Lyle was an antique dealer and he lived a normal and healthy life until he was given an erotic African statue. The statue was given to him by Debra Miller, who had once been his mistress. She had left her husband for Lyle, but after a serious break in their relationship she had gone back to her husband.
When she was back with her husband she sent Lyle the statue. The statue was said to be cursed, and to make men mad with passion. At first she thought that it was only some superstition, but on the chance that there might be some truth, she gave the thing to Lyle.
Lyle was soon entranced by the beauty of the sculpture, it became an obsession with him. He began to feel as if he were possessed by the thing. He could not bear to live without it. The existence of the statue seemed to be somehow linked to his own existence.
One day that sculpture was sold to a beautiful young woman, reluctantly, but for some strange reason, he could not resist her. Only after the statue had been taken away, did he fully realize his dependency upon it.
He needed the object and so he went to her house and reclaimed it. After that incident, his life became more hectic. He was driven by some mad passion, something that seemed to be foreign to his being.
Lyle began to use the statue to attract other beautiful women, to possess them and to seduce them. It was a simple task for him to enchant them with the African sculpture.
Ben, Debra's husband, realized the power that the thing had over Ben, and to avenge himself for the loss of his wife, for that time when she had been taken from him, he stole the thing which meant so much for Lyle.
Lyle suffered tremendously from the loss and he began to plan a way- to get it back. His plan was devious and cruel, but he had to have the sculpture back, because it possessed his very being.
CHAPTER ONE
I'd opened up late that morning.
The short, unnatural sleep of my nights was leaving me weaker and weaker until if was all I could do to rise before noon and go to the curio shop in which I earned my living. On this day I did something I had not done before: I brought the statue with me. From the start, I knew it was a mistake, knew that the presence of the statue in the shop with me all day long could serve only to draw me further under its spell. Still I could not resist the temptation, could not leave it behind, any more than a man can leave his arm or his leg or his soul behind him.
I took it and set it in the center of a large display case, where I could watch the sunlight play on its sensual surface throughout the day. I sat down behind my counter and stared at it.
Immediately, my flesh rose to life and swelled against the rough fabric of my trousers until I could feel pain. For a moment, I panicked, fearing that I would yield to the need for release, right then and there. I took a deep breath and looked down.
It was still all right. My clothing was dry. But I knew I must be careful.
I sighed with happiness.
The presence of the statue filled my shop with a wet warmth, like the feel of a woman's lips on my hard organ.
The bell above the door tinkled, I looked around quickly to see who would be my first customer of the day. My breath caught in my throat and I could feel the blood pounding in my temples.
She was a beautiful woman, statuesque, like an Amazon queen. She was tall, almost six feet tall, dressed in a blue ensemble of sweater and skirt that hugged her proud frame and concealed nothing.
Indeed, there was nothing that this woman would want to hide. Her body was perfect.
Not an extra ounce of flesh, except, perhaps, in her mammoth breasts which gave her a top-heavy look and was all the more arousing. She wore high spike heels and her legs were encased in patterned, black nylons that rustled deliciously as she walked.
I studied her as she moved about the shop, examining each piece with what must have been the eye of an expert. She was haughty and proud, disdaining even to acknowledge my presence until she had made her choice from among the hundreds of objects d'art lining the walls and covering the floor. Her hips and buttocks flowed liquidly beneath her skirt, winking at me, whispering invitingly. I closed my eyes to momentarily erase the image. I could feel my hard member beginning to throb again, dangerously.
"I'll take this one." Her voice was husky and low, the kind of voice that was made for bedroom talk, for whispering velvetized obscenities.
I imagined her in my arms whispering, "Take me, Lyle, shove it in further. Don't stop now! Rip me apart! That's it! Love me!"
"Did you hear me?"
"What?" In the heat of my imagined conquest, I had momentarily lost contact with reality. Suddenly I realized that I was soft and that I had spent in my trousers.
T pulled my chair closer to the counter and tried to ignore the damp discomfort in my groin. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear what you said, Ma'am."
Her eyes flashed and she made a disgusted sound deep in her throat. "I said, I'll take this one. How much is it?"
A giant hand had suddenly reached through my flesh and into my stomach and was yanking at my guts, tearing them, wrenching my spine. The object she held before my eyes was the statue! Black and glistening in the light of day, the figures seemed to move, even within her grasp and I wondered why she didn't cry out. But she simply stood there, holding my life in her hands.
"Do you feel quite all right?" she said irritably. "I want to know how much this object is. I'd like to buy it."
Her eyes were a deep blue, hard agates swimming in a sea of white alabaster flesh, flawlessly smooth, almost translucent, like fine china. Her lips were full and seemed drawn together in a perpetual pout. I could not see her teeth for in fact she was quite angry and unsmiling. Nonetheless, I knew they would be white and even, the kind of teeth that a man loves to feel in his neck or belly while making love.
I drew in my breath and answered with a good deal more confidence than I felt.
"I'm sorry, but that particular statue is not for sale."
"What do you mean, it's not for sale? You're in business to sell things, aren't you?" She had drawn herself up to her full height and was glowering down at me, like some imperious goddess. Her breasts quivered beneath the sweater. I longed, at that moment, for her to suddenly produce a whip and lash me across the face and chest with it. She was the kind of woman I would have given anything for, anything I owned, to sink my mouth into her hot, wet sex. This passion, however, was soon released by an even more urgent emotion: fear. The woman wanted to buy and take away my statue, the statue without which I did not think I could live.
