When Ellie Brighton first heard the sound of people talking, she was lying naked by the side of a pool. She had thought herself alone; had, in fact, stripped down to the skin to sunbathe next to the pool, where she had been swimming; and when she heard voices she jumped up and stood there for a moment, looking confused.
Her heart pounded. Her clothes were on the other side of the pool, near a sycamore tree, draped over a fallen limb. For a moment she stood there and looked across the pool helplessly. The voices were so close! Someone was coming up the stream, someone from the camp, and when they saw her here, alone, naked, well, she would never live it down. The people at the camp were all so proper, so decent--that was why Ellie had gone there, after all. And to be found like this"!
She ran around the pool and grabbed up her clothes, but even that one moment of hesitation had made it impossible for her to escape. The voices were almost up to the pool; she had to hide, to hope that whoever it was would keep going, would pass the pool, never even seeing her.
She crept behind a drift of wood that had caught up against the trunk of the sycamore during the spring rains. There she was hidden for the moment, lying motionless in the dappled shadow of the sycamore, clutching her clothes.
She felt scared. A few moments ago, warmed by the hot sun, she had felt herself growing excited, sexually excited. She had noticed suddenly that she could smell her own body. It smelled of sweat, a deep, musky odor that was strangely exciting to her. She had done nothing bad, of course; she had not touched herself down there. But, as often happened to her lately, she had felt herself growing liquid down there, had become aware of a tantalizing itch that she knew to be sinful. It was perhaps this itch, this lusting, that had made her take off her swimsuit--a modest, one-piece suit, quite old-fashioned in comparison to the bikinis of the other girls at the camp--and lay in the hot sand on the other side of the pool, her legs spread, feeling the warm breeze wash over her body and, tantalizing her, explore every part of her young body.
Then she recognized the voices. The one smooth, controlled, the voice of a man was that of Burt Conroy, a prosperous salesman, quite young, who had most of the girls in camp panting after him. Tall, strongly built, he had a way about him that made a girl feel helpless. Ellie had avoided him, recognizing this force, this curious strength. She had seen Burt beckon to a girl and wait casually, with a sort of regal grace, for the girl to approach. He gave orders to all the girls, orders that were obeyed. The girls fetched things for him, took his messages often messages to other girls! and, according to Cindy Wheeler, Ellie's friend, they did other things for him as well, with equal willingness, behind closed doors. But Cindy had that kind of imagination. The other voice was that of Liz Dodson, a strikingly beautiful girl whom the other girls disliked because of her flirting, which was constant and had all the men including, apparently, Burt Conroy hanging around her from morning to night, waiting for their chance to talk to her.
Ellie got down lower. She fumbled with her swimsuit, trying to get it on, but realized quickly that she couldn't possibly get it on without attracting attention. And anyway it seemed unlikely that Burt and Liz would stay around very long. They didn't swim, either of them, although they did spend most of their time around the pool in camp.
"Is this okay?" said Liz. She was only a few yards away. Dressed in nothing but a purple bikini--the bottom of it was skimpy and dipped down right to where her pubic hair must be--she was tanned and lovely, with golden hair that tumbled over her shoulders and around large breasts that hung heavily in a straining bikini top. She reached behind her as Ellie watched. Ellie gasped as she saw her unhook the top of her bikini.
"It's fine," said Burt. "I seem to remember being here."
"I wonder when," said Liz. "I don't suppose you went swimming."
She let the bikini top fall to the ground. Her breasts, lush and golden from the sun fell out, drooping in a nice curve, the nipples large and angry red in color. Burt was watching her, leaning against a boulder.
"Well?"
"I'm in no hurry," he said. "We've got all afternoon."
"You may not be in a hurry, but I am," she said. "Take this off for me, I don't want to get my fingers sticky."
Ellie gasped, thinking that she couldn't really be saying that; Liz was a nice girl, really very pleasant, whatever Cindy said. But in the next moment Burt actually went over to her, grabbed the fastener of the bikini, and pulled it loose. Then he pulled the bikini bottom down her legs to her feet.
She kicked it free. The curling blonde hair of her pubic region was wet and sloppy clear through, and even Ellie, as innocent as she was, knew the significance of this. Liz was in heat, like an animal, like a bitch; her vagina was inflamed, loaded with a sticky secretion that testified to her passion. Liz stood there for a moment letting Burt look her over. She brushed the golden hair out of her face, and Ellie could see the hungry look there, the parted lips, the color in her cheeks. She could see that Liz was breathing heavily as she stood there, legs parted, the pale hair of her pubes in sodden curls underneath a flushed and ready vagina.
Then Burt began to undress. He was wearing nothing but shorts and a tee-shirt, and when he took off the tee-shirt Ellie saw the mass of curly black hair on his chest. She turned away for a moment, trying not to look, but the temptation was irresistible. When she turned back she saw that Burt had slipped off the shorts, revealing a huge, hose like cock, heavy and thick, with a bulge of black hair at its base. It was half tumid, but growing larger every moment, and Ellie groaned softly to herself as she saw it. She'd had dreams about such a penis, horrible dreams, threatening dreams in which she was attacked and split open by the monstrous thing, while feeling a terrible attraction to it, at the same time as she struggled to escape. And now to see this, out here in the open; to see Burt Conroy--he had been so pleasant to her, so kind, undressing in front of a woman, casually, as if this were an every day occurrence.
He and Liz were both still standing there, looking at each other. Then Liz reached up and cupped her own breasts in her hands, in a languorous movement, very slow. Ellie could see Liz touching, her thumbs to the nipples, making them stiffen and rise. Her own breasts, hanging to the sand below her, responded; her nipples tightened and grew, at the same time as the squishy feeling in her thighs increased, until she became aware that the moisture was dripping down her leg. She squeezed her legs together, then parted them when the twinge of feeling in her vagina increased until she could scarcely stand it.
"Go down on me," said Liz. She had a confident, even arrogant look on her face, a look that revealed how aware she was that her body was supremely lovely, perfect in its parts, flawless as a whole. She brought her hands down to her crotch and stroked the stiff curls of pubic hair between her legs while Ellie watched, breathless, and tried not to move.
But Burt held back. "You first," he said.
Liz shrugged haughtily. "Not me. I've never gone down on a man in my life, and I don't intend to start now."
He smiled and reached down to stroke his massive cock. The head flowered, spreading out, until it looked like a huge purple plum in the bright sunlight. Then, shrugging, he reached for his shorts. Ellie felt a profound sense of relief mingled with disappointment.
"What are you doing?" asked Liz tightly.
Burt began to pull his shorts on. He didn't answer.
"Come on, Burt. You know I'll fuck you."
He still didn't say anything.
"Oh, shit," she said finally. "If you're going to be that way I'll do it."
He looked at her for a moment, calm and satisfied, then stripped off his shorts again.
"Over here."
She came to him, her body golden and lovely in the sun, and Ellie saw the way the sun glinted on her mass of sodden pubic hair, where her sexual excitement was obvious.
"Get down," said Burt.
Liz got down dutifully, eyeing his huge cock with obvious doubt in her mind. But when he swung it over near her, her gaze became fascinated, she couldn't stop watching the thing. When he let it touch her lips, she didn't draw back, but opened them slightly and looked startled as his heavy cock jammed forward suddenly into her mouth.
At once she was sucking greedily on it, uncontrollably excited, while feeling for her crotch and the warm lips of her cunt with both hands. Her fingers sank deep into them, into the soft, mushy patch of wet skin, while Ellie watched from her hiding place.
Ellie felt nauseous as she watched, but even so she let her hand touch her crotch, then settle in the full, swollen lips of her vagina, in the sticky secretions that had gathered there while she lay in the hot sun. She felt dreamy, abstracted, and didn't let herself think about what she was doing. The breeze was warm, flowing over her body, and in the mottled shadow of the sycamore she felt peaceful almost. Her breath quickened. At one and the same time she was indignant at Burt and Liz and wished that she was the girl who was doing this to Burt, that she could experience what Liz was experiencing.
But it was disgraceful, it really was. How people could let themselves behave like animals, in heat, was beyond her. She herself would never do such a thing. Never!
Burt groaned suddenly, and Ellie, hearing him, looked up in surprise. He had his eyes shut, his head lifted, and looked as if he was having a heart attack. Watching him, Ellie was frightened. It seemed to her obvious that he must be punished for what he was doing, that the two of them must somehow reap the rewards of their sin, but that retribution could come so swiftly! She whimpered, wanted to cry out. But then she saw that Burt was thrusting his hips forward, and Liz was sucking hard on his cock while something white and thick boiled out of his cock and out of her mouth in a copious flow. The sticky substance rolled out of the corners of Liz's mouth, down onto her naked breasts. Ellie, watching, wondering, was appalled and disgusted at the sight. It was sickening. She hadn't known about this, that men secreted something sticky like that, although far in her past"
She shut off the thought. Liz was sucking greedily at Burt's cock, sucking up the thick juice that boiled out of it. Lying there, Ellie closed her eyes for a moment, trying not to think about what she was seeing. But then she opened them again. Burt's thick cock was again half tumid as he stood above Liz. He was holding her thick, blonde hair in his hand and forcing her mouth farther over the head of his cock. Ellie could see that Liz was uncomfortable--could see her struggling, pushing away from him. But he ignored her discomfort--indeed, he increased it by wrenching at her hair, hard, until Liz revealed by the screwed-up expression on her face that the pain was intolerable. He seemed to be deliberately hurting her, doing everything in his power to make her feel pain, to respond to it. Then he let go. His cock, limp now, hung down toward the ground, wet from his jism and Liz's saliva.
Liz fell to the ground, gasping and choking. "You don't have to be so hard on me," she said.
"You like it."
"Not when you hurt me like that. Anyway, I want more than that. I want you to eat me out."
"Sure," said Burt. "Get over to the side of the pool."
"What are you going to do?"
"I just want to make us comfortable."
At the edge of the pool was a smooth boulder that he seated her on. He stepped into the water and came around to where she was perched precariously on the edge of the rock, with her legs apart. She was watching him thoughtfully. She had her breasts cupped in her hands and watched Burt with a hungry, eager look when he came close. He reached out and took one hand away from her breasts, then, with a sudden motion, pinched the nipple hard. Liz screamed.
"That hurt?"
"You know it did. Why'd you do it?"
"You like it, baby, that's why."
"Oh God, you know what I like. Why won't you do it to me?"
He was directly in front of her now, his face inches away from her swollen vagina.
"Do it to-me, eat me out, I can't stand this anymore."
"Sure, baby, I'll do anything you say." He leaned over, laying his head in her lap. Ellie saw him moving slowly, casually, then suddenly stuffing his face deep into Liz's crotch. His head jerked upward in fitful, eager motions. It was as if he was out of control, as if in his eagerness he had gone into a kind of fit, as his head bucked up against her crotch, while Liz let herself sink backward until she was lying on the rock in the hot sun, spread-eagled, her legs wide and moist with sweat.
Ellie heard a kind of groaning sound, but couldn't have said who was making it. She found herself feeling giddy, as if on the verge of fainting. Her breasts were swollen, as if with milk; her vagina throbbed and squeezed down on itself, slippery and disgustingly liquid. Her hand was still down there. It was as if it had a life of its own, the way it kept moving inevitably toward her crotch, toward the liquid patch of stiff hair down there, toward the little passionate button that made her whole body shiver with ecstasy.
Liz shuddered suddenly. It was a tremendous movement; her entire body convulsed, the muscles flexing, out of her control. She doubled up, grabbing for Burt's head, yanking at his hair and ears, pulling his head against her crotch, against the slick, wet lips of her vagina. Her breath came in shuddering gasps. Burt was struggling angrily, trying to get away.
And then it was over. Liz, her muscles suddenly flaccid, let herself fall back onto the rock. Burt came away from her crotch, his face slick with her secretions. He was angry and short of breath. Liz was unaware of his anger, unaware of everything but the delectable twinges of intense feeling that were still going off like sparks in her vagina.
He grabbed her suddenly, taking hold of her ankles, and slung her into the pool. Shrieking, she went under, and he held her there for a moment. Coming up, she screamed, "You bastard, you bastard, I'll kill you for that, goddamn you!" She clawed at him, trying to get at his face.
He hit her once. She took the blow on her cheekbone and sagged, a stupid, doltish look on her face. Subsiding into the water, she was aware of nothing as Burt lifted her and carried her to the side of the pool, where he laid her down in the hot sand. She was only semi-conscious, lying on her belly. Ellie held her breath, thinking that Liz must be dead, that he must have killed her, that this was the way these things happened, these incidents that you read about in the papers, where a man beats and rapes a young woman, then stuffs her body in a shallow grave, or in some brush. Ellie felt chilly as she thought about what she was seeing.
But then she saw Liz move. Liz raised her head slightly, moaning, and tried to look back to where Burt was doing something to her, something that Ellie couldn't make out. Burt's cock was again tumid and heavy, pointing upward at an angle, and he was dipping it briefly into Liz's crotch, soaking the massive head in the sticky secretions there. Ellie could see everything from where she was. She found that her hand had made its way to her vagina again, where it stroked her clitoris gently, causing little ripples of feeling to flow through her crotch.
Then she saw what Burt was doing. He had his massive cock in his hand and was shoving it up against Liz's anus, very gently, just shoving the head across the surface. Gradually he shoved harder, with a twisting motion. His face was grim and determined. The head of his cock, as he shoved on it, would slip sideways, missing the hole, or, half in, would be diverted and spring out again. But Burt refused to quit trying, and Liz, groggy from the blow on her cheekbone, was in no condition to prevent him from doing whatever he liked.
Suddenly it went in. Ellie could see the look of release on his face, the sudden, thrusting movement of his hips. She watched as Burt, squinting in the bright sun, shoved his cock farther and farther in, until finally his belly was flat up against Liz's buttocks and his cock was thrust all the way in.
Eventually he settled down into a steady, silky rhythm of thrusting and pulling back, while Liz, still groggy, tried to figure out what was happening to her.
"Stop?"
"Cool it, baby. This is the way I want it."
"Oh, God, it hurts, it hurts!"
Burt ignored her. His face was set in a grim, angry expression as he made a sudden, vicious thrust deep into Liz. Ellie saw her wince. Liz had her hands clasped together and was digging her fingernails into her skin, sobbing. The tears rolled down her cheeks. Then Burt came. With a sudden jerking movement he dumped a thick load of jism deep into Liz. His jaw fell; his face had a doltish, gleeful look to it for a moment as the jism poured out of him and into Liz. He let himself subside, lying on top of Liz.
"Get up, please get up! It hurts. I can't breathe."
Burt lay there on top of her, heavy and motionless. He deliberately made her bear his entire weight, listening to her labored breathing, obviously enjoying her discomfort.
"Please get up, I can't breathe."
Slowly, taking his time, he lifted himself off her. His thick cock, half limp, seemed attached to her. When he jerked back suddenly, ripping it loose, Liz shrieked with pain. The jism spurted out of his cock, whether left over from his last climax or from a new one was unclear. He let his cock flop down onto her buttocks. Liz was sobbing quietly, lying there on the warm rock in the sun. Ellie could see the tears streaking her face. She felt terribly sorry for Liz, terribly indignant toward Burt. If this was sex, then she wanted nothing of it, even when she was married. She had had enough sex in her young life. She remembered a scene like this, remembered"
But she put the thought away. Burt was milking his thick cock, stripping the heavy strands of thick jism out of it onto Liz. It was as if he was intensely excited by the sight of her in pain, as if stripping down his jism onto her bare skin thrilled him. He seemed to get an intense enjoyment out of hurting her, out of soiling her. And Liz, as much as she protested, did not make any real attempt to get away.
Now Burt had lain down, gasping, in the shallow end of the pool, while Liz got up, quite matter-of-factly, and walked to the upper end of the pool, evidently meaning to wash off. She didn't get that far.
Ellie, laying in the shadow of the sycamore tree, saw her glance toward the tree suddenly, her eye caught on the bright color of Ellie's bathing suit, which lay next to her.
"Burt! Burt, you mother-fucker!" Liz swore.
Ellie jumped up, tried to hide behind the tree, clutching the bathing suit to her.
"Burt, you set this up, you set this up, you mother-fucker," Liz was screaming.
"What the hell?"" He got up out of the pool and came over. Ellie circled around the tree, away from him.
"You arranged this, you goddamn pervert!" Liz screamed. She threw herself at Burt, who, staggered, put up his arms to defend himself.
"What the hell's going on!'
"You set it up, just to get your kicks out of having somebody watch!"
"Please!" Ellie peeped out around the tree. "Please, it wasn't anybody's fault, I just happened to be here, I didn't mean to bother you."
"You bitch!" Liz screamed. Now she let go of Burt, who stumbled backward and fell heavily into the pool. He lay there for a moment, feeling his back, evidently in pain, a disgruntled expression on his face, an expression that gradually turned gleeful as he saw that Liz was running after Ellie.
"Please, leave, me alone, I didn't do anything, I didn't mean anything!"
"You bitch!" Liz screamed. "You fucking bitch! I'm going to tear your eyes out!"
Her golden, satin-smooth breasts flopped back and forth as she ran after Ellie. Liz was sweating and puffing as she ran around the tree, then followed Ellie up the creek. Ellie was faster, but Liz showed a kind of fanatical determination that scared Ellie and made her feel weak and faint. She didn't think she could keep away.
Burt had forgotten his pains and was running after them. His cock was tumid now, a giant, clumsy staff growing out of his crotch and swaying heavily back and forth as he ran.
"I didn't do anything, I didn't!" Ellie was sobbing as she ran. She was out of breath and scared; Liz was so fanatical, so angry.
"Ill kill you, I'll"!"
Liz caught up with her where the stream came around a steep cliff. Leaping on her, she began to snatch at her eyes with her fingers, then, when Ellie protected herself, she beat at Ellie with her fists.
Burt came running up, but, instead of tying to separate the two of them, he stood very close, growing excited, and cheered them on. Up until now, Ellie had been content just to defend herself--had not even tried to fight back. But now Liz tried to get to her genitals, to pinch them, gouge them, damage them somehow. She grabbed Elbe's fluffy pubic hair and tugged at it, making Ellie scream, while Burt, goggle-eyed, stared and jerked spasmodically at his long cock, making the jism dribble from it, trying to get it onto the girls. Ellie, beside herself with pain, began to fight back, thinking that it was all over now, for how could one be forgiven for such a scene, for such passions"
Liz remained latched onto Ellie's pubic hair; tufts of it came out. Bringing up her knee suddenly, Ellie knocked the wind out of her antagonist, caused her to let go for a moment. Then she began to strike out at her, to flail away at her. Younger, more energetic than Liz, she was able to hold her off. But even so the fight might have gone on for a long time, as determined as Liz was, if it hadn't been for Burt's interference.
Tugging at his heavy cock, Burt suddenly shot out a stream of coiling jism all over the two girls. The stuff flopped through the air in heavy clots, slopping over Ellie's face, hair, and breasts, while Burt hunched over her and aimed directly at her, ignoring Liz even though he wet her down thoroughly too.
Liz stopped fighting. She looked up, a hungry look in her eyes. Moaning, forgetting Ellie for the moment, she-leaned toward Burt and put her mouth to his cock,, sucking up the thick, sweet jism. Burt hunched over, grabbing her by the head and shoving her mouth farther over his cock. Both of them forgot Ellie.
Ellie ran. She raced upstream, away from the two of them; ran while feeling the presence of the white, sticky substance that Burt had spurted onto her; ran while her heart pounded and her breath grew short and she became aware of the scratches on her body, the fingernail marks across her white breasts. She ran and thought about how she was being punished for her brief sojourn in the sun by the side of the pool, where she had let herself think sinful thoughts, where her thoughts had manifested themselves by a visible display of lust between her legs, in the form of that sticky, clear substance that was secreted there.
Far up the creek she stopped running and hid under another tree, waiting, her breath coming in convulsive sobs. But no one came. It was quiet there, peaceful. There were only birds and insects around. A stellar jay, flaunting its crest, screeched at her; a grasshopper whirred in the dry, hot air. She became aware of a stickiness on her face, then looked down to see that her breasts were slick with the clotted muck that Burt had spewed out onto her. Horrified, she ran to the stream, neglecting to stay hidden in favor of washing herself.
There was a deep pool nearby, its waters green and cool. Ellie leaped into it, letting herself sink to the bottom, where she held her breath, if only she could just die right here at the bottom of the pool! Until finally, gasping, she broke the surface. She scrubbed for a long time at her face and hair, rubbing them with sand, washing herself until her skin was raw and painful. Then she ducked under the water again. She felt shattered.
Another girl, in similar circumstances, might have been mostly hurt, or angry, or both. But Ellie having been raised to believe that she was evil, that evil lurked about her, waiting for its chance, was mostly horrified. She blamed herself for the incident, in some way believing that she had brought it about, had put herself in the path of Burt and Liz through some subtle, perhaps unconscious desire to abase herself, to revel in the sexual experience that had always been forbidden her by her parents and relatives. Isolated from her contemporaries, insecure in her relations with them, she was in the habit of believing that they, in their self-assurance, their smooth confidence, were right in what they were doing, whereas she was invariably wrong.
She lay by the side of the pool, exhausted. Anyone coming upon her would have been astonished at her. Her body was firm and unflawed; the proportions were perfect. Full, firm breasts, rounded neatly out to plump nipples, were humped over her as she lay on her back. They were white, alabaster white, virgin white, for Ellie had never sunbathed except in her modest one-piece bathing suit; she would have been horrified at the thought of doing so, at least until today. And now she saw how swift her punishment had been, how quickly she had been forced to regret lying there in the sun, legs spread, feeling the heat of the sun, smelling the fragrance of the woods.
She looked down at her body. There were drops of water beading on her lovely breasts, and on her flat, white belly. A line was sharply drawn around the area covered by her bathing suit. There the skin was golden from the sun; here it was white and perfectly clear. But to Ellie her body was gauche and awkward, the body of a child. She wasn't even aware that everyone watched her when she walked through the camp, the women with jealousy, the men with desire.
She lay there for a long time by the side of the pool, no longer even crying, just waiting until she could go back down the stream bed to Fall Creek and then back to the camp. When she finally walked back to the hole where she had been found by Burt and Liz, they were gone. Ellie's bathing suit lay where she had dropped it. She rushed over to it, drew it on. It concealed her body from her, made it hard, but it couldn't conceal the soft outline of her figure, and, as Ellie marched down the stream she kept herself from looking down.
CHAPTER TWO
Mike Taylor felt vaguely dissatisfied as he sauntered along Fall Creek. He was a young man, tall and well-built, very energetic, very attractive. In spite of his youth, he had already built up a successful business in Los Angeles, a furniture business that this year had grossed over two hundred thousand dollars, most of which, admittedly, had gone back into the business. He had money, leisure time, and women, and he was working in a business that he loved. He loved the activity, the wheeling and dealing; he loved to persuade other businessmen into buying his product, to extend his power out farther and farther, to build up a little empire that would survive him.
And yet he was dissatisfied, and he was ashamed of himself for not being contented. Again and again he had examined his feelings, trying to figure out what it was that was disturbing him. And it all came down to one thing. A woman. It was ridiculous, really it was, for at the camp were women enough for any man.
There was Shirley Wilson, a stunning redhead with lush breasts out to here and a full rump that twitched and wiggled exotically when she walked. Shirley had the habit of leaning toward you, her head up, her lips parted in a taunting smile, until her breasts touched your arm lightly, just brushed against you, the nipples hard little bumps under the soft fabric of her blouse.
There was Honey Farraday, a bouncy blonde with an incredibly slender waist and full breasts. Soulful, giggly, with a wacky sense of humor and a cheerful disposition, Honey had fallen in love with Mike right from the beginning, and Mike, while not an especially vain young man, was quite aware of it. He didn't avoid her; she was great fun to be around. But he felt he had to make it clear to her that their romance would lead to nothing, and he felt guilty when he flirted with her. Because there were other women too.
There was Yvonne Daley, dark, full hipped, and daring. The first night of Mike's stay at the camp she had arrived at his door, a smug look on her face, and proceeded to seduce him. He had resisted only briefly, for Yvonne had a smoldering sexuality that made men stop upon seeing her and gawk foolishly until she was out of sight. He felt briefly aroused as he thought of her all-over tan, the bush of black hair humped up below her belly, the large, full lips of her vagina, creaming with an eager sexuality. They had made love until late in the night, again and again and again, until Mike was exhausted, but Yvonne, smiling smugly the whole while, ripping at his shoulders with her long fingernails, had never worn out, and the next day Mike received the knowing looks of all the other men who had been seduced by Yvonne.
Restless, hypersexed, Yvonne moved from man to man, always on the search for new experiences, always trying new ways. Sometimes she spent whole days making love, moving from man to man as she exhausted the men of the camp. She was known for her willingness to try anything, and it was whispered around the camp that she had gone up Spindler Creek to one of the orgies there and had fucked not only Bobo Tolbert, a strange, short man, who lived in the nearby town and came to the camp for these orgies, but also a huge Great Dane that someone had brought along. When he had heard this story, Mike had struck Yvonne off his list, for he was just fastidious enough not to want to share his women with dogs.
But none of these women was, the, woman; none of them had the qualities he looked for. Dorie Shanklin, a tall, splendidly built brunette, twenty-one years old, probably came closest, but she wasn't it, either. Dorie was not as eager as the other women, which accounted, perhaps, for some of her attraction. But she was a splendid woman, mature for her years, and after a few dates she had suddenly turned passionate out by the pony corrals. Leaning on his shoulder, she had suddenly drawn him to her and caused the two of them to tumble in some loose barley hay. She had wrapped her legs around him and drawn him up against her, seemingly unable to wait even until he got his pants off. When he finally unzipped and entered her, she clasped him, gouging him with her fingernails, drawing him into her, then made him fuck her for at least two hours, moaning and groaning and licking his ear the whole time.
It was a pleasant memory, but Mike Taylor had other ideals; the women he liked were the quiet ones, the sensitive ones. He didn't like them too aggressive. And most of the women at the camp, lacking male partners, had become involved in the Spindler Creek orgies, where Burt Conroy and two or three other men kept them occupied, satisfying as many women as came, with the help of the insatiable Bobo Tolbert.
The women Mike liked we're young, around eighteen years old, and voluptuous, with good muscle tone. They were modest and had hair of a burnished gold color, hair that was long and fell in thick strands over their shoulders. They had bright, friendly eyes and lovely smiles and friendly voices and did not swear, at least not too often, or screw, except with a man like Mike Taylor who would respect them. He had, in short, very old-fashioned ideas about his women, very specific ideas. In fact, his idea of a desirable mate was so specific as to exclude every woman in the world but one. Ellie Brighton.
Mike felt a kind of squashed feeling in his chest at the thought of Ellie Brighton, as he imagined her the way she was around the pool, talking with her friend Cindy, always animated, always friendly, always just a bit shy. She was lovely, friendly, and somehow unavailable. No one knew why this was, but Ellie did not seem to respond to the men around the camp. Mike had caught her looking at him from time to time, as if she might be interested, but she invariably responded to his invitations to a date with refusals, very pleasant refusals, to be sure, but refusals nonetheless.
He was hopelessly in love with her. It was so ridiculous, really, the idea of being in love with the one unavailable woman in camp. He had actually had the experience of coming back to his cabin and finding a beautiful woman in his bed, waiting for him, wanting to make love to him. The air up here seemed to have a stimulating effect on the women. But that wasn't enough for him; he had to fall in love with Ellie Brighton. Everyone was in love with Ellie, and Ellie wasn't in love with anybody.
