible! She'd never felt anything like it; nothing any man had ever offered had felt like this! The sensation was beyond belief; it was as if her lover's cock had suddenly become possessed of a life of its own and was whirring and vibrating deep in her tortured loins!
"Oh, dear God, it's killing me! It's killing me!"
Luis grinned at the lascivious sight of the two shafts fucking so deliciously into her painfully stretched pussy; it was as if she was being fucked by two men at once, two huge gleaming cocks skewering her at the same time! His hand held the end of the whirring vibrator as he sank his cock in the lush, wetly sucking channel of her gaping cunt. It was fantastic! The buzzing shaft alongside his own tingled his cock from base to tip! Never had he felt such a marvelous sensation!
"Ooooohhhhh ... you're splitting me, Luis, you're splitting me " But the naked blonde's cries were less piercing now, less anguished as the painful widening of her vaginal lips had eased, and the soft pink walls had stretched to accommodate the immense entry of the two thick shafts at once. Dolly could feel them both far up inside her, but she could not distinguish them. It was as though her lover's cock had suddenly doubled from its already massive size! God, how could she ever be satisfied with anything else after this? How could any two ordinary men hope to satisfy her now?
Luis held the buzzing shaft of the vibrator tight against his own cock as he screwed her viciously, deeply, with the twin lust poles, ramming them both to the hilt in her insatiable cunt, spreading the soft, hair-lined lips beyond belief. As he rocked back on the outward stroke, the moist pink flesh was pulled out from the wet sheath of her vagina, clinging to the shafts of her double-cock lasciviously impaling her almost as if the walls of her voraciously working pussy were reluctant to release the magnificent organs that were bringing her such exquisite pleasure. To Dolly, it was as if two huge, strapping studs were fucking her at once, as if somehow they'd both managed to get their gleaming cocks inside her! Christ, how she writhed and squirmed as the twin shafts sank to the hilt into the moistly accepting tunnel of her cunt!
"Oh, oh! I'm cumming, Luis, I'm cumming!" she screamed the words as if this climax were her very first; her back arched to meet his exciting, wickedly delightful thrusts. " Aaaaggghhhhh! "
Only her shoulders were touching the chair, her long, white legs wrapped tightly round his hips as she smashed the full plane of her wet crotch up against his loins; Luis held back until he felt her shiver, until he sensed the soft, yielding walls of her vagina surrender and relax ... then he buried his cock to the hilt, marveling at the fantastic feel of the buzzing shaft alongside his own.
One last, skewering thrust ... and it was over! Thick, rich torrents of heavy white sperm spurted into Dolly's belly as his huge, dark penis spat its contents into her tightly-stretched pussy. When the last shuddering drop had drained from his flaccid member, he pulled it from between her legs, leaving the vibrator still imbedded in her sperm-flooded passage, still buzzing as the blonde's naked body trembled with the after-shock of her violent orgasm.
Dolly reached down and eased the thick, whirring device from her pussy, switched it off and rolled off the chair onto the carpeted floor, all her muscles still tremoring with spasms of satisfied lust. When she opened her eyes, her Cuban houseman was gone, and she was once again alone....
CHAPTER SIX
Lucky Joe Connolly looked at his niece, sitting demurely on the settee in the sunroom of his Forest Lake home. He'd never have recognized her on the street, with that gorgeous mane of red hair almost down to her waist and that womanly swell to her hips! As for the titties ... damned if he didn't catch his breath every time he lowered his eyes to those magnificent pinnacles thrusting out the sheerness of the minidress that did so little to hide her smoothly tapered legs, no matter how hard she fidgeted and tried to pull down the skimpy skirt!
He couldn't believe his luck! This sure was one helluva good day for him: it wasn't for nothing that he was known as Lucky Joe in the used car trade! First, he had managed to unload that fleet of clapped-out lease autos to a half-witted dealer from Virginia with more money than brains. Only a fool, a con-man, or someone born lucky could have gotten rid of those heaps-and Joe Connolly was no fool. Nor did he consider himself a con-man: just a guy who was unusually smart in a business way. Now this delectable piece of merchandise had fallen into his lap!
He looked again at Sally Ann's proudly thrusting breasts. Man, those sweet little titties were what he remembered most about his young niece's visit that summer three years ago, the last summer before his wife left him and filed for divorce. She'd been up for three weeks from Nebraska, full of life and eager for a good time. Christ, he'd nearly gone out of his mind with her delicious little ass flitting in and out of the house! And with Dorothy pissed at him all the time and hardly giving him any at night ... shit, the kid had been lucky she didn't get raped the moment she stepped through the door! Always running through the house in a borrowed white shirt of his ... those cute little bobbies poking through the fabric as they bounced around braless and unrestrained! ... And that day she jumped in the pool with a shirt and jeans on! Jesus, the wet fabric clinging skintight to her developing curves when she climbed out of the water, her little pink nipples all hard and jutting from the sudden cold splash! ... No man could have stood much of that!
And he'd have made it, too, if it hadn't been for Dorothy taking off to visit a sick friend on the Coast. That had led him on to push his luck too far and too fast. He and Sally Ann had raided the icebox, built a huge sandwich that they'd carved down the middle like a roast, and downed a few beers. Pretty soon they had been at the giggly stage, not really drunk but feeling no pain either. And something in Joe's brain had snapped.
He hadn't really meant to put his hands on her like that; it was just like he no longer had any control over them. His fingers sort of took it on themselves to slip inside the oversize shirt and grab a big handful of the loveliest young tit he'd ever seen! He could hardly remember it now-time had eased the embarrassment so it didn't seem such a big thing as it had. But somehow, between the kid's yelp of surprise at his unexpected advances and the slamming of the front door as she ran out straight into his wife's arms ... somehow in that brief space of time he'd managed to proposition the aghast teenager and offer her all she'd ever want for giving him a brief spell between her legs! It must have been the liquor talking, for Lucky Joe, in his wildest moments, would never have been quite so abrupt as that, especially with the daughter of his wife's sister-but he'd done it all right, pulled out his lustful cock in front of her and offered her the world if only she'd go down on it! He always figured that night drove the final nail in the coffin of his marriage. Not that it mattered: he was happy to be rid of the bitch. But it sure was one for the book to find little Sally Ann, grown up and twice as enticing, back knocking on the front door of the Connolly mansion!
"So it's a car you need the money for, eh?" Lucky Joe said slowly, still amazed at how voluptuously his niece by marriage had developed. She still had all the raw, untried sexuality that had attracted him before, that childish innocence that cried out for a man to teach her the ways of love. But now she was a woman: the breasts were fuller, the hips richer, less boyish. Christ, he was getting a hard-on just looking at her!
Sally Ann had hastily improvised a reason to explain her sudden need for twenty-five hundred dollars. "Yes, that's it, Uncle Joe," she said hurriedly. "I ... you see, I just have to have a car right away. The center where I work is going to close down and I ... I'll be needing a car to find another job. Probably be needing it for my work too, when I find some. Most social workers do...." She broke off in puzzlement. Lucky Joe was laughing.
"You sure know how to hurt a guy, don't you?" he said.
Sally Ann was confused. She hadn't expected him to see through her story so easily. "I ... I don't know what you mean," she faltered.
"You don't? You come to me to borrow money for a new car-and you don't see anything funny in that?"
She stared at him. "N-n-n-no, I don't. Not really."
He laughed again. "Honey, I'm in the motor business! Have been all my life. Why the hell should I put money into another dealer's pocket? Damnit, I'll give you a car! What model d'you want?"