"What I meant was... " I could feel my voice cracking. I took a deep breath and started again. "What I meant was that piece is part of my own private collection. I have it here for display purposes only. Didn't you see the sign?"' Her eyes narrowed and I felt seared before their gaze. "No," she said quietly. "I didn't see it because there isn't any sign."
I made a half-motion of getting up, as if to look over on the display case. I knew I must not rise all the way, but even so, a portion of my stained clothing must have caught her eye for she gasped softly, quickly, almost as with passion and I wondered if the sight of my love fluid had aroused her.
I sat down quickly. I knew I had to devote all my attention to the problem of keeping my statue.
"My assistant must have removed it," I said weakly, immediately thinking of using Ricky as my excuse. "He is extremely forgetful of such things. I'm terribly sorry for any inconvenience or misunderstanding."
"I don't think there ever was any sign."
There was cruelty in her eyes now, an unmasked contempt for me or any other man. It aroused me, and, at the same time, made me realize with a sinking sensation that now it would he- almost impossible for me to keep my statue. The woman exerted a sense of authority that was tremendously strong exerted a sense of authority that was tremendously strong I whispered, like a drowning man gasping for breath. "I can't let it go. It's part of my own collection. It's irreplaceable."
"How much is it?" Her voice was unwavering.
"Five thousand dollars," I said, without thinking, hoping that the woman might find this an impossible sum.
She clucked her tongue and, without a moment's hesitation, reached into her purse and drew out her checkbook. I realized now that she knew of my attachment to the statue and was willing to pay any price to see me suffer.
Surely, I thought, this woman must suffer a sickness as deep as my own. But this knowledge was of no help to me. I watched in horrified fascination as she uncapped her pen, wrote out a check for the exact sum and signed her name. I peered at the signature through half-closed lids. Lucille Mason.
I had to make one last effort. For some reason, a reason that I could not define but felt, nevertheless to be real, I knew that the loss of the statue would destroy me.
"I'm sorry," I said with as much force as I could bring into my trembling voice, "the statue is not for sale. I simply will not sell it. You can't make me!"
Immediately I was sorry I had spoken in that way. It made me sound like a child and served only to confirm the woman's suspicion that she had complete control over me.
I continued anyway, even knowing that it was a lost cause.
"You can have any other piece in the shop but this one. I'll even give you a discount. I'll give you anything you ask, but you cannot have that statue." I met her eyes. "You cannot have the statue!" I heard myself pleading.
For one terrible moment I thought she was going to laugh at one. She didn't, but the tone of her voice was almost as bad. She pushed the check across to me and tucked the statue protectively under her arm.
"This is a store, isn't it? Serving the public?"
"Yes, but-"
"Well, let me tell you something. You have certain obligations to your customers. If you have things out on the shelves, supposedly for sale, then you must sell them. Otherwise, it's false advertising and bad business practice."
She held me spellbound with her gaze. I could not break away, even if I'd wanted to. The pools of her eyes were bottomless and cold. It was like looking into the fangs of a cobra.
I did not think she was telling the truth about false advertising and all of that, but it didn't make any difference. The strength of her will was more than a match for my own.
"I happen to have many friends in high places," she continued. "I also have many friends in the police department. It's just possible that you could be charged with bad business practices and closed up. That is, if you decided to make an issue over this sale."
I believed that she could do it. I did not know who she was or what she did, but it was obvious that she was a very strong person and undoubtedly had influence with powerful people. If I made trouble, it was possible I could lose my store as well as the statue. I could not let that happen.
There was only one thing left for me to do. So I begged. "Please," I murmured. "Please, don't take my statue."
She laughed, a long, hollow, vicious laugh that made her breasts rise and fall in jerking, flowing, undulations of delectable flesh, mocking me. There was a depth of cruelty in this woman unlike any I had ever known. It made me desire her and the statue even more. I was completely in her power.
"Let me tell you something before I leave with your precious statue," she said, letting her laughter die. "I can understand why you're so attracted to it. I felt the same thing the moment I walked in the shop. At first I didn't particularly care for it. It seemed almost sinister. But the longer I stayed in the shop, the stronger its attraction became until, finally, I could think of nothing else. Isn't that strange? Anyway, I thought you would like to know something about your precious statue before I take it away from you forever. It does have a most unusual and powerful appeal."
She hesitated for just a moment, holding the statue up for me to see. Then, she turned and walked from the shop.
I stared at her for many long moments, unable to move. Tears rimmed the edges of my eyelids but did not fall. My condition was beyond grief.
Lucille Mason had, in effect, stolen my life and I could feel needles of pain spreading up from my groin into my belly. With a shaking hand I slid the five-thousand-dollar check into a drawer and went to close up the shop.
I knew I could dc no more business that day.
CHAPTER TWO
For two days I could not eat or sleep. Desire for the statue was like a monstrous worm gnawing at my innards, sucking away my life.