He sat down by Fall Creek and stared moodily up Spindler Creek, which, much smaller than Fall Creek, joined it here above the camp. In spite of everything, he found himself unable to think of anything but Ellie. Ellie was so lovely, Ellie was so tender. He sat moodily by the creek and tried to-remember her down to the last detail.
As Ellie came down the creek she was aware of the wind, the smell of the trees, the feel of the hot sand under her feet. She wasn't even as distressed as she knew she should have been, was, in fact, ashamed of herself for her relative comfort, her inability to be as horrified as she should have been. She had been attacked, had been forced to witness a scene of the utmost depravity, and yet, in spite of all this, she felt a kind of excitement. What she had seen had, it seemed, opened her senses to a multitude of impressions. She heard the whirring wings of a grasshopper, smelled the smell of damp dirt and thick, steaming vegetation, and felt the breeze as it played over her young body.
She thought of the men in the camp. Burt Conroy was attractive, but for all his awesome power, his personal magnetism, he had proven himself evil, and she would avoid him from now on. The one she was really interested in, though, was Mike Taylor, a tall, athletic young man that all the girls were after, even more so with him than with Burt. But Ellie felt that she had no chance with Mike. Yvonne, Dorie, Shirley, they all flirted with him outrageously, and they were all such splendid women, not gawky teenagers. They were self-assured and lovely. And so she refused his invitations. He was just trying to be nice after all, and she knew she would never think of anything to say to him.
Curiously excited and tense, she tripped on down the trail beside the stream, feeling the, squish squish squish, between her thighs, where a hot puddle of sticky liquid had secreted itself, against her will, while she watched Burt and Liz making love.
Mike just sat there, watching Ellie come down the trail from Spindler Creek. He felt a sort of heavy feeling in his chest, mixed with rage. He was not angry with Ellie, but with himself, for having thought her different from the other women. But to see her now, here, to see her coming down Spindler Creek, which, through a tacit agreement by the members of the camp, was reserved strictly for sexual adventures, was more than he could take.
He sat staring dully before him. Just before Ellie had come down, Burt and Liz had come by, quite disheveled. Liz's cheeks had been flushed, her lips were parted. In every respect she had the appearance of a woman who has just had a most satisfying orgasm. She had stared at him defensively, a little arrogantly, as if to let him know that she didn't need him.
But Ellie! She came tripping down the path, almost running, her lovely breasts bobbing gently under that horror of a one-piece bathing suit, and when she saw Mike she stopped abruptly, blushing. She has that much decency then, he thought grimly. She can at least still blush. He felt weighted down; his heart felt as if it was being squeezed by a giant hand. Flushed and angry, he barely responded with a nod to her greeting.
As for Ellie, Mike's shortness convinced her that she must be visibly changed since her encounter with Burt and Liz. She stopped in front of him, scuffing the dirt with her bare feet. "How are you?"
He shrugged. "Was it nice up there?" he asked.
"Up that creek" Sure, I guess so. I hadn't been up there before. There's a good swimming hole."
Uh huh, thought Mike wryly. And you haven't been there before, either.
"Anybody else swimming up there?"
She hesitated, then said, "No." It wasn't really a lie, she thought to herself, for Burt and Liz hadn't actually done any swimming.
"Was the water cold?" he asked. He was staring directly at her breasts, thinking to himself that if she was this kind of girl, then he might as well make the most of it and take advantage of her sexuality.
Ellie shifted uneasily. Mike had always been so friendly, but he wasn't being at all friendly now. She couldn't figure out his attitude. And that stare. He seemed to be looking right through her, to be watching the hard little nubbins that were her nipples. She folded her arms across her breasts, embarrassed.
"No, not especially. I didn't stay in very long though. It's nice up there. You can smell the nettles in the river. It's a very strong smell, a little like, like?" She dropped her gaze, her thoughts suddenly disrupted by the boldness of his stare.
He seemed hardly to be listening to her.
"Yeah, I suppose it is. I bet that's your favorite place of all the places around here."
"I?" She hesitated, not knowing what to say. "I guess so. It is nice." Shyly, hands behind her back, she drew designs in the dust with her toe. She felt mortified, wanted to get away.
"Let's go back up there," he said suddenly, roughly.
"I?" She looked at him in surprise. "I think I'd better be getting back to the camp now. It's getting late."
"You had enough already?"
"Enough" Enough hiking, you mean?"
"Sure. Hiking."
"I think I'd better be getting back now," she said hastily, "it's getting late, it really is. We're going to miss dinner. I?"
Mike had turned away. Staring over the creek, resting his head in his hands, he ignored her and was angry with himself for feeling as if he was on the verge Of crying. He hadn't realized how much he had staked on his acquaintance with Ellie, how much he had built her up into a kind of goddess, how much he had worshipped her. He turned around, hoping that somehow things would turn out to be different than they seemed. But Ellie was two hundred yards down the trail, running fast. She was holding her hands to her face and running blindly, her billowing hair trailing after her.
Mike Taylor sat there for a long time, occupied with his thoughts. In his mind he saw Ellie stripped, her golden skin clear, her breasts humped up proudly, with hard nipples, hard with passion. He saw himself raping her brutally, ramming his cock between her legs, slamming it up the flowery hole in her crotch or into her mouth.
He shook his head. It couldn't be that way; it wasn't true, what he'd learned about her. She was too pure, too lovely, to be running around with degenerates like Burt and Liz. He had heard Burt brag that he never screwed a woman the usual way; he always aimed for the mouth or the asshole. Burt, though, had also made it clear that, for whatever reason, he hated women, thought them all whores. He even bragged that, as a sixteen-year-old, he had taken his own mother down and raped her in the anus, from behind, while she screamed at him. It was easy to believe. A few of the other men at the camp, too timid to participate and too curious to stay away, had gone up Spindler Creek and had seen Burt rape a thirteen-year-old girl whose small vagina had been split and broken by Burt's huge cock. He had then turned her over, she had fainted, mercifully, and lay there slack and motionless, and had plunged his cock into her asshole, enjoying the feeling of dominance while everyone watched horrified and yet afraid to interfere.
He could easily hate Burt Conroy, Mike realized, especially after today. He got up, shaking his head moodily. Then he heard someone behind him, a voice, a female voice. For a brief moment his hopes took over; he thought it was Ellie and turned around eagerly, hoping against hope that she had returned, that they could talk things out, that they could still get together.
But it wasn't Ellie. It was Yvonne. She was giggling and doing a little dance step in the path, wearing nothing but a preposterously slight bikini top that fought to contain her full breasts, and a tiny string bottom that bunched out where her full growth of pubic hair grew black and dank and luxuriant. He stood there with his mouth open as Yvonne reached behind herself and fiddled with the string holding the bikini top to her.
"Wait a minute?"
"You game?"
"Well, I?" But then he thought of Ellie with Burt and Liz. Maybe Burt was right, after all. Maybe women really were sluts, maybe they really did deserve the treatment they got. "Sure," he said. He moved toward her.
Yvonne moved away, still dancing, her sensuous hips writhing as she looked over her shoulder, smiling slightly, watching him as he followed her.
He followed her to a nearby cave which was outfitted with old sleeping bags. By the time they got there, she had let the bikini top fall. It lay in the dust of the path. She reached down and stripped the bottom from her full rump and kicked it off.
"There's?"
"What is it, lover?"
"Just a question I wanted to ask you, but I don't know how. They say, well, that you've done a few really out of the way things. Sexually, I mean."
Yvonne watched him, not saying anything.
Embarrassed, he went on. "I was just wondering. I mean, just how much truth is there in these stories" Or is there any?"
She smiled, coming over to him, naked, her firm body lush and brown from the sun. Kissing him gently on the cheek, she let the nipples of her ripe breasts brush against his arm, then looked down to watch them where they touched. "I've done a few things," she said, smiling. "I've done it with more than one man, if that's what you mean."
"Yeah, well, that's not exactly what I was thinking of. They say that you?"
"What!" she demanded sharply. "What do they say about me?"
"Well, that you, I mean you and Burt and some of the people, anyway, that you did it with a Great Dane up Spindler Creek. That's just what I've heard, I don't think it's true, of course?"
Yvonne slapped him hard. "You filthy pig! You scum! How could you say such a thing about me" How could you believe that?"
"I didn't really. I mean, I just thought you might be amused by the?"
"Oh! Men! You're all pigs, you're all swine! And I was going to let you, oh!"
"I didn't mean anything, really I didn't." Mike felt miserable. Knowing what he did about Yvonne, the story about the Great Dane didn't seem at all unlikely. But now he realized how incredibly gauche it had been of him to bring it up.
Yvonne was crying. He went over to her and touched her on the shoulder. She turned to him and buried her head on his chest, clutching him. Her fingernails dug into his skin. "I need somebody to lean on," she wailed. "I can't stand this, living like this, having all these stories told about me, all these unfair stories. They say things like "like I'd do it with a burro, that I'd suck off a dog, all of it's so untrue, so unfair. You have to make them stop telling these stories, Mike."
"Sure, sure I will," he said. "Only, let's go back now, I don't want to take advantage of?"
"No, please, I'm all right now. I was just shocked, that's all. I need a little bit of comfort when I'm depressed, a little bit of love."
She fumbled with his belt, loosening it. Then she took his trousers down and pulled down his shorts as well. Watching her tanned, sinuous body in front of him, half crouched there, he got an erection quickly. He yanked off his shirt. His cock, a thick, reddish-purple staff, pointed upward, hard and throbbing, the head thick and hard. Yvonne suddenly moaned and took the head of it in her mouth, sucking hard, making the blood pulse harder. Mike leaned back against the sloping side of the cave, leaving everything up to her. He watched her full, brown breasts as they hung down below her, flaring out to a perfect roundness capped by large, hard nipples set in large areolas. She reached under his cock and hefted his heavy, hairy balls in her small hands, fondling them gently. Then she touched the underside of his cock, tickling it gently, until Mike felt as if he would scream, the sensation was so intense, so supremely satisfying. Her mouth had settled with a soft sucking sound over the head of his cock, far over, until it seemed as if he must be deep in her throat, and she had somehow managed not to bite him, so that the sensation was somehow comforting and soft.
At the same time she began to masturbate him gently, using both hands, while sucking rhythmically on his cock. He looked down and couldn't take his eyes away from the hump of her full breasts and the vee of bulging, brushy pubic hair that he could see if he leaned over slightly. Yvonne was a woman of strong desires, strong passions, even a strong, musky smell, the smell of a woman in heat, a woman lusting. Legs held apart, she sucked rhythmically at his cock while the bulging lips of her vagina, large, like petals of some exotic flower, hung down between her legs, flanked by large, stiff curls of wet hair. She had creamed copiously, was, in fact, capable of creaming just from thinking about sex. Mike noticed that the slick substance between her legs was dripping down the inside of her thighs, wetting her thoroughly and causing the dank, musky odor to permeate the cave, until it seemed as if it would drive him mad with desire.
Legs buckling, he felt his climax arriving. He wanted to stop Yvonne, to make it last longer, but consoled himself with the thought that they could do it again. And again. Until late in the night, laying in the coolness of the cave, fucking and fucking and fucking and forgetting Ellie, Ellie of the soft hair and the gentle eyes, Ellie who had deceived him, or at least had proven to be something far short of his idea of her.
The stuff shot up with a rush, a creamy, clotted mess of jism that entered Yvonne's mouth and burst out on both sides, surprising her. She smiled and leaned over again to suck on it, to drink it up. She licked it up where it ran down the side of his cock, then squeezed his cock until it all came out in short bursts.
Then she stood up. Standing there in front of him, her lips parted, her face voluptuous and hungry, she looked as if she might eat him up. She held her breasts in her hands, spread her legs. "Go on, eat me. I did it to you."
It seemed only fair. Mike, still gasping from the force of his ejaculation, got down between her legs. She stood there. Her legs were far apart. He looked up and saw that giant vulva, the clots of sticky hair. He could smell the thick, musky smell of her secretions which seeped through the cave to the farthest corners. Still he hesitated. She was such a woman, such an intensely sexual woman, the sight in front of him almost made him back off. It was all so huge, so intensely hungry.
"God, hurry up before I come down on you."
He touched his finger gently to her cunt. Convulsing, her cunt came down on his finger, squeezed it, while he came very close, breathing in the dank, heavy scent of her cunt. He touched his tongue to the lips and felt her hands on the back of his head, drawing him up against her, shoving him hard against the moist and clutching surface of her vagina. He stuck out his tongue and felt it sliding easily into the spacious lips of her cunt as he tasted the secretions there. Groaning, she tugged on his head, shoving it harder and harder against her crotch. Suddenly she fell back on the soft sleeping bags underneath her and, slackening, letting herself relax, lay motionless while he slurped and sucked at her vagina and the throbbing clitoris above it.
He plunged three fingers into her vagina, then, discovering that there was still room, experimentally squeezed his fist up against it. Incredibly, it settled into her vagina, up to his wrist. Now she looked at him, startled, and then laughed to see the expression of chagrin on his face as he saw his fist disappear into the roomy, greedy opening there. She squeezed down with the muscles inside her cunt, and he felt the smooth, slick wall of her cunt tightening oh his fist, while the sloshing liquids squeezed forth past his hand.
Then she gasped, and he felt the way her cunt went into helpless convulsions, squeezing rhythmically on his fist while he touched his tongue to her clitoris.
Her orgasm was overwhelming, like the other aspects of her sexuality. She thrashed back and forth on the sleeping bags, whipped by her orgasm. Clutching Mike's hair, she yanked his head hard against her crotch, smearing her juices against his face.
Mike, stimulated intolerably by this display, came up quickly. His cock was throbbing and hard again. He lay on her, moving slowly because she was still clutching his hair. But when his cock met that gaping slot between her legs, where the hair was curling back on itself, wet and stiff, he thrust his hips forward, hard, sending his thick cock flying up the slick passageway of her cunt, while the lips, as air was expelled by the entry of his cock, released a flabby sound. He clutched her hard, furious now at her roughness, and dug his fingers into her back, jerking his hips upward, out of control, feeling his orgasm, arriving.
Then it was over. His cock twitched and flexed and suddenly spewed out a thick load of cream into Yvonne's cunt. He held to her, keeping his hips hard against hers. Yvonne was still gasping, still having her orgasm. It was as if she would never stop; her orgasm went on for minutes, while she clutched Mike, groaned, and squeezed down uncontrollably with her vagina.
Finally it was over. He looked at her and saw that she was slick with sweat; her hair clung in bunches to her plump breasts, sodden and thick. She was gasping for breath. The two of them flopped down side by side, no longer even touching each other, exhausted, not caring about anything, ready to sleep.
Eventually Mike spoke. "Yvonne?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry. I mean about that story. I didn't really believe it or anything, but you, well?"
"I know, Mike. I don't hold it against you. People talk all the time, just because I have a normal sex drive. But it wasn't true, none of it."
"Yeah," said Mike. He still felt ashamed of himself for mentioning the story.
But then she looked at him demurely. "Because I never did it with a Great Dane, not ever in my life. It was a Newfoundland, not a Great Dane at all."
CHAPTER THREE
"They're all bitches, all of them," said Burt Conroy. "It's just that some of them got better bodies than others."
The bartender nodded. Like most of the men around the camp, he had mixed feelings about Burt Conroy. For one thing, Burt tried too hard to be one of the boys. And his success with the women, in spite of his vicious treatment of them, made everyone jealous. But Burt had money, lots of it, and he spent it freely. The bartender figured that he took in three dollars for each of the innumerable whisky sours that Burt drank. Since all Burt did was drink and screw, the bartender made a lot of money on him. He found himself wishing idly that he got three dollars every time Burt screwed a woman.
Burt felt better now, with a few drinks under his belt. He was the only son of the owner of prosperous company that made zippers and other fasteners, and he had learned easily that his father, who doted on him, could be wheedled out of practically anything. As a result, Burt had great quantities of possessions. He had a beach house at Malibu, a cabin at Mammoth, a Lincoln Continental for going to the theater, a BMW for motorcycle touring, and a Harley Davidson Sportster for sitting on down at the beach, waiting to find a girl that he could take for a ride.
None of his possessions satisfied him. Almost as soon as he got them he stopped using them and felt a profound letdown to find himself again discontented, again restless. It was all his father's fault for making everything too easy for him, and his mother's for being a bitch like all the other women in his life.
So he did a lot of drinking and a lot of screwing, moving from one woman to the next just as often as the woman he was with fell hopelessly in love with him. That way he could hurt her when he left. He had done this often, and the experience had always satisfied him. A few times he had even fallen in love himself, but things hadn't worked out. As the girl became interested in him, it always happened that way, always, he once again gained control, and then he was in a position to hurt her, to leave her suddenly, to dismiss her. And they always suffered the way they had to suffer, the way they made him suffer.
He noticed suddenly that Shirley Wilson, a stunning redhead with full breasts, had hunched up onto a barstool at the other end of the bar and was not looking at him. She was making herself available; it was obvious. Her skirt was hiked up so that he could see the creamy flesh just below the panties. Burt grinned to himself. Shirley would wait for a while, then, when he didn't approach her, would approach him. They would fuck all evening, and drink till dawn. Then he would spurn her.
Why can't everything happen the way I want it to, he thought plaintively to himself. I'm talented, I'm good at my job. I'm a hell of a good salesman.
In this Burt Conroy was right. He was not a clever man, even if he himself thought so, but he was of a breed of men whose narrow insistence on their own way, whose eager pursuit of their goals, makes them successful where brighter, more talented men would fail. Burt made thirty thousand a year as a salesman of his father's products, and it wasn't merely his father's weakness that kept him working. He had a kind of buoyant friendliness, a genial manner that made it hard to resist him, for men and women alike. And his personal presence was almost hypnotizing. He had no close friends, but countless acquaintances, most of whom thought that he was actually an executive in his father's company, rather than a mere salesman. And that was something else he had against his father.
He noticed that Shirley kept looking over in his direction. Smiling to himself, he hunched over his drink and ignored her, keeping his face expressionless, neutral, for he knew from countless sessions in front of his bathroom mirror that he looked best when he neither smiled nor frowned, but looked abstracted, thoughtful.
Time dragged on slowly. Shirley would be another half hour, maybe even an hour, making her approach, but it had to be that way. And anyway, Burt had to figure out why it was that he kept thinking of the same thing. Why it was that he kept thinking of that stupid bitch, that child, this afternoon.
Ellie Brighton. He said her name to himself. Ellie Brighton. She had arrived alone for her vacation, probably not knowing that the girls outnumbered the men two to one at the camp. Now it was just a matter of time before she got hot pants for him and he rolled her in the hay, out at the pony corral, or took her down and fucked her good up at Spindler Creek. Because that act this afternoon hadn't fooled him even for a moment. He could see that she was in heat: sloppy thighs, a naked body, a hungry look on her face. It all added up to one more good fuck, and maybe even a virgin this time. He liked that. He liked that real good. He liked to settle his cock in the virgin thighs of a young girl, saying soothing things, and then, with a sudden jolt, blast it deep inside the girl, slicing through her cunt, opening it up, making her bleed a little. Then the girl would be his, just as long as he still wanted her.
He noticed Doc Reynolds at the other end of the bar, and suddenly he had an idea. Doc Reynolds, fifty-five years old, was a psychiatrist who had a prosperous practice in Glendale and who came to the camp each year to relax. During the year, occupied by his practice, he did not drink at all, but on his vacation he did little but drink and talk to the young, pretty girls about their problems. And eat hard-boiled eggs at the bar. He would hold up a dime for the bartender to see. The bartender would bring him an egg, and then Doc would bang it once on the bar, crunching the shell, and then, in his melancholy way, roll it back and forth until the shell was broken all the way around. Then, peering at it closely, he would pick off the pieces of shell methodically and finally hold the naked egg in his hand and stare at it for a moment before reaching for his knife and cutting slices from the egg. Each slice he would salt and pepper carefully before eating. In between eggs he would drink a martini. Then another egg, another martini, and so forth. Doc Reynolds knew all about Ellie, because Burt had seen them talking to each other the last few days.
He moved down the bar. Doc Reynolds was holding up a dime and looking at the bartender. Burt clapped him on the shoulder. "How are you, Doc?" he said. At the other end of the bar Shirley was hiking her dress up just a bit.
"Can't complain."
The bartender fetched an egg for Doc Reynolds.
"You been making time with the girls, Doc?"
It was the wrong thing to say, and Burt realized it when Doc Reynolds turned to him and looked at him steadily for a moment before turning back to the egg in his hand. He examined it for defects.
"Ah, I know. Just kidding, Doc. I guess they get a lot of free advice out of you, don't they?"
Doc Reynolds smacked the egg on the bar a little harder than usual. "I guess so," he said.
"That Shirley's sure some looker," said Burt. He glanced back at Shirley. The hem of her panties was now visible. They were blue.
Doc Reynolds rolled the egg on the bar. Crunch crunch crunch.
The crunching sound ceased. Doc Reynolds looked at Burt closely. "Yeah, I know her. She's a nice girl, Ellie is."
"Uh huh. What's she talk about with you?"
"A psychiatrist, my dear Mr. Conroy, is not at liberty to discuss his patients' problems."
"Yeah, well, she's not really your patient, is she" And anyway, I was just wondering what kinds of things she likes, what kind of girl she is." He glanced back out of the corner of his eye and noticed that Shirley had a petulant look, and that a full two inches of the blue panties were now visible.
Doc Reynolds flaked away a bit of eggshell before answering.
"Not your kind, Mr. Conroy," he said finally. He flaked away a large piece of eggshell.
Burt Conroy turned red. He sat there for a moment feeling the blood rush to his face, trying to think of a snappy answer, angry at this insulting rebuff. This old jackass could talk to him like this! He wanted to mash that egg right into his eye. Because he knew what the doc was saying, that the doc was commenting on his way of life, criticizing it. How he wished that he could hit him! How unfair it was that he had to take this kind of contemptuous remarks in his stride!
"What do you mean by that?" he asked, trying to get the doc to say something really insulting. Then he could maybe pinch his arm, or spill his drink on him, he thought furiously about ways he could get back at him.
The Doc had peeled the egg. Naked, it lay in his hand as he peered at it. It was quite perfect, and he picked up his knife after a moment, sliced off one slice, and salted it. Then he peppered it and put it in his mouth before answering "I mean", he said, as he chewed methodically, "that Ellie is a good girl. She deserves a good man." He paused and sliced off another piece from the egg. "And by a good man I don't mean a degenerate who rapes thirteen-year-old girls and brags of having buggered his mother and beats women and in every way tries to hurt the people around him. I don't mean a fat and sassy fellow who's thirty years old and acts like a fourteen-year-old. I don't mean somebody whose idea of a successful life is lying and cheating and hurting people; whose idea of sex is whipping and kicking and buggering; and whose idea of friendship is slapping a man on the back until he gets what he wants, and then stabbing him in the back when he gets the chance. I don't mean?"
"Stop"!" Burt's voice was hoarse. He was trembling and clenching his fists. "Stop, goddamn it! I'll get you for this, you bastard!" He was shaking and his face was hot; tears formed in his eyes, tears of anger, of violence. It was so unfair, that this old fart could speak to him, Burt Conroy, like this!
"And that," said Doc Reynolds, slicing off a piece of the egg with a sudden, vicious movement, "is why I wouldn't tell you or anyone like you a goddamn thing about Ellie. Or about anybody else. Bartender!"
"I'll get you for this, you son of a bitch, I'll get you, you just wait. It won't be long, either. And I'll get that bitch of yours, I'll take her down and do things to her you never even heard about. You're going to wish you never said a thing to me, not a goddamn thing!"
"Another martini," said Doc Reynolds to the mystified bartender.
"I'll get you for this, I swear to God I will." Burt took hold of Doc's arm, held it tight. He was going to pinch him, to make him yelp, but at that moment they were interrupted. "Doc, Burt, how are things?" It was Mike Taylor. He looked at them inquiringly.
"Can't complain," said Doc. He took the martini carefully from the bartender. "Can't complain, now that Jimmy's learned how to make a martini. A lot of gin, just a hint of vermouth, and a piece of lemon peel twisted over it."
"Aw, Doc," said the bartender. Burt Conroy stood there with his eyes bulging and his fists clenched. Mike watched both of them, puzzled.
"But he sure do know how to boil an egg right," said Doc. "Come on, Doc."
"And if I could only teach him to keep the damn olives to himself. Never did like olives. And you figure, a bottle of them olives costs about fifty cents, and let's say there's, what?, twenty, thirty olives in a bottle" That's over a penny a piece for the olive alone. And, that's, why a martini costs so damn much."
Burt Conroy turned and walked toward Shirley at the other end of the bar. He was walking slightly unsteadily and had a forced grin on his face as he thought about how he would fuck her.
The next day he and Shirley were in a meadow some twenty miles away from the camp. Burt had brought his Sportster to the camp in a trailer, and he had ridden it up to the meadow over a dirt road, skidding around the corners and taking the straight-aways at high speeds. Shirley had clung to him, shrieking, half with pleasure, half, with anxiety. Burt enjoyed the throbbing, irregular beat of the Sportster; he enjoyed being seated on it, leaning back and feeling a thousand cubic centimeters of power throbbing beneath him. He enjoyed having a woman clutch him fearfully as he cracked the throttle and listened to the sobbing, howling beast underneath him. He felt powerful, invulnerable. His thoughts turned to sex; he thought of Ellie, of her lovely face, of her sinuous body, and he imagined himself naked, above her, spewing out a stream of milky semen on top of her while she and Liz fought. And he thought of Doc Reynolds. Whenever he thought of Doc Reynolds he gave a sudden jerk on the throttle, involuntarily, and the motorcycle jumped forward viciously.
Then they were at the meadow. Thick grass grew there, lush and soft, and a tiny stream ran through the middle of the meadow, with a few brook trout that darted under rocks when you approached. He took Shirley to the far end of the meadow. No one would disturb them there, for scarcely anyone even knew where the meadow was.
"I guess you've made love to a lot of girls, Burt, haven't you?"
Burt said nothing.
"I'm not that kind of girl, though. I mean the kind that does it with just anybody. I have to respect a man before?"
"Cut the shit, sweetheart."
"I, beg, your?"
"I said cut the shit. You and me both know why we came up here. We came up here to fuck. To play the two-backed beast. You and me both know your snatch is bubbling right this minute. We both know you've been hot to hop for as long as you've been here, waiting for your chance. And I'm going to give it to you, right how."
He reached out and touched her breast. She recoiled, gasping.
"Burt," she said in a quavering voice. "I don't want it this way."
"Sure you do, honey. Sure you do. You want to feel that thing between your legs, bucking up into your cunt. You want to feel the juice boil out of it, feel your cunt squishing with the stuff." He touched her breast again. This time she pushed his hand away. "You want it the way all you bitches want it," he said, his voice low and tense. "You want to be taken hard, to be thumped until you're black and blue." He grabbed her breast hard. Sobbing, she tore herself loose from him and ran across the meadow. "Come on back, you bitch!" he screamed. "Come on back and I'll give you what you want!"
He ran to the motorcycle. Shirley was halfway across the meadow when he kicked down hard on the kick-starter and the engine throbbed into life. Gunning the engine, he kicked the machine into gear and let go the clutch. The motorcycle roared across the meadow. In a moment he had reached the girl, who turned, gasping, and then jumped sideways when Burt made no attempt to swerve. She landed hard on the ground, in the spongy grass.