Sally Ann's mouth fell open in consternation. How could she have forgotten! Why didn't she think up a-better story? For a moment he watched her wriggling on the hook, a faint malicious smile creasing his heavy features. Then, as she began to stammer some explanation, he laid a finger across her lips and said: "Now, don't say another word, honey! You might spoil it for me! Look, I don't care what the money's for: that's, your business. If I lend it to you, it'll be on your word, and that's good enough for me. What you do with it's up to you. Right?"
"Then you will lend it to me?" Sally Ann was bubbling with excitement. "You don't know how happy it'll make me!"
"Just a minute! I ain't promised anything ... yet," Lucky Joe warned. "What say we just have a drink and talk about it, eh? We've got quite a bit of catching up to do. Haven't heard much from your side of the family in years."
The nagging recollection of an awful evening ages ago flashed into the lovely redhead's mind. "Oh ... couldn't we just settle it now?" she pleaded. "I really should be going very soon. It's a long bus ride back to the city, and they ... they're-uh-expecting me back at the center for a mm-meeting."
Her uncle handed her a drink he'd been mixing while she talked. "Your Aunt Dorothy wasn't much of a liar, nor are you," he said mildly. "I guess it must run in the family. Come on, drink up...."
* * *
There was barely enough light in the dim hallway to read the note Dean was taping to his door. He hated to leave before Sally Ann returned from visiting her uncle, especially since there was the chance the old man might actually lend her the money. But she'd come in and wait for him when she read the note. And that phone call from Maureen had made the message plain: she was alone in her apartment. And she wanted him....
Maybe he wasn't fooling himself, he thought as he ran downstairs and nodded a greeting to the Roberts' on their ritual dog walk; maybe he really was going back to the shabby old house on the slim hope that there he might find a way out of this mess. Shit-fucking the broad had gotten him into it; maybe fucking her again could in some way get him out! He smiled sourly to himself as he hurried down the street; he knew very well that this wasn't the reason he was running back to Maureen like a trained puppy. No-it was the memory of that night, never mind how despicable her plan had been ... the searing remembrances of how incredibly she made love that were sending him hotfoot across town at her bidding!
I must be out of my goddamn mind! he told himself. I know I ought to have told the crooked bitch to fuck off when she called me. I know better-but I'm going just the same, going back to where this whole shit-house started, just because some big-titted nympho purred a few words at me over the phone and promised me that this time her husband would be gone!
There was plenty of time for him to come to his senses on the way over. It was a chilly night again. Smog had furred the air and made the road greasy, and several times he almost slewed the old Buick, braking hard for stoplights in his eagerness to be there. He thought of Sally Ann, wondering if she had by some stroke of luck been successful in conning her uncle out of the money. Would she already be on the bus coming back? He glanced at his watch. No, he decided: it was too early. She'd have to stay for dinner or something: it wouldn't be polite to go just for the loan. Anyway, if she got back earlier than he did, she'd see his note on the door and wait for him. He wondered how long he'd be at Maureen's ... then switched his thoughts to something else, something safer, when he noticed his pants beginning to bulge along the inside of his thigh.
He found himself parking outside the old house without any conscious memory of having driven there. It was as though some remote-control had been directing him to turn left here, stop there, take the flyover heading east and then swing off at the intersection ... directing him across this sidewalk, up to this bell, through this door and up these stairs to the all-too-familiar hallway.
The door to the apartment opened before he could knock.
"Hi, honey! What took you so long?" the velvet voice crooned from the semi-darkness beyond. He was enveloped in heady Parisian perfume mingled with a musky, exciting feminine smell. Bare arms emerged from a lounging robe and wrapped themselves around his sinewy young body. A kick from a high-heeled mule, and the door closed behind them.
* * *
With the amount of pot they smoked, Sally Ann and Dean had grown unaccustomed to alcohol-at least the hard stuff like the sour-mash bourbon and ginger ale her Uncle Joe was feeding her now, his trademark when he was part of the family. Yet the first swallow tasted surprisingly mellow, though it began to bum a little on its way to her stomach. She gulped down another, grimacing at the strength of the liquor. This time, though, the taste was consistently smooth. She relaxed slightly; it felt good to loosen up, and anyway she knew there would be no chance of getting the money unless she was at least warm and cordial with the old man. It was the other set of possibilities that frightened her, that had kept her literally on the edge of her seat in the bus all the way up from the city. She knew what her Uncle Joe was capable of-or at least what he had been capable of three years ago! Was he still the same? Or had that dreadful night been just one of those awful things that happen?
Lucky Joe certainly seemed pleasant enough, full of warm anecdotes about the family, the family he wasn't even technically a part of now. He smiled as he talked, his eyes bearing no trace of anything alarming. In fact he seemed like so many of her relatives, a little bored with his life, tired of the eternal scramble for the dollar perhaps. And lonely. It seemed as though he hadn't had anyone to talk to in months. Maybe that was why he had kept so close to the family of the wife he had divorced. It didn't really matter: at least he wasn't the ogre Sally Ann had feared he might have become-an even more menacing monster than the man who'd so crudely propositioned his own niece when she was scarcely more than a child....
The apprehensive young redhead felt herself relax, the kinks in her stiff back slowly dissolve. For the first time since she had arrived, she sat back on the expensive sofa. She accepted another drink, savoring its warm, soothing effect as it rolled down her throat. It was gone, and then there was another. And still more idle conversation--about everything from the relative trade-in values of 1972 Oldsmobiles, to the farm stock in Nebraska that interested her folks so much.
Her uncle's sole companion in the big house, a German shepherd watchdog named Rufus wandered in to greet her, then settled comfortably at his master's feet. Like Connolly himself, Rufus was more mongrel than thoroughbred, but supremely competent at his task, as good a watchdog as Lucky Joe was a businessman. It came easily to both of them: they both attacked whatever obstacles came their way with the same savage, blind determination, not resting, not pausing in their relentless struggle to win out. And like Rufus, Joe Connolly never forgot ... never forgot when he was slighted, never failed to remember a time when he'd been rebuffed ... always kept a flickering flame of spiteful remembrance going, well hidden beneath the genial exterior but always there. Until his chance came to get revenge.
And he was going to revenge himself all right on this proud little bitch! Goddamn her ass, he'd give her a taste of retribution in a way she'd never forget! The stuck-up cunt had thought she was too good for him, hadn't she? Too good for Lucky Joe Connolly, a self-made millionaire, could you believe it? Well, he'd fucking well show her! Shit, he'd show her and that whole stinking bunch of hillbilly farmers she called a family! Not one of them was fit to shine the shoes of Lucky Joe Connolly!
Sally Ann scarcely noticed when her uncle, momentarily leaving his chair to freshen his straight bourbon over ice, returned not to his own seat but to the sofa beside her. He settled down on the cushion, not uncomfortably close, then leaned forward to rest his glass on the cocktail table, easing almost to her side when he sat back.
"Uncle Joe, I-uh-I have to be going, I really do," the young girl said. She was frightened suddenly. Somehow the face of the nice, lonely old man she'd been talking with had changed with his change of position: now it reminded her again of the drunken, perverted beast she remembered from years before. "Have you-uh-have you decided about the ... the loan?" she went on bravely. "I mean, I don't want to rush you or anything. But it's getting late; it's dark outside and it's a long bus ride back into town...."