I could not work. People who came into my shop would find me staring at them dully, hardly aware of their presence or of the fact that they wished to purchase something. I could tell they were there but it was as though I were a ghost moving among them. Some people stole things, others simply put pieces back onto the shelves when they saw I could not help them. Once a policeman walked slowly by, peering in at me. But he did not come in.
On the night of the second day I knew what I had to do. With trembling fingers, I reached into the drawer where I had placed the check. It was as I had hoped, the woman's address was printed plainly across the top of the paper.
Lucille Mason
1722 Hianus Avenue
New York, New York
The Heights. I knew where it was. Now, at last, I could feel life returning to my body and hope to my soul. Already my flesh was beginning to stir in anticipation of the return of the statue. I had no idea what I would do to obtain it, certainly her will was still much stronger than my own. Nevertheless, I knew I must try. I could not live without the statue.
I quickly closed up the shop and stepped out into the night. A soft rain was beginning to fall.
* * *
Lucille Mason's house was in an old section of the Heights, set far back on a hill, overlooking some of the new developments and several older, decaying houses. Hers was an old house, mansion really, with what looked like several dozen rooms, but it was different from the others. Like its owner, the house seemed to give off an aura of authority, even strangely, of sexuality. I wondered vaguely as I crept up the hill, if a man could truly fall in love with a house.
There was no light coming from any of the windows and my heart began to pump faster. It was beginning to look as if it might be easier than I figured. I would simply break into the building, steal the statue, and be gone. Never again would I bring the piece down into the shop. I would keep it hidden away in my bedroom for as long as I lived.
Already, I felt happy and light-hearted. Although I knew it would probably be a silly gesture, I went to the front door anyway. It was just possible, I thought, that Lucille Mason had left it unlocked.
I tried the knob. It turned easily. So far, so good, I thought. I pulled at the door. It swung wide and I found myself suddenly assailed by light and sound. There were at least a hundred people inside the living room! My body moved uselessly, like some beached whale.
"What... "
"Hey, man! Get in here and close the door. You're letting the bugs in."
There were howls of laughter from the others, as if someone had just uttered an hilarious joke. At the same time, the man who had spoken grabbed my arm and pulled me into the living room, slamming the door behind me.
"Welcome to the party," the man said. "You're late."
I was still dumbfounded. It took a few minutes before I noticed that the man who was speaking to me was wearing a most unusual costume: black leotards which fitted his slim body perfectly. His face was also encased in a black wool ski mask with holes cut out for his eyes, nose and mouth. Everything was covered with the exception of his manhood which stood erect and at attention, throbbing and red, extended from a hole in the leotard cut specially for that purpose. The material of the leotard was stained and stiffened around that section.
He did not seem to mind my staring. He stood very still for a few minutes, then wagged his hips (an action which made his member leap with life), giggled and stepped back into the crowd.
I looked around me. The air was thick with the heavy sweet smell of marijuana and already my head was beginning to feel light and detached from my body.
There were thick, heavy drapes covering all the windows, which explained why I had seen no light from the outside. Here, inside, it was obvious that a party was in full swing, and the guests seemed to pay no attention to me. I decided to take a look around. By this time, my head was spinning crazily, and it was all I could do to keep my mind on the statue.
It was indeed a party, but a party unlike any I had ever seen before. All of the guests were in various stages of undress and many were garbed in weird and outlandish costumes. It was only after a few minutes that I realized I had accidentally stumbled onto an orgy involving scores of men and women whose tastes in sex were, to say the least, unusual. It was fitting that I should be here, I thought, for I was possessed by a statue, a thing of stone.
In one corner was a man with a mask. His hair had been dyed to make him look older than he was, just as his clothes were purposely torn to make them look shabby. It took me a moment to realize that he was intentionally playing the part of an old man, sidling up to a very young girl who he had trapped on a sofa in the corner.
The girl was quite beautiful, her skin and features glowing with the freshness of the very young. She was dressed appropriately for the part in a white, frilly dress with red ruffles. She had a gigantic bow in her hair, white stockings and dainty, white pumps on her feet. She must have been nineteen or twenty, but she looked, for all the world, no older than seven or eight.
To complete the picture, the girl was intently mouthing a large, all-day sucker, moving her lips and tongue up and down on the red candy surface in a manner which was obviously meant to arouse the man who watched. It was most successful.
I watched in fascination as the man bid her stand up on the sofa. The girl did so, then spread her legs as the man leaned over and gazed up, under her dress.
I could feel myself beginning to harden dangerously. A woman came past and, seeing my telltale bulge, reached out and stroked me. I ignored her. My attention was riveted on the man and girl in the corner.
Now the man had his hand on her leg and was stroking it and kissing it. Slowly, the hand went up, lifting the white ruffles to reveal white garters, pale and provocative against the pink flesh.
The girl began to unsnap the garters as the man pressed his lips against the warm flesh. Inch by inch, his mouth crept up her thighs until finally it was implanted in the sweet, wet furrow at the center of her body. The girl gave a little moan and spread her legs further, leaning against the wall for support, as she began to press down upon his mouth.
At the same time she had unbuttoned the top of the dress and pulled it down around her waist. She wore .no bra. Her breasts were small but firm, really - no. more than pink buds resembling those of a very young girl.