Burt came around on the unwieldy machine, gunning the engine, his face contorted in a violent leer. This time Shirley ran blindly, not looking back. She just ran as hard as she could, and when Burt came up beside her she was hardly aware of what was happening.
He reached out and grabbed her blouse, then gunned the motorcycle. The blouse ripped away. Shirley, jerked off her feet, lay stunned on the ground, looking from side to side and blinking her eyes. Her long, lovely breasts bulged in her bra. One strap was over her shoulder; the breast hung half out. Burt pulled up on the motorcycle and watched her, thin-lipped, angry. He liked this; he liked it very much. He wondered what Doc Reynolds would say if he knew about it.
"Take off the bra."
"Burt, please. Please take me back, please." She begged, lying there on the ground. He wheeled the motorcycle toward her.
"Take it off. Take off the shorts, everything."
"Please?"
"Shut up! I didn't tell you to talk, I told you to take off your clothes. I meant now, and I'm not going to ask you again."
He thought of Doc Reynolds and imagined himself beating him. Doc Reynolds would find out about this and he wouldn't be able to do a goddamn thing about it. Not a thing. Because it was just his word against Shirley's, and no jury, especially if there were women on it, would convict a man of rape when it was established that the woman had gone along with him, and when it was proven beyond a doubt that she had had intercourse with any number of other men-something Burt knew he could do because he had the money to do it.
He lifted the Sportster up on its kickstand. As he approached Shirley she was shaking her head dully, trying to speak. He grabbed hold of her bra, wrenched at it.
"No, Burt, please?"
With a vicious jerk he broke the fasteners Shirley's breasts rolled out, long and full and golden, slack like sacks of sugar, with large areolas and plump nipples. Burt stood there for a moment watching her, then he spoke again. "The shorts, bitch. Take them off. Now."
"No, Burt. I won't do it. You're no man. You're a cowardly, miserable excuse for a man. You're sick, and you don't even know it. If Mike were here?"
He hit her hard in the mouth. "Mike! You know what I'd do with Mike" I'd bugger him the way I'm going to bugger you, you bitch, you slut, you whore"!"
He yanked at the shorts. They came away in a moment. Naked, Shirley cowered in front of him. She watched him shrug off his shirt, then pull down his shorts. His cock, huge and tumid, was a deep reddish-purple in color, in the bright sun, and he milked it down with one hand while he pointed the other at her face.
"Now, bitch, you're going to taste this, you're going to suck me off and gag on my wad. And then you're going to lick my cock all over, so you don't waste even a drop of the stuff."
"Burt?"
"Do it!"
By now he was all but incoherent. His face was red in the bright sun; his muscles were tight. He made a sudden feint at her and grinned coldly to see her cower away from him. But still she made no move toward him; still she refused to do what he said.
Then something in him broke, something crucial to his sanity. He began to beat her hard, to pound at her naked body while she lay there whimpering. He beat again and again on her buttocks, until they were red. He beat harder when he saw the fluff of red hair curling between her legs. Then he grabbed at it, jamming his thumb into her liquid vagina, and twisted brutally until she shrieked with pain.
"Stop, oh God, please don't do it any more. Please?"
But Burt was thinking of Ellie. He remembered standing over her and Liz; remembered spurting forth a clot of jism that coiled and slopped over Ellie, over her hair, her shoulders, her breasts, while Liz grappled with her furiously. And the thought made the tense, quivering muscles of his penis contract.
Then the familiar feeling of readiness was there. Enraged, he came around on Shirley. She was laying there motionless, either because she had fainted or because she thought that he would not hurt her if she didn't resist. He had only a moment before his cock would erupt, before the jism would spurt out. Grabbing her head, he forced the head of his pulsating cock between her lips. Her teeth were clenched. He held her lips apart and held his cock directly to her mouth, waiting for the eruption of hot jism.
Then it came. With a bursting, gushing rhythm the hot juice poured out. Shirley came to life. She gasped, opening her mouth, and the hot liquid spat into it. Gagging, she tried to escape, but Burt held her by the hair while his cock continued to pour forth a heavy load of slopping, boiling semen that soaked her face and ran in heavy lumps to the ground.
Finally he was finished. He sat on her for a few moments while his cock sagged briefly, then came to life again. Guiding it with one hand, he pushed it up against her anus. Shirley still lay motionless. Burt began to rotate his cock slightly from time to time dipping it down into the liquid secretions which, against her will, formed in her cunt. Then he would again plunge his heavy cock against Shirley's asshole and work it patiently into the stretching, narrow opening.
When he had most of the head in, he jammed it the rest of the way with a sudden humping forward of his hips. Shirley screamed.
"Playing possum, sweetheart?"
"Oh, God, Burt, it hurts, it hurts. Burt, for God's sake, I can't stand the pain. Take it out, please!"
He hunched forward on her, his cock slipping in easily now,, past the tight sphincters.
"You like that, don't you, sweetheart" Don't you?"
"Burt, please. Please, I can't take any more. Oh!"
With a sudden, vicious thrust he had slammed his cock deep into her, and her startled reaction to the excruciating pain, she cried out and sobbed uncontrollably, excited him beyond endurance. The semen burst forth hot from his cock, bubbling up into her, in a rhythmic spouting that seemed as if it would never end.
He flopped back onto the grass. Shirley screamed once more when his cock pulled loose suddenly, then was silent. After a moment Burt got up and walked over to the stream, about a hundred yards away. He felt exhausted, yet triumphant. Out here in the meadow, where a cool breeze blew and dried the sweat on his body, it was so splendidly comfortable, so profoundly satisfying to fuck a woman out here, where you could smell the woods and the woman both, smell the pines and the musky, animal smell of a woman's sweat and a woman's cunt.
He squatted in the stream, washing himself off. It felt good to splash the cold water over himself. As exhausted as he was at the moment, he knew that within a few minutes he would be ready for another go at Shirley. It would be her mouth this time. He was too jaded, too bored, for any normal fucking, and he seldom even bothered to jam his large cock into a woman's cunt. A woman's mouth could do more things; a woman's asshole was tighter. And when, like Shirley, his woman was reluctant, he liked to give it to her both ways, to split her asshole first, then make her take his cock in her mouth and gag on the rich liquid that flowed from it.
He felt satisfied, squatting there in the stream making plans for Shirley. He felt satisfied right up to the moment when he heard the throbbing engine of the Sportster. Shirley had come down on the kick-starter with both feet, almost tipping the motorcycle over, and the engine came into life on that first kick. He looked up and saw her jump onto the bike. His reactions were slow, as if he couldn't figure out for a moment what she was trying to do. He stared, standing there knee-deep in water. Then, bellowing loudly, he ran across the grassy surface toward the motorcycle. He heard the clunk of the gear-box as Shirley kicked it into gear, the roar of the engine as she yanked back on the throttle. Running hard, stumbling on hummocks of grass, he saw the motorcycle lurch out in front of him at low speed. Shirley was low on it, clutching the handlebars, her knuckles tense. She glanced over her shoulder and jerked on the throttle. Something white fluttered from the handlebars of the Sportster.
Panting, sobbing with rage, he screamed at her.
"Goddamn it, I swear to God I'll kick your fucking ass inside out, you bitch!"
Then he saved his breath to run. He couldn't see what it was that was draped over the handlebars of the Sportster, only that it was white and fluttered in the breeze. Sobbing, he felt himself grow faint at the thought of being stranded out here, twenty miles from the camp, without shoes. He would have to walk back barefoot if he didn't catch her.
But Shirley was driving slow, obviously terrified of the huge motorcycle. Burt had shown her how it started, how it was thrown into gear, but he had not let her ride it herself, and now she had no idea of how to shift into the next gear. At that, on the grassy meadow it would not have been a very good idea, for the motorcycle was lurching heavily this way and that even in first gear, and Shirley was able to go just fast enough in first gear to keep well ahead of Burt.
He ran for a long time, his gaze fixed on the fluttering cloth that hung from the handlebars. Realization was late in coming. Then he hollered, "My clothes! Goddamn it, you bitch, come back here! Come back here with my clothes! You bitch you bitch you bitch!"
Stumbling in the grass, he lay there, exhausted, and screamed at Shirley. The motorcycle reached the edge of the meadow and struggled up the grassy slope onto the road. Shirley looked back once before she steered the motorcycle around the bend, still in first gear.
Burt heard the throbbing sound of the motorcycle as he lay there in the grass, naked, his lungs hurting from his sprint across the meadow. He pounded his fist against a clump of grass, swearing at the top of his voice. Fantasies flickered in his mind; sudden visions of revenge came to him. His hands clenched involuntarily as he imagined himself smashing his fist into Shirley's face, slamming his knee into her ribs, seeing her breath explode as he beat her. He would kick her, whip her with a belt until the blood oozed from her lovely buttocks. He would beat her and beat her and beat her. He would beat all the women who had scorned him. Shirley first. Shirley and"
And Ellie. He remembered Ellie suddenly, that prissiness of hers, that good-girl act, and hated her the way he hated Shirley. But he would get back at them both.
He limped over to the road and started the long walk back. His hands clenched and unclenched as he thought of the two girls and how he would punish them. They would suffer for this.
CHAPTER FOUR
When Ellie awakened the next morning, she could remember her dreams and they scared her. She had spent the previous day in bed, sleeping fitfully, and when people came to the door she told them that she was ill. Cindy Wheeler had come by and stayed at the door for a long time, trying to talk Ellie into letting her in, but Ellie was suspicious even of her; she recoiled from any human contact. But that too was no solution to her problems. She found that, cut off from her friends, she spent all her time brooding endlessly on painful subjects, unable to do anything but sleep.
Then the dreams came when she had had enough sleep. Dozing fitfully, she had terrifying dreams in which three people figured, Mike Taylor, Burt Conroy, and, someone else, she couldn't be sure who. The other person was faceless and threatening.
The dreams all revolved around the same scene. She was lying beside a pool. The pool was dark and deep, the waters peaceful. There was no wind, the world was dead, the forest quiet.. Half asleep by the pool, she caught glimpses of bright fishes that surfaced and caused shimmering circles of tiny waves that extended to the rocky shore and bounced back. She gazed at them, fascinated. Kneeling there by the pool, she was astonished at the size of the fish, their curious activity, their slipperiness. While she was in that position, she suddenly felt herself being grabbed from behind by someone, someone rough, someone who rammed a stiff piece of flesh up against her. Then that stiff, lumpy member lodged in her body, breaking into her roughly, and Ellie, looking down, saw that the innocent slit between her legs, the petals of delicate flesh, pink and sweet, had grown into something ugly, something disgusting. A growth of wiry hair was in tangles down there, messy with something slick and heavy-smelling, and that huge, lumpy piece of flesh seemed to be growing out of that ugly hole.
Then it plunged deep into her, flipping aside the lips around that awesome red gash, and, with a sound like that of inner tubes being flopped against each other, the air rushed out of her. She gasped. Spread-eagled on the hard rock, belly to its heated surface, she screamed for help, but the faceless being that was on her back simply plunged its erect penis deep into her, again and again, as if stabbing her, and before long, sobbing, she subsided dumbly and lay motionless.
When she turned to see who it was, the person on her back got up and moved away. She lay there on the rock, scarcely breathing. The forest was coming to life around her; birds chirped and fluttered in the shrubbery, a cottontail scampered from one bush to another. But the person who had raped her was still faceless. She looked away briefly. It wasn't until she looked back again, trying to focus on the mysterious rapist, that she discovered she could see his face. It was Burt for a moment, then Mike. With infuriating slowness the image changed. But Ellie knew somehow, with that peculiar and relentless logic of our dreams, that the faceless person was neither Burt nor Mike, but someone else entirely, someone in her past. When the realization came on her, she woke up.
She lay there, shaken, not admitting to herself what she had become aware of. At the same time she was experiencing a feeling of intense sexuality, a feeling that her whole being was being consumed by an intense desire for something, for love, for sex. She discovered with a feeling verging on horror that she was squeezing her legs together, hard, trying to satisfy the insatiable feeling of lust there between her legs.
She got up quickly and stripped off the sodden panties that clung to her, then fell on the floor in a wet lump. Running to the bathroom, she washed her hands. She looked at herself in the mirror. Under the skimpy nightgown her body was slender, yet flawlessly rounded. With a start she realized that she had become a woman; that at some point in the past year or two, without realizing it, she had acquired the slinky, voluptuous lines of a woman. She was no longer a young girl.
The realization left her shaken. Her parents, it was clear, had become aware of the transformation before her. That would account for the arguments they had had, the whippings she had received at the hands of her father, a grim, tight-lipped contractor who walked very upright and held uncompromising views on everything, especially morality. When Ellie had left home to take a job, her parents had told her never to come back. She had felt bereft, lost. But gradually her bright spirits had returned as she made a small success of her job and earned the respect of the other employees at the company where she worked.
But now everything was changing so fast! She was experiencing new things,. meeting new people, encountering new crises, all so very fast, much faster than she could stand. She realized another thing, too. For a time there she had been experimenting with her body. She had lain naked under a sun lamp, not where anyone could see her, of course, and had taken long baths, steeping luxuriously in hot water flooded with fragrant suds. It had all seemed so innocent. After all, if this was what her body longed for, why should she deny it"
But it wasn't that simple at all. The experience the day before yesterday, with Burt and Liz, had taught her that her experiments were punished quickly and violently. That was the first time she actually took off her clothes outside and luxuriated in the warmth of the afternoon sun under a blue sky, feeling the warmth penetrate her body, feeling the intensely sensual feeling of it. It was also the last time. She simply could not handle such an experience again, not at any cost.
She moved away from the mirror, feeling secretly pleased at her delicate beauty and somewhat ashamed of herself for feeling that way. Now, in any case, it was necessary to get her life on an even keel once again. She would begin by having some breakfast. Ham and eggs, she was, starved, and maybe some of that good bread she had brought home from the village the other day.
She went into the kitchen. Before she could so much as crack an egg, however, the doorbell rang. Ellie stood poised in the middle of the kitchen. She would not answer it, not for anything. If it was Cindy she would pry; if it was Dr. Reynolds he would be sympathetic. She didn't even want sympathy, not now.
The doorbell persisted with its relentless, infuriating buzzing. Would it ever stop" Ellie stood there, irresolute, for two or three minutes, waiting, but the doorbell continued to buzz. "I'm coming!" she called finally. She went over to the door. "Who is it?" The doorbell continued to buzz. No one answered. Ellie opened the door a crack, then jumped back, startled, when the door opened the rest of the way of its own accord.
Burt Conroy stood there in front of her, leaning on the doorbell. He had pushed the door open.
"Please?"
He took his thumb from the doorbell and stepped into the cabin.
"Please, I don't want to be?"
"Ellie, Ellie baby, we're friends, remember?"
"Please?"
Ellie didn't know what to say. Something in his dark eyes, some intense purpose, made her hesitate. She had known one man with this kind of flashing intensity, with this kind of violent, irresistible resolve: her father.
"I just wanted to visit you, that's all."
"Burt, I'm not dressed, what if somebody should see?"
"Okay. Okay. Get dressed. I'll stay right here. I won't do a thing."
Relaxed, confident, he sent her on her way.
At the door of her bedroom she glanced back and saw him watching her. There was something unpleasant in his gaze, something insolent. And at the same time there was a quality of determination, almost maniacal, that made her shudder. She came back a few minutes later, clad in a skirt and blouse. Burt was lying back in the couch. He watched her as she came in, without comment.
"Burt, I haven't had breakfast yet. Can I talk to you later?"
"When?"
"I don't know. Later. I'll see you by the pool or something."
He considered this for a moment, nodding his head. "All right. Only we'll go for a walk, Liz doesn't want to talk to you in front of other people."
"Liz?""
"Uh huh. Liz."
"What doss Liz have to do with it?"
"Quite a bit, actually. You know, it really blew her mind when she saw you watching us the other day."
"I wasn't?"
"Sure, I know. But Liz didn't see it that way. You know of course that we're getting married" Liz and me."
"I?"
"You mean you didn't know that" I thought everybody knew about it. Sure. That's why Liz was so upset, after all. She thought you and I had something going. And when she saw you there the first thing that went through her mind was that you were cutting in. And with us getting married in two weeks, well, you can see how her mind was working. She just went out of her head. Liz loves me, she really does. And when I finally convinced her that you didn't have any way of knowing we'd be up there, she really felt bad. In fact, she's pretty broken up about the whole thing. And she wanted to apologize to you, to talk to you personally." He looked at her intently for a moment. "Good Lord, you didn't, you-don't mean to tell me you thought we'd be doing all that if we weren't getting married, do you" Wow!"
"I didn't, I didn't mean anything. I didn't think anything." Ellie looked profoundly tragic as she stood there in the middle of the living room. "Please believe me, I didn't thing anything at all. Not anything."
"Wow!" said Burt again. He shook his head and looked away. "That's really heavy. Liz isn't that kind of girl, Ellie."
"Burt! I didn't think anything. I really didn't. Anyway, I've already forgotten about the whole thing. Just tell Liz that I didn't take it personally at all. It's over."
"Liz feels pretty bad about it. I mean, she just wants to talk to you about it, to tell you herself, personally, where it's at with her." He spoke in an earnest, soothing tone of voice. "It's not a lot to ask of you, is it?"
"I guess not. I'm sorry, Burt, I guess I'm just being foolish."
"That's all right. Let's make it, say, two o'clock. I'll see you over at Fall Creek, where the trail from the camp meets it."
"I"I guess so. I guess I owe it to Liz." If only he would leave! Ellie wanted him to leave so very bad, and yet she couldn't be impolite. She would agree to anything to get him to leave. He reminded her of such intensely unpleasant experiences; he reminded her of sex, of violence, of that experience she had had, years ago, and had never talked to anyone about, not even her best friends. Not even Cindy Wheeler.
"You'll be there then?" Burt was saying.
"Yes. Yes, I'll be there. At two o'clock. At the creek." If only he would leave!
Burt smiled and nodded. "Good. Liz will appreciate it, she really will. You know, that whole affair was really hard on her. She feels pretty bad about it."
"I'm sorry," said Ellie. She stood in the middle of the room, poised to move to the door when he got up.
Finally he did get up, after looking around and commenting on the furnishings of the cabin. "Very light and bright and airy, isn't it?" Standing up, he winced.
"What's the matter?"
"Oh, nothing. Just my feet. I took along hike yesterday, barefoot, and my feet are kind of sore."
"That's too bad," said Ellie, trying to put sympathy into her voice.
"Yeah. Well, that's life. You win some, you lose some."
Then he left, waving to her cheerily from the door. But Ellie stood there for a moment and wondered. Now what, she said to herself, did he mean by that.
It was only a few minutes after Burt's departure that the doorbell rang again. This time Ellie opened the door almost immediately, thinking that it would be Cindy, that she would have someone to confide in, someone to consult. But it was Dr. Reynolds. Somehow the very sight of him was comforting. He looked like the average country doctor, not like a psychiatrist at all. Dressed in baggy khakis, wearing a plaid shirt and a battered felt hat, he seemed so completely harmless, so kindly, that Ellie almost felt like hugging him. He had a fishing rod in his hand and a creel over his shoulder.
"How are you, girl" I missed you yesterday."
"I'm all right. I just stayed in yesterday. I read a book."
"Oh" And what did little Ellie read?"
"Just a novel."
"Faulkner's, Sanctuary,, I bet."
"How did you know?"
"Simple deduction. That's the only book I see in the room. Therefore, that's what you read yesterday."
Ellie was silent for a moment. She had to talk to Doc Reynolds, to him or to someone else. But she had to talk. "Doc?" But then she didn't know how to go on. She stood there for a moment. "Come on into the kitchen, I'm going to fix some breakfast. Would you like something" Some bacon and eggs?"
"Ellie, it sounds delicious. But I was going to invite you out for breakfast."
"No, we'll eat here. I don't want to go anywhere just now."
She went into the kitchen while Doc Reynolds watched her gravely. In the kitchen she got eggs and bacon out of the refrigerator. Then she heated the frying pan and laid strips of bacon in it. Doc Reynolds watched her. He had seated himself at the little table in the kitchen after putting his rod and creel in the corner. After a moment Ellie became uncomfortable under his gaze.
"Are you going fishing, Doc?"
"In a way. I'm trying to find out things. I'm trying to find out something about my little Ellie, about what makes her tick. Oh, I'll go catch some trout, too, but not until everybody else has tromped through the stream. And in the meantime I want to talk to you about some things."
"Like?""
He shrugged. "Maybe it's none of my business. Maybe I ought to stop right now and go catch those trout before they die of old age."
"There aren't any trout in the stream, Doc. I know because I saw Burt fishing the other day and he didn't catch any. Not even little ones."
"Burt," said the old man thoughtfully. "That's not his kind of fishing, is it, Ellie" Anyway, you didn't answer my question. Or maybe you did after all. Maybe I just ought to keep my big mouth shut and stay out of your business."
"No, Doc." Ellie came over and touched him on the arm. The old man looked up at her gravely. "I need someone to talk to. I just don't know how to start, that's all."
He looked relieved. "Maybe I don't either. Even though I know what I want to talk to you about. Even though I came here because I wanted to talk to you about your friends."
"My friends?"
"People like Burt Conroy. He visited you just now."
"Is that why you came over" Just because Burt stopped by?"
"It's a good enough reason. How well do you know Burt, Ellie?"
She stared intently at the frying bacon. "Not well. Not well at all. In fact, until the day before yesterday I don't think I spoke two words to him. He's just another fellow, that's all."
"But a very attractive one."
"No! Well, maybe he is attractive. I don't know, I don't date much. I don't date at all, Doc," she said suddenly, turning to him. "Burt means nothing to me, nothing at all. I don't like people like that, they scare me. They're so confident, so sure of what they want. I don't like them. But?"
"But he's hard to shake off, isn't he" He has something about him, something that makes it hard to refuse him."
"I guess so. But I can take care of myself. I don't need any help."
"No" Can Shirley Wilson take care of herself?"
"Huh" What do you mean by that" What's Shirley got to do with it?" She cracked two eggs into the frying pan while the bacon drained.
"Did Burt say anything about his feet being sore?" he asked, ignoring her question.
"Doc! What, are, you talking about" Shirley Wilson, Burt's sore feet, what do they have to do with each other?"
"Quite a bit, actually. You see, Burt and Shirley went for a ride on his motorcycle. A few hours later Shirley came back, alone, riding the motorcycle. And about six, seven hours after that Burt came back. It was late at night, but somebody saw him come into camp, sneaking through the trees toward his cabin."
"They had a fight, obviously," said Ellie. "That happens, after all."
"Ellie, Burt was naked."
"Naked?""
"Shirley wouldn't tell anybody what had happened, but she was pretty upset. And I know enough about Burt Conroy to have a fair idea that whatever happened was pretty unpleasant. Now I'm not going to tell tales, not any more at least, but I do want you to know what you're getting into when you run around with a fellow like Burt. He's restless, Ellie. Restless and very vindictive. He's been going around for years punishing people for what he thinks they did to him. Punishing women."
Ellie remembered the scene on Spindler Creek and shuddered. She was silent as she served a platter of eggs and bacon to Doc Reynolds.
"There are a lot of people like Burt Conroy," said Doc Reynolds. "And they're not your kind, Ellie. I'd stay away from him if I were you." He dug his fork into the egg in front of him, and his voice took on a more cheerful note. "Now, what was it you wanted to talk about?"
"Oh, Doc." Ellie felt tears forming in her eyes, "I don't, I don't know how to tell you, how to talk about it."
"Just relax, girl. Just relax and talk. You'll feel better for it."
Ellie sat down, hands in her lap, and started to talk, staring intently at the floor.
CHAPTER FIVE
"It's hard to tell," said Ellie. "It's hard to talk about."
"Tell me," said Doc Reynolds. He looked at the fishing rod in the corner, thinking wistfully of the large trout in Fall Creek that were so easy to catch if you only knew how. But they would wait for him.
"I have a brother, four, no, five years older than me. I haven't seen him in years. He was eighteen when I saw him last, just out of high school. A little bit wild, always getting into some kind of trouble. Jud was a big kid, very strong, and he was a good athlete. On the basketball team he was a forward and set the school record for scoring. I think he scored about twenty-five points a game, something like that. And that wasn't the only way he scored. Jud was handsome. Oh, he was handsome. He played on the football team, played quarterback. All the boys admired him and all the girls loved him. All the girls. Including me. I guess that was why it all happened."
Jud Brighton, eighteen years old, was standing in the bathroom that day, combing his hair. He slicked it back with water and admired the way each hair stayed in place, slick and smooth and blond. Then he looked anxiously at his face, where the stubble was still irregular. A few more months, maybe, and he would be able to grow a beard.
He looked at himself and admired the smooth hardness of his muscles, the tanned skin, the broad shoulders. Naked, just out of the shower, he felt healthy and virile and intensely sexual. If there was only a woman present, he thought. For three days he hadn't been into a woman; the last was Kitty Carson, a thirty-year-old divorcee who had him over all the time so that they could spend the evening just fucking dreamily, doing it every way they could, anything went with Kitty. But Kitty was out of town now, on her vacation, and Jud's body was screaming for some action. He refused absolutely to masturbate; that was for fourteen-year-olds; but if he didn't get it before long he was going to go out on the street and hump the first girl he saw.
He looked down and saw his long, smooth, heavy cock rising at the very suggestion of sex, the head flaring, turning dark, almost purple, feeling as if it was going to burst. There was no one in the house, no one at all. His parents were away for the weekend, and Ellie, his good-natured (though, very, young) sister, was at the beach.
That was why, because no one was home, that Jud decided to go out to the pool and lie around in the sun for a while, growing warm and comfortable and adding to his tan. In a little while, when Marcia got home from work, he would call her and have her come over, and they would fuck like dogs out in the yard, by the pool, where no one could see them.
He ambled out into the hallway, his mind full of a sweet recollection from the past semester, his last in high school, when he had had to give a report in a psychology class. Standing in front of the class he discovered that he could look up Sherry Knudsen's brief skirt and see the beige panties that she wore. He stumbled through the first part of his speech. Then Sherry got up and excused herself, walking erectly out of the room, carrying her young breasts proudly before her. Jud was crushed. He felt as if she was leaving in order to get out of the way of his eager stare. But in fact Sherry was going to the restroom, where she hiked up her skirt and slipped off her panties. She tucked her panties into her purse, closed it, and went back to the classroom. There she let her legs open wider and wider, until finally Jud, stumbling clumsily through his talk, could see the fragrant lips of her vagina and the curling, moist hair around them.
That night they were together, up in the hills, and her young, taut body bent with his. They breathed together, moved together, had one intense orgasm after another, making love dreamily, becoming very messy together, like children.
The recollection was intense and left Jud shaken. His cock had risen and grown hard, and he fondled it in spite of his resolve not to. El-lie's door was open. He went toward it, already feeling guilty because he knew that he would indulge in one of his vices, taking up her soiled panties and smelling them in the crotch, for there, in spite of her thirteen years, Ellie had the scent of a full-blooded woman. But he did not find any of her panties. He found something else instead. Ellie had not gone to the beach at all, she had stayed home and taken a nap, after showering, and she lay in the bright sunlight that filtered through the window, lay on the clean sheets of her bed, stark naked, her young body voluptuous and yet taut, the body of a girl two or three years older than she actually was.