Lucky Joe smiled, ignoring her question. Cautiously he draped one arm around the back of the sofa behind her slim shoulders. She tensed as his fingers brushed lightly against her bare skin. That's right, honey, he thought, seeing a trace of a quiver on her lower lip. You did make one helluva mistake coming here! I guess you're starting to realize it-and we ain't even started yet! ... She gasped as his fingers dug into her flesh. "You sort of ran out on me, last time you were here," he leered. "Whaddya say we pick up where we left off, huh?" His voice was slurred, his tongue thick from the liquor.
His hand closed firmly around her upper arm and Sally Ann sat motionless, not breathing, her heart paralyzed at the sudden harsh awakening to what her uncle had in mind. She'd known all along this might happen, feared it even as she rode up to the plush suburb on the bus. But she'd had no choice ... ,this was her big chance, her only chance, to do something to help the man she loved, the man who would soon be her husband. And she'd do anything ... dear God, anything! ... to get the money he so desperately needed. Their lives, their whole futures, were riding on her actions at this moment. She wanted to run, to leave this despicable place, to get as far away as she could from this evil, leering brute, but she knew better ... I can't run, I've got to stay, I've got to do whatever I must to get the money. Oh God, I pray I can! Dean, please forgive me, darling; you must never know of this, of the shame I am going to endure for both of us. It must be my secret, love, mine alone!
Lucky Joe ran his hand down the curving line of her back. "You are a very beautiful young girl, you know." His fingers traced over the high swell of her firm young breasts; she shuddered with revulsion as he lightly fondled one of the taut mounds in his large palm, squeezing the flesh between his fingers, rubbing his open hand against the stiffened tip of her nipple. She tried to shut the sensation out, to tell herself she could feel nothing.
Then, sensing that she had surrendered though she hadn't uttered a word, her uncle stepped away from her, his eyes mentally stripping away her garments, and began to undress himself. Calmly, almost matter-of-factly, he pulled off his clothes right there in the middle of the room. Sally Ann was watching, but did not see; it was as if this were all some disgusting tableau, and she wasn't part of it at all, just a spectator standing by.
"You need some help?" he hinted, nodding to the long row of buttons down the front of her minidress.
"Not at all, thank you," she answered, surprising even herself with her braveness and her acquiescence. She began to loosen the buttons, fighting with every cell in her brain, determined to shut it all out of her mind. I must do this. Dean; it's for us ... please forgive me, darling, please!
Sally Ann squirmed her shoulders out of the tight, clinging dress, pulled it down over her trim young hips and stepped out of it. Her uncle's hungry eyes were devouring the mouth-watering treat she was unveiling before him, but she didn't look at him. She was wearing only panty-hose, thin white nylon panties and a lacy brassiere, and she felt very, very naked and vulnerable. She glanced up ... Uncle Joe too was naked, his over-fed, liquor-softened body stripped of all his clothes. His penis was fully erect, jutting out from beneath the paunch of his belly like a stump standing in a black, brushy thicket. She thought of his naked body on top of hers, of what he intended to do ... and she shuddered. No she couldn't do it; it would destroy her dignity and self-respect forever.
Lucky Joe was standing with his mouth open, his eyes wide with ravenous delight as he surveyed his prize catch. His red-haired niece's long youthful legs were highlighted by the chocolate color of her panty-tights; her firm, full young breasts made enticing mounds under the thin cups of her brassiere, the smooth flat plane of her white young belly was unblemished as it flowed down to the hidden "vee" of her pelvis. She saw the look in his eyes, really noticed for the first time the incredible wanton hunger that burned there. "No, I can't ... I just can't do it! I have to go now; it's all been a terrible mistake!" She reached desperately for her dress, but his hand caught her arm.
"Oh, no, baby, not this time!" he growled. "You ran out on me the last time I got close to that sweet little cunt of yours, and I don't aim to have it happen a second time!" His arms enveloped her, squeezed her against his naked body; his lips caught hers and drew them into his voraciously sucking mouth.
She fought, but his strength was far too great. His hands were all over her, ramming up between her thighs, around her back, pawing greedily at the firmly clenched cheeks of her buttocks, fondling the soft mounds of her full, ripe breasts with a lusty roughness. His fingers caught the elastic waistband of her tights, and with them the top of her panties. With a powerful, vicious yank, the big man pulled the two garments from her hips, over her thighs and down her legs. She was aware that his body was already drenched with sweat, so intense was his raging passion for her young fair body.
"No! No! Please, you mustn't!"
But the stockings were free of her flailing legs now, and with his first glimpse of the soft, sparse fluff of her pubic hair, the pink, pouting lips of her youthfully fresh vagina as she struggled to escape him, there was no stopping Joe. His lust for his niece was all that occupied his mind now; his strength was like the strength of a dozen men. Without its being unhooked, a cruel tug pulled her last concealing garment, her lace-covered brassiere, from her writhing torso. She was now totally naked, completely vulnerable to the salacious desires of her uncle.
He pulled his naked, struggling niece to him, crushed the nipples of her firm young breasts into his hair-covered chest. His hands went down her back, over the white mounds of her deliciously formed ass-cheeks, and probed coarsely up between her thighs. She shivered with fear and revulsion as his fingers prodded the taut little ring of her anus, but that was not his target. A poking, probing fingertip suddenly squirmed its way up between the soft, hair-lined lips of her now naked pussy, shoved up to the second knuckle in the fleshy tight sheath of her cunt. Goddamn, he had to have her! That pussy was incredible, tight as a velvet glove and as warm and tender as a baby kitten!
His lips searched for the jutting bud of her pinkly throbbing nipple as he lowered his head to her breast, still clasping her to his naked body, holding her securely so she couldn't escape.
"Oh, no ... please, Uncle Joe; I don't want to do this! I mustn't ... It's wrong; can't you see?" She managed to get an arm free, and with a superhuman burst of strength born of desperation, she shoved his head up from her breast and momentarily pulled herself away ... to fall flat on the floor.
He stood glaring at her, puffing like an enraged bull. "So that's the way you want to play, huh? Ol' Uncle Joe ain't good enough for you, eh? Maybe you rather have one of those hippie punks back in the city!" He turned and walked out of the room, leaving her sitting on the carpet, out of breath and exhausted from the brief but fierce struggle. Her milk-white breasts were heaving as she gasped for air; her smooth skin glistened with perspiration. She was stunned by his sudden exit, but quickly regained her bearings and started to get up. Then, before she could rise from the floor, a cold nuzzling shove froze her still. It was Rufus! The enormous black and tan dog was standing behind her, just inches away, his teeth bared and a menacing growl rumbling from deep in his heavy chest.
"Well, my dear, looks like Rufus has treed himself something special". Sally Ann glanced up quickly, not wanting to take her eyes away from the vicious dog. The huge animal's jaws were immense, big enough to snap her head from her body with one bite if he wanted to! Sally Ann was nearly hysterical with fear, too terrified even to cry out.
"Maybe he's a little ornery 'cause he wasn't getting in on the fun," her uncle leered. "I reckon we can remedy that, though." Sally Ann hadn't noticed until now the thick wad of money he held in his hand; with a contemptuous sneer, he dropped it on the floor a few feet from her huddled, naked form. "There's the money, you stuck-up little cunt ... all you gotta do now is obey orders; just behave yourself and do like I tell you, and the money's yours. Even a little extra there for a new dress or something. You're lucky I had that much in the safe."
Sally Ann had summoned enough courage to speak; she tried not to move her head, for the German shepherd was still just a few inches from her cheek. "I don't want your money ... I just want to leave."
"So that's it. I'm just not your type, huh? Well, we'll see who is ... how about Rufus there? He's as hairy as those hippie fags you like so much. Maybe he'd satisfy you more than me? Let's see if that's the truth!"