The man's hand was groping its way up her body. The girl grasped it in her own and placed it full upon one of the swelling points of flesh. He began to squeeze, taking the nipple between his fingers and pulling it back and forth. In the next instant both man and girl moaned loudly, and their bodies jerked back and forth, then relaxed. The girl sank down on top of the man and both fell over, exhausted, on the sofa.
I turned to go. Already the man was helping the girl to dress, presumably so that he could start all over again.
I felt a huge hand on my arm. The fingers were very strong, biting into my flesh. Fear gripped every muscle in my body. At last, I was caught. I was a stranger. I wondered if they would kill me. I turned, trembling, to look up into a man's face. He was a huge man, dressed in the costume of an executioner. Like the man who had let me into the house, there was a hole slit in the center of the costume to allow his huge organ to hang free.
An executioner, I thought. Surely he will murder me, or lash me to death with that huge dong of his (it was the largest I had ever see).
He did neither. Instead, he stepped back, bent over and bowed low.
"Sir," the man said in an extremely high-pitched voice, "I'm afraid you didn't pay."
I fumbled in my pocket. "Uh, how much?"
He looked at me suspiciously for a moment, then apparently decided that it was the narcotic fumes that had caused me to forget.
"Twenty dollars," the man answered, in the same clear, bell-like tones.
He reminded me of an opera singer. I pulled a roll of bills from my pocket, counted out twenty and handed them to him. He very meticulously recounted them, rolled them in a neat little bundle and then crammed them down into his crotch.
"Thank you," he said, again leaning forward to bow. "Perhaps we'll see each other later."
I nodded my head as he moved away. Already my mind was back to the problem of retrieving the statue. I was still a stranger, the next time I might be caught and there was no telling what they would do to me in this place.
There was no time to lose. I stepped over an entangled couple and walked into an adjoining room. I closed the door, and just as quickly turned around and made to leave.
It was too late. A woman, for I knew it must be a woman despite her unearthly costume, had jumped between me and the door and was already reaching out with fingers tipped with small, razor-sharp knives. She emitted a series of low, growling sounds from somewhere deep in her throat, like a large cat, a tiger about to spring.
I jumped back, just as a lash popped in the air beside my ear. I grabbed at the place in my side where she had grazed me with her "claw" and huddled against the wall. What I saw was enough to take the breath from me, like the blow of a fist to the stomach.
There were three "beasts" in the room, three beautiful women stripped to the waist and painted to resemble giant cats of the jungle. Each woman had claws like the first and they waved them in the air, brandishing them. On each five sharp little pieces of death.
The center of their attention was a man in the middle of the floor. He stood, bare-chested in tight breeches, a chair in one hand and a whip in the other. Not one of the four seemed to pay any attention to me. Still I crouched down and tried to stay out of reach of the women's claws and the fiery touch of the lash.
One of the women had circled behind the "trainer." I watched in horror as she growled and leaped at his exposed back. In a flash he had turned and flicked his wrist. The whip whistled through the air and then popped. A long red welt appeared on the woman's right breast, just above the nipple. She yelped like a hurt animal and jumped back, nursing her wound.
The man was jumping up and down now, brandishing his whip. The women were growing louder, clawing at the air as they circled him, apparently waiting for an opportunity to close in on him.
It was obvious that all four people were in an extremely intense state of arousal. The man's crotch was swollen and he would occasionally take the butt of his whip and press it against the stiffened member, rubbing it back and forth. The legs of all three women were moist with what looked like little more than perspiration. It seemed they were all experiencing climax, even as they circled their "trainer."
The whip barked again and a welt opened up over one woman's shoulder and began to bleed. The flow of moisture from between her legs increased, but the second girl had gotten behind the man now and her steel claws whispered in the air as she slashed across her back. The man screamed, arched his back and fell to his knees. At the same time he tried to keep the chair and whip before him, but it was no use.
Seeing that their victim was down, all three women now leaped in for the "kill," their steel claws flying through the air. I watched in horror as they scratched back and forth on his flesh, opening huge gashes which bled freely down to the floor. They were screaming now in voices of the jungle, animal noises which blended with the man's screams of pain and agony.
One woman lifted a huge claw and pointed it at the man's throbbing jugular. I closed my eyes, unable to bear the sight of the death thrust.
Nothing happened. There was no death cry and the screaming had stopped. I slowly opened my eyes.
The man was still writhing on the floor, but now he writhed in pleasure. The women were all over him, kissing and licking at his body, pulling off his tight breeches and fondling his swollen flesh. They were purring like contented cats.
I watched as one of them bent down to take the trembling organ full into her mouth. The man groaned in ecstasy and reached one hand up toward another "cat" who had spread her legs conveniently. I gaped in disbelief as the whole hand disappeared into the soft downy receptacle. The girl cried out, then grasped his arm by the elbow and pushed, as if to drive him in even deeper.
The third woman had now straddled his head with her legs and I could see the red tip of his tongue darting and lapping at the exposed entrance to her womanhood. She groaned, then came down fully on top of him, burying his mouth, tongue and lips in her glistening cleft. She cried out in ecstasy and began lunging back and forth.
There were the four of them, bucking and jerking, crying out in delicious pain of desire, their bodies welded together in sexual combination.