When Jud saw her there something went very wrong with him. He felt the blood pounding through his body, felt his hard cock growing ever more turgid. He let out a sound that was half whimper, half moan. Ellie was lying on her belly, her golden hair all in a tangle around her head. He saw her breasts squashed out to either side of her, her taut, hard buttocks, dimpled, with the slightest down that caught the light from the window and held it against her.
Jud thought that he was just going to look at her from behind; that he was just going to sneak a look at her delicate vagina. For a few moments that was all he did. He moved forward quietly, in a fever of excitement, feeling his cock grow painfully hard. Then, stopping behind Ellie, he brought his face down to where he could see everything. Her legs were parted; the delicate lips of her vagina lay half open in a curl of moist pubic hair, almost the same shade of yellow gold as her hair. In the lip was a bead of moisture, of rich, clear liquid, the secretion of a woman who is hot. Jud wondered what Ellie was dreaming about. He knew she had a youthful crush on him, something their parents, strict as they were, discouraged. But until this moment he had never even looked at Ellie as a girl, let alone as a woman.
Then it happened. Something in Jud's mind blacked out; somehow he was able to overcome the fact that this woman, this naked woman, her vagina beading with the liquid of sex, of lust, was his little sister, a mere child, innocent and fetching. With a loud groan, an almost pained sound, he came down on her, thrusting his cock up between her legs.
Ellie awakened and screamed. She screamed with sheer terror. Held tight by a man she didn't even recognize, she screamed and thrashed about and tried to get out from under her brother. But Jud, groaning, held her and thrust his heavy cock brutally up between her legs until it mashed against her small vagina. There it settled, stopped for a moment, while Jud gathered himself up, legs flexing, and kept his eyes shut, unaware, hardly realizing that he was trying to make love to a girl, let alone that that girl was his little sister.
Then he jerked forward spasmodically. His cock, twitching and swelling, leaped up against the delicate lips of Ellie's vagina, stopped there for a moment, straining at the fragile skin, then burst through with what seemed to Ellie an audible tearing sound.
She gasped. Her tissues torn, her body broken though by Jud's heavy cock, for just a moment she lay there, eyes wide open, clutching him, only now realizing that this was Jud, her brother, who was attacking her in this way and doing things to her that she didn't even have the knowledge to understand, let alone the experience to accept. Then, mercifully, she fainted.
Jud's body curled briefly, sprang straight again, and spurted hot jism into his sister, boiling it forth deep into her.
He lay there, gasping. After a moment the feeling wore away, the twinges of intense, spasmodic sexual excitement. "Oh, God, what did I do?" He lay there on her, still not able to get up. But then he pulled away. His cock was red with Ellie's blood, white with his own jism. He felt terrible, seeing her lying there, naked, sprawled out, her tender body white and fragile.
Groaning, he got up and stumbled to the nearby bathroom, where he washed off and stared into the mirror to see if he was the same person, if he hadn't had to change radically to become someone who would rape his little sister. But the face was the same. It was the same except that it looked drawn, the eyes puffed and bleary, no longer confident.
"Oh, God." He sat down on the edge of the tub and remembered in spite of himself the sight of Ellie lying there under him, helpless, cowering, unable to prevent him from doing as he liked with her. He sat there for a long time, just remembering and feeling the pain.
"Jud was all broken up, I felt sorry for him," said Ellie. "He went into the army right after that, and I guess he felt pretty bad about what he'd done, because he used to send me presents from Vietnam. Necklaces and things. Once he sent me a watch. I wrote to him once in a while, friendly letters, to show him that I didn't hold it against him. And I didn't. I knew he wouldn't have done something like that to me if he hadn't had to. I mean, if it hadn't been pretty hard for him to stop himself. So I forgave him. I really did, I just stopped thinking about the whole thing. It was over. Done with. That part of my life was just past."
"But it still bothers you," said Doc Reynolds. He was staring into his coffee cup and spoke very quietly.
"Not really. I don't think it does, anyway. Maybe subconsciously."
"Did your parents ever learn about it?"
"I guess I'll never know that. They knew that something had happened. Daddy always had a sixth sense where any kind of 'sin' was concerned. He figured out just by looking at you that you'd done something wrong. When Jud went into the army, I think he had a little encouragement from my parents. I think they wanted to get him away from me, into a different environment. They had some idea that he'd settle down if he was in the army. But he didn't, of course. He just stayed as wild as ever, got thrown in jail a few times, got into fights. He's doing okay now, though. Has a wife and kids, earns a good living as a sales representative, and seems to be in pretty good shape."
"What about you?"
"I don't know. I think that, well, my parents knew something had happened, like I said, and they had a pretty good idea that it had to do with sex. So from then on they kept watch over me. I'd go to school at nine in the morning and come back at three. If I was late, there was my mother on the porch, her arms crossed, staring up and down the street, waiting for me. An if I didn't show up on time, then my father would whip me. In the evening about all I could do was study at home or read. My girl friends came by and visited with me, but I wasn't allowed to date boys. Not at all. I missed the senior prom, all the dances, everything. When my parents made it clear that I was to go on living that way after graduation, that I wasn't going to go to college, couldn't get a job, that was when I got all my courage together and left home."
"How did your parents react?"
"They were pretty upset. My father wanted to whip me, and I told him that I was too old for that sort of thing. He would have done it anyway, only I ran out of the house. I never did go back; they wouldn't let me. They wouldn't let me even get my clothes. I stayed at a girl friend's until I could get a job and earn enough money to take an apartment."
"Have you seen them since?"
"No. Not at all. I called once or twice. Once to invite them over for dinner. But my father answered the phone, and when he heard my voice he hung up." She was silent for a moment. "I guess I shouldn't feel sorry for myself; there are people with worse problems. But Doc, I don't know how to be with people. With men. I get along okay with girls, I have a lot of girl friends. But with men it's different. I don't know how to speak to them, what to say. It seems sometimes as if it's all a matter of formulas. You say one thing and the man is supposed to say something else. Then you say something meaningless that he knows how to answer. I just don't know all the formulas. When I get to know a man I'm always saying the wrong thing. And I'm afraid of them, when they touch me. So after a while they stop seeing me, stop trying to date me. I'm really afraid to let them get near me, especially when we're alone. I'm afraid something will happen. Something like what happened with Jud. Something like?" She stopped; she didn't want to mention Burt, the scene at Spindler Creek.
Doc Reynolds looked up inquiringly. "Yes?"
"Nothing," said Ellie. "That's all there is. I don't want to be different, to be strange. I just want to be like other girls, to have fun, and I don't know how."
There was silence for a long time. Doc Reynolds drank from his coffee cup. Then he finally spoke. "Ellie, there are good men around. Men who'll be kind to a woman, who won't hurt her. Your experience with your brother may have soured you, and your parents didn't help any. But you have your whole life in front of you, you can't let something like this ruin everything for you. Oh, I know I'm giving you cliches, but it's all true, Ellie. You must believe me, you, have, to. You've just got to believe in yourself, to believe that you can face the world, that you can get along with people. Then you'll start meeting men, you'll learn how to get along with them."
"Sure. Sure, Doc," said Ellie. But her voice lacked conviction.
CHAPTER SIX
Two o'clock. Burt Conroy glanced at his watch and felt a kind of satisfaction to see his plans working out so well. He had his feet in the water of the swimming pool and was seated where he could see Ellie's cabin. Just as he had expected, she had not intended to meet him at the creek. Which was all right, for Burt had never even gone there. He had waited by the pool, knowing that when she did come out he'd be there to see her and would take her by the arm and they would go up to Spindler Creek together. He had noticed right away that Ellie was timid, that she wanted to do what people told her to do.
He had something else to hold against her now. He didn't really think it out this way, but Burt's anger against Ellie had increased when he had learned that Shirley Wilson was no longer at the camp. She had left. Just left. Late yesterday night, when Burt got back to the camp, he went to her cabin and kicked at the door. There was no answer. Then he noticed that Shirley's car was gone. Just like that she'd gone away, gone home, probably, leaving him here thinking about what he wanted to do to her.
But in some queer way Burt Conroy linked women all together, blamed each woman for the other's fault. So his rage had been transferred to Ellie; his revenge would be taken on her.
"You got a light?"
Burt looked up. The man in front of him had arrived only this morning, and he had taken Shirley Wilson's cabin, coincidentally. Burt had reacted to him instantly, seeing in him a rival like Mike Taylor, for Claude Branch, that was his name, was not only handsome but possessed the sort of calm self-assurance that made women feel secure around a man. He was a big man, perhaps six-four, a little bigger than Burt, maybe, and much heavier. His arms were thick-and muscular, his legs stout and strong. He had a fairly ordinary face, with a jaw that jutted out, and calm, gray eyes. His manner, that was what mattered to women, after all, was that of someone who knows his way around, a man among men, the sort of person that you would not care to bully.
. It was said that he was a football player, a lineman with one of the professional teams. This fact, or-rumor, had made him even more interesting to the women. Yvonne Daley was already hanging around him. She lay on her belly, supporting herself on her elbows, and gave him sweet smiles and low conversation as her heavy breasts threatened the grippers on her bikini top.
"A light" Sure."
Burt held out his lighter to the big man, who lit his cigarette from it. He sat down by the pool and stared over it meditatively, not even looking at the women. Burt Conroy wondered if he was queer; a lot of these football players were, after all. And the bigger, the meaner-looking they were, the more likely it was that they were queer. Burt had heard that this was so, and he believed it.
"This is a nice place," said Claude Branch meditatively. "You must get a lot of action around here. All those chicks."
Burt Conroy looked up again. "You're telling me. That's why I come here." He was suddenly talkative; this guy Branch wasn't at all unfriendly, and Burt liked being around the guys, being one of the boys. It might just be that Branch would be a little friendlier than some of the other guys around here, who were jealous of Burt for the way he got on with the women.
"Who are the good ones?"
"Yvonne over there," said Burt. "Yvonne's always hot to hop. She'll fuck you for a dollar and give you two dollars change."
"She's good, huh?"
"Real good. She likes to get up near you and kind of grind her crotch up against your face. She's a bitch maybe, but good. And Honey Farraday, the blonde over there, the one with the big boobs. The one with the smile. I've fucked her every way you can fuck a woman. She's a hot little bundle."
He glanced up at Claude Branch, wondering if he believed him. Honey Farraday was one woman Burt hadn't even gotten close to, but he would. What was a lie at the moment could be cold truth another day.
"Any others?" asked Branch, looking at Burt with interest.
"Sure. Shirley Wilson, only she's not here right now. She was in the cabin you're in. Tall redhead, big, long tits. She'll do it any way you like. Maybe it's kind of personal talking about something like this, but you ought to try Shirley. When she comes back, that is. If she comes back."
"What's her specialty?" asked Claude Branch. He was staring at the lighted cigarette in his hand. He had not drawn on it, not even once.
"Shirley's specialty," said Burt expansively, "is anything having to do with the asshole. She's got an asshole like another woman's cunt, big and flappy and comfortable. And she doesn't stand on ceremony. If you meet her, if she comes back, you just go right On up to her and ask her to fuck. Tell her I sent you."
"Sure," said the big man thoughtfully. "Sure. I'll do that." He leaned over and touched the cigarette to the surface of the water. It hissed and went out. "Well, thanks for the light." He turned to go away.
"Yeah, any time. Hey, let's get together and have a drink sometime. Maybe tonight."
"Good idea," said the big man as he walked away.
Burt Conroy settled back and went back to watching for Ellie and glancing from time to time at the women around the pool. Honey Farraday met his gaze and her jolly face froze into a frown almost instantly. He grinned at her wolfishly, watching the tight straps of her bikini top, the bulge of her large breasts. That too would be his before long. But for now he had other concerns.
It was only a few minutes after two o'clock when it suddenly occurred to Ellie that Burt, might come looking for her when she didn't show up at Fall Creek. She had been showering, but now she stepped quickly out of the shower and grabbed for her towel. Her young body glistened with beading water that dripped from her pert breasts, down the flat stomach to where it caught in a brief cluster of golden pubic hair through which the delicate flaps of her vagina could be seen, if there were anyone to see them.
But even Ellie was not looking at herself. In fact, she had a towel draped over the bathroom mirror, just so she wouldn't be able to see herself. Her body offended her; it had caused all her troubles, it seemed to her. She grabbed panties and a skirt and put them on. Then a light summer blouse. Barefoot, her hair down over her shoulders, she stepped out of the house. It was warm outside, and the smell of the pine trees, aromatic and heavy, hung over her senses. The world was so lovely at times, so rich, so beautiful. For a moment she just stood there, breathing deeply, closing her eyes, wishing that the moment could last forever.
But then she remembered why it was that she wanted to hurry. She would go downstream, away from Spindler Creek, down to where Doc Reynolds would be fishing. Maybe he would even teach her to catch trout. No one else caught anything in the streams around here, but Doc had the reputation of being an excellent fisherman. If anyone could do it, he could.
She hurried on through the camp. Over at the pool, Burt Conroy had gotten up quickly and was walking in the direction of Fall Creek, nodding and smiling at acquaintances. He broke into a run as soon as he got beyond a row of cabins. Running fast, he was soon out of breath. He slowed down to a fast walk. Ellie was ahead of him. Ellie stopped when she heard him call. "Not that way, Ellie. Back here!"
She turned around. Burt was motioning to her.
"I?"
"Come on, this way!"
Ellie stood there, for a moment, not moving. Far down the creek she could see Doc Reynolds. He had a long fishing rod in his hand and was slowly whipping it back and forth, swishing a heavy line through the air over a pool, casting upstream.
"I don't have time, Burt," she called.
He strode down the path toward her. "Nonsense, Ellie. Anyway, I promised Liz I'd bring you up. She really does want to talk to you."
Doc Reynolds was intent on his fishing. The fly on the end of his line flashed quickly across the pool, snapped by the heavy line, and touched the surface of the water at the head of the pool. There was a silver flash as a trout took the fly. Doc Reynolds, his expression intent, concentrated, began to play the fish.
Burt took Ellie by the arm. "Come on, Ellie, you know the way. I waited for you up there, but you didn't come."
"I"I remembered that I had something to do."
"Down here" Come on, Liz was going to wait, shell still be there." He took hold of her arm. His expression was intense, although he was smiling. His smile looked as if it had been made by forcing up the corners of his mouth, against the will of his face. Something about his manner, some authority in it, some taut resolve, made her obey him. She was aware that she was being hurried down the path, toward where the two creeks met, Spindler and Fall, and the thought popped into her head that she didn't want to do this, she didn't want to go with Burt. Something Doc Reynolds had said"
"What about, what about Shirley?" she demanded as she stumbled along the path with him. "You and Shirley?"
"Huh?" Burt's face showed amused surprise. "Shirley Wilson" What about her?"
"You and Shirley, I mean, I heard that you and Shirley were, going together or something."
He laughed indulgently. "I know, that story about her stranding me. I heard that too. Ellie, I'm ashamed of you, believing that sort of gossip. You're old enough to know that people gossip about each other. It's pure malice, Ellie. Doc Reynolds is known for telling stories like that around."
"Doc Reynolds?""
"Sure. Come on, Ellie, we both know that he's the one who told you this.", For one thing,, he said to himself,, he's the only one you've talked to all morning., "Reynolds is just that way. Oh, he comes on all dignified and grave and everything, but he's just another old guy who can't quite make it anymore. Come on, Ellie, I'm sure you've noticed how he spends all his time with the young girls, giving them 'advice' and fatherly suggestions about their love life. He's a joke, Ellie. He really is. People laugh at him around here. I don't want to be unkind or anything, but you don't want to take somebody like that seriously. I'm sure he warned you about me. Did he" I thought so, it's just the sort of thing he'd do. And I don't even hold it against him. I like to think I'm above that kind of petty fighting."
He still had hold of her arm. They were walking too fast for Ellie. Doc Reynolds was no longer visible in the distance.
"Can't we just see Liz at my cabin or something?" said Ellie.
"I told you, Ellie," he said, his expression cross just for a moment. "She's kind of embarrassed about the whole thing, she just wants to see you alone. Personally, I'm getting kind of tired of the whole affair. Women! You're really too much for a guy to handle, two at a time. I think it must have something to do with your hormones or something."
Ellie felt hopelessly confused. Everything Burt said seemed to make sense. Seen in the light of reason, she had only one thing against him, namely his behavior of the other day, at Spindler Creek, and even that could be explained in the light of a man's overwhelming sex drive when he was aroused. After all, she had seen this very thing happen to her own brother. Besides, Burt wasn't even trying to touch her, the way most men did.
Then they were at the path. Liz was nowhere to be seen.
"She went up the creek. She thought we might go swimming for a while. Liz really does like you, Ellie. She really does want to get along with you."
Ellie hesitated a moment at Spindler Creek; memories of the other day came on her suddenly, made her want to turn and run. But when she glanced at Burt and saw his amused smile, his raised eyebrows, her fears seemed to her foolish. She went with him.
The creek trickled down a narrow canyon, through sycamores that were stunted and twisted. Far above them were pines. They climbed the narrow trail, and Ellie was soon out of breath. She sat down. Burt was in front of her, watching her.
"You're a beautiful girl, Ellie," he said softly. "A really beautiful girl, you know" If I weren't engaged, but I shouldn't even think thoughts like that. Anyway, you deserve a better man than I am." He reached out and patted her hand. "You deserve a man like Mike."
"Mike?"
"Mike Taylor. Come on, Ellie, I can see it in your eyes, when you look at him. You like him, don't you?"
"No! I mean, that is, I like Mike all right, but he's just a friend."
"He's in love with you, Ellie."
He watched for her reaction, and saw, or thought he saw, how her gaze fell when he spoke of Mike. At that moment his whole body seemed shot through with a feeling of coldness, of bitter anger, and he thought again, enraged, of what he would do to her, how he would hurt her, rape her.
"Come on, let's go," he said. "Liz will be waiting. Let's go!"
Ellie got to her feet, grateful for the diversion. The thought of Mike had made her feel oddly sorrowful and excited at the same time. Was it true" The thought of Mike filled her with a sudden eagerness. It couldn't be true. And yet Burt had seemed so sincere, his eyes had been so sad when he spoke of himself, said he wasn't good enough for her. A man wouldn't say such a thing unless he meant it, would he"
She wanted to get it over with, to see Liz and go on back down the mountain, to stay near the pool and see if Mike would talk to her. And so she hurried to keep pace with Burt.
When Ellie saw the pool she stopped short. The memory of the other day came over her in a rush. And Liz was not there. "Liz!" She called out, hearing how her voice became anxious and tense, and not looking at Burt. He was behind her, near the downstream end of the pool. "Liz!"
There was not even an echo, nothing, no sound at all. And suddenly Ellie was afraid to turn around and face Burt; her fears had been revived. She stood stock-still, looking here and there, even peering into the brush near the sycamore tree where she had hidden the other day.
Liz was nowhere to be seen. Ahead of Ellie was the bend in the river. A steep cliff of granite rose high above the trickling water of the stream, and in its shadow the water grew deep, just at its base, then rippled over flat sand toward the larger hole that Ellie was standing near.
"She's not here, Burt." But she still didn't turn around, fearful of what he might be doing. And then she heard him. He was moving behind her. There were brief scuffling noises. Ellie was afraid. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, felt the cold sweat of fear on the surface of her skin. She turned around and gasped with surprise.
Burt was leaning against a boulder, smiling at her. His eyes were cold, though, without humor. The smile on his face was held there as if by rivets. He was naked.
Ellie had a confused awareness of Burt's large cock, semi-tumid, hanging out of the hair below his belly, a thick, brutal muscle that throbbed and lifted slightly as she looked at it. "Burt, please?"
He just stood there, leaning on the boulder, and looked at her. It was his eyes, she realized suddenly, that made him look crazy. There was a kind of demented gleam in them, a kind of fanatical look that left her feeling cold. At that moment she didn't believe that she could reason with him, and yet she had to try. And so her words came out sounding childish and ineffective.
"Burt, we're both grown up now, let's talk this out. We don't have to behave this way toward each other. You're a nice guy, Burt, really. But I don't want to, I can't be this way with you. I?"
Words failed her. She couldn't look at him or talk to him unless she looked at him. Instead of doing either, she moved to the edge of the deep pool. She was crying. Kicking off her thongs, she stepped into the water and waded out to where it was deep and the water made her skirt billow up around her. It felt good, the cool water, as it lapped at her hips, then her belly.
Burt spoke. "Take off your clothes, Ellie. Take them off." He was watching her quietly, arms folded. His eyes still had that crazy look as his eyebrows were squashed down angrily over his eyes.
Then he moved. He came over to the side of the pool, stepped into the water, and as he moved slowly toward her, Ellie backing away, he went on speaking.
"Come on, Ellie, I know what you are. You know what you are. You're a bitch. A bitch, Ellie, just like other bitches. When you're in heat you're like any other bitch in heat, you've got slick thighs and a hungry look on your face. And you're all eager to get something up between your legs, just like any other bitch. You want to pretend it's different with you, Ellie, don't you" I've seen it before, with other bitches. You don't want to admit that you've got a hole down there, and that the hole is rimmed with your cream, and that it tickles, and that you want a man, a real man, not a youngster like Mike Taylor, a grade-A college boy, no, a real man, a man like me, to hump you until it hurts, until you squeal and scream and beg for more, and your breath is short, and your legs are squeezing around me, tightening like your cunt?"
"Stop it, Burt, for God's sake stop it! Burt, you can't do this, you can't, you can't!" She was screaming.
Burt just watched her, smiling faintly. "Those high cliffs, Ellie. Those high cliffs keep the sound from getting out, no one can hear you. No one can hear you, Ellie."
She was in deep water now. Her skirt floated up toward her shoulders. She stopped, unable to go any farther.
Then he grabbed for her. His momentum made him slip on the slick rock underneath, and, as he tumbled in the water, Ellie lunged for the side of the pool. She got out ahead of him, but to get out, had to go through the shallow water. Burt, being taller than she was, dove for the downstream side of the pool and came out of the water between her and the path.
Ellie ran. She ran upstream, ran blindly, hardly seeing anything in front of her. Up ahead was a steep granite cliff that came down to a deep, narrow pool, where the stream took an abrupt meander. The cliff was undercut. Ellie ran toward the narrow gorge. Burt was right behind her. He saw her slender body in front of him. Her waist was narrow, accentuating the fullness of her breasts and hips, and as she ran her long legs flashed golden in the bright sunlight.
He lunged at her, grabbed her skirt. It ripped free of her, revealing modest cotton panties over her full hips. Burt had a savage grin on his face as he lunged at her again, taking the panties in his hands, ripping at them, tearing them, until they too came free of her and her white skin gleamed in the sunlight, beading with water. Then he caught her. There was a brief struggle as he yanked at the blouse. Then he tore her bra away. Ellie, bruised and out of breath, sank to the sand by the pool, gasping for breath. She tried to speak, but no words came. Her one hand was up in front of her, trying to ward him off; the other supported her.
Burt leaped on her and grabbed her arms, dropping her to the ground. Ellie screamed again and again as she felt his heavy cock probing, trying to get into her. Burt looked down on her, watching the way her breasts, white and lovely and soft, with pink nipples quivering, flopped back and forth as she strained to get away. Her slender waist narrowed down to full hips, beading with stream water, and the modest bulge of golden pubic hair was glistening in the sunlight. It was a moment of intense triumph for him, a moment of exaltation, as he had this beautiful girl, this touchingly lovely nymph in his hands, at his mercy. He could do with her what he wanted. He knew that between those lovely thighs the cream was beading and melting and the lips of her vagina were slick and flushed and ready, ready for him, waiting for him to touch his lips to them, to taste the sweet-salt taste of her cunt, while his cock surged with power and vitality.
"Burt, you can't do this, what would your mother think?" The cliche came out spontaneously, but Ellie wasn't prepared for its effect.
Burt Conroy stood up suddenly, enraged beyond words. He stuttered and trembled and grabbed for his heavy cock, but his cock was already growing flaccid, drooping. His mother! The bitch! He remembered her when she was young and her slender yet voluptuous body leaned over him at night as he went to bed. She let him bury his face in her full, white breasts, while she smiled and talked to him. He had been allowed to sleep with her and had felt the bushy clump of hair below her belly, had felt it with his tiny fingers, running them curiously through the hair, and finally through the slick, sticky lips of her vagina, while she lay back on the bed, legs spread, eyes open, and face flushed from the intolerable heat beneath his tiny fingers. Finally she would come; convulsing, groaning, she would squeeze her legs together over his busy fingers, and her juice would sloosh out over them. He would suck contentedly on her clitoris while she fingered his small cock. This had gone on until one day he had seen her in bed with his father, doing the same things she did with him. He rushed in and attacked his father, enraged, but was put out of the room. The door was locked. From that time on his mother had scarcely allowed him to come near her.
He hated her. He hated all women. Standing in front of Ellie, unmanned, he recollected all the humiliations he had been subjected to by women; remembered all the reasons he had for hating them. His cock drooped and swayed below him. Ellie, laying there, was, if anything, more beautiful than ever: her delicate breasts, rounded, plump like two lush pieces of fruit, soft to the touch, hung down in a graceful arc, and her buttocks flared out as her knees were drawn up under her. She was cowering, wincing at his every move. Burt liked the feeling, the feeling of power, and, after a moment, his cock still limp, he reached down and grabbed her by the arms, yanking her to her feet.
"Burt, please?"
"You bitch, you bitch." He slapped her face hard. Ellie recoiled from the blow and fell to the ground again. But now Burt's cock, rising from the excitement of seeing her cringing, burst upward, flowering, growing strong again, until it had reached its full strength and lifted high above her.
He grabbed it with both hands, beside himself with anger and lust, grabbed it and squeezed until, with a sudden showering, the hot jism spattered out of it, coiling and spurting, a heavy stream of semen that lifted into the air and then fell in lacy, rope-like strands over Ellie's face and breasts.
Burt pointed his cock at her and hunched forward, keeping her below it, until the last spurts had subsided and his cock flagged for a moment. But then he got down on her, shoving her onto her stomach and slamming his cock up against her asshole. Ellie screamed again, helpless, but there was no one to hear, and when Burt began patiently to twist and shove his stocky, heavy cock against her asshole she fought bitterly until, with a sudden blow, he slammed her down to the ground.
She lay there, motionless. Burt took his time. He wetted the head of his cock with some of his semen, tipped it once again to her asshole, and began to insert its thick head into the tight hole. Ellie, senseless, lay there without moving, her lithe body relaxed, not even aware of what he was doing. With her body relaxed, it took Burt only a matter of moments to get the head of his cock into her.
He began to pump at her with a smooth rhythm. As always, it was the feeling of dominance, of control, that attracted him in his relations with women. He liked to be on top, to fuck them where it hurt, in the asshole, he was startled, in fact, to realize that he hadn't had his cock in a woman's vagina in some time, in weeks. Sex had nothing to do with love, little, even, to do with procreation. It was a means of asserting strength and control, of literally putting the woman down. On top of her, his rutting body curved and tightened around her, he had her under the ultimate control. A woman couldn't pull away when his cock was in her asshole; she couldn't fight him, laying on her belly, with him on her back, tupping her in the asshole.
Burt felt at peace there, laying in the sun with the most beautiful girl in camp under him, speared by his heavy cock, helpless, not even conscious, her girlish body sprawled on the sand. Looking down at her, he felt that familiar surge in his groin, then the spurt of jism that splattered deep into her body. He relaxed for a few moments before pulling out. Standing up, he looked down at her and felt no emotion, not even hate. She lay still. When he left she still hadn't moved.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mike Taylor could not have said why it was that he had been so offended, even hurt, to see Ellie Brighton walking with Burt Conroy. It had been obvious enough, even yesterday, what kind of a girl Ellie was, when she had come down the stream with Burt and Liz, the two principals in the swingers' group that made their headquarters up there on Spindler Creek, around the pool. But he hadn't wanted to believe it. Ellie was so soft, so lovely; her face was lovely, her eyes were gentle. She had seemed genuinely hurt when he had snubbed her.