Sally Ann looked through her naked body, as she glimpsed, for one horrifying instant, the unthinkable act this maniac was devising in his twisted, sex-crazed brain ... she felt incredibly, unbelievably naked and exposed, as if she were standing stripped of all her clothes before a thousand sex-starved men ... there was a churning sense of total subjugation deep in her insides, a feeling she'd never known until this moment. She was totally crushed, nothing more than a sex toy for this man she thought she could trust ... and now this! Now this unspeakable humiliation! It was more than she could stand! She could never hope to live after this night, never be the wife she hoped to become for Dean, not with the scar of this degradation indelibly burned into her mind!
"How about it, proud little cunt! You think your ass is too good for the likes of me ... then see if it's good enough for this big-cocked animal there!" The naked car-dealer pointed to his huge animal companion. "Roll over, Rufus! Let the little lady see what you've got!" He roared with insane laughter as the dog obeyed, his long red animal cock already slipping pinkly from its furry sheath. "He's done it before, with a whore-girl I brought up from the city one night. So he won't need no coaching. I think he'd rather have a pretty little thing like you than one of his own!" Lucky Joe sneered, his belly trembling with excitement.
Sally Ann's whole naked body was shivering from a fear she'd never known; not a fear for her life, she didn't expect that even from this monster. But a fear that went beyond that, a fear that she would go on living, living each day with the awful, disgusting memory of what she was going to be forced to do this night.
"No!" she cried frantically. "No, please ... Uncle Joe! Not that! Not the d-d-dog! It's ... it's unnatural! It's horrible! You can't...! I'll do anything, anything-but not the dog!"
Connolly chuckled lasciviously. "So now we're changin' our tune, are we?" he jeered. "Well, somethin's goin' to happen before you leave here-and Rufus is gonna make sure it does! It's up to you, sweetie: either you do what I say, or it's Rufus. You can take your choice." She shuffled toward him on her knees, her face streaked with desperate tears. "W-w-w-what do you want me to do?" she whimpered piteously.
"That's more like it!" Lucky Joe thrust his hips forward, so that his paunch advanced and his lustfully jutting penis swayed within a few inches of the sobbing young redhead's trembling lips. "For a start," he growled, "you can put my cock in your pretty little mouth and suck it some...."
She turned away her head in disgust, and then hurriedly twisted it back as Rufus gave a low warning growl from behind her. The bloated purplish head of her uncle's ramrod shaft was throbbing just in front of her mouth.
"Goddamn it, girl, hurry up! Rufus is gettin' tired of waiting and so am I!" Lucky Joe yelled. "Suck me, you little bitch! Show your tired old uncle what you cheated him out of last time you were here! Let's see what you can do, damnit--Suck! Suck! Suck!"
Choking back her tears and her disgust, Sally Ann tried to shut it all from her mind ... somehow to transport her mind far away from here, anywhere as long as she didn't have to face the unbearable nightmare she was living here, now, this instant. Fighting back the nausea, she lowered her face to her uncle's heaving belly, her fingers clasping doubtfully around his long, glistening penis. She explored its rigid length, more to stall for time than anything else, but her delicate touch only excited him more. "Suck it, for chrissake, girl!" he roared. "Now, damn you! Now!" Rufus growled his assent.
Obeying because there was no hope left, Sally Ann closed her eyes and let his rubbery, lust-swollen cock-head slide slowly between her ovaled lips. It wriggled its way easily over her tongue, thrusting far back in her throat ... and almost hypnotically, as his fingertips closed around her skull and guided her, she began bobbing her head up and down the thrusting, fleshy staff, milking the gagging bulk of the invading, wetly gleaming shaft with her lips and tongue.
Lucky Joe was breathing heavily, his forehead dewed with sweat as he undulated his hips to plunge his aching cock in and out of the nakedly kneeling redhead's distended mouth. His tightened balls felt as though they were about to explode. The muscles at the back of his legs were trembling, and the rolls of fat around his belly jerked in convulsive spasms as the scalding wetness of her clasping hot lips obscenely pumped the quivering hardness of his raping penis. This was what he'd been waiting for, by God! This was the way he'd dreamed of seeing the proud little bitch-on her knees before him, humiliated and helpless under his ruthless male command! Christ, he'd have her screaming for it yet!....
Abruptly, he jerked the wetly glistening rod of male flesh from her distorted mouth and leaned down to spin her around so that she was facing the sofa. "Kneel down with your head on the cushions," he snarled. "I'm gonna fuck you 'till you scream for more!" Miserably, she shuffled around to obey.
Her nakedness was his now ... ,his to command. She had lost the will to struggle any longer. She would do anything now ... anything! Anything that would end this horrible nightmare and free her from this maniac's grip.
Her uncle maneuvered his sweat-moistened body into a kneeling position directly behind her. His eyes gleamed wildly as he took in the incredible deliciousness before him! Her firmly shaped young ass-cheeks quivered temptingly just inches from his thick throbbing swollen cock ... he inched forward, and the blood-engorged head of his turgid organ slid between the smooth, partially-opened insides of her young thighs. Sally Ann jerked instinctively at the sudden, unexpected touch, unaware for an instant what had happened. Oh, God ... no!
What is he going to do now!
He rocked forward on his knees, then back again, relishing the fantastic sensation of his iron-hard cock sliding wetly over his young niece's pussy-lips, moistened, as it slowly slipped through the furrow of the soft pink flanges, by the oozing trickle of seminal fluid that dripped from his thick member's bulbously pulsating head. Again he worked it back and forth between the soft, sparsely haired ridges ... he could feel the first faint traces of her own juices beginning to dampen the shaft of his huge penis as the swollen tip parted the pinkish lips and opened up the frail, moist treasure of her pussy to his hungry gaze. He could see the soft warm cleft of her young cunt, unguarded and vulnerable now, exposed to his lustful eyes by the forced intrusion of his passion-filled cock. He eased the blood-filled head up to the fleshy, moist orifice of her cuntal passage, his hands gripping the edges of her trim young hips, holding her in position as he prepared to fuck up into his cringing niece's tightly trembling little vagina. Christ, how he'd dreamed of this moment!
"Reach back here and put my cock in you! Put it in real slow and easy, baby! And you ol' uncle will give you a reaming out like you've never had before ... put it in! You think that sweet cunt's made of gold! I'll show you! You little bitch, put it in you!"
No choice remained for her now, and Sally Ann reluctantly carried out the heinous act, reaching back under her belly between her open thighs, taking his turgid blood-filled organ in her hand, and slipping it between the soft fleshy lips of her young pussy. It entered her easily, slithering deep up the warmly quivering sheath into her cunt. She heard him gasp as the constricting walls of her tight pussy gripped the swollen shaft of his penis and sucked its burning thickness to the hilt far up inside her cuntal passage. He moaned and rammed his organ home with a hard shove of his hips, sinking it up to his bushy pubic hair in his young niece's tender open furrow. Sally Ann wanted ... needed ... to cry for help, to cry out for forgiveness for this unspeakable act, but something held her back. Something she couldn't describe ... something she wouldn't even attempt to define even if the ability were there. For this feeling, this ghost of an all-too-familiar sensation, was not what she wanted to feel. No, it wasn't the stomach-twisting nausea she'd now grown used to, not the sweating fear that no longer overshadowed her ... it was something altogether different, yet a feeling that was like an old friend, a feeling she couldn't fail to recognize: this act she'd fought to hide from was now kindling a warmth of wicked excitement in her ravaged loins! She hated herself for allowing it to happen ... but she hadn't allowed it to! It had just happened, hadn't it? No one could blame her for feeling like this, could they? It wasn't like she'd planned it this way! Despairing thoughts of Dean flickered through her emotion-drained mind.