It was more than I could endure. I ripped my fly open, almost tearing the fabric in the process, and staggered across the room, my pulsing member in my hand. I could feel the sperm bubbling and foaming deep in my flesh as I planted myself to one side of the woman who now had the man's hand and wrist inserted within her.
She turned toward me and, seeing my stiff member right before her eyes, let out a little cry, grabbed my buttocks and pulled me into her.
I could feel my loins on fire. I gave three little jerks of my hips and then exploded full in her mouth. She moaned, swallowed once or twice, then reached up and grabbed my privates, squeezing them hard. I erupted again with a fresh, strong river of passion that I had not known was in me.
I was spent. Still it was not enough for her. Her lips were like huge section cups and it felt as though she was drawing all the life out of me. I tried to pull away but she held me fast. Her mouth was moving back and forth as her hand clutched my flesh even harder. I cried out in pain. It seemed as though she were literally going to devour me.
I reached down and, with the last ounce of strength, managed to pry her hand loose from my body. Then I leaped backward. My member came loose from her mouth with a grotesque popping sound, like the cork escaping from a bottle of champagne.
I tensed, half-expecting her to come after me with her claws. But already her attention was centered back on the fist within her and she was crying and moaning, trying to drive the man's arm even deeper into her hiding place.
I put my tender flesh back into my pants and slipped out the door. I still had to find my statue. These pleasures, I knew, could not last. My life and sexuality were wrapped up in that statue. Without it, I would shrivel up and become impotent. Without it, I knew that I would never again he a man.
* * *
All of the people in the living room had now slipped down onto the floor and were busy playing with and mouthing one another's breasts and genitals. There were no couples as such, but just one mass body filled with dozens of arms, legs, breasts, lips, thighs, buttocks, fingers, all quivering in insane desire, all wet and driven by insatiable passion. A hand reached out and grabbed my ankle as I passed through the mass body. But I knew I had not time. I wrenched myself loose and made for the stairs.
Once on the stairs, I hurried up, conscious of the way the thick pile of the rug drank in my feet and caressed the flesh on my ankles. It occurred to me that everything about this place was designed to stimulate the senses, even the carpets on the stairs and floors. It was fantastic, I thought, the way Lucille Mason had designed this place of erotic pleasure. It was no wonder I felt the emanations of power from her personality. This was her world and she was queen of it. The very air crackled with the electricity of her presence.
But where was she? And where was my statue?
I reached the second floor landing and hesitated. It was quiet up there. At least seven doors lined the hallway but there was no sound coming from behind any of them. Trembling with fear at what I might find, I opened the first door and stared, open-mouthed.
The entire floor was covered with huge, soft mattresses. In the center of the room sat a man dressed as a clown. Huge tears rolled down his cheeks, staining the paint he had used as makeup. On either side of him was a woman, completely naked. Each woman had huge, pendulous breasts which stood out from her body like giant melons. They were altogether beautiful and I could feel my desire beginning to stir once again.
At first I could not make out what they were trying to do. Then I realized that it was their purpose to make the clown laugh. They were doing this by manipulating the flesh of their breasts in such a manner as to make the mountainous swells ripple and flutter in different directions, much like a belly dancer.
First one woman, then the other, would crawl over in front of the clown, straighten up on her knees and begin a series of gyrations that would make her flesh dance and jitter back and forth. Nipples darted back and forth on fleshy hills like ping-pong balls caught in a championship match.
The clown smiled, reached out and cupped one breast in his hand. His other hand had slipped down into his pants.
The other girl now came over beside the first and began a series of motions, imitating the first. Four breasts whirled in the air, flapping up and down, nipples dancing.
The clown was laughing, jumping up and down as his hands flew from one girl to the next. In the meantime, one of the girls had put her own hand down into the clown's pants and was massaging him.
The clown giggled with ecstasy, then broke away and began doing a series of cartwheels and somersaults back and forth across the length of the room. The girls watched for a moment, then leaped into the same action.
Back and forth their bodies tumbled, flesh moving and slapping against the other's flesh. Above it all rose the shrill sound of the clown's hysterical laughter.
I was curious as to how much longer they could keep it up and also curious as to what would happen next. But I dared not wait around to find out. I stepped back out into the hall and closed the door, leaving the clown and his women to their sexual gymnastics.
There were still other rooms to explore but I decided against this, not only because the memory of my narrow escape from the "cat women" was fresh in my mind, but because I suspected that Lucille Mason would be in one of these places. She was the mistress of this establishment and it was extremely doubtful that she would be mingling in such a way with her paying customers.
No, she was somewhere else in the house and when I found her I would find my statue. I was sure of that. I walked on.
I suddenly stopped and caught my breath. I felt the presence of another man and it had startled me. Then I looked around and saw it was only a small man, sitting on a chair, staring down through a glass transom at the orgy in the living room below. I asked him how much he had paid for his seat, but he seemed unwilling or unable to answer my questions and so I went on up the third and last flight of stairs.
There was a steel door at the top of these stairs and I feared it would be locked I needn't have worried. I pushed on it and it opened, quickly and silently, as if moving on oiled hinges. I stepped into an abyss of total darkness. The door, as though with a life of its own, slammed shut behind me. I was alone and terrified.