That was why he had decided that he had been mistaken about her. But now, seeing her leave with Burt, it was proof enough.
He wandered toward the bar, where he sat for a long time at a booth and stared moodily at the wall. The bar was done up in a hokey Polynesian motif, with a great deal of bamboo and a bartender who wore bright, flowery shirts. It seemed very inappropriate, up here in the mountains, and for a while Mike just sat and quietly detested the decor.
He had been there for about an hour when Cindy Wheeler came in. Cindy was a lovely girl with honey-blonde hair and a quick, ingratiating smile. She was pixie-like and spritely, with a good word for everyone, and a lovely figure that she kept in good trim with tennis and volleyball. Like most of the girls at the camp, she enjoyed sensual pleasures, including sex, and was known for going up into the mountains alone, to a place where she could skinny-dip or just sun herself quietly. A successful model, she enjoyed the complete freedom, the lack of pressure, that she lived in at the camp, and she made the most of it. But she still kept very busy. She arranged parties and expeditions into the surrounding mountains, and her bright spirits and calm temper made them a success.
"All right, Mike, what is it" You come all the way up to the camp on your vacation, spend a lot of money to enjoy yourself, then mope. I want to know why."
"I'm not moping," he muttered.
"Why?" she persisted.
"Wait a minute, I'll get you a beer." He got up and fetched her a beer before she could protest. "There. That will keep you quiet."
"Mike, nothing will keep me quiet. I am a busybody through and through. What is it, my friend?"
He stared at his beer for a while before answering. Finally he spoke. "All right, I guess I've fallen for a girl. I mean really fallen hard. And, well, that's it."
"And you don't feel worthy of her, is that it?"
"In fact it's kind of the other way around."
"A fallen women. The prostitute with a heart of gold. But does Yvonne, like, you, Mike?"
"Not Yvonne. And that was a catty remark, not worthy of you. It's a friend of yours."
She stared at him in astonishment. "Would you like your face slapped now or later" Or would you just like to take that back and we'll pretend it was never said."
"What would you say," he asked, "if I told you this person had taken up with Burt Conroy?"
"Oh," said Cindy. "I guess I'd say first of all that she's no friend of mine. Who is it?"
"Ellie."
Cindy looked at him for a long time before saying anything. Then she shook her head. "Mike, Mike, the heat's gotten to you for sure. I'm not going to go to the trouble of telling you that Ellie is a sweet girl. She is innocent and doesn't know anything about men. I'm not even going to explain to you that Burt Conroy is the kind of guy that an experienced woman steers clear of."
"Experienced?"
She thought for a moment. "Maybe, I see what you mean. Maybe she just doesn't know about guys like that." She thought for a moment, then shook her head. "No, Ellie is afraid of men. I can't even get her to date. If she were going to go with a man, it wouldn't be such an obvious woman-hater as Burt. No, Mike, the heat's got you, Doc, Doc Reynolds!"
Doc Reynolds had just walked into the bar. He looked up, said something to Jimmy the bartender, came over.
"Doc, Mike here has a problem. He's in love, and, as is usual with men, he's making a mess of everything. Now I will personally pay for your next three drinks if you can straighten him out."
Jimmy brought over a martini and a hard-boiled egg.
"It's not necessary," said Doc Reynolds. "I mean about buying a drink. Anyway, Jimmy, you squeezed a bit of lemon peel over this, did you" Good. I've had a bit of trouble with him over that. He'll put an olive in if you give him half a chance. But he's learning now. He's learning. Jimmy, I'm going to give you something." He reached into his creel and pulled out a rainbow trout. The trout was fully eighteen inches long. "Took him on a Gray Hackle."
"Jesus!" the bartender exclaimed.
Doc drank contentedly from his martini while enjoying the effect of his gesture. "Take him and fry yourself a fish dinner. There are more where he came from."
The bartender took the trout away. Cindy and Mike looked at each other. Doc Reynolds, homespun and simple as he seemed, proved to have talents no one knew about. He sat there and enjoyed their surprise as he sipped at his martini and slowly rolled the egg on the table top, without breaking it.
"Now, children, you have a problem for old Doc to solve. Mike's in love, if I heard right. We doctors know the antidote for that."
"The?""
"The antidote. Marriage."
In spite of himself, Mike grew impatient. "Look, it's nothing I want to talk about in front of the whole camp. I'm just, concerned. Ellie?"
Doc Reynolds looked up. "Ellie Brighton?"
"Yeah. Only, well, she's gotten involved with Burt. Burt Conroy."
Doc Reynolds smacked the egg hard against the table. Finally he spoke. "I know," he said finally. "I talked to her about him."
"You did?" said Cindy. "Did it do any good?"
Mike laughed hollowly. "Evidently not. She went off with Burt. Up to Spindler Creek, probably."
"Mike!" Cindy turned on him, angry again.
"I know, I know. That's where the orgies are. Well, all I know is that I saw them coming down from there the other day, along with Liz."
"Were they together?"
"No. Ellie came down quite a while after Burt and Liz."
"Then they might not even have seen each other up there. What makes you think they did?"
"I guess the way she acted, oh, I don't know. Let's not even talk about it. All I know for sure is that they went off together this afternoon."
All three of them were silent. Doc rolled the egg on the bar and then began to flake off the pieces of shell. He stared at the egg moodily. Finally he spoke.
"Mike, I don't have any very complicated theories about people. I'm just another modern medicine man. But I am pretty sure about one thing. There are a few genuinely good people around and there are a few that are rotten. Usually they don't get together, except for when the rotten ones are taking advantage of the good ones."
"And you think that's what's happening now?"
He shrugged. "I know it is. The only problem is, I just don't know what to do about it."
It was Cindy who suggested that they go for a walk. Doc Reynolds had stayed in the bar, moodily cracking hard-boiled eggs and drinking martinis while Jimmy leaned on the bar near him and tried to wheedle out of him the secret of catching big trout with such a commonplace fly as the Gray Hackle. Cindy and Mike went outside. The air was fresh and clear; a slight breeze rippled the surface of the pool. In the late afternoon the shadows were long and the forest was quiet.
"We might find Ellie. If what you say is true, then I'm as eager to find her as you are. I won't have her throwing herself away on that man."
Mike, smiled wryly. "It wouldn't last long."
"It never does with Burt. Let's go up toward the lake. It should be nice up there."
They began the long climb to the lake. Fall Creek tumbled through a gorge down a waterfall some eighty feet high, hence its name, and above the gorge was a clear, deep lake lying in a narrow valley. It was a long hike up there and the sunlight was fading when they reached the lake. The lake itself was in shadow. An occasional trout slapped the surface of the water, sending out ripples. Mike, watching Cindy, was taken by her lovely face, her pert body. Her honey-blonde hair tumbled down over her shoulders in a lush cascade, over breasts that, without a bra, rose up to where large, plump nipples bulge through the fabric of her blouse. They seemed to be pointing upward.
When she turned and looked at him, he was startled. Her face was lovely and soft; the eyes gray-green and pleasant, twinkling.
"It's lovely up here, isn't it"'
"Huh" Oh, yeah."
He wanted to touch her. She didn't have Ellie's vulnerability, but was even more voluptuous. And the sight of her breasts, hanging free, swinging loosely under her blouse, was enough to make him feel faintly giddy with desire. "Let's sit down on the sand," he suggested.
The shore was of a soft, sandy composition, and they sat down on the ground and looked out over the water. A trout splashed.
"Give me a back rub," she told him casually.
He leaned over and began to rub her back gently. Kneading the soft flesh in his fingers, he enjoyed the feeling of closeness, of intimacy with her. She was laying with her head on the ground and her eyes closed, and he wanted to touch his lips to hers, to kiss her tenderly at first, then passionately. But he contented himself with rubbing her back. Her youthful body was firm under his hands. She let out a moan of contentment, and he saw that her face was smiling.
"Lower," she asked.
Mike rubbed all the way up and down her back. When he grew tired of doing so, he hesitated a moment, then said he was going to rub her legs as well. She didn't answer. She seemed to be asleep, motionless, her lovely face framed by the heavy tangle of honey-blonde hair. Mike moved down and began to massage her feet. A wisp of her hair hung over her mouth, blowing to and fro as she breathed. Her short skirt was taut over full hips, but it had hiked itself up a few inches, so that he could see just the hem of her panties. They were startlingly red in color.
When he moved to her ankles, then her calves, she didn't protest, but lay as if asleep. He kneaded her tanned skin patiently, moving upward, always upward, until finally he was rubbing her thighs. Still she didn't move. By now he had become uncomfortably aware that he had an erection and was afraid that, if she glanced at him, she would notice. He kept his knee up, trying to hide it. The flesh of her thighs was a golden brown from much sun and the skin was soft and fragrant. It was pleasant, rubbing her there, and so stimulating that his feeling of readiness, of sexual eagerness, increased until he was actually uncomfortable.
By this time he realized that he would eventually touch her up there. He also had a feeling that she would not push away his hand, for already he could smell the slight muskiness of a woman in heat, the smell of salt sweat and cream. He noted that her thighs were slightly parted and that the red panties were visible now. He kneaded the soft flesh of her buttocks and she stirred restlessly, altering her position just slightly. Her breath had increased in tempo. He realized suddenly that she was breathing heavily, even a bit huskily, although she still seemed to be asleep.
When his hand touched the crotch of her panties, just touched and moved away, she gave a sudden lurch, as if stimulated beyond endurance by the sensation. He saw that her thighs were parted. Laying belly down, she had let herself become vulnerable. Her breath was coming in distinct gasps now; her face was tense, expectant, even though her eyes were still closed. Mike let his thumb touch briefly in the crotch of her panties, which were wet and sloppy now with her cream, and his thumb sank into the moist material. He was aware of the soft, sloppy patch of slick skin and the tangled, slippery hair underneath the material of the red panties. His breath came fast and hard as he tried to restrain himself, to go slow.
Even now, in spite of what she had let him do, there was a certain tenseness, a certain reserve in her manner, as if she were by no means clear in her own mind about what she was doing, or allowing to be done to her. He moved very slow. As if by accident, he let his finger slide across the narrow crotch of the red panties and he could feel the way her body tensed and shivered when he did so. Then he kneaded the soft flesh of her thighs again, ignoring the patch of succulent flesh, the aroma of female heat, that stirred him so. She gradually became more peaceful. The tenseness disappeared; her body relaxed and lay limp under his hands as she gave herself over to him, let him do as he liked with her. He let his finger touch her from time to time, dipping into the crotch of the panties, where a few moist hairs curled out.
Each time he touched, ecstatic shivers ran through her body. Finally he let his hand rest there on the sodden red material. Cindy was breathing heavily. Without opening her eyes, without speaking, she humped up her buttocks so that he had free access to them, and by this gesture made him aware that she would not resist. His movements became hurried, impatient. Tearing at the delicate material he found himself growing half faint with eagerness. He could smell the rich, musky smell of her vagina, where she had creamed copiously, thoroughly soaking not only the red panties but even her thighs. The material stripped away from her thighs and she kicked the panties off, rolling over. She too was now eager. Reaching down, she flipped up her skirt, revealing a luscious cleft bordered by thick, curling pubic hair, the same honey-gold in color as the hair of her head. The labia of her vagina were startlingly full, strikingly pink in color. They were swollen and parted, and Mike knew, seeing them there in front of him, that his cock would slip into them softly and easily and slide freely.
He half groaned, coming down on her, but before-he had reached his cock to the swelling lips she spoke to him.
"Mike?" Her voice was low and throaty. "Yeah?"
"I shouldn't ask this of you, but?" For a moment she stopped, embarrassed. Then she went on. "I"I have trouble coming that way. I like it and everything, and I like to do it, but I need it right now, Mike. The best way. Can I ask it of you?"
"Sure. What is it" How do you want it."
"God, Mike?" Her voice was low and tense. "If you'd only go down on me."
She looked at him, half embarrassed, a funny grin on her flushed face.
Mike grinned back. He had wanted to do it, but hadn't been sure of himself, hadn't wanted to ask. But she made it so easy for him. "I wanted to anyway."
He got down between her legs. She was fumbling feverishly with the buttons of her blouse which suddenly came free, dumping out her heavy, pert breasts. For a moment she sat there on the ground, her legs spread, feeling her breasts. She had a look of animal sensuality on her face, a look of readiness, of eagerness. Her hair was soaked with sweat that had broken out over her flushed body and thick strands of it clung to her wet skin.
Then he looked away. In front of his face was her flushed vagina, where the clear cream beaded and ran down her buttocks to mix with the sand. Mike stuck out his tongue, touched it to the clear liquid. At his touch, her clitoris quivered slightly, her body convulsed. She grabbed his head and held his face against the sloshing skin of the lips of her vagina. The sensation made him shudder with eagerness. He let his tongue slide out between his lips and into her cunt, where it caressed the slick surface of her labia, while the cream bubbled forth and wet down his face. Then he let his tongue explore, rimming the lips, touching the hair on either side, while she shivered with ecstatic delight and clung to his ears, gasping and tossing her head from side to side from the rhythmic sensations of pleasure that shot through her body.
For a few moments he drew back and merely watched her, watched the gaping crack that enticed him so. She moved impatiently and her hands let go of his head, moving to her cunt where her slender fingers slipped into the groove and fingered it while the thick cream there clung to them. Mike, watching her fingers, moved forward again, touched his tongue to her cunt. At once she removed her fingers and let him explore once again with his tongue, dreamily, happily, while the light turned paler and the shadow over the lake grew darker. He let his tongue slip deep into her until he could taste far down into her cunt. Then he licked the whole area, lips, hair, and clitoris, and enjoyed her intense squirming, her gasping breath.
"Come on up," she said in a strained voice.
"I thought you wanted to come this way."
"I've changed my mind."
He got up and moved onto her. Her face was strained and tense, her lips were slightly parted. She had her eyes closed and was breathing heavily. He kissed her on the cheek and her restless lips found his. Her tongue parted his lips, came together with his own tongue. At the same time, his cock, pulsing with blood, hard and heavy, came up between her legs and rested there in the crevice of her vagina where it was washed with her cream. He left it there for a moment, sagging heavily in her full cunt, then, with a sudden, almost involuntary jerk, he thrust it deep into her, far in, and her vagina sucked him up until he was all the way in. Cindy gasped. Her face was intense, contorted. Without realizing it she clutched him with her fingers, clutched him hard, until her fingernails dug into his flesh and left angry red welts.
Then her orgasm came over her. Sloppy wet down below, her large cunt sucking on his cock, squeezing it, she felt the trembling in her limbs, felt it in a first faint giddiness in her groin, then in a dizzying flash of feeling that spread throughout her body and caused her muscles to twitch and her legs to squeeze around his body. She squeezed hard, drawing him deep into her, while her whole body responded with rhythmic flashes of feeling that went on for a long time. Finally she lay still.
Mike had held off, wanting to make it last as long as possible, but the sight of her laying supine under him, relaxed, a satisfied smile on her face, made him come suddenly. The hot jism spurted in thick clots out of his tumid cock, deep into her, then ran back and bubbled down her buttocks to the ground. He lay there, exhausted.
"You make it?"
He nodded. Laying on top of her, he didn't want to ever have to move again. But in a few moments she became impatient, pushed at him.
"I want to wash off."
"Okay."
He watched her as she walked to the edge of the water which lapped at her feet. Stepping into the chilly water, she bent over and began to toss handfuls of water over her legs and buttocks. He could see her cunt opening as she bent over, still flushed, still open.
"You coming?"
"I'll lay here for a minute."
He watched her graceful movements as she cleaned herself. She splashed water up into her crotch, washing out her vagina, and he found himself getting an erection again just watching her. Her lovely breasts dipped toward the water, the nipples hard from the cold water she splashed over them. The sight made his cock grow tumid, hardening until finally the head flared out like a cobra's hood and he realized that he had to have her again.
She came back, walking gracefully, smiling at him. She had the look of a woman who is deeply contented, brought into equilibrium by the satisfaction of a profound desire. When she saw him she stopped abruptly. Something like anger crossed her face; then she looked amused. He felt very foolish.
"Again?"
He nodded unhappily.
But she just chuckled. Then she came over to him and took his tumid cock in her hands, rubbing it gently. A drop of lubricant formed at the head. She leaned over and touched her mouth to it, kissing it.
He looked at her, astonished.
"So" You did it for me, didn't you?"
"Uh?"
"And I'm doing it for you. Lay still now!"
Her mouth closed over his cock, then sucked gently at it while he let himself relax and settle back on the sand, thinking blissful thoughts. She was quick and expert at what she was doing. Mike let it happen and silently blessed her for her readiness, even if she wasn't hot any more.
When he came, she didn't draw back but took his semen into her mouth while stroking his cock until the last of it had been squeezed out. The thought of her keeping his cock in her mouth made him shiver. But even as he had his climax he realized that, the whole time they were making love, he had wished it was Ellie, not Cindy, that he was with.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When Ellie awakened the next morning, her first memory was of something thick and heavy between her legs, hanging there stiff and hard, the blood pulsing through it, through her, while that patch of wet hair and slippery skin between her legs swelled and stank with a musky odor.
She woke up afraid, remembering the events of the day before. When she recovered consciousness, she discovered that there was nothing seriously wrong with her, even though she was bruised everywhere-r-hips, legs, and breasts. Burt had evidently done everything to her but fuck her in the usual place, and that alone, was un-violated. Her buttocks hurt where he had hit her. She looked down and saw that her legs were covered with bruises, discolored, a deep purple in places.
Yesterday she had walked home very late. Her clothes were torn and she was crying, and she hadn't wanted anyone to see her in that condition. And then Cindy had come by. Ellie had put on a housecoat and tried to act normal, but Cindy, as if divining the reason for her agitation, had asked her about Burt Conroy. Ellie had denied everything. And that was where it stood.
But now, bruised and hurt, she almost wished that she had told Cindy what had happened. Burt would get away with this sort of thing until the day someone called the police down on him, or beat him thoroughly, the way he beat women. And yet Ellie realized that no jury would convict Burt Conroy without witnesses, and that she would subject herself to one indignity after another if she tried to take him to court.
It amounted to this: there was nothing she could do that would not destroy her reputation. Besides, Burt had a kind of scary magnetism to him, a force that was stronger than Ellie, especially when Ellie had no one standing behind her. Somehow, when he told her to do something, she was unable to resist. The reason for this, Ellie couldn't conceal it from herself, was that her body was crying for sex. She needed sex, needed it like she had seldom needed anything. In the mornings she woke up steaming hot, moaning and tossing in her bed, finding the sheet beneath her dank and moist with her cream where it had run down her thighs. When she showered she found that her hands, as if on their own, wandered over her slippery breasts and down to her crotch where the soap foamed and slickened her vagina more than ever. In the evenings when she went to bed, she would lay under the covers and feel the need to be close to someone, to feel his arms around her, his body close to hers and, yes, his cock surging between her legs while she submitted and let him do anything he liked.
But it had to be gentle. That was the crux of the matter. It had to be a pleasant moment, a secure moment, not the kind of violent, destructive scene that Burt Conroy had lured her into. She was attracted and repelled, in other words. Laying there in her bed she envisioned his tumid cock thrust out over her, spurting out jism in a thick stream. There was something so powerful about the sight, so totally masculine. But her body was battered and bruised, and she was afraid, deathly afraid of the man who had beaten her.
It was impossible to live, she said to herself. She was determined not to let anything more happen to her, and, as she lay there in bed, feeling that familiar warmth between her legs, knowing that her thighs were growing sticky with cream even now, she made up her mind that she would leave the camp at the end of the week, even if she lost the money she had paid for her quarters. Until then she would stay in her room, sending for her meals and seeing no one, not even Cindy Wheeler.
The decision made her feel better. She got up and made herself some breakfast, not bothering to pull on a nightgown or a pair of panties. It no longer mattered whether she tried to remain chaste, whether she avoided evil thoughts; what had happened to her had robbed her of any vestige of maidenhood she might have had. And anyway, if her body was going to torment her like this, even making breakfast she felt those twinges in her vagina! , then she would no longer try to prevent it. Nor would she gratify it.
After she had eaten she decided to take a bath, rather than a shower; she had a long day ahead of her, a lot of time to fill out. Within a few minutes she was luxuriating in a hot bath. The bathtub was overflowing with bubbles; underneath them, hidden from her sight, Ellie's hands cupped her breasts and felt the slickness of the soapy water. The sensation was a shivery one; Ellie squeezed her legs together in spite of herself, realizing full well that her thick cream was being exuded from her vagina to mix with the soapy water. But her body cried out for sex, for love, and she couldn't control herself at all.
When there was a knock on the door she didn't even hear it, nor would she have responded if she had. She lay there in the suds, feeling the warmth of the steaming water soaking through her body, and thought of sex, of men, of Burt Conroy, and Mike Taylor.
"How are you, sweetheart?"
The voice came directly from behind Ellie. It was sugary and complacent, and Ellie froze where she was. Then she spoke. "No! Please!"
"Just visiting, sweetheart. I won't hurt you."
"Burt, how did you get in?"
"Does it matter" I borrowed a key from the manager. Only he didn't know about it. And he won't know about it when I return it, either."
"Please don't hurt me, for God's sake, don't hurt me!"
She began to moan uncontrollably. He slapped her hard and she stopped.
"Burt?"
"Shut up! I've got something to tell you. We're having a little party tonight. Just a few people getting together and having a few beers. Liz will be there, Yvonne?"
"Burt?"
"I know, I know. But I had to do that yesterday, I love you, Ellie. Anyway, a few of us will be all together, you can ask Liz or Yvonne, either of them. And I want you there."
"No, Burt, I won't go, I won't!"
"Shut up! I'm telling you that you'll be there. Don't argue with me. I'm not asking you anything unreasonable. Anyway, Yvonne will be there, I told you that. And I wouldn't try to get out of it if I were you." His voice was suddenly threatening. Then he relaxed again. His voice became soft, persuasive. "Ellie, we just want you to learn to get along. To get along with other human beings. You're turning into a recluse; you're turning away from humanity, away from your own kind." He was very close to her now. "We want to help you. This evening will be the test. If you decide you want no part of us after tonight, that's fine; that's the way it is. But until then try to reserve judgment on us; try not to judge too harshly. We're your friends, Ellie. Really we are."
She sank down deeper into the suds and didn't say anything. Burt stared at her. His black eyes seemed to glow. His face was set hard in an expression of grim determination that was at odds with his friendly words. Then he stepped back.
"I mean it, Ellie. I'll come and get you at eight o'clock. Eight o'clock sharp."
He turned and went out the door. "Oh, by the way," he said, turning around, "I'll be at the pool if you need me for anything. That's right outside where you can see me from your door. I'll be there all day."
After he left, Ellie sobbed and buried her face in her hands. That meant she could not even leave, and if she couldn't leave, and he had access to her cabin, then, But the thought broke off right there. In a curiously tranquil mood, as if resigned to her fate, helpless to act, she finished her bath and dried herself off. She would not think about anything.
"Talk to her," Cindy Wheeler was saying. "Things can always be worked out if people only talk to each other. That's all that's required. Really, Mike."
"What do I talk about" Do I ask about Burt Conroy" Do I ask how it feels to be beaten, you know as well as I do how Burt gets his kicks. He's not going to change, not for Ellie or anyone else."
"Talk to her. That's all I ask. We'll see her together."
They were coming through the camp. After their tryst up at the lake, both of them had been subdued coming down the trail, but as they reached the camp their normal spirits returned, at least Cindy's did. She was in a way sorry that she had been unable to resist Mike, had wanted to save him for Ellie, her friend, but sex was a matter of little moment to Cindy. It was just a way of getting close to people, of having fun with your body. It was a physical need, like the need some people have for alcohol or for cigarettes. In Cindy's case, it was sex that she needed. She was a lovely girl, but beneath all her poise, all her casual charm, she was a lusty wench indeed, and when a good-looking man like Mike Taylor made a move toward her she turned liquid, at least in one place, and gave him what he wanted.
As for Mike, his thoughts were all in a jumble. He was a fair man basically and realized that he couldn't expect of Ellie what he didn't require of himself. But it was not the same, it really wasn't. He liked sex and needed it, like any healthy man, but Burt Conroy used sex as a means of dominating and destroying other people, and Mike was aware that the women Burt was successful with were, for the most part, guilt-ridden, neurotic women whose sexual activity was a frenzied search for a kind of abasement that proved to them that they were what they had suspected themselves of being. It was a circular thing, they came to Conroy because they hated themselves, and by doing his bidding proved to themselves that they were deserving of hate. In Mike's experience, the women who sported with Conroy up at the poof on Spindler Creek, with the exception of Yvonne, were a self-pitying, bitchy lot. Yvonne was merely highly sexed, a nymphomaniac, really, and otherwise normal. But Ellie, Ellie was another thing. If she was with Burt"
He stopped thinking about it. They were in the camp, and all around them were the pleasant redwood cottages in which the inhabitants lived. There were no children in the camp, only a couple of vastly experienced thirteen-year-olds who had arrived with their widowed mother, and there were no old people. In the dusk they could see the pool, where a few people still lazed about. Doc Reynolds was there, listening to the life story of a young and sweetly nubile girl, while sipping from yet another martini. The girl was leaning toward him, exposing large breasts, the nipples of which had popped out of the halter, and Doc Reynolds was watching them gravely.
Then they saw him. Burt Conroy came out of Ellie's cabin, looked around, and padded on over to the pool, walking with that peculiarly self-conscious shuffle that he had.
Cindy turned and looked at Mike. "No, Mike," she said, grabbing at his arm. "I won't let you. You're going with me, right this minute. And we're going to talk to Ellie."
"About what?" he muttered. But even he was eager to talk to her now, to find out once and for all what was happening with her, what kind of a girl she really was.
The door was closed, the curtains drawn, when they reached Ellie's cabin. Across the way from it, in the cabin where Shirley Wilson had lived, Claude Branch lived now, and he was seated in front of the cabin, on a bench, staring owlishly across toward the pool, where Burt Conroy had just sat down in one of the deck chairs.
They knocked on the door. There was no answer, and Cindy knocked again, harder.
"She's always doing this. She's?"
The door opened, just a crack. Cindy tried to push it the rest of the way and discovered that a chair was pushed up against the door handle.
"Go away, please. Just go?"
"Ellie" It's me, Cindy."
Ellie's face appeared in the crack of the door. "I'll talk to you another time, Cindy. I just, I just want to be alone." She reached across the crack of the door and grabbed a nightgown off a table. In that moment Cindy saw that Ellie was naked; her bare breast was visible just for a moment in the dusk. She stepped in front of the crack, but even as she did so she realized that Mike, too, had seen what she had seen, and that he had drawn the same conclusions.
Mike was already walking away, fast. He didn't know where he would go, what he would do, but he knew that he had to leave. All his hopes were crushed, all his desires thwarted. He felt as if he were going to cry, and squeezed his hands together in anger at himself.