Forgive me, darling! Oh God, forgive me for this horrible feeling I can't control!
She knew suddenly that her life was changing now, that this moment would have more relevance to the rest of her days than any she'd lived so far. She knew she'd never forget this feeling, this wantonness she'd never guessed existed in her. But it didn't matter to her now ... nothing mattered any longer. Nothing save the delicious, exciting joy of having her tender young pussy plundered by her uncle, this ex-husband of her own mother's sister! She hated it and yet, in spite of the hate, she loved it! It was wrong, it was wicked and perverted ... but it was her, and for this moment it was all there was of her! She wanted more than anything to feel her uncle's hot seething load chum into her belly. She wanted his cum inside her! She had to have it!
Lucky Joe Connolly was going out of his mind with the incredible thrill of watching his haughty young niece writhing like an impaled insect on the end of his cock, squirming with maniacal lust as he rammed his pole home in her tight wet pussy again and again. He relished the sight of his penis disappearing between the pink fleshy lips of her cuntal mouth; his pelvis slammed hard against the soft fleshy cheeks of her firmly rounded buttocks. He watched with lust-widened eyes as every inch of his thick staff found its way into her hotly constricting belly, sucked between the moist lips of her hungry pussy, food for the ravenous passion raging out of control in her naked, quivering belly.
She moaned as she ground her naked young ass back against her uncle's frantic thrusts, a maddening, lust-heightened power within her sucking and pulling on his thick hard cock, hungrily sucking it all into her very insides ... Oh, God, this can't be real! I can't be doing this awful thing! I have to stop, I have to end this horrible nightmare somehow before I'm ruined forever! But, in God's name ... I can't! I can't help myself! Oh, Dean, where are you, my love! Why aren't you here to make this all end!
"Son-of-a-bitch, I can't take it any longer! You like cum so much, baby, here's all you can handle!" And with that, the young girl's uncle slammed his cock to the hilt in her upturned pussy, his balls pounding against the insides of her nakedly straining thighs as he sank all of his thick, blood-engorged organ deep in his niece's ravenously sucking cuntal passage. And then it happened ... the one single moment that would change Sally Ann Hughes' life forever ... the instant in time she could never forget ... or want to.
She could barely manage the words. "Oooooooooohhhhhhhh! ... Yes, yes, yes! It's r so good; yes! Don't stop, Uncle Joe! Fuck me hard! Harder! Oh God! I'm cumming ... I'M CUMMING! Fuck me now! Please! All the way in me! Dear God, tear me in half!" Her long hair trailed the floor as she knelt on all fours, her naked squirming ass cheeks dancing wildly as she ground her tight, savagely sucking pussy lips hard back against her uncle's frantic thrusts. She had reached something she'd never guessed was there ... a fantastic roaring crescendo of sounds and colors all flashing around her, her mind reeling with the deafening din of her incredible climax exploding in her brain. Her body convulsed in rippling waves of wanton fulfillment, tides of ecstatic passion that raced along her naked spine from the furrow of her sweat-glistened buttocks to the tips of her young breasts as they dangled beneath her, swinging from side to side and bouncing together as she writhed and squirmed, reveling in the warmness of his hot white load as it spurted deep up into her pussy.
The colors faded ... the merry-go-round reeling of her brain slowed to a halt ... she felt her pussy-lips reluctantly release their lust-captive, heard the soft wet sound as his deflated cock slipped from her tightly locked vaginal grip. A cool rush of air blasted between her gleaming thighs and filled the sperm-flooded crater deep inside her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The telephone was ringing when Sally Ann arrived back at Dean's apartment. Maybe that was why she had been so confused, so unsure of her own decision when she talked to Mark Rimmer. She hadn't even had time to catch her breath! Or maybe it was the shock of what he had to say. Whatever it was, she was committed now. Less than fifteen minutes after she had finished the express bus ride back into the city, she was on the move again!
This time she was going to a stranger's apartment-one she dreaded visiting even more than her uncle's house in Forest Lake ... the apartment where her beloved Dean had gone to bed with that ... that tramp! But how can I say that about her? Which is worse-what she did or what I just dragged myself down to? I'm so confused: nothing makes sense any more! And now this! Why, Dean, why would you have this man call me? Why would you ask me to meet you in that ... that apartment? Why go there again? I told you I'd get the money, and I have it! Oh ... I must have time to think....
The man driving the car said very little. She couldn't understand why Dean would have gone again to see the blackmailer's wife, nor why he should use the man himself as a taxi. There was nothing about Rimmer to cause her to doubt the truthfulness of his story. Dean was at their apartment and he wanted her there. No, Rimmer didn't know the reason, but the boy had seemed pretty insistent. No, there didn't seem to be anything wrong-but she would have to wait until they got there to find out.
Sally Ann tried not to think of what had already happened, of the lurid nightmare from which she had just returned, the unreal spectre of what had happened only a few miles away 'among the pines of Forest Lake. She had the money they needed: that was all that mattered now. For once she had been able to offer her Dean something he couldn't provide for himself, to help him when there was nobody else standing around to lend a hand. And no matter what she'd done, no matter how long the scar was etched in her memory, she'd have this satisfaction. She'd give him the money, free him from that awful woman he'd already made one mistake with, steal him from the clutches of the pimp husband sitting beside her, and their lives would once more be their own. She managed a smile as she relaxed on the cushions of the car seat....
In the apartment to which Rimmer took her there was a bedroom, barely illuminated by the pinkish glow of a night lamp. Through a half-open door Sally Ann could see the reflected white of bathroom fixtures, an ancient lavatory on wrought iron legs, and through a further door another room, darkened, with the barely visible outline of a window with shades drawn against the street lamps outside.
So this was the place where Dean had come to meet the woman, maybe here in this very bedroom! She had followed Mark obediently into the house, up the stairs, and into this room. There had been no reason to mistrust him. After all, he had said Dean was asking for her. But now she hesitated. Something was wrong. She didn't know what, but the pieces no longer grooved together. Why was it all dark? "Where's Dean?" she asked suspiciously. "I thought you said--"
Rimmer silenced her with a finger across her lips. "Quiet, honey. He's here all right. I didn't lie about that," he whispered.
"What do you mean, 'about that'? Did you lie about something else? Where is he? What's going on?" Sally Ann was puzzled ... but not afraid. There was no attempt to restrain her, to prevent her from leaving, so she resisted the impulse to scream, to run back down the stairs, and stood nervously there, impatient-but more than that, insatiably curious.
"They're in there," Mark said, nodding his head toward the open door of the bathroom. And it was only as he spoke that she became aware of the sounds filtering through from the further darkened room ... rustles, heavy breathing, fragments of muttered conversation. "Your loving boyfriend is in there ... with my wife," Rimmer said tightly. "That's why I got you out here. He may have been tricked into coming and screwing her the first time, but this time he's screwing her on his own! I came home earlier than Maureen expected and caught them at it. They're so engrossed in each other they didn't even notice! Listen!"
Sally Ann caught the full meaning of what he was saying, but it didn't register. It had to be a lie! Like someone mesmerized, she moved zombie-like to the open door. The sounds were louder now, more intelligible.
"Yes, darling, yes! Right there! That's it!"...."Oooooggggh, it feels so good!" ... "Put another finger in me, honey! Put them all in!"....
"Mmmmmmmmm! Maureen, darling, your hand's so warm on my balls! It feels great there, just great!"