There was a sudden crackle of electricity and I was bathed in a flood of harsh, white light that ripped into my eyes and blinded me. There came a whishing sound through the air, a crack of a whip and I felt a searing pain across my cheek. I put my hand to my face and it came away wet.
Another whish, crack, and my shirt dangled in shreds. I flung my arms around my body and doubled up for protection. My body was afire with pain, yet I found it almost pleasant. I waited for the next blow of the lash, fearing it, and yet wanting it. It never came.
My eyes were slowly becoming accustomed to the light. I raised my head and looked around me.
I was in the center of a torture chamber, all of stainless steel from floor to ceiling, ultra-modern. There were all manner of bizarre and disturbing objects about the room, from a gleaming rack to handcuffs imbedded in the wall.
Lucille Mason stood at one end of the room. Her whip trailed from her and coiled on the floor like a trained snake, ready to leap out to do her bidding. Her face was frozen in a cruel smile.
She was clothed in black leather from head to toe. Even her eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses. Metal studs on her clothing shimmered and glowed in the fluorescent light. Behind her, set on a padded cushion on a makeshift altar, was the statue.
"I wondered when you'd get here," she said, calmly, "I've been waiting for you."
My mind was slowly emerging from its whirlpool of pain. Now that I was here-now that I'd found Lucille Mason and the statue, I did not have the slightest idea of what I was going to do.
"You knew I would come?"
"Of course. You wanted your statue, didn't you? I could tell by the look in your eyes that you couldn't bear to part with it. Why do you suppose I insisted on taking it." She laughed cruelly.
"But it affects you the same way," I said, hoping that, at last, I might uncover the secret of the stone. "Look, you've made an altar for it."
"Yes." Her voice was quiet, almost as if she were not sure herself why she had enshrined the piece of sculpture. She began to walk around me, trailing the whip after her. "But even without the statue, you would have come," she said, her voice ringing with certainty. "Most men have only to lay eyes on me and they are trapped. They must come to see me. It rarely happens any other way."
"You are beautiful," I said, feeling stupid. She had taken my statue, and still I could feel my desire for her building in me, like a stoppered volcano.
"I am, without a doubt, the most desirable woman in the world."
"But unattainable," I said. "Those men and women downstairs... "
"All my customers," Lucille Mason said proudly. "At one time or another they all wanted me; men and women. They were lured to this place and were ensnared by their own passions. Now they come each evening, or as often as they are able, to corrupt and defile one another on my floors and couches. They lead otherwise normal lives but they live for their evenings here in my house. I am destroying their lives and they pay me handsomely for it."
"But they make love to one another."
"While thinking of me, all of them! The vision of me is what releases their most basic animal instincts. They would never be able to do the things they do without the thought to goad them on."
"But they can never have you."
"No," she said, her voice taking on a strange tone. "That is the pity of it. They can never have me."
She was still walking about the room, circling me... but the circle was growing smaller and smaller and I felt like some helpless insect trapped in the unbreakable web of a deadly spider. I wondered what would happen when she finally closed in.
Her high heels clicked on the steel floor and it was as if I could feel their sound in my bones, arousing me to undreamed-of heights of passion. Her full nipples stood out, even in her leather costume. I was seized with a sudden, almost overwhelming urge to take one of them in my mouth, leather and all, and suck it into my belly.
"Now that you're here," she said, "what will we do with you? Would you like to be whipped? Perhaps you would like to be sealed inside the Iron Maiden. I'm told the steel spikes are delightful against the flesh."
I was staring at the statue. In this strange light the figures once again seemed to be moving, driving their bodies into one another, loving the life from one another. And they were laughing at me; even in the throes of their eternal lovemaking, they were conscious of my presence and were mocking me for the peace of mind I could never have.
"Perhaps," Lucille Mason continued, "you would like me to lash between your thighs. Would you like that? Of course you would never be of much use again, but those moments of pleasure might be worth the sacrifice.
"I could lay you out on my steel bed. You'd enjoy that. The steel spikes are dull; they sink into you very slowly as I put my weight down on you. It's a wonderful way to go. You'll scream, but it will be with unbearable ecstasy."
"I must have my statue back. Please. It is my life. I don't know why, but I cannot live without it."
"Your statue? You want your statue back?" She suddenly broke into high-pitched squeals of laughter that rolled and battered against my aching skull. She was mocking me, like my statue. And I was helpless before her.
"I'll give you anything. Anything you ask!"
She looked at me, her eyes brimming with hatred. "You fool. I already have everything! I have your soul. You're mine now. You'll be coming back here, night after night, begging me for the statue. But I won't give it to you. I will make you into an animal to do my bidding. Your life is no longer your own. You are mine. What else can you give me?"
I could feel the tears welling in my eyes but I was powerless to stem the flow. "I don't understand," I said. "I don't understand this torture." I thought back to a time when I had been happy and content. With Debra.
"You fool!" She was very close now. She flicked her wrist and the whip snaked out and came to rest over the flesh on my back.
"Everyone has his statue, didn't you know? You are stupid. You're no different from anyone else at all, Lyle... just a bit weaker. That's why I own your soul now. I have bought it with the statue.
"An animal. That's what I will make of you. You'll be like those people downstairs, coupling again and again until their very life flows out through their bruised and battered flesh. You're lost. There is no salvation."