God, what a fool I've been, he said to himself. One of his workers at the factory, a gnarled, ancient carpenter who was an expert at adjusting the whirling blades of the lathes, was fond of saying to Mike, "Mike, a cunt's a cunt. They've all got a certain dirtiness in their disposition, a certain bitchiness. And the worst of it is, you can hate them, you can despise them, you can kick them around, but you can't do without them." He said this with a certain satisfaction, as if pleased that the world was demonstrably as evil and foul as his own disposition. Until now Mike had just laughed off his words. The old man had been bitterly disappointed by women; it was natural that he should distrust them. Yet how could one account for Ellie? His instincts had told him that she was pure, that she was lovely. How could it be otherwise?
He walked faster and faster, blindly, not looking where he was going. When he felt a tap on the shoulder, he jumped around with a movement so abrupt that it startled the dark girl who had touched him.
"Go for a little walk?" said Yvonne. Her plump breasts bulged up out of the slinky dress she wore, and her fingers played about her belly, pointing toward a lush, tropical forest, dank and steaming, that was suddenly the most important place in the world to Mike.
Shortly afterward, they were in a deep ravine not far from the camp. Yvonne was standing in front of him, her hands cupping her breasts. With a sudden movement she pushed upward on them and they popped out of the dress, quivering and wobbling in the deep dusk. There was little light anymore, but night was Yvonne's natural element. She was like a cat, prowling late at night, sleeping by day, she even screwed like a cat, with a clawing, fiery excitement that left its mark, usually in the form of deep scratches, on her partners. But for the moment she was in no hurry. She had taken control, knew she had Mike where she wanted him, and would not let him go until she had drained him, until she was through with him and could discard him the way she discarded all men when they no longer fulfilled her sexual needs.
Mike stood up. It was as if he were a puppet, being controlled by strings, without a will of his own. He reached out to touch Yvonne's breasts, and she let him, smiling that dark smile, her dusky South American womanliness a heavy presence in the ravine. In the cool night air Mike could smell the pines of the forest, hear the sounds of animals out there. He could smell Yvonne, who let him bury his head between her breasts. Smelling them, smelling the perfume, the musky odor of a woman's sweat, he found himself becoming aroused to an incredible pitch.
Yvonne was fumbling with her dress, unzipping it in back. It was a glittering silver-lame dress, an evening dress, really, and Mike wondered why Yvonne was wearing such a dress at the camp. But it was overwhelmingly sexy and he reached around behind her to help her take it off.
When the zipper was free, Yvonne shrugged and the top of the dress tumbled down to her hips, which wedged securely in the tight dress, and Mike pulled at the dress to remove it. Underneath the dress was nothing but bare skin; no panties, no stockings, nothing at all but the great, black bush that was Yvonne's pubic hair. A musky scent rose from it; Mike knew of the dank, slippery patch of distended flesh and dripping hair beneath that dark blotch. He reached his hand down, let his finger slide into the hair, then let it slide farther down until it was touching her startlingly large clitoris which was popped out of its sheath. Fully a half inch of it was out and he massaged it lightly with his slick finger, feeling the way her body trembled and shuddered with each movement. Then he let his finger explore, rimming the fat, sugary lips of her vagina, feeling the slickness there, the rich and sweet juice that her vagina exuded, while she shifted her feet and let her legs part.
When she pushed gently at his head, he let himself be guided by her, let her shove his head between her legs, until his face was full up against her crotch and the dripping hair was curling over his mouth. He opened his mouth, letting his tongue explore. In a curious way her emissions were both sweet and salty, and they stimulated him until it was painful, until his cock, distended and pulsating, felt as if it must burst from the pressure.
Then he pushed at her, making her tumble to the ground. He sucked eagerly at her cunt, licking it clean, but at the same time her emissions increased until her whole vagina was flooded with them and they were running down her leg to the sand beneath her. Mike came up on her then, scrambling frantically, feeling that his cock was bursting now, aware that he was ready to come.
He let his cock slide into her, and her capacious vagina, the lips slick and full, flushed with blood, accepted him easily. Within a moment he had come; the jism spurted out, a sticky and thick secretion that formed in clotted balls and burst forth from him, deep into her, until it seemed as if she herself must burst from its entry.
Gasping, he jerked spasmodically and spurted the last few drops of jism into her, while Yvonne closed her eyes and forced herself to come.
It was awesome, the way she reached her climax. She clutched him with legs and arms both while biting into his shoulder, squeezed him so hard that he could not have gotten away from her if he had wanted to. Her whole body shuddered in a spasm of ecstasy while her face-screwed up as if in pain, showed the effects of the exquisite sensation that was bursting through her body in waves. Out of control, dizzy from the sensation, she bit down hard on Mike's shoulder while her cunt squeezed down with incredible force on his cock.
Mike winced. But the sensation was so intense, the sight of her ecstatic climax so stimulating that he almost came again and would have if he hadn't forced himself not to.
For a minute or two it still went on. Yvonne was unaware of him, unaware of anything but the intense, rhythmic flashes that burst through her groin, ebbing and flowing like the tides. Mike felt as if his cock must be squashed, so tight was her cunt, and he felt a brief moment of surprise that she could do this to him, even though her cunt was abnormally large.
He drew away from her, not wanting to come again so soon.
"Oh, God, don't, please put it back in!" She gasped, still in convulsions from her orgasm. "Put in your hand!" she said then.
Mike almost laughed, but he put his hand up against her cunt. The rhythmic clutching and loosening of her cunt went on; he could feel the tremors from it. But to his astonishment, during one of the slack moments, his hand did indeed slip into her cunt, the four fingers, side by side, gliding easily into the large, warm crevice. Then, in another of those rhythmic contractions, her cunt squeezed down on his hand until his fingers came together from the pressure. He made a fist and discovered that, by waiting for the right moment, he could get his whole fist into her. The pressure was intolerable. Her cunt came down in one final squeeze; he couldn't move his hand at all, either forward or back, but had to leave it there, tight within her body.
Then it was suddenly over. Yvonne lay there, gasping and laughing, surprised at herself. "I think you discovered something there, Mike. Now all my lovers are going to have to make a fist."
"Even that Great Dane?" he asked wryly.
"It was a Newfoundland," she answered with a demure smile. "And anyway he's got other talents. He does it fast, bang bang bang, so fast that I can hardly keep up with him. And he doesn't get tired. But you needn't worry, I washed since I did it with him last."
"Thanks," said Mike.
"Sure," she said. "I'd do it any time with you, Mike, you're real good. Maybe tomorrow" But I got to go now, I'm late."
"Late to what?"
"Spindler Creek. This is the big night. Burt has promised us something good, and I said I'd be there. I'm one of the attractions."
"You are" Doing what?"
She hesitated. "Mike, you won't be mad?"
"Why should I be mad?"
"I mean about what I'm going to do. It wouldn't affect anything, would it" I mean, you'd still do it with me once in a while."
"Sure. I mean, I guess so. But what the hell are you going to do up there, for Christ's sake?"
"Mike," she said, leaning over toward him. He could smell her breath and the musky odor of her sweat. Her eyes gleamed and she had a pleased smile on her face. "Mike, I'm going to do something sensational. I'm going to fuck a goat."
CHAPTER NINE
Bobo Tolbert giggled and kicked his legs above him while the lady in bed next to him, a widow, Marianne Davis was her name, watched him with a satisfied look on her face. Bobo was the town idiot, although he was not exactly an idiot. But he was feeble-minded at the least, and relied on others for direction. He was not very tall, only about five feet nine inches, and he had something of a hunchback, but his body was strong and supple, and he had large, strong arms with which he could pick a woman up easily. Everybody liked Bobo. He always grinned at people as he shambled down the street, and they said nice things to him. "How are you, Bobo."
"It's good to see you, Bobo." Things like that. Of course, some of the men in town didn't like him, men he had never even spoken to, let alone offended, but the ladies simply drooled over him.
Bobo felt remarkably lucky. When he looked in the mirror he saw a fellow with a beetlebrow, shaggy dark hair, and a receding jaw that made him look a little like a Neanderthal man, if Bobo had only known what that was. And that hunchback. But somehow there was something in his manner, he knew, something in his personality, that made him irresistible to women. He realized that he must be a clever devil to be so irresistible.
In fact, Bobo's charm was all located between his legs, and it was over twelve inches long, for bountiful nature had lengthened his cock as it had shortened his intellect. And that was why Widow Davis was laying there beside him in her queen-size bed, watching him with amusement and affection.
Widow Davis, as the townspeople knew her, was herself a remarkable person. Tall, statuesque, she had, at the age of thirty, a body that was as bountifully endowed as her nature was passionate. But this passion, Bobo knew all about it, was a well-kept secret in town, for Widow, Davis was the social leader in town, or at least thought that she was. She was filthy rich; her husband, a gout-ridden old fellow who died of a heart attack a year ago, had left her several hundred thousand dollars, and the widow knew how to spend it.
The town was just right for her. It was small enough so that she was the richest person in town; large enough so that there was someone to lord it over. Coolly and casually she had taken over; she arranged the dances in the local gymnasium, gave talks at the ladies' clubs, flirted shamelessly with all the best-looking men in town, and had the attention, if not the love, of all the women.
But Widow Davis disliked and distrusted women. When she approached a man, tall, willowy, her breasts humped charmingly out of her dress "the women in the vicinity bristled instantly. Widow Davis could see it. She had a way of touching men, touching them everywhere, and the women were indignant every time she did so. But the place she liked to touch them the most, well, Bobo knew all about that too.
Bobo knew about that because he worked for Widow Davis, day and night. In the daytime he plowed her fields, in the nighttime he plowed Widow Davis. That was what he liked most. She would feed him a good meal and then take him upstairs to the soft, canopied bed that she slept on, where he would take off his dusty clothes and, although sweaty and dirty from, his work in the fields, would climb under the covers. As for Widow Davis, she would be stately and grand one moment, but passionate and animal-like the next. Disrobing, she would run her hands over her body for a moment, watching herself in a mirror. Her breasts were plump, for a woman so tall, and they still had their shape, for Widow Davis took good care of herself.
Then she would turn to Bobo. "Bobo, do you want it?"
He would nod eagerly.
"Then come on, Bobo."
Standing there in the nude, before the mirror, legs spread, she would watch herself, holding her breasts, while Bobo scampered up to her and came up underneath, mouth open, to suck on her queenly vagina until she told him to stop. That was the way she liked to have her first orgasm. She liked to watch herself during her orgasm, to watch Bobo's head bobbing and bumping against her crotch, while his busy tongue licked and twisted in her vagina.
Then she would think up games for them to play. "You're a bull, Bobo, and I'm a cow. Now what do you do?" And Bobo would mount her like a bull, bellowing loudly and thrusting his absurdly large cock into her bovine cleft.
If the townspeople only knew! she said to herself at times. But Widow Davis was discreet, she never let anyone even suspect. And the townspeople were all so stupid that they wouldn't have been able to figure out what was happening if they actually saw her and Bobo rutting in the bedroom of her stately mansion.
She lay back with a sigh of contentment. For some reason Bobo was unusually active today. He had gored her again and again, making her come a half-dozen times at least, and now she just wanted to watch his giggling antics.
As for Bobo, he was excited for a reason. He didn't remember much, but he remembered that something good was going to happen today, this evening, because that fellow from the camp had told him so. When the doorbell rang he just knew that it would be his friend.
The doorbell rang for a long time before Widow Davis answered it, and when she did she was furious. "Go away!" she yelled at the person ringing the doorbell. "I"
Burt Conroy coolly pushed the door open, over her protests, and walked in.
"You?" Widow Davis was speechless. Naked, she drew herself up to her full height and ordered him out of the house.
"Where's Bobo?"
"What?"" Widow Davis stared at him, feeling terribly disquieted all of a sudden.
"Bobo. The guy you shack up with. I've got some work for him."
The Widow Davis looked indignant. "If you mean Mr. Tolbert, he's not here. I assume he is at his home."
Bobo Tolbert came down the stairs. He was stark naked and his heavy cock was swinging between his legs.
"Bobo, let's go. We're going to be late." Burt turned around to leave.
"Come back here! Bobo, Mr. Tolbert, was just using my bathroom to shower, he was just?"
"Ah," said Burt, turning around and looking her up and down. Widow Davis tried to cover her breasts with one arm and her crotch with the other. "In town they told me that you were shacking up with him," said Burt. "They claim a guy can get a good view of your bedroom from the sycamore outside." He shrugged. "But you know how people talk."
"You"!" Widow Davis took up a plaster-of-Paris figurine and hurled it at Burt, who grabbed Bobo's hand and dragged him out into the front yard. Bobo did not protest, but Widow Davis came running out after them, throwing things at Burt, and even when he had pushed Bobo into his car, a Lincoln Continental, she railed at him, standing spread-legged by the window, her splendid body naked and running with sweat and the grime from Bobo's filthy skin.
"You bastard, you pig!" she screamed.
Then someone laughed out near the sycamore tree. Widow Davis shrieked and scuttled across the lawn to the safety of the house, her breasts flopping in spite of her efforts to control them. She already felt the town slipping away from her; already imagined the knowing grins she would encounter there, all because of one tree.
When the door banged against the chain, Burt Conroy was seized with a sudden fury. He gave a sudden push and the chain ripped free. Ellie was in the front room, fully dressed now, a look of terror on her face, Burt strode over to her and grabbed her. It was dark outside, and as Burt dragged Ellie across the threshold and out to the car no one observed them but Claude Branch, the football player, who had heard Burt's car drive up and now watched through the window.
What he saw puzzled him. Ellie went along with Burt quietly. Claude Branch could not know that she was simply too terrified to struggle against Burt, and he shrugged his shoulders as the car moved away. But then he came out of his cabin and watched as Burt drove through the camp. He saw where he was going. He knew that he was going to Spindler Creek, that for the first time since Claude had come to the camp, Burt Conroy would be up at Spindler Creek. And Claude had a reason for wanting to see him alone.
He ambled toward the path to Spindler Creek. There was plenty of time, and Claude Branch had infinite patience.
At Spindler Creek everyone was present but Burt Conroy and the gnome-like fellow named Bobo Tolbert, but no one was concerned. Burt was certain to get there eventually; he lived for such parties. Anyway, everyone was having so much fun that Burt's absence was not noticed.
The Terry sisters were performing, for one thing. They were two thirteen-year-olds, blonde and incredibly developed for their age. Identical twins, they had each of them sufficiently womanly bodies for a girl of eighteen. Their performance made it amply clear that they had the instincts of a woman of thirty. At the moment they were both on the ground, laying on a pile of old sleeping bags and blankets, and Lisa, the more aggressive of the two, was "raping" her sister Gabriella with a huge plastic dildo. Their mouths were locked together, their tongues twisted and darted within them, and the dildo relentlessly pushed past the puckered lips of Gabriella's modest cunt while Gabriella's cream sloshed out plentifully.
Nearby a young man on vacation from college, bearded and earnest, wearing nothing but steel-rimmed glasses, was talking to a girl from the local high school. "What it is," he was saying, "is a systematic exploration of man's bestial nature, an exploration of the 'deviate' within each of us, that aspect of your nature that you cannot escape, whatever your feelings, whatever your opinions. Because you have to realize that while our soul is of God, so to speak, taking God to be the moving spirit within the universe, our bodies are of the world. And since God created them, they too are holy. Which is why we spend these evenings exploring their possibilities. It's not sex for its own sake; we're involved in something higher, more serious than that. It's a matter of finding out man's limits, of exploring the universe within us. Do you see what I mean?"
"Sure," said the high school girl uncertainly.
"You're really very mature for your age, you know?" he said, taking her hand. They sat there quietly, hand in hand, watching the Terry sisters.
Nearby, a young man was petting a Shetland pony. The pony, a young filly, stood quietly and munched on grass. The young man had brought the pony from town, along a back trail, and he now was looking forward to Burt Conroy's arrival, for Burt had told him that he had someone who could fuck the Shetland pony, as well as someone who would let herself be fucked by the goat that someone had brought from a nearby farm. He patted the flank, of the pony and wondered if Burt had guessed that he himself had fucked the pony before, and if he would have the nerve to do it tonight in front of the crowd.
The Terry sisters were still at it, only now they had switched the dildo and Gabriella was fucking Lisa with it. Their mother, a buxom woman of thirty, was cradling Lisa's head in her arms and smiling at her. She was Yvonne's only competition in the matter of endurance, but lacked the smoldering urgency that was Yvonne's trademark. Lena Terry was a mother figure, not a sexpot. She loved men, loved to have them around, and they swarmed like bees when she was in the vicinity. Blonde, full-bodied, she spent all her time lounging around her house, receiving visitors. She and her daughters lived on an annuity provided her by her father's estate, and she had seemingly devoted her life to making men happy, as she expressed it. Innocent, fetching in her lack of understanding (unlike her daughters, who were clever), she was content to remain at home all day with her skirts up and a smile on her face, waiting for the men who were sure to visit her. Laborers came at their, lunch-time, bankers at three o'clock; all types of men came, loved her briefly, and left feeling better for the experience. It was a matter of indifference to Lena what color they were, or even how they wanted their sex. She was content to oblige them... though secretly she preferred to be underneath them in an expressly submissive position, for as simple as she was she understood the necessity that a man feels to be dominant, to ride his woman, to slap his thighs against her haunches and ram his cock into her for the purpose not only of spilling jism but of expressing his dominance. Her patience with men was infinite; her sexual energy endless, although not explosive. It was characteristic of her that she had never had an orgasm, and it was also characteristic that she did not even care. She simply liked the warm, thrusting male organ between her legs. It comforted her and left her feeling satisfied. It would never have occurred to her to take money for what she did, for sex was a matter of giving of yourself, wasn't it"
She watched her daughter Gabriella's frantic, thrusting movements and smiled. She had wished for a boy, so that she could instruct him in love, but her daughters were a curious combination of tomboy and woman; they were active and sexual, and she loved them.
"You can't judge other people, you know what I mean?" said the college boy. "Like, there's this famous psychologist, I forget his name, who said that the murderer is the victim and the victim is the guilty one. You get that" It's because the victim has brought the murderer to murder him, he's caused it, really." He put his arm around her and let his hand rest close to her breast. The girl looked frightened and doubtful.
"I'm not?" she said. Then she stopped, unsure of herself. "I was just, well, watching. I'm not really into all this, you know, group sex and all."
"Sure," said the college boy. "Sure. I understand perfectly." But his arm remained where it was.
Timmy Holstead, the young man with the Shetland pony, had led it off into the darkness beyond the fire. The pony was quiet as he led it, and when he got it into the darkness, where no one could see them, he began to stroke its flanks, coming nearer and nearer to its rump. When he first touched its cunt, the pony flipped its tail and stepped away from him, but he patiently rubbed near its tail until the pony began gradually to respond.
The animal lifted its tail slightly, and Timmy put his hand on the warm, mushy vagina. It was a mere slit, but it gradually opened up as he felt over it, and finally his hand slipped into it and felt around in the soft, wet area inside. Then he felt it happen. The pony's cunt twitched slightly, then jammed down hard on his hand in a series of rhythmic contractions as the pony experienced a sudden and violent orgasm.
Almost instantly it was over, and the pony switched its tail down, brushing his hand away. Impatiently it stepped away from him, but Timmy was masturbating by now and followed the pony, trying to get his cock into its fat and sloppy cunt. Nothing helped; the pony was through, unwilling to stand still, and Timmy, angry and frustrated, finally let his load of jism spurt out onto its flanks. Then he fetched some wet moss from the river and washed the pony clean so that no one would notice. He heard someone laughing over at the campfire and quickly led the pony back, hoping that his absence hadn't been noticed.
The laughter at the campfire was over the two young girls, Lisa and Gabriella. Gabriella, taking her male role seriously, was no longer merely fucking her sister with the dildo but was actually trying to rape her with it. Lisa had had her orgasm and wanted to quit, but Gabriella clung to her and fucked her furiously, driving the dildo deep into her cunt. Soon they were in a vicious fight, squealing and scratching and rolling on the ground, but Gabriella's dildo remained lodged where it was.
The fight ended abruptly. Lisa, excited by the fight and her sister's insistent fucking, became excited herself and suddenly turned submissive. She lay under her sister, her youthful body sweaty and trembling, her gaze distant, her lips parted slightly. Her face was flushed and hungry. She let her hands drop to her sides for a moment, then lifted them and touched them to her sister's delicate breasts. The nipples hardened under her touch. Lisa's face was grim and determined. It was if she was taking over her sister, making her submit once and for all.
Then they kissed. Lisa's body arched over Gabriella's as her mouth found Gabriella's and came down over it. For a long time they remained like that, frozen, motionless, nothing moving but Gabriella's hips, which thrust forward and back very slowly in a rhythmic motion until finally, with a sudden, explosive force, her sister had yet another orgasm.
The sound was startling. Her breath was expelled in a sudden gasp, explosively, while she flung her hips upward, letting her sodden cunt swallow the dildo whole. For a long time she jerked spasmodically on the ground. Then was still.
"It's an experiential thing, you know what I mean?" said the college boy. His arm was around the girl and his cock was growing heavy, like a lump of soft clay. The girl was trying to smile and was shrinking away from him. "Man doesn't know his own limits, is the problem. By systematically experiencing life in all its forms he learns not only about life but about himself." He leaned over and kissed her gently on the neck. She sat absolutely still. "You've got a wonderfully warm nature, you know?"
The girl tried to smile. Then she jumped up and freed herself from him. "I'm not, I don't want to?"
He got up and touched her arm, looking earnest-in her eyes. "You can't be afraid of it. You can't be afraid of life, of sex, because then it's got you down. You've got to meet it." He put his arms around her gently.
When the girl felt the lumpish, heavy cock rising against her body, she gasped and turned to run. The college boy grabbed her.
"We're just talking," he said. He sounded angry. "I'm not going to do anything to you."
He held onto her while she struggled, but suddenly she got one hand free and, in her desperation, raked her fingernails across his face.
"Goddamn it, you?"
He hurled her to the ground. The crowd, in a momentary lull now that the Terry sisters had subsided and were laying happily entwined, on the ground, responded instantly to the sight of the struggle. Two or three of the men, half drunk and randy, yelled encouragement to the college boy. The women had spotted the girl as a virgin: lithe and tawny, she had that wide-eyed look, that look of softness, of innocence, that lasts until perhaps the eighteenth or twentieth year. And her body, sensuous and perfect, the breasts rounded and humped up pertly, was too beautiful. There were women in the group that would have loved to embrace her, to kiss her young body all over, but to do that they would first have to accomplish her deflowering. And because of their jealousy, because of their hunger for her, they laughed and jeered when the boy grabbed her and, out of control, hardly knowing what he was doing, began to thrust his hips forward blindly, slamming his heavy cock against her body.
The girl's fingernails raked him again. With a groan of anger, a shuddering sound that rose from deep within him, the boy flung her to the ground and dived headfirst at her. He held her down, seated on her hips, and his hips jerked spasmodically.
"He's lucky Yvonne isn't here," said one of the women wryly. "She'd scratch his eyes out."
The boy gradually rose up until his hips were about five inches above the girl's body. Her face was screwed up with fear, but for some reason she had not screamed, perhaps because she was aware that no one would help her. She watched, terrified, as the boy's hips moved back and forth in a steady motion, his cock pointing upward, a thin fluid dripping from it. His cock was not even touching her.
But the boy, as if in a trance, did not even seek to enter her. His body kept up that mesmerizing motion, forward and back, while his cock thrust out over the girl's terrified face.
Then, with a sudden jetting flow, he came. The curling jism spurted out over the girl, flung itself over her face. Curiously, she did not even raise her hands, but simply watched the jet of thick, white jism descend on her in a lacy ropes until her face was running with it and her hair was sticky from it.
The boy jumped up and tried to speak, but in this moment he could not speak clearly. His voice wavered and stuttered. It was clear that he was trying to apologize, to explain himself, but he was never to have the chance.
He never had the chance because the other men in the group had already begun to descend like wolves on a lamb. The girl looked up suddenly and began to rub the boy's jism off her face. Then she saw the men who were crowding around her. Davey Wilson, a tall, strapping fellow, mellow and almost meek of temper, had a strained, unsure look on his face. A pleasant fellow, well-liked by everyone, he was usually courteous to women, even chivalrous. His Texas accent entertained the group, as did his huge, thick cock and splendid powers of endurance. But Davey looked strange; his face was tense, taut with some strong emotion, and his cock seemed to be straining away from his body, as if it wanted to take off on its own.
When Davey took the girl by the arm she screamed. It Was as if her nervous system gave way suddenly in a massive failure. Davey shook her. At the same time, Don Pearce, a squat, pugnacious fellow who was as unpopular as Davey was popular, tried to come between Davey and the girl. For a moment Davey didn't notice him. Then he stopped for a moment and looked at Pearce almost stupidly.
"That's not necessarily yours," said Pearce. He put his hand on the girl, who looked fearfully from one to the other. Davey struck his hand away. Pearce hit him hard in the chest. The girl ran, cheered on by the onlookers.
For a moment Davey was stopped by the hard blow landed by Pearce. He tumbled backward, then got up, looking around as if in a daze. Pearce ran after the girl and caught her at the edge of the circle. Even as he landed on her his cock was searching for her cunt. His movements were frantic and furious. The girl, for all her apparent coyness, had creamed profusely, and one could see the liquid glinting in the light of the fire.
In the next moment Pearce would have found the place down there, for all the girl's struggling movements. But by that time Davey had recovered. His tall, raw-boned body straightened suddenly and with one bound he reached the struggling pair. He grabbed Pearce by the hair. Pearce, snarling, turned on him and ducked low to swing at him, but in the moment it took him to do this, Davey had slammed his arm sideways against his opponent's jaw. Pearce sagged for a moment.
In the next moment Davey drew back and slammed his fist into Pearce's body. A deep, explosive sound emitted from Pearce's mouth as he sagged, wide-eyed, then tumbled to the ground.
Davey stood there for a moment, breathing deeply. The girl was looking up at him, wide-eyed. Pearce lay there, breathing heavily. His voice was slurred when he spoke.
"You son of," his breath caught in a sob. "You?" But then he stopped talking. He crawled to the edge of the circle. One of the women disdainfully handed him a cup of wine and he took it to his lips.
Davey stood there above the girl who no longer struggled. It was as if she recognized that this was to be her fate, as if she recognized it and accepted it. At this moment it was as if she was transformed. As if her awkward, girlish body acquired the lines of a woman, the sensuous lines, the hungry look, as if all her innocence, all her sprightly, girlish charm, were gone for good, to be replaced by a full-bodied and sexy womanliness. She was looking-up at Davey with a lustful expression. The crowd suddenly quieted down, not knowing how to interpret what they were seeing.
The girl got up in a kneeling position. Her legs were wide apart and the bush of streaming-wet hair was visible between her legs. She watched Davey with a half-proud, half-wistful look on her face as her hands traveled slowly to her breasts. A few of the women tittered when she cupped her pert breasts in her hands, but the men were silent. Davey reached down and lifted her to her feet, everyone was silent.
He led her to the piled-up blankets and sleeping bags. The girl went along with him quietly, lifting her breasts proudly, not even aware of the spectators.
She did everything asked of her. Two of the older women came forward and spread her legs for Davey, holding them apart. When he lowered himself over her, she clutched him hard, as if asking for that security that a man can provide.
One of the women took hold of Davey's large cock and directed it to the fragile, petallike lips of the girl. The college boy was protesting, but not very loud. He said something about rights and dignity and respecting individuals, but no one listened. Another of the women took him by the arm and, reaching down to stroke his softening cock, brought it to life again. He stopped talking and let her lead him away into the shadows, but at the last moment he looked back at the girl. She didn't so much as notice. Davey's cock was nestled in the lips of her delicate vagina. She had her eyes closed and held her arms around Davey. For a moment they held that position, not moving. The girl was holding her breath.