Sally Ann stood frozen to the spot for a long time. Then slowly she began to quiver as a sickened shudder ran along her spine. Her lips trembled and she pressed her clenched fist against her mouth to stifle a cry of pain. Her vision blurred as her eyes flooded with tears. Oh God, no! Not this! Not this! How could he do this to her? How could he come here while she was selling her own body like a common whore to help him? All that she had done, the whole terrible nightmare, had been in vain! Wasted on him, wasted ... all that she had suffered for his sake in Forest Lake! She had done all that for nothing, turned herself into a cheat and a gutter slut for nothing at all!
A strong hand caressed her shoulder, affectionately, sympathetically at first, then more openly as a hint of something more intimate. At any other time she would have swung around and slapped Mark Rimmer's face. But not tonight. Tonight nothing mattered: this man, any man, could do with her as he pleased.
She had been twice, in one night, in different ways, humiliated beyond belief. She was reduced to nothing more than a plaything for this stranger's hands. But Sally Ann didn't care. Let him take her, let him fuck her silly, stick his cock in her mouth, into her belly. She didn't care any more, not now. Not after this.
She offered no resistance as the stranger's hands slid over the soft gentle curve of her breasts, fought not at all as his fingers deftly unbuttoned her blouse-put on fresh just before he called for her at Dean's apartment-opened the sheer garment and unhooked her brassiere in back. Her head hung limply, her eyes still shielded from what was happening by a veil of tears. A low, strangled sob welled up from her constricted throat.
No, this isn't right! I won't just let this man use me and have his way with my body! I will not just let him strip me and have his fun ... I'll go one better! I won't be the only one not enjoying themselves tonight: if it's good enough for Dean, it's good enough for me; if he can do it, so can I! I'll show this man, this husband of the woman Dean obviously craves, a night he won't forget in a hurry! That woman has nothing on me: I'll show Dean! I'll show them all!....
With an almost enjoyable sense of relief, Sally Ann stepped out of her slacks. She was nearly naked now, here in the darkness with Maureen's husband. He reached for her, touching her shoulders, and she shivered at the feel of his cool hands on her naked flesh. "Just a minute, lover," she whispered, as if this kind of thing was an every-day occurrence with her. "I still have my panties on!"
She pulled the flimsy panties over the full swell of her hips and down her slender tapered legs, stepping out of them and letting them fall to the floor. Mark Rimmer reached for her again, his fingers running excitedly over her bare young flesh. Sally Ann discovered she was shivering again, this time with the wicked, forbidden excitement of what she was doing. It was easy! All along, she'd guessed she could never do a thing like this ... and now it was nothing! She closed her eyes and savored the thrill of a man's caressing hands on her unclothed body. Already she could feel that she was wet between the legs!
Mark lowered his head to her breast, lifting it gently in one cupped hand as he sucked the tiny pink bud of the nipple into his hungry mouth. "Not yet, lover," Sally Ann murmured. "Open the door a little wider. I want my boyfriend and your wife to hear us, to hear it when you ... when you fuck me within an inch of my life!"
Mark complied and then eased her backward to the bed. Buckling at the knees when she reached the mattress, she subsided slowly onto the covers, leaving her thighs slightly parted as she fell so that, even in the dim light, he caught a glimpse of the moist crevice of the hidden young vagina that awaited him. His pulse quickened. Christ, he'd wanted this little bitch ever since he laid eyes on her! It had been a smart idea to trick her into coming here and showing her her boyfriend at work. Now she was his, stretched out naked and ready before him. It was almost too good to be true!
Sally Ann moaned again, louder this time, uncaring if anyone could hear, quivering convulsively as Mark's lips explored her body, nibbling eagerly at her hardening nipples as they peaked out proudly from the firm round hills of her young breasts, licking tenderly over the soft contours of her body, biting her playfully on the shoulder and neck. Her hand reached out for his belt-but she found that somehow, with an expertise that amazed her, he had already stripped off his own clothes and was lying naked beside her! Her fingers touched his thick, bushy pubic hair ... then she gave a low gasp as they clenched around the hardened shaft of his huge cock. Her fingertips caressed the bulbous head, smearing the wetness oozing from the end-slit over the rubbery satin flesh, then eased down to the swollen softness of his testicles, gently squeezing the glands in their crinkled hairy sac.
"Jesus!" Mark breathed. "I'm gonna screw your brains out tonight, you hot little bitch! You'll be walking bowlegged when I get through reaming out your sexy little ass!"
Sally Ann twisted against him, the long cool length of her nakedness pressed to his body, her firm breasts smashed against his hairy chest as she ground her flat belly into his softening paunch. She felt the hardness of his erection hot between her thighs, brushing against the already moistening lips of her trembling pussy. She heard the excited voices in the far room abruptly grow silent, and she knew Dean had heard them: he knew there was somebody else in the apartment. She could imagine the two of them lying there, straining their ears in the darkness, straining to hear another sound, another word. "Yes, Mark," she said clearly. "I want you to fuck me like that! I want you to fuck me good, lover!...."
Dean lay motionless, his head cradled between the mountainous breasts of the naked woman beneath him. His hand was extended over the hairy mound of her pussy and his two middle fingers worked their way rhythmically in and out of her tight and wetly clasping cunt.
"Yes, I heard it too," she whispered. "Don't be alarmed, sweetie. It must be Mark with some two-bit whore he's picked up. That's about the best he can do now. But he won't dare come in here-not when he knows there's someone in bed with me. Forget it, baby, and worry about me!" Her hand slid over his sweat-slick buttocks and worked up between his legs. Dean gasped in ecstasy as her fingers tightened around his cock and began slowly pumping it.
* * *
Mark Rimmer's hot moist mouth was fastened hungrily to the desire-hardened nipple on Sally Ann's firm young breast. As his hands roamed the trembling girl's body, he sucked eagerly. His fingers probed deep between her milky thighs, squeezing the taut globes of her ass-cheeks to leave tiny red marks over the satin skin. His lips released her nipple to trail wetly down between the firm ripe melons of her breasts, over the flat plane of her belly-and on to the sparsely hair-covered bulge of her pubic mound. She felt her thighs being parted, and she offered no resistance as his fingers splayed the tawny down surrounding her moist pink cuntal lips. Then she gasped aloud as the tip of his tongue snaked in and made contact with the tiny quivering bud of her clitoris.
He spread the opening wider with his finger and thumb, burrowing his face deeply into the shivering young girl's red-fringed pussy, thrusting his tongue far up into the soft wet flesh. His tongue was suddenly everywhere ... lashing mercilessly at the nerve-filled nipple of her clitoris, probing in between the tight wet walls of her cunt, flirting unexpectedly at the trembling puckered ring of her anus. She was alive with desire, quivering and writhing in helpless arousal beneath him as he brought her expertly to the level of wanton abandon that he relished in a woman.
"Ooooooooooh! God, yes! ... Oh God-it's so goooooooood!"
His middle finger, moist still from a quick probe into her cunt, wormed its way suddenly into her tautly clenched rectum. She recoiled at the sudden entry, but as the pain subsided, ground her anus hotly back on the raping digit. He rotated it gently in the rubbery, resilient passage as his tongue laced again and again around the trembling bud of her clitoris.