I was overcome with a panic that tore up through my body and scraped along my nerves. Not only was I to be this woman's prisoner, I was to lose the statue forever. For the rest of my days, the statue would be within my reach, yet I could never own it, never even touch it!
My next action was one of total desperation. I had to inflict pain on the person who had hurt me so.
Lucille Mason was standing over me now. I reached out and grasped her ankle, pulling it in toward me. I pulled the leather up, exposing her leg, and then sank my teeth into the soft flesh above her heel.
She screamed and writhed but I clung to her with a strength I had not known I possessed, forcing my teeth deeper and deeper, feeling the sweet rich blood flow into my mouth. My manhood was swollen to bursting and I felt waves of pleasure flowing through me, maddening me to the point of insanity.
"The pain! Oh, the pain!" Lucille Mason was screaming now. "Don't stop, Lyle! Don't stop! Hurt me!"
She was enjoying it! I could hardly believe my ears. She was still struggling and writhing, but now it was with undisguised pleasure. Her hand was on my head clawing at my hair and scalp. She had slipped down to the floor beside me and I could feel her breath hot on my ears and neck. I buried my teeth even deeper, gnawing back and forth. She screamed louder than ever and continued to claw at my hair.
"The rest of me!" she cried. "Do it to the rest of me!"
I released her ankle from my teeth. I looked at the wound I had made. I knew it would heal, but I wondered how on earth she could stand such pain. She could not only stand it, she was pleading for more!
She rolled over on her back and slithered out of her leather breeches. Her flesh was white and crystalline in the harsh light. The mound at the base of her belly was dense and black, and an oasis of pleasure set in the white sea of her strong delicious thighs.
Seeing my interest, she leaned back and spread those thighs so that I could see far up into her wet, glistening chasm. The flesh inside moved with passion. The lips of her sex twitched with anticipation. I moved toward her, my mouth watering.
"Not yet," she moaned. "Not yet. You must hurt me more!"
She had peeled off her leather top and her huge, passion-swollen breasts flowed down over her body like mounds of solidified cream. The nipples were rock-hard on their crests, pointing at me, throbbing with expectation. She cupped her breasts in her hands and held them out to me so that only the tips were visible, like two red eyes, staring sightlessly.
"Bite them, darling," she cried. "Bite them!"
I sank down on her hot flesh and dug my teeth into the soft swell of her breasts, careful lest I break through the skin. It was no use. She reached up and clamped my jaws down with her hands. I could taste blood.
She was bucking now like a horse, screaming and crying with agony, and yet unwilling to have me stop the tortures which she obviously found so delicious.
"Never stop, Lyle! Never stop! Hurt me as much as you can!"
I had already spent myself twice, but it seemed to make no difference. No sooner had I exploded and begun to sag than I was once again rock-hard, driven by flaming passion. I wondered, in the back of my mind, if a man could die of too much loving. At that moment I did not care. I wanted only to hurt her as she wanted to be hurt.
I moved my mouth down over her body, lingering at the belly to sink my teeth deep into her flesh. She screamed one more time, then took her breasts in both hands and began to beat the sides of my face with them. The hard nipples struck at my flesh, almost tearing it. The two red points were rough and sharp like little knives. I would have remained there, being beaten by her breasts forever, but she pushed me further down.
I was at the crest of her hairy mound, licking and pulling at her with my tongue and teeth. She had brought her legs up over my head now and was squeezing, threatening to crush my skull if I didn't go on as she desired. I bend further down and pressed my mouth into her moist cavern. Suddenly my mouth was filled with fluid and I thought she had finished.
"No, Lyle! Don't come up! Don't stop!"
I spit out the juices of her love and buried my mouth again, feeling with my tongue for the hard nob of flesh. At last I had it. Burrowing my way even deeper, I took it between my lips and pressed hard.
"That's it, Lyle! Bite it!"
I bit the tiny organ and once again I felt Lucille's desire overflow. It was more than I could take. Once again I could feel myself explode. And once again, as before, I swelled up, even harder than the last time.
"Now... in me, Lyle! I leaped up to my knees, tearing at my clothing until I was naked. I hovered over her for just a moment while her legs, wide-spread, dangled in the air. She was open, ready and wet. I lunged forward, burying myself in her body.
Never had I been so huge! Never had my lust inflamed me to the point where my manhood was a huge, dripping battering ram, insatiable in its need to grind and tear at the flesh surrounding it. I thrust my member into her and she groaned. I could feel it touch the back of her womb and she winced, and just as suddenly thrust herself up at me.
For all I knew, I was shredding her insides, but it did not seem to matter; she demanded more and more and I was willing to oblige. I was filled with superhuman strength and I pistoned my hips faster and faster, until the world began to spin around me.
In the dark corners of my brain, I could hear the sculpted figures laughing... but now they were laughing with me and not at me. I was sharing the depths of their passion, their eternal need. I could hear jungle drums pounding in my ears. I was living out the curse of a ten thousand year old legend, and I was loving it.
"Deeper, Lyle! Make it go deeper!"
As if in response to her command, I felt my flesh swell even larger. She screamed. I burst with the force of an H-bomb, flooding the insides of her.
"Stay! Stay! Stay in me!"