Davey's body lurched forward in a sudden explosion of spasmodic passion, like a taut bow suddenly released. His heavy cock thumped against the girl's liquid vagina, then, after a moment of hesitation, burst through and deep into her.
The girl screamed suddenly, but her scream was broken off as Davey's body arched again and his heavy cock began to thrust back and forth in her. The people watching were open mouthed and silent at the display. It was only a moment before the jism boiled out of Davey and into the girl's small vagina which couldn't hold it but let it spill forth and soil the blankets and sleeping bags underneath them. The clotted jism was mixed with the bright blood of the girl's hymen. When Davey got up from her, she reached her hand down and touched it to the broken lips of her vagina, then stared, open mouthed, at the mixed blood and jism. Then she settled back on the blankets and lay there in an extraordinarily lewd pose, her body curved in a suggestive S-shape, while the others gradually lost interest in her.
"There's Yvonne," said one of the men. He took a deep draught from a jug of red wine. "Now things ought to get hot."
CHAPTER TEN
Yvonne's arrival was greeted with a flurry of whispers that swept through the crowd as people turned to their neighbors and pointed her out. There was a certain poise, a certain dignity in her appearance. She was not exactly tall, nor was she short, but her medium dimensions were deceiving, for her bearing was regal and her body was rich and lustrous. In the proper mood she could accept any man; but if Yvonne thought that she was being slighted, or that the man was being insolent, she would refuse him pointblank. There were young boys at the camp, meek-looking sixteen-year-olds, who had been into Yvonne and had felt the gripping, ripping fingernails on their backs when Yvonne had her orgasm. She was lewd beyond belief.
Yet there were men, Burt Conroy was one of them, who had never gotten into Yvonne for the simple reason that Yvonne distrusted them or thought that their attitude toward her was slighting. A few of them hated her for her attitude. They also hated her for her ability to take over the crowd. Don Pearce was one man who had never made it with Yvonne, largely because his way of approaching her was rough and point-blank. Don hated her also for the way she directed the attention of the crowd away from him and his sly witticisms and over to herself. At the moment, he was staring jealously at her, hating her for the way everyone had turned to watch her entrance, hating her for the way he had been humiliated, since there was no point in hating the big Texan, Davey, for what he had suffered at his hands. He could not take it out on Davey, but he might on Yvonne;
As for Yvonne, her entrance was indeed spectacular. She wore a tiny bikini bottom of some kind of lustrous material, and a top that just cradled her breasts lovingly without concealing them. Around her was swirled a cloak that was quite transparent, made of chiffon, that caught the light from the fire and turned it into a soft glow, as of a sunset. Yvonne stood there for a moment, head held high, as always, for it was an aspect of her personality that she demanded tribute from her subjects. Then she let the filmy wrapping fall and the men leaned forward eagerly to see what she would do. One of them, a jovial, fat fellow from the local town, strummed a chord on a guitar, mocking Yvonne's somewhat pompous entrance. But in the next moment his fingers were still again as he watched, along with the rest, while Yvonne slipped the halter from her shoulders in one quick, graceful motion. Then he began to strum the guitar again, softly now, accompanying her movements as she began to dance for the company.
The women settled down. Curiously, none of them were even especially jealous of Yvonne, perhaps because she was professional at what they were only amateurs. A belly dancer by trade, Yvonne had perfected the sinuous movements and the inviting look that made men stop and stare and wonder if they could have her. But for all her quick temper, for all her pride, she was not catty, and the women, disarmed by this, saved their hatred for others among their group. Now they settled down with their men and their liquor and watched the proceedings.
The dance was stately at first. Yvonne swept around the circle, close to the fire, and moved in time to the strummed chords of the guitar. A few people clapped, then more. Yvonne's body was oiled and her sweat beaded on her dark skin. The young man who owned the pony watched her and felt a deep longing inside, him for that young body, that experienced woman. He wondered how he could ask her. Then he began to imagine himself doing things with her. He imagined himself lying on top of her, mixing his sweat with hers, smelling the rank smell of her sweat, burying himself in her furry, musky armpits and feeling the slick skin of her belly against his. He began to imagine himself holding her breasts, feeling them slither out of his grasp, oiled and sweaty. He began to imagine himself looking at her furry muff, or even dipping his fingers into the liquid secretions there, but Yvonne still had it covered up.
In the movement of the dance, Yvonne's fingers began to play about the lining of the brief panties that she wore, to turn it downward, until finally a puff of rich pubic hair was showing at her fingers. The men leaned forward, the women relaxed and took a drink. But the sexual excitement in the air was palpable; it felt like the vibrating, humming sensation that is in the air around a high-tension wire. It was not even a pleasant thing, for it suggested forces that had a kind of violence, of explosiveness, to them.
Then the panties were down and kicked off into the crowd. Yvonne had kicked them expertly at the young man with the pony, and when they landed in his lap he turned red and stuttered and pretended that he didn't notice the titters of the people around him. But he could smell the rank smell of female lust in their crotch, and knew that he would take them aside and inhale the tantalizing odor of them where no one could watch him. While he thought about Yvonne, wishing that he could make love to her.
The dance had picked up speed now. Yvonne was on her knees, her knees far apart, and everyone craned for a look at the moist, bushy pubic area that she was no longer making any attempt to conceal. In the flickering light from the fire, the lips of her vagina were revealed, pouting hungrily. They looked huge and eager, plunging out through the matted hair, tensing and flushing red as her sexual excitement increased.
Don Pearce stayed back in the dark. His chest hurt, and he felt a bitter hatred of the people around him. He took a deep draught of wine and realized that he wanted not merely to fuck Yvonne, she was too much in control, found it too easy to give a man the idea that she was fucking him, not the other way around, but to climb on her backside and ram his cock home in her asshole, making her squirm with pain and beg to be let go.
He thought about this for a while, standing there, and felt his cock grow hard from the thought. But he wouldn't do it alone. Instead he would wait until Burt came, and the two of them, he sat down on the ground and planned it out.
"Not now," said Burt Conroy. He was holding on to Ellie, who, whether because she had been drugged or simply because she was frightened out of her mind, did not struggle but simply stood there by his side, a vague look on her face.
Burt watched Yvonne's dance with only a trace of interest. Yvonne had denied him again and again, until he felt as if he would do anything to get into her. But Yvonne was popular; it wouldn't do to rape her. And yet, he glanced at the squat Bobo Tolbert, who was standing by his side and chortling happily. "Maybe," he said.
"What can happen?" asked Don Pearce belligerently. "The three of us, right" Bobo, he'll do what you ask, won't you, Bobo" Sure you will. Look, Yvonne's a cunt, that's all she is. Nobody is going to have much to say if we do it to her. I figure we aren't the only guys around her who'd like to get into her. Maybe a gang bang would be in order."
"No!" said Burt Conroy. "Nothing like that. I don't want it to be too much fun for her."
"That's why, that's what I'm talking about. Give it to her where it hurts. I want to get up on that bitch and make her beg me to put it in her cunt."
Ellie was moaning softly. She tried to move away from Burt. Bobo Tolbert was there to keep her from moving away. Then Burt yanked at her arm and dragged her toward him.
"What's with her?" asked Pearce.
"Meat," said Burt Conroy shortly. "Hot meat for the table. A real live virgin who's going to fuck a dog tonight."
Pearce reached over to slap Ellie's backside, but his movement brought Bobo Tolbert between him and Ellie; With a growl, the powerful Bobo shoved Pearce away. Then he chortled at Pearce's angry expression. His monstrous cock was half tumid now, sticking out at right angles from him, a huge, swollen muscle, the head flaring out like a huge, purple plum.
"Leave her alone." Burt thought for a moment. "Okay. Only one thing, we wait until I give the word."
"Wait for what?" asked Pearce.
"We wait for Yvonne's act. Not the dancing. She's going to do something special for us tonight."
He gestured to a goat that was tethered nearby. Don Pearce looked startled. Then he grinned and nodded.
The four of them stood there watching Yvonne's dance. Ellie looked crushed.
Timmy Holstead, the boy with the pony, was a tall, gawky youngster with a bad complexion and a diffident manner that had so far kept him from knowing very many girls, and of those he knew be had kissed only two. He had not petted any of them and he had certainly not made love to any.
The girl in front of him was one of the Terry sisters. He had seen the two of them perform and longed for them the way he longed for Yvonne.
But he didn't know how to speak to them. When one of them, it happened to be Gabriella, came over to chat with Timmy, he stood there in front of her and couldn't think of anything to say. He nodded when she spoke. She was within inches of him, right in front of him, and he had to keep his heavy dick from swinging against her. He hoped that she wouldn't turn around and see it. He felt himself becoming faint at just the thought of reaching out and touching her on the shoulder. But then she turned around.
"This is boring," she said casually. "Let's go do something."
"Sure," said Timmy eagerly. Then he caught himself and tried to sound less eager. "That's okay by me."
They walked out into the darkness, along the stream. For a minute or two they were aware of thrashing bodies in the dark, not far from them, and grunting sounds as of hogs rooting. Timmy was acutely embarrassed whenever he heard such sounds, but Gabriella didn't seem even to notice. He tried not to touch her for a while. Then he tried to touch her accidentally, and the feeling was exhilarating. But he knew that this perfect girl, this flawless girl with the lovely body and the soft, white flesh, only lightly tanned, could never be interested in him. His chance came when he helped her up onto some rocks. She asked for his help, and when he reached for her and she climbed up beside him, she was suddenly cold, or said she was.
"Warm me up a little, Timmy. I'm really cold." Then there was that moment, Timmy would remember it always, when he touched her gently and she turned her body toward his, letting her face rest against his chest. They stood there like that for a few moments. Timmy was acutely aware of his cock which had surged upward against the girl, and he assumed that she was simply not aware of it. His surprise was great, therefore, when she suddenly reached down and took hold of his cock, which throbbed and jerked in her hand.
"You're very big there, you know.?"
Timmy blushed and wondered what to say. She was stroking his cock calmly, being very gentle, and it felt so good that he knew he had to do something with it before long. He wanted to get away and beat off in the dark, where no one could see.
"Does that feel good?"
Timmy stuttered and hated himself for stuttering.
"Let's lay down in the sand."
Timmy let himself be led a few feet away to where the sand was soft, and they lay down. He could smell her in the cool air, smell the sweat, the female smells of her, the smells of a woman. When she turned to him and grabbed him, not even gently, he was astonished and had a momentary impulse to draw back, to withstand her onslaught. But then he let it happen. In a moment they were laying on the sand together, both of them naked, feeling their young bodies surge with feeling.
Timmy felt dizzy; he felt as if something was happening that he couldn't control. He could smell Gabriella's sweet breath. Then she kissed him. He felt her plump breasts moving against his chest and felt as if they were hot points of sharp steel penetrating him. Then he thought of what he could do to Gabriella, and wondered if he were capable of it. He knew that men became impotent in such situations and was deathly afraid that he would do so.
But when Gabriella lay back on the sand and drew him to her, his cock retained its strength and vigor. He got on top of her eagerly, feeling how his cock thrust accurately at the mushy soft spot between her legs. It took a moment of awkward shifting, Gabriella helped, directing his cock with her hand, before he got it up against her cunt. He was astonished to feel her cunt sucking his cock in, as it seemed. It had seemed so small when he had stolen a look at it earlier.
He came almost instantly, but didn't want her to know. With awkward feeling, he held his breath and felt the jism surge out of his body and into hers. In the next moment her hips bucked up hard against his and she let out a loud groan as she, too, had her orgasm. It was quick and violent.
They lay there in the night together. He could see her face in the moonlight and her expression had that openness, that raw look, that women have when they experience their climax. There were beads of sweat on her forehead and she was smiling at him.
"Did you make it?" she asked.
He nodded silently.
"Do you want to do it-again?"
He nodded again and his heart pounded in anticipation.
Ellie stared dully at the scene in front of her. The entire group, men and women together, had gathered in a circle away from the fire, and the inside of the circle was lit up by the harsh light from a Coleman lantern hung in a tree.
There was Yvonne, her plump, brown breasts succulent and full, and she was standing beside a contraption of some sort. Ellie was too confused, too deadened even to wonder what the device was for.
One of the men had built it for a very special purpose. It was a wooden frame with wooden ribbing over which was tacked an animal hide. The whole thing was tilted slightly upward and was set on sturdy wooden legs that were pointed outward for stability. Inside the tube formed by the hide, but about a foot and a half below the hide, there was a foam-rubber cushion that was about six inches thick and was resting on a curved board anchored solidly at several points to the wooden legs. The front legs of the contraption had leather grips on them, but what purpose these had could not be divined, certainly not by Ellie, who stared at the thing and did not even wonder what it was for, or why everyone was watching it with such interest.
The lower end of the board supporting the foam-rubber cushion was hinged, and a wooden screw underneath it, mounted in a two-by-four and operated by a steel handle clamped securely to it, could be used to raise or lower the hinged board.
Yvonne stood there and didn't seem to be quite sure what she was to do with it, but when one of the men, evidently the one who had built the machine, came over to help her, she let herself be shown its workings.
The crowd watched as the man instructed Yvonne to climb into the thing. She stepped up to it and climbed in headfirst, at the lower end of the machine, lying prone on the foam-rubber cushion, so that the framework with the animal skin was above her. Then the man showed her the leather grips, which she promptly took hold of. At this point the crowd shifted around so that everyone was standing directly behind the machine and Yvonne, with an excellent view of her hindquarters, and it became apparent to everyone that the machine had been designed to offer Yvonne adequate support when the goat fucked her.
"Obviously," said the inventor, "it's not feasible to let the goat just fuck a woman, since the goat would be much too hard on the woman. What I've done here is to construct a framework that takes up the weight of the goat and prevents it from hurting Yvonne. The animal skin is just for the sake of realism; it's not really meant to fool the goat. In my business, in the dairy business, we collect bull sperm by putting the bull in one end of a darkened corridor that has a frame like this at the other end, with a cowhide over it. The bull sees what he thinks is a cow, mounts it, and comes all at once, so that we can collect the jism for artificial insemination."
The man picked up a bottle of pale liquid and showed it to the crowd. He seemed quite pleased with his achievement. "This is urine from a she-goat in heat. We don't know whether it will work or not, but we'll see in a moment."
Walking over to the tethered billy goat he opened the bottle of goat urine and held it near the animal's nose. The goat sniffed and lunged against the cord that held him. His red cock came out several inches, flexing.
"What we'll do," he said as he took out a small paintbrush, "is apply a little of this to Yvonne." He did so, while the crowd watched and whispered quietly. "And then bring the goat over and find out what happens."
One of the other men brought the goat over to where Yvonne's rump protruded out of the machine. The man with the bottle of urine had painted it over the ripe lips of Yvonne's cunt and had then adjusted the screw so that her buttocks were not too high up, to keen the weight of the goat from hurting her. And he was now sighting carefully into the machine, only inches away from Yvonne's now smelly cunt, when the billy goat made a sudden lunge toward Yvonne, yanking the cord away from the other man, and mounted Yvonne.
The crowd gasped. The goat's cock had come out several inches more, a pointed, heavy thing, red and swollen, that jabbed in a furious arc at Yvonne's backside. Yvonne screamed with what sounded like real terror. Two men ran over and yanked at the goat, which came down and stood there for a moment shaking its head and stamping its feet.
"You okay?"
"I'm okay. Just give me a little warning. He got into my asshole that time."
"I'll stay here and direct it."
Again the attempt was made, but this time the goat was controlled until he was within inches from Yvonne's backside, and then he stood there for a few moments licking her cunt with his long tongue, while Yvonne held her breath and shivered with ecstasy and the crowd fell silent.
Finally he lunged up onto her, his forelegs clutching the framework that held the animal hide. Again his thrust was blind and inaccurate, but this time the one man grabbed for his huge cock and directed its swollen, pulpy mass at Yvonne's ample cunt, where the lips were swollen and flushed from sexual excitement. The goat's haunches slapped forward in one hard motion, and the slap could be heard throughout the area. Women clutched their men and shivered at the thought of what Yvonne was experiencing; their genitals twitched in sympathy. As for the men, they reached around and began to feel their women, letting their fingers explore in liquid cunts that supplied an ever-fresh quantity of cream for their probing.
The goat's motions were spasmodic and yet regular. Its hind feet shifted constantly as it sought to get yet more of its huge cock into Yvonne, while its jism spurted out of her and poured down her backside to drip down her legs. After a minute or two, everyone became aware that, unlike a man, the goat was not limited by its ability to come, for it was evidently coming again and again, while Yvonne, too dazed even to speak, raised her backside to the goat's and tried to give its cock as straight a passage as possible to plunge into.
When Yvonne came, her whole body shuddered and she let go of the leather straps. The goat was still shifting its hind feet and clutching the framework above Yvonne with its forelegs.
"Pull him off," said Yvonne finally, gasping, when her orgasm had subsided.
The crowd yelled for more, but the two men pulled the goat off her. Its whole body was still arcing, as if it were still plunging into Yvonne.
"Who's next?" asked Yvonne with a cheerful grin. Her body was slack and soaked with perspiration. The goat, smelling the rank urine painted across her cunt, tried to follow and mount her, but was held back. No one volunteered to get into the framework.
"Betty wants to," said one of the women.
"Not me," said the woman named Betty. "You do it."
"I'll do it," said the first woman. "But only if you will."
The woman named Betty was licking her lips and looking thoughtful. When several of the women took up the cry, she finally let herself be pushed forward. "Wait a minute," she said then. "Let's see who all's going to do it. I'm not going to do it unless some of you will." Several women agreed to do so.
"I'm going for a swim," said Yvonne. "But I'll come back later. I'll do it anytime. You show me a man like that and?"
The men started to boo loudly, and they booed until she had disappeared down the slope toward the swimming hole. A young boy, seventeen years old, started to follow her, but Burt Conroy and Don Pearce struck up a conversation with him, and by the time he got away from them one of the women had climbed into the framework. The boy looked back, hesitated, then moved back into the crowd just as one of the men at the framework was slopping goat urine onto the woman's backside, while the billy goat reared up and strained at the cord.
Burt Conroy and Don Pearce watched the spectacle silently for a moment. Then, glancing at each other, they began to make their way down the slope toward the stream, dragging Ellie along.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ellie had in fact not been drugged, but the events of the evening, and her inability to control them, had finally so overwhelmed her that she could scarcely speak. Waif-like, her golden hair wreathing her fragile, delicate features, she followed where Burt led. Her blouse was torn, and her plump breasts bulged out in their bra, while her skirt was awry and she was missing one shoe that she had accidentally kicked off somewhere on the trail. Dully she wondered how much longer she could walk without that shoe.
But when she was led away from the light, away from the people, she came to life again. The squat fellow next to her, Don Pearce, frightened her so, even more so than Burt. Bobo Tolbert, as harmless as he was, was nevertheless a frightening spectacle with his slouching, naked form and his bludgeon-like cock. From time to time he took his cock in his hand and waved it about gleefully, catching her eye and chortling. Then Ellie would shrink away, frightened. But the darkness frightened her. Halfway down the slope she began to moan, and then the moan turned into a steady, high-pitched sobbing that caused Burt to turn on her and slap her face.
"Shut up!"
"I?" Ellie began to cry again.
"Let's get her out of here, we've got business with Yvonne."
Burt turned on Don Pearce. "We'll do it my way. I know what I'm doing."
But when they had gotten another twenty yards down the slope they suddenly became aware of Yvonne, who stood there in the dark, hands on hips, and glared at them. "What are you doing with her" Ellie, what have they done to you?" She strode over, her naked breasts flopping heavily against her, and took Ellie by the hand.
"No," said Ellie piteously, "they'll hurt you."
In the next moment several things happened. Don Pearce reached out and grabbed for Yvonne's arm, while Yvonne, her reaction cat-quick, slammed her fist against his nose and caused the blood to burst forth like a fountain.
"Goddamn, goddamn"!"
Pearce stood there holding his nose and looking incredulous and outraged. But Conroy yanked at Ellie and kicked at Yvonne, who avoided him and turned to scramble up the slope. But then Burt let go of Ellie. "Get her, get Ellie!" he yelled at Pearce, and scrambled after Yvonne. He caught her only a few yards up the slope and grabbed her full hips, smelling the rank smell of the she-goat urine and the musk of the billy that had covered her. The smell twisted something in his mind momentarily. As he slung her around, Yvonne struggled and tried to reach his eyes with her fingernails, but Burt hit her hard, letting go just for a moment.
The blow struck her in the back, between the shoulder blades, and caused her to stumble and fall to the ground. For a moment she lay there, dazed, her hair in tangles over ripe breasts, her legs spread to reveal that dank, foul-smelling bush that the goat had rutted in. Then she started to get up. But Burt slammed his fist into her ribs and again brought her down, this time to her knees.
She kneeled there in front of them, gasping and choking, but her eyes were blazing with an intense hatred, and even then she was thinking of how she might get even with Burt for his treatment of her, and with Don as well.
Then Don motioned to Bobo Tolbert.
"Take Ellie. Hold her for us, keep her quiet. If she starts yelling, pinch her just a little bit."
Bobo giggled and complied with his request.
When the two of them, Pearce and Conroy, began to approach her, Yvonne picked up a rock and waited, there on her knees. She felt faint, but was determined to protect herself. The two men approached and showed their recognition of her exaggeratedly sensuous pose by becoming sexually excited. Their cocks hardened and rose.
"Get away from me!"
But they leaped on her at the same time, bending her arms back. With a sudden burst of furious energy, Yvonne resisted and even kept the two men from overcoming her for a time; Then her strength ebbed and the, two men came down on her hard, smothering her until she lost consciousness briefly.
Ellie watched, terrified. When she started to scream, Bobo shook her hard, his face twisted in a wild grimace, and her brief resistance caused his cock to leap up,, quivering, and shove against her soft, white flesh.
"Not now, Bobo!"
It was Burt's warning. Bobo grinned vacuously and slackened his hold. Then, since the struggle between Yvonne and the two men was over, he moved over, dragging Ellie along, and began to watch the proceedings.
Don Pearce was giggling like a madman, his squat, heavy body jiggling from his exertions. His cock, abnormally thick and stubby, a bloated sausage of a cock, was straining upward in his hand. He and Burt turned Yvonne over, while she was still only half conscious. Then Don got on her back, facing her ass, and lifted her up so that her vagina and asshole were accessible to Burt.
Burt stroked his cock a few times, content just to watch for a moment or two. Then he dipped his cock into Yvonne's large cunt, the lips of which were still flushed and ready, as if never satisfied, and brought it away slimy with, her cream and the goat's jism. He jammed it up against her asshole for a moment, just to see if it would enter easily. But Yvonne's asshole, unlike her large and active cunt, was still virginal, as could be seen by its shrinking, squeezing action when it was touched.
Burt grinned to himself. In his view of the matter, Yvonne had offended him deeply, had slighted him at every turn, whereas in fact she had done nothing more than refuse him her body. But the anger that had been aroused in him by Shirley Wilson had by no means subsided, and it proved capable of taking a new direction quite easily.
As he jabbed his thick cock against her asshole, he got a vicious pleasure out of seeing her asshole shrink from the pressure. Then he began to grind it hard against her asshole, twisting it slowly, steadily, so that the head, very gradually, sank itself into the tight shaft of her anus. Below him was the stink of goat urine and jism, and Burt imagined himself a rampant goat, hairy and stinking, with heavy balls and a jabbing thrusting cock that beat its way into the tight cunt of a female goat, while the female shrieked and tried to get away.
As for Yvonne, she was conscious now but refused to scream or even to fight back. Tight-lipped and angry, she fought back the tears when the thick head of Burt's cock finally broke through into her asshole and lodged there, stuck inside her, unable to pull back or to move forward. The pain was almost frightening. Not since she was a little girl had she experienced anything like this, when her older brother had taken her down in the bathroom and, finding her cunt too small, had wedged his dick into her asshole and spurted forth a load of white cream that fascinated her and offended her at the same time. But even then she had not struggled, had, in fact, even had a certain amount of enjoyment out of the experience. Like her brother, who had received an unexpected beating from some boys Yvonne knew, Burt Conroy would regret what he was doing to her. She contented herself with the thought of revenge and waited, grim and angry, while he had his pleasure with her.
Ellie lay there motionless while it all happened. Her senses were deadened, mercifully! , and she watched with dull eyes and little comprehension when Burt's heavy cock finally penetrated Yvonne's asshole.
Bobo Tolbert held her and chortled quietly to himself.' His hard-on pressed against her leg insistently. Once in a while he reached down, grinning at her, and tugged at his cock as if to tempt her with it. But Ellie was scarcely even aware of what he was doing. Anyway, Bobo Tolbert was not frightening; he was too dull, too comical for that.
But Don Pearce had seemingly forgotten Yvonne, the woman he had hated so a few minutes ago, and now he was edging toward Ellie. He too was stroking his cock; like the others he thought that Ellie, innocent though she was, must have an overwhelming curiosity about and hunger for his cock, even though Ellie was scarcely even aware of it.
When Pearce touched Ellie she didn't even shrink back; it was as if nothing mattered to her anymore. But the instant he touched her, Bobo Tolbert reacted. He lashed out with his heavy fist and caught Pearce under the chin, knocking him to the ground. Frowning, he glanced over at Burt to see if he had done the right thing. But Burt was contentedly fucking Yvonne in the asshole and holding down her taut, angry body.
Pearce got up and began to move on Bobo, but the idiot, while not especially big, had heavy, powerful muscles and a courageous disposition, and when Pearce got near he struck suddenly again, this time slamming his fist against Pearce's throat and knocking him backward.
Pearce tumbled to the ground.
"Leave him alone," said Burt. But then, with a grimace, he jabbed his cock deep into Yvonne once again and came; thrusting deep, while Yvonne held herself taut and angry tears ran down her cheeks. Bobo Tolbert sat down and, grinning, watched Burt's frantic thrusting movements. Then Burt was gasping and pulling himself free from Yvonne. She lay there motionless. "Your turn," he said to Pearce, who had gotten up and was standing there glaring at Bobo. Pearce hesitated for a moment. Then he went to Yvonne and jabbed his cock viciously into her asshole. Again Yvonne was quiet, ominously quiet, even when Pearce came and thrust deeper than ever into her. When he pulled out, grinning and taunting her, she was silent, staring contemptuously at him.
"How do you like that, Yvonne" You get a real kick out of being rammed like that" Was it as good with that goat?"
She said nothing.
"Answer me, you bitch!"
"You are a pig," she said then in an even voice. "You and Burt are both pigs."
It was Burt who moved in now, kicking her where she lay. The blood spurted from her lip.
"You," then she was silent. She began to crawl laboriously toward the water.
"Now we rest up," said Burt, "and then we'll show Bobo how to do it with a real live virgin."
Bobo Tolbert let out a whoop of anticipation.
Yvonne could hear the shrieks of the people above her, over the slope. More of them were drinking heavily, a few were taking drugs of one sort and another, mostly marijuana and hashish, and a few of them were already laying in a drunken stupor on sleeping bags. The women, obeying a rule of the group, were obliged to remain naked, and several young boys from the town, having sneaked up to join the group, had discovered two women laying drunk and naked away from the group, in each other's arms. The boys, one by one, had fucked the women while they lay there asleep, but they were discovered just as the youngest one, a boy of thirteen, was getting his turn.