Sally Ann had resisted none of this, had allowed it all to happen, allowed all these strange forbidden pleasures to be fulfilled. And now a strange masochistic madness had her in its grip as she lay writhing between Mark's tongue in her ravenous pussy and his finger buried in her ass. Nothing mattered to her now but the wild abandoned sensations vibrating through every nerve of her nakedly trembling body. There was nothing else for her in the entire universe, and she twisted and squirmed under his lewd impalement, gasping and screaming and begging for more, pleading with him to do anything ... anything ... anything he could do to quell this raging inferno of abandoned lust and animal passion that he and the thought of her boyfriend and Maureen in the other room had unleashed in her.
"Yes ... suck me! Suck me! Stick your finger up my ass!" she pleaded in a choked whisper. "Stick your whole hand up there, lover! I want to feel you all balled up inside there! Harder--Ooooooooh! Harder! Harder! Harder!"
Their sweat-soaked bodies worked as a single entity, her thighs opening and closing around his face with the frantic rhythm of his tongue snaking between her moist pink pussy lips, jerking forcefully as he gave an extra hard suck to her quivering cunt. Her belly began to heave more rapidly now, her long red hair flailing wildly from side to side on the bedcovers. He thrust his tongue further into her pussy, his wildly gyrating finger buried to the palm in the buttery depths of her rectum. Her breasts danced frenziedly as she shivered and squirmed. Then suddenly her head ground into the covers as her back arched off the mattress, her face contorted, and she ground her loins convulsively against his slaving face.
The desperately threshing young redhead felt everything inside her flood outward with the fury of her sudden orgasm. Sensing a gush of her own juices oozing down the cheeks of her buttocks, she gave a final choking moan and collapsed heavily back on the bed. Mark lay still for a moment, his head resting on the soft down mantling her loins ... then he uttered a cry of surprise as Sally Ann pushed him aside, scrambling around to reverse their positions. She wasn't thinking any longer-just acting entirely by instinct. He had brought infinite pleasure to her naked body, and now she wanted to repay him; it was as simple as that. It was nothing she had thought out. Had it been, she could probably never have gone through with it. It was pure, blind passion, what her body told her to do ... and she was going to do it.
Mark was hairy and the touch of his flesh was strangely appealing to her lips and tongue. There was a taste of manliness to his skin-a curious pungency she remembered shamefully from earlier this very night. Gripping the wetly gleaming shaft of his penis with one hand, she lowered her lips to its swollen, lust-engorged head. Her tongue flicked out to make warm, wet contact with the tip, savoring the salty taste of the seminal fluid welling freely now from the slit in the glans. She circled it salaciously around the smooth rubbery knob as Mark groaned and twisted beneath her from the delicious lewd punishment she was meting out. Her hands cupped his balls and lifted them; her lips parted and ovaled ... and his hotly pulsating cock was in her mouth!
He could stand the teasing no longer. He gripped her long hair in both hands and thrust his loins up hard, ramming his penis deep into her throat. She could feel the spongy hardness of the shaft along the full length of her tongue as the long, lust-thickened cudgel embedded itself in her throat. She fought back the involuntary urge to choke; saliva filled her mouth and moistened the thickness of his flesh as it throbbed between her tightly pursed lips, stretching them widely as they adjusted to his huge shaft.
"Oh, you lovely man!" she cried, wrenching her mouth away from him for a moment. "I love to feel your cock in my mouth!" Frenziedly, she fastened her lips over the hotly pulsating shaft again.
"That's it, sweetheart," Mark panted. "Now tighten your lips and suck it real nice! Suck it as hard as you can!"
Sally Ann sucked as though her life depended on it, swirling and licking, her head pumping up and down ... this was all that mattered now: sucking this man's thick sperm from his cock, filling her body with the warm fluid from his loins! And she loved every second of it, loved the lascivious wickedness of being used like this, of being debased like a common whore, loved the idea of Dean in the other room. She relished the thought that he could see her like this, sucking like a cock-starved maniac on Mark's thick, cum-bloated penis! Her pussy lips quivered up between her thighs at the thought.
* * *
"Oh, you lovely man: I love to feel your cock in my mouth!...."...." Tighten your lips and suck it real nice ... as hard as you can!"
Dean Garrett tore his lips away from Maureen's softly yielding flesh and raised his head to listen. The rustling of bedsprings ... the voices before ... the moans ... and now those two clear sentences! Now he knew! He wasn't imagining things! At first, he'd thought he was hallucinating, that he was imagining he knew the voice ... but not now! It hit him with the force of a hurricane: that was no two-bit whore in there with Mark Rimmer; it was his girl Sally Ann!
Thrusting himself violently away from Rimmer's wife, he leaped from the bed and ran to the bathroom door. "Darling! ... Don't! ... Where the hell are you going? I need you here! Don't leave me like this!" Maureen was writhing on the rumpled covers, her lusting thigh: opened, awaiting the hardness of the boy's cock that she'd been so confident was only second: away.
Dean ignored her. He tiptoed through the bathroom separating the two bedrooms and stared into the dimness of the one further on. What he saw there froze him like a statue. It was Sally Ann, all right! and she was on the bed, on her hands and knees over Maureen's husband, his cock implanted like a huge banana between her avidly sucking lips ... Her naked ass was stuck up high in the air, squirming from side to side in evident excitement as she labored like a harem slave at her obscene task.
Like a robot, he moved slowly toward the lewdly coupled pair on the bed. The mattress sagged as he braced his knees against it. The lascivious wet sluicing noises ceased for an instant ... and then resumed. He reached out, found the flaunting outlines of his girlfriend's nakedly swaying ass-cheeks, felt the wetness in the narrow crease between them. His stomach tightened at the thought of another man bringing his fiancee such passionate pleasure. He felt her buttocks quiver at his touch, but she didn't stop for a moment the obscene sucking of Mark Rimmer's upright cock, her face burrowed against his hairy loins as she gagged on every inch of the thickly thrusting staff. Didn't she care how many men she took on? Didn't she even want to know who was behind her? Did she know it was Dean?
The trembling young artist thrust the questions from his mind. Damn it, he had to have her! It was insane but he couldn't fight it! Nothing else was important ... not what she was doing here, nor why she was in bed with Rimmer, nor why she didn't react to his touch. He simply had to have her! And not in the ordinary way: he wanted to punish her, brutally, to revenge the mental hurt she was bringing him!
In the semi-darkness, his fingers explored, found what he was seeking ... and the middle one sank into the tight, forbidden orifice of her anus. Gasping around the huge, thick cock wedged into her mouth, Sally Ann jerked convulsively forward at the sudden unexpected intrusion. But Dean had her tightly pinned in position and he brought his now plank-stiff cock up in line with the tautly puckered little hole. Rotating his buried finger several times to widen and stretch the constricted nether ring, he then pulled it out as suddenly as he had thrust it in. Guiding his penis with one hand and clasping his girlfriend tightly around her thighs with the other, he eased his angry cock-head up to the clenched, muscular lips of her anus. Then, with a forceful flick of his hips, he rammed forward, shoving with all his strength until at last the tight elastic opening yielded and the lust-bloated glans surged inside a painful inch.
"Nnnngghhhh!" Sally Ann tried to cry out, but her anguished plea was stifled as Mark pulled her head tight against his loins and snapped his hips upward, forcing the bulbous tip of his penis far down her throat and muffling her cry.
Dean eased another inch into her virginal rectum, and another painful inch as his thick, anger-expanded shaft mercilessly wedged its way into the virginal passage. Hearing her gagged moans around the shaft of his cock, Mark accelerated the pace of his upward jabs into her distended mouth, ramming it in fast and furiously as she sucked with all her strength to avoid choking on the ever-hardening rod of male flesh. Behind her, Dean gasped aloud and slammed his cock home: it sank like a heated knife into the buttery depths of her rectum, right up to the hairy base in the incredibly tight tunnel of her backside. He'd never felt anything like it! No virgin could possibly be as tight as this! It was as though a warm gloved hand had suddenly gripped his cock, and was now pulling and pumping it like crazy!
Maureen was in the room now. The light from the open bathroom door was brighter and Dean could see the entire obscene spectacle reflected in a tall mirror screwed to the bedroom wall ... the one young girl, naked and helpless, pinned as if in a vise between the two men, kneeling like a slave with her whole body convulsing with every punishing thrust they delivered. He could see Mark's thick cock disappearing and reappearing between his girl's widely ovaled lips, her long red hair whipping from side to side as it swept Rimmer's chest and belly, her firm young breasts dancing and swaying whitely below her torso and her head bobbed lasciviously up and down. He could see Maureen watching wide-eyed from the bathroom doorway as she frenziedly fingered her own cunt. And he could see Sally Ann's ass contract and shudder with every brutal thrust of his own loins against her savagely violated buttocks.
Something inside him turned over with revulsion at the lewd sight ... yet something far stronger held him there, fixed as firmly as a needle to a magnet. He wanted to scream and take Sally Ann and himself away, but he couldn't. His cock ached from the constricting clasp of her anus, but he couldn't bear to pull it from her warmly clutching belly. Instead, he began to fall into a rhythm with Mark ... faster and faster the two of them fucked and pumped into the slavishly kneeling redhead. She was a helpless heap of quivering female flesh, unable to move a muscle as they relentlessly ground their thick fleshy cocks into her from the front and the rear at the same time.
And then suddenly it was all coming to an end....
Mark uttered a low guttural groan and pulled the shamelessly kneeling girl's head down hard against him, drawing her working throat deep down on his all at once wildly spewing cock as he shuddered galvanically into his climax. Only a short length at the base of his cock was visible to Dean, and the young artist watched in horrified amazement as Sally Ann's cheeks bloated and hollowed, bloated and hollowed, her throat muscles gulping vigorously while liquid torrents of Rimmer's hot sperm squirted into her mouth. At the same time he felt a gush of warm juices ooze down his girlfriend's thighs and he knew that she too was reaching her peak of release. He felt her ass-hole contract involuntarily, tightening even more the vise-like grip it held on his throbbing cock. And then, as she began quaking and tremoring with the force of her orgasm, he let go. He'd held it as long as he could ... there was no point waiting any longer.
With a frenzied burst of energy, he rammed the lustfully throbbing staff again and again up her ass-tunnel, sodomizing her viciously with every deep, tearing thrust. Like a madman, he slammed himself into her, his own pain easing at the feel of the torment he was inflicting on Sally Ann.
Maureen's husband's limp, used cock slipped wetly from the girl's lips and her head now lifted from his belly. Her eyes were closed and her teeth bared, her lips still smeared with Mark's cum. "Ooooogggghhhh!" she screamed. "Yes, darling, hurt me! Hurt me! Hurt me, Dean. Aaaaagggghhhh! "
Dean gripped her hips with both hands, his own eyes closed as he packed every ounce of his energy into driving his thickly pulsating cock deep into her belly again and again, harder and deeper with every punishing surge. "Aaaaaaahhhhhhh! Hump back, baby!" he cried wildly.
And then his hotly pistoning cock seemed to explode deep up inside Sally Ann's frantically clasping rectal passage. His balls slapped wetly between the kneeling redhead's naked thighs, drenched already with the sticky film of her own wildly erupting juices, as his white-hot semen squirted in a thickly spurting flood into the scalding depths of her belly. He thought for a fleeting instant of what she had done to him, of how he wanted to punish her for betraying him, and his last thrust was the hardest of all, flattening the softness of her buttocks hard against her hipbones and sending her sprawling forward across the exhausted form of Mark.
Dean moaned aloud as his balls emptied into the collapsed young girl's anus, then he too subsided across her back as his penis grew limp and rubbery. It slipped from her rectal clasp with a loud wet sucking noise that seemed a fitting conclusion to the wild and uninhibited orgy that had just been brought to the pinnacle of wanton fulfillment.
Maureen, her hands scrabbling between her own thighs as she sought some temporary relief from the devils of desire evoked by the obscene spectacle on the bed, had now climbed on to the mattress with them. Lying back on the pillows, she waited patiently, though her every muscle ached for some of the same treatment she'd watched this young bitch receive. She smiled quietly into the semi-darkness, for she knew the next round would be hers....
EPILOGUE
The sun shone brightly on the tangle of dockland streets around the center. Sally Ann Hughes left Harlan Leonard's office and headed for her own, now newly redecorated with comfortable furniture and some paintings to relieve the institutional monotony. The telephone was ringing in there; she could hear it all the way down the hall, even over the din of the mother's clinic being held in the main reception area to her left. She glanced at her watch. She supposed it, would be Dean. He usually called about this time now, just as he was finishing his morning's work at their new studio and gallery in the Nob Hill district. Sally Ann felt good, really good, for the clinic was at last reassured of a future and the center as a whole in sound financial shape for the first time since it was founded.
Dean had graduated summa cum laude; the trustees of the Garrett estate had come through with the money-and Dean's first act as heir had been to offer Sally Ann's center funding for as long as it took to get another official grant for the programs. Sally Ann was proud of her man for that, prouder for that than anything else. She would never have asked him to do it, or even hinted; the money was his, to use as he pleased, even though she had certainly helped him to get it! But he had offered on his own.
Passing a discontented woman carrying a baby toward the clinic, the young redhead was reminded of another aspect of their past that she'd rather forget. Dolly was out of the way now for good, cheated of the money she had conspired to take for herself but relieved that she had not been deprived of what little remained of her own inheritance. The last Sally Ann and Dean had heard, from a friend of one of the trustees, she was living on a small island in the Caribbean, not exactly queening it in the lap of luxury but apparently happy and contented with the tall Cuban who was her constant companion.
As Sally Ann dropped into her office chair and snatched the receiver from its cradle, a soreness between her thighs reminded her of the previous night-and the painfully enjoyable antics she'd experienced with Dean and another couple, friends and fellow artists from the school.
"Hi, sweetie!" Dean's now self-assured voice breezed in the receiver. "I have a surprise for you, darling. There'll be two old friends dropping by tonight-Mark and Maureen."
For a moment Sally Ann was nearly stunned. But she recovered quickly and gracefully. "Fantastic!" she replied with a grin. "I'll be delighted to see them. Got to run now-staff meeting before lunch. See you at seven."
Replacing the instrument in its cradle, she sat for a moment musing on the events that had taken place over the long weeks since she'd spent that night in the Rimmers' apartment. There had been more of that night, of course. And the earlier part ... and the repayment of the borrowed money at her uncle's house after Dean inherited, memories that were secret to herself for the moment. She knew they would eventually have to come out too, but not just yet. There was plenty of time....
What was interesting, though, was the prospect of seeing Maureen and Mark again. They'd been paid off and there was no doubt about it: they were a couple of cheap cons. But she could feel a tingle in her belly even now at the memory of that night in bed with Mark-and how it had drawn from Dean for the first time the fierce viciousness that excited her so much. It had been like an undamming of pent-up emotions and inhibitions for both of them ... something that might never have happened without the intervention in their lives of Mark and Maureen Rimmer!
A tiny shiver of excitement raced along the voluptuous redhead's spine as she visualized the sensual evening that lay ahead. Yes, indeed, it would be another night to remember ... and maybe this time, just maybe, she would have a few tricks up her sleeve for Mark and Maureen!