The other boys ran, but the thirteen-year-old, close to his climax, stayed to rut on the woman's backside and so was caught. Now all the women in the group, high spirited and sexed up, were making him run the gauntlet and kiss their cunts, one after another, getting down on his knees to do it. He was both frightened and exultant, thinking of what he would tell his friends the next day.
As for Yvonne, she was indifferent to what was going on above her. For a while she rested, then, thinking of Ellie and what was in store for her, she forced herself to get up. She ran down the trail, her thoughts full of revenge of hatred for Burt and Don Pearce, eager to punish them. But even as she ran she started to realize that Burt had known what he was doing. Even if she called the police down on the group, but she would never, do that, her friends were up there, the police would not take her word for anything, not after they heard about her performance with the goat. Burt was evidently counting on that, evidently assuming that Yvonne had no way of gaining her revenge.
She needed a man and there were few men down there at the camp who would venture to go up to Spindler Creek after Don and Burt. If there was one, in fact, it would have to be either Mike Taylor or Claude Branch. She might just call on both of them, but Mike would certainly help her.
She was running when she reached Fall Creek. Claude Branch, sitting on a rock a little ways away from the trail, stared at her with surprise as she ran by. He settled down and again began to break twigs in his massive hands, whiling away the time as well as he could.
Up at the Creek the boy with the pony, in love with Gabriella and awash with the rum that had been poured down his throat by two amorous girls, had let himself be persuaded to couple with his pony. All his diffidence, all his youthful lack of assurance had been crushed once and for all. Gabriella loved him, she had told him so there in the moonlight, clinging to him, her lovely blonde hair clinging to her breasts in moist ringlets. Endlessly delicate, endlessly lovely, she had chosen him, of all the men in the group, to couple with, and when she joined her voice to the others, when she, the loveliest of all the women, asked him to make love to the pony for their benefit, for, her, benefit, he agreed instantly. He was no longer little Timmy Holstead, just another kid; he was a man now, a man who had proved himself by fucking a woman, a man who had gotten a woman so hot for him, so excited, that the cream had formed in a hot puddle between her legs. He was no longer Timmy, he decided. From now on he would call himself Tim. It was much more grown up that way.
He grinned at the crowd and made motions of jacking off, while two young girls, the same ones who had poured rum into him held the pony for him. Then he moved forward and stepped up onto the bench that they had set behind the filly. His cock was hard and rose up in the air, a taut and eager bludgeon.
The crowd fell silent.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The camp was dark and silent when Yvonne got there. Stumbling, out of breath, she realized suddenly that she was stark naked. Her body stank with sweat. She ran to her cabin and didn't see anyone on the way, but when she got there she discovered that the door was locked and remembered that she had left the key up at Spindler Creek.
Doc Reynolds' cabin faced hers. He was inside, seated in an armchair with a book in his hands. Next to him was the inevitable martini. When Yvonne walked in, he remained where he was, staring open-mouthed at her. Her chest was heaving.
"Where's Mike" Have you seen him?"
He shook his head and seemed unable to grasp her question.
"I need him for something. That son of a bitch?"
"Wait a minute, wait a minute. Here, have, that's right, that'll make you feel better. I'll make another in a moment. That's right, you just sit down, relax."
Yvonne felt the cold drink warming her. "The son of a bitch, I'm going to?"
"Wait a minute, wait a minute. Hike" Mike's a son of a bitch?"
"Burt Conroy," she said. "Burt and another guy, a guy named Don Pearce. They raped me, they?"
Doc Reynolds' poker face crinkled into a smile in spite of himself.
"Okay, I know what you're thinking. But it's by my choice, hot by theirs. Maybe I do sleep around, but no one's hurt by it. I don't make them do it to me."
Doc Reynolds reached out and patted her on the knee. He found it difficult to look at her and even more difficult to look away. "It was Burt, you say" That figures. You stay here, I'll see if I can find Mike. I doubt that there's much he can do, except maybe punch Burt in the mouth, which would be a good idea, of course, but?"
"Doc?"
"You stay here." He got up laboriously.
"Doc, he's got Ellie up there, Ellie Brighton."
"Ellie?" He turned to her, frowning.
She nodded. "That's what started it. I told him to leave her alone. Doc, Ellie's just a kid, she doesn't want to get mixed up with these guys. It's one thing for me, I've been there before. But Ellie's just a kid, she can't take that kind of thing."
Doc Reynolds looked around, as if unsure of what to do. Then he moved to the door, shaking his head. "You stay here. There's more to drink in the refrigerator, if you want it. I'm going to find Mike and anybody else I can find. Maybe that new fellow, Claude Branch. You wait here."
He left and Yvonne rested for a few minutes before going to the refrigerator and pouring another martini. The cold drink turned into a hot ball in her stomach. She realized suddenly that she could smell her own body, and the smell was pleasant. But for the first time in her life she found sex unpleasant, even the thought of sex. Her oiled, slick body, brown as a nut and lush, was heavy with smells of musk and sweat.
She let herself relax. Slumping in a couch, she realized suddenly how hurt and exhausted she was. She wanted to sleep. It had been a long time since she had had enough sex, and the feeling was pleasant.
Mike Taylor had been wandering around the camp, wondering why he was so terribly restless. He longed to be at work again, to have facts and figures in front of him instead of people. They were so much more reliable, so much easier to deal with. No invoice had ever disappointed him the way Ellie Brighton had. But it would be only a short time before he returned to L.A. and his company. He would leave tomorrow; the arrangements were made.
It seemed, though, as if there was an infinite stretch of time between today and tomorrow, measurable in years, and none of that time could be filled adequately. Mike Taylor simply had nothing to do, nowhere to go. Active and cheerful as a rule, he had somehow lost sight of his purpose. His brief affair with Cindy Wheeler, while gratifying, had meant nothing to him, or to her, for that matter. Cindy was a lovely girl, a sexy girl, but she was also the sort of outgoing, flirtatious woman that Mike had often gone with and had never taken seriously. He liked quiet women, the kind of women who relied on a man, who knew how to make a man feel good. Ellie, so he had thought, was that kind of woman, but Ellie had proved to be another kind of woman as well, one of Burt Conroy's wild harem.
When he saw Yvonne come through the camp he kept in the shadows, not wanting her to see him. Yvonne was one woman who was not in some sort of sexual relationship with Burt Conroy, but if she saw him she would begin to turn on that incredible body of hers and soon they would be fucking again. Mike didn't want that, not now. In fact, he felt a kind of annoyance against the whole race of women. They could be so lovely, so soft and touchingly sweet, and then prove to be hard as nails underneath.
He saw Yvonne go into Doc Reynolds' cabin. Slumping down on a bench, he rested and wished that he could go to sleep, but his mind was too active for that. Sighing, he got up and began another aimless walk around the campground.
When Timmy Holstead thought about it the next day he realized that it was the crowd's reaction to Yvonne's performance that made him fuck the horse in front of them. They had taken Yvonne seriously; no one had laughed at her. But it was different with Timmy. He had noticed a few snickers even before he mounted the horse, and these had turned to guffaws when the crowd saw his tall, angular body hunching over the backside of the pony and his cock thrusting deep into it.
That was bad enough. But what had happened then had been humiliating in the extreme. Blushing furiously, he went on with what he was doing: with a savage jerk he thrust his cock deep into the large, hot cunt of the pony, feeling the way the pony responded, back arched, cunt hot and liquid. In that moment, just a moment too soon for Timmy, the pony had its climax, and instantly it stepped forward and swished its tail down. Timmy, desperate to finish inside the pony, thrust again, harder, and as the pony stepped forward he tumbled off the bench. Ignoring the jeers of the people watching, he ran after the pony and tried to lift his cock high enough to enter its fat cunt. But his climax came before he had a chance to do so. Pointing upward, his cock spewed a thick stream of jism out onto the pony's flank.
His expression was so woebegone, so lugubrious, that the crowd laughed louder than ever. As for Timmy, the first thing he saw was Gabriella, lovely Gabriella, sitting near her sister. They were alone. He went over to Gabriella and tried to make a joke out of the whole scene, but Gabriella, feeling that his humiliation rubbed off onto her, ignored him even when he spoke.
"What's wrong, anyway?"
Gabriella's twin sister smothered a giggle.
"Oh, you're just such a child," said Gabriella. "Why don't you just go play with your old dong and leave us alone."
"What'd I do" I didn't do anything."
"Okay, you didn't do anything. Now go somewhere and do something. Can't you see I'm busy?"
Don Pearce, plump and happy, his fat belly full of wine, came ambling over.
"You don't have to be that way," said Timmy.
"I thought we were friends."
"Okay, we're friends," said Gabriella, "but I'm busy."
"He bothering you?" asked Don Pearce.
"Not really," said Gabriella, flattered at the attention, for Pearce, although horribly pudgy, was considerably older than she was.
"Shove off," said Pearce to Timmy Holstead.
"Why should I?"
Pearce took him by the arm and, with a pleasant smile on his face, pinched him hard.
"Ow!"
"Oh, Timmy," said Gabriella. "Just go away and stop bothering us."
"Yeah," said Don Pearce. "Why don't you just do like the lady says."
Timmy walked away, his face burning with shame, and he tried to hide the tears in his eyes. When he was some distance away he turned around and saw Don Pearce leaning over Gabriella, with his arm around her.
He sat down to watch them, too proud to leave and too pained to join in the activities of the others.
"Mike, where the hell've you been?"
Mike Taylor turned around and saw Doc Reynolds in front of him.
"I've been looking all over for you. It's Ellie. Burt's got her up at Spindler Creek."
"It figures," said Mike, smiling wryly.
Doc Reynolds looked at him. "What the hell does that mean" Yvonne came down and told me. They're going to rape Ellie."
"Rape?" Come on, Doc, Ellie's a big girl now. That isn't the first time she's gone with Burt."
"You're wrong, Mike," said Doc Reynolds gravely. "If you won't go help her, I'll go myself." He turned away and walked at a fast pace toward the path to Spindler Creek.
"Wait a minute." Mike ran after him. They walked down the path very fast. "Are you sure, I mean about Ellie?"
"Burt's been bullying Ellie, and none of us had the sense to see that she was just afraid of him, that's all it was. And now he's got her up there with those hooligans of his. Anything could happen. But whatever does happen, I'm going to see to it that Burt pays for what he does, I'm going to see to that for sure." He gripped the knob on his walking stick. His voice was trembling as he spoke.
"Wait!"
It was Yvonne. She had gotten hold of clothing somewhere and was running down the path after them.
"I'm coming along. I've got a few things to settle myself."
Mike hesitated. Then he nodded curtly. "Okay, but I'm going on ahead." He broke into a run.
"No, Mike," cried Yvonne.
But he was already gone.
Doc Reynolds cursed as he struggled to keep pace with Yvonne, clutching the walking stick and sweating in the cool night air.
Everything depended on Mike.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mike felt sharp, stabbing pains in his side by the time he was halfway up the trail. At Fall Creek he ran across the wooden bridge and heard his footsteps echoing. Then the trail grew steeper as it went up Spindler Creek, which came down the mountainside in a series of waterfalls and finally leveled out briefly at the swimming hole. He ran hard, ignoring the pain in his side, steeling himself against it. In his mind was an image of Burt Conroy, Burt with that insufferable smile, that lofty way he had. Burt holding Ellie Brighton, his Ellie. Once or twice he slowed down to a walk, no longer able to keep up the pace, and he clenched his hands in desperation at the slow pace. When he got hold of Burt"
"Good evening." Mike jumped back, startled.
"It's just me, Claude Branch."
Claude was sitting there on a log, all alone, a hulking, massive man, his huge hands resting on his knees. Mike greeted him and walked on quickly, wondering what Claude Branch was doing out here in the dark.
"They'll still be there!" Branch called out after him.
The misunderstanding irked Mike, but he didn't stop to explain that he wasn't going up Spindler Creek to join the others. There would be time enough for explanations later. For the moment he had enough to do just to keep himself from falling down from exhaustion. He began to run again.
It had been Burt Conroy's intention to save Ellie for late in the evening, when everyone would be drunk and eager for some kind of new diversion. At that time he meant to allow a gang rape on Ellie, and then, to cap the evening's entertainment for himself, to engage in anal intercourse with her.
His experience with Yvonne, far from sating him, stimulated him intolerably and caused him to hasten his plans considerably. Bobo Tolbert had kept track of Ellie, and when Burt found the two of them, Bobo was jacking off lazily and grinning at Ellie, who stared dumbly at Bobo's huge cock. It was apparent that Bobo had already ejaculated once, for come had spewed all over his legs. But Ellie didn't seem to be afraid of him at all.
"Save that," said Burt shortly. "You can use it on her in a minute."
Bobo grinned happily.
For a moment Burt didn't do anything at all. He stood there looking at Ellie. She had tatters of clothing on, but her blouse, or what there was of it, couldn't conceal the lovely mounds of white flesh that humped up under it, and one lovely nipple, a delicate rose in color, was visible where the cloth had been ripped away entirely. There was only a brief piece of cloth trying vainly to stretch across her womanly buttocks.
Even the panties had been torn, revealing firm, white flesh, unblemished, the kind of taut flesh that stirs seductively under tight cloth when a woman walks. From the front the panties showed a mound where Ellie's modest clump of pubic hair was hidden by beige panties.
Burt leered at her drunkenly for a few moments. Then, as if coming out of a trance, he grabbed her roughly and yelled at the people nearby. "We got a show, folks. We got a real show for you. You see in front of you, folks, something you haven't seen for a long time. Look at her closely, folks, you don't see this kind anymore. Hey, Bob!" he called to one of the men. "Bob Sanders. I want you to come over here and look this piece of ass over real good, then admit in front of all these people that you haven't seen anything this goddamn good since you were big enough to lift up your peter without using your hands."
The man named Bob Sanders, a hulking fellow with a crewcut and a big belly, lurched over. He too was already more than slightly drunk. He reached out to touch Ellie, but Burt moved her away from him.
"Now tell me what you see, Bob. Tell the people what you see."
"She's a looker," said Sanders, turning to the crowd. "She's real good."
"But what else?" asked Burt, with an astonished expression on his face. "What else do you see" Come on, Bob. Don't kid around with the people." Then he turned to look at the crowd, a dismayed look on his face. "He doesn't see it," he told them. "It's really been so long for old Bob here that he doesn't recognize one. He doesn't recognize a real one, a live one, a?"
"What?" said Bob Sanders, growing irritated.
"Why, a virgin. A real honest-to-God virgin. And in this day and age."
The men guffawed and pressed closer.
As he entered the area where the party was taking place, Mike's first impression was one of an unhealthy atmosphere of lust and drunkenness. There were naked men and women everywhere, but oddly enough there were more women than men, and it seemed as if the women were more insatiable than the men. Couples rutted out in the open. Right near him a young girl, perhaps fifteen years old, was on her hands and knees, buttocks held high to receive the hard cock of a boy who couldn't have been more than thirteen. The boy was thrusting furiously, like a rabbit, with a quick, intense rhythm that had the girl writhing with ecstasy. Her face was strained, her eyes glazed. Her lovely breasts dangled under her like plump, ripe fruits.
Beyond them, two women were laying on top of a young man. The young man was evidently drunk, half asleep, and worn out. He looked disgruntled as the two women, frantically eager, sought to restore his jaded cock. The one woman was sucking his cock greedily, but couldn't get it hard; the other was trying to ram her cunt against his face while he struggled to evade her. Neither of them would let him get up. The young man was swearing in a complaining voice.
"I'm looking for a girl," said Mike to a young woman who came over to him, hips undulating, her face lit up in a seductive smile.
"I'm a girl," she said. She too was slightly drunk, and her fingers were sticky as she took his hand. He resisted when she brought his hand down to her crotch and rubbed it in the wet slot that her own hands had evidently been playing in, without satisfying her.
"Another time," he said shortly. "Her name's Ellie Brighton. She's here with Burt Conroy."
"Why not now?" Her voice was low and breathless. "If she's with Burt she's probably busy anyway."
"Look, I've got to find her. Have you seen her?"
"Yeah," she said, annoyed now. "Burt's down that way, along with your girl. And I hope she breaks it for you."
Mike turned and ran. When he saw the crowd he ran to it and began pushing through people. A few men, drunk and truculent, tried to stop him, but he ignored their threats. "Ellie!"
Ellie turned to him. Her face was streaked with tears. When she looked at him no trace of recognition showed in her face. Her young body sagged.
He took her by the hand. During the moment between his arrival and Burt Conroy's startled recognition of his intentions, he was able to get her away from him. Then Burt let out an angry roar. Mike knew Burt well enough to suspect that he was a bully, but somewhat cowardly, and yet he was determined not to get into a fight with him. There were enough men around, most of them drunk, that he couldn't risk a fight; the crowd just might choose to take up Burt's cause. But Mike's determination to avoid trouble vanished instantly when Burt grabbed him by the arm.
He turned and slapped his hand away. The crowd fell silent. For a moment the two of them faced each other. Burt too was breathing heavily, but he couldn't get up the determination to lash out at Mike, even though he obviously wanted to.
"You going to let him get away with this?" he demanded of the spectators.
It was the wrong thing to say. The spectators, a moment ago ready to take up Burt's cause, hooted and jeered at him. "I don't see you doing nothing," yelled one of the men. "Come on, Burt, you're bigger than he is. Let's see a fight!"
Mike hesitated a moment. Then he said in an even voice. "We'll settle this another time, not now." But Burt, too drunk to be careful, took this for cowardice. For a moment he stood there, gathering his courage, then, as Mike turned away, he lashed out at him with his fist.
The blow caught Mike on the shoulder and sent him sprawling. In the next moment he was up. Burt closed on him, trying to get a good blow in and end the fight quickly. But when he swung, Mike ducked the blow easily and came in close, inside the bigger man's reach. Neither man was an experienced fighter, but both were energetic and angry, and in their anger they neglected caution. Burt's heavy fist smashed against Mike's jaw, jolting him severely, and Burt stepped back quickly, realizing that his advantage lay in his greater reach. Mike, furious now, indifferent to the spectators and to everything but his need to take his revenge on Burt, closed in on his opponent. Quicker and more determined than Burt, got inside on him quickly and, without regard for the beating he was taking, smashed his fists into Burt's ribs.
The big man grunted from the pain, while Mike, totally indifferent to the blows he was himself receiving, hit harder and harder, until it felt as if his arms must fall off.
Then Burt did something unexpected. One moment he was fighting with grim determination, the next moment he was actually running away and holding his ribs, his head down. When Mike yanked at his arm he fell to his knees, dropping his arms so that he was unprotected.
"Go ahead, hit me. I'm drunk, I can't fight you. You can hit me all you want now. I can't hit back."
Mike stepped back, outraged at finding himself stymied. The miserable creature in front of him, kneeling in front of the crowd, had made it impossible for him to fight any longer. He stood there just for a moment, his chest heaving, trying to think how he could goad Burt into fighting.
In that moment Don Pearce lunged across the clearing toward him, from behind. 'As Pearce moved, surprisingly fast for a man his size, Timmy Holstead watched him. Pearce came within a yard of Timmy, running hard. He could already see himself slamming into Mike from behind, knocking him breathless so that he and Burt could stomp him. But as he passed Timmy, the boy, who had been watching him all along, stuck out his foot and caught him between the legs.
Pearce's momentum kept him going. He stumbled, skinned his knees on the ground, and went down hard on his face, ripping up the skin so that the blood burst out in a sudden, startling display.
Mike whirled and saw him lying there. The crowd, sobered by the sight of blood, stood there quietly. Two men went over and picked Pearce up. He looked faint, and blood was pouring down his face.
"Let's go," Mike muttered to Ellie.
They walked through the throng of naked men and women. On the way back to the trail, they saw others fucking out in the open, apparently oblivious to the fight that had just taken place. The two women were still working on the young man, but he was now sitting up, a dazed expression on his face, staring at the woman who had his cock in her mouth. The other woman was behind him, rubbing his back with one hand and her cunt with the other. She looked anguished and impatient. The fifteen-year-old girl and her thirteen-year-old partner were still rutting openly. The girl was still on her hands and knees, buttocks held high, straining to reach her orgasm while the boy frantically pumped one load of hot jism after another into her.
The girl who had spoken to Mike came over, looking hopeful. "Take me along," she said. "Take me along." Her nipples brushed Mike's arm.
"Another time," he said shortly, and half wished that he would see her again.
Nothing further happened until they had come halfway down the trail.
"Back so soon?" asked Claude Branch. He was sitting there in the dark, hidden from view as one came down the trail.
Mike stopped. "I wasn't just visiting," he said evenly. "Conroy made Ellie, oh, forget it. I don't give a damn what you or anyone else thinks." He turned to leave.
"Whoa, there. You don't have to get mad at me. I've got a bone to pick with somebody up there, that's all. I just don't like that whole crowd. When I saw you going up there, I just naturally assumed, well, that you were one of them. It bothered me because my cousin told me you were a pretty good guy."
"Your cousin?"".
"Yeah. She was up here for a few weeks. Then one day she came home and called me up. She was all bruised. I said I'd have a little talk with the guy who did it to her."
Mike stood there, frowning and trying to think who it could be. Then something caught in his mind. He nodded. "Shirley," he said. "Shirley left without any notice, and you came up and took her cabin."
Claude Branch nodded.
"But who did it to her" I didn't hear anything."
Branch said softly, "Your friend Burt Conroy. Shirley's kind of wild, but she's also pretty innocent about a lot of things. She went on a ride with Conroy on his bike and he raped her."
"Jesus," said Mike. "And that's why you're waiting up here."
"That's why. I gather Burt worked over Ellie here."
Mike nodded. "Yeah. And I kind of worked over Burt."
"Just so you left something for me," said the big man. "I came a long way for this."
"I don't blame you," said Mike quietly. He took Ellie by the hand and began to lead her down the mountainside.
"Hey, partner!" Claude Branch called after him.
Mike turned around.
"Keep it under your hat, will you?"
Mike nodded before turning and walking away, his arm around Ellie. She was shivering and held him tight as they walked down the steep trail.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"I'm going to have to get back to town some day," said Mike a week later. He and Ellie were laying by the side of the lake. They watched the swallows that flew high above them, darting quickly after insects. For the past week Mike had delayed his return to L.A., while trying to gain Ellie's confidence. He wanted to take her with him, but Ellie, shaken by her encounter with Burt Conroy, was as skittish as a doe when she was around him, or any other man except Doc Reynolds. Doc Reynolds had spent long hours with her, teaching her how to fish, and it seemed as if the peaceful, quiet fly-fishing and her long conversations with him had brought back the sweet and pleasant disposition that she had been known for.
As for Mike, the days were painful for him. From day to day he saw more and more of Ellie, but never did he so much as touch her hand. She needed rest, she needed to regain her trust in people. He had been utterly surprised when, one day, she suggested quietly that they go up to the lake and sunbathe. Now they were there. Ellie had borrowed one of Cindy Wheeler's bathing suits, a brief, two-piece affair that was a deep purple in color and revealed her graceful curves nicely.
Ellie sprawled on the hot sand, a quiet smile on her face. For a long time she didn't reply to Mike's remark about going back to town. Then she finally spoke. "This was actually Doc Reynolds' idea," she said. "He wanted me to be alone with you. Even though it was his idea, I'm glad I did it. You've been good to me, Mike. You know?" She was silent for a moment, trying to get the right words together. "I had a real crush on you. I really did."
"You"!" Mike stared at her.
She nodded. "I really did. I hung around hoping I'd bump into you."
"But you never went anywhere with me. And I asked you a number of times."
She shrugged. "I was timid. I didn't know what to say when I was around you. I was afraid I'd say the wrong thing."
"You, you said you had a crush on me. Does that mean?""
"Not necessarily," she said, looking up at him. "I, oh, I don't know how to say it. I just like to be around you."
He took her hand and kissed it, feeling an extraordinary tenderness toward her, a feeling of immense well-being. Looking up at her he saw that her lovely face was wreathed in smiles. Her lips were slightly parted. When he took her in his arms she didn't resist, but let her body relax against his. He could smell the faintest scent of wisteria at her throat.
"I?" Then she stopped talking and pressed her lips to his. With a frantic, awkward eagerness she kissed him. Mike prevented himself from reaching down to touch her, to fondle her breasts or touch the creamy flesh of her lovely thighs. "I?" she said again. Again she stopped. "Mike?"
"What is it?" he asked.
"Doc, well, he thinks that," he said.
"What?"
"He gave me some advice. About us."
"I hope he told you to go off and live with me happily ever after. Is that what he said?"
She looked away from him. "He said, he said that we should, well, have an affair. Oh, Mike, I'm so embarrassed, but, but I just, I'm just so afraid, and Doc said I might never get over it if I didn't experience sex now, with someone who won't hurt me, who liked me." She hid her face in her hands.
For a long time neither of them spoke. Mike felt an immense sense of well-being and felt himself growing aroused. "Okay?" he said.
She nodded and looked miserable. He reached around her gently and undid the strap of her bikini top, letting it fall away. Her white breasts were exposed, soft and lovely, with plump nipples that crinkled in the slight breeze that blew over them. She looked down at them as if surprised.
Mike was unsure of himself, wanted to go slow for her sake, but when he hesitated she reached down and slipped out of the bikini bottom, then blushed a deep red when she saw him looking at her soft clump of golden pubic hair and the pink slit beneath it.
He touched her breasts gently. She reacted involuntarily just for a moment, then lay back on the warm sand and closed her eyes. Her body was fresh and lovely and had a faint smell of wisteria, and when he leaned over and kissed her breasts, the nipples turned harder. She kept her eyes closed, revealing only by a deep blush that she was still conscious. He let his hands wander over her, down to the white flesh of her thighs, which parted as he touched them.
Then he brushed her pubic area briefly. She shivered as his fingers touched there, coming by her crotch on the way up to that flat belly where he let his cheek rest. From a few inches away he could smell the lust there, the liquid that gathered in the lips of her cunt. He kissed her everywhere, coming within an inch of her cunt, where he could see the cream pearling on the lips. When his finger finally touched, then entered them, she shuddered and gasped from the intensity of the feeling.
Finally he could stand it no longer. Moving quietly, as slowly as he could, he got down to where he could get between her legs. She lay there quietly, cooperating even when he brought her legs apart and ran his hand up to the slick patch of skin between them. When he lay down on her, with one hand guiding his cock up to her cunt, she didn't resist at all, but remained quiet, even a bit nervous.
When his cock slipped by the slick lips, missing the hole, she reached down, blushing furiously, and guided his cock herself. Then she left her hand there, cradling his cock, feeling the way it jerked and thrust up into her body, while her cunt, tight and inexperienced, gave little rhythmic surges, as if protesting. Mike came twice in a few minutes, helpless to stop himself. Later, when he was kissing her gently and fucking rhythmically, slowly, he felt her tighten suddenly. Her eyes came open and she looked startled.
"What?""
"It's okay," he said. "Just let it happen."
Then her breath was short as he thrust hard into her and he felt her cunt convulsing while her hands gripped him tightly.
"Oh," she said when it was over. "I"I didn't know about that, that anything could be so good." Suddenly she realized that he was staring at her, unable to resist her youthful beauty, her loveliness. She blushed again and turned away.
Mike moved to her and kissed her on the neck. "Was it really good?" he asked.
She nodded. "I guess I had some pretty bad ideas about what it was like, after all that with..."
"I know," he said. "But that's all over now. You're starting fresh, remember?"
"I know," she said, and, turning to him, kissed him for a long time.