I collapsed onto her, lungs aching. I gasped for breath. Her body was heaving under me, struggling for life-giving oxygen. I could fee) the contractions of her sex around me as she spent again and again.
I was completely drained, shriveling inside her. The love fluid flowed freely from our bodies and the scent of our passions lingered in my nostrils.
At last my rod came out of her body of its own accord. I rolled over on the floor with a loud groan. The steel was deliciously cool along my spine.
So much had happened; I did not know what to expect next. I could hear her hoarse breathing next to me. Just to one side of me, I could see the reflection of the statue. They were definitely moving now, the stone man and the stone woman, loving each other as they had done for countless centuries.
I closed my eyes, thinking I would sleep. That was all I wanted. To sleep for the centuries that the figures in stone had been making love. I would sleep, sleep forever.
I felt the sudden pain in the area around my navel. I screamed and hunched upward, only to find Lucille Mason's head in my arms. She was on her knees, sinking her teeth into my flesh.
I could hardly believe it! My battle-scarred weapon, swollen and torn and much used, was once again rising up to new heights of blood-gorged readiness. I held her head in my hands and murmured obscenities to her through parched lips.
"Do it, Lucille! Do it! Don't stop! Not ever!"
Her mouth left my flesh and, for a moment, I feared that I had somehow cooled her passion. But no! I had served merely to fire it. She was on her hands and knees now, hovering above me, swinging her breasts at my face.
I stared upward at the mounds of silk that were dangling before my eyes, flapping and flopping with lewd sounds of flesh beating against flesh.
"Suck them!" she cried. "Bite them! Kiss them!"
I reached up and took the hard nipples into my mouth, drawing them down toward me, pulling on them with all my might. She cried out with ecstatic agony, unable to contain herself.
"Harder! Harder!"
I tongued the turgid caps. She whimpered softly, reached down and grabbed between my thighs, jerking me back and forth. I released the mounds of flesh from between my lips and began to slap her breasts softly. The sounds of my hand slapping against the flesh echoed in the room, mingling with the laughter of the stone figures. The flesh was thick and heavy against my palms.
"Down!" I cried. "Get your head down there!"
She obeyed me. I had become the master! Quickly yet with the skill of an expert, she hunched her back and began the journey toward my thighs, kissing and lapping along my chest and stomach.
At last her lips were around me. She lingered a moment, flicking her tongue across the sensitive tip, then thrust her mouth down, full force, until I was buried in her.
"More!"
She worked as though driven by the fear of hell, gagging and choking and still taking me all in.
"More! Take all of me!"
There was nothing more she could do; her mouth was filled with me. She took her hand and cupped my flesh, caressing it, squeezing it, bouncing it up and down. And all the time she was sliding her mouth up and down the length of my cock, letting her saliva drip all over my stomach, until I was wet, soaked with the flood of our mutual need.
She gulped once, with a strange, resonant sound. Still she kept her mouth upon me, pulling at me as if every drop of my passion were precious to her.
I flowed into her, an endless river. I could almost feel myself drying inside, as if she were draining the very essence of my being. I contracted; more of me flowed into her. She was moaning. I could feel the muscles in her throat tightening as she swallowed again.
At last I passed out, floating down into an endless well of forbidden dreams.
* * *
I awoke to the same sensation of need. She was sitting beside me, calmly stroking my flesh. I was soft, but I knew that it would be only a matter of moments before I was erect and demanding again.
Lucille's desire was insatiable, eternal. Suddenly I knew that I could very well die in this room before she would ever be satisfied. I pretended to close my eyes again, as if in sleep, but she immediately saw through the gesture.
"Oh, come on, darling," she said. "I know you're awake."
She reached down and kissed me. I could feel the blood beginning to flow. But at that moment, there was the greater need for my statue. I had to have my statue.
"Wait," I said, reaching down and taking her head in my hands. "Give me a minute, will you?"
"I love you," Lucille said. I blinked in surprise and she repeated herself. "I love you. Can you understand that?"
"Draw me a picture," I cracked, stalling for time. I did not think I could last out another session like the previous one.
She leaned back and seemed to relax. But she did not let go of my manhood.
"You hurt me," Lucille said. "Nobody else has ever .done that before. They never had the courage to .stand up to me like that. That means that I want you. It means that you command' me.. I'm yours, Lyle. I will do whatever you want me to... for the rest of our lives. I belong to you. You're my master and I am your slave."
I did not tell her that I'd bitten out of panic and desperation. I stared into her eyes. They were depthless pools of lust, devotion... and degradation.
"No other man has ever taken me the way you did," she breathed. "I want to be yours-forever!"
I had changed our relationship so that now I was the dominant one. Still, I thought of the statue. I had to have the statue. But to admit that would immediately place me back under her power. I could not allow such a thing to happen. I tried to stall for time.
She was gripping my organ harder and harder and I could feel myself becoming aroused.
"You will do whatever I say?"
"Anything, Lyle. Anything!"
"Then take your hand from my body."
She looked momentarily startled but she did what I commanded. It was like the wearing off of an anesthetic. I looked down at my flesh and saw that it was raw and red.
"You will do anything I command?"
"Yes, anything."
I held my breath, trying to force back the words. But I knew that it was no use. They were welling within me, bursting forth of their own power.
"Give me back the statue."
Something flickered in her eyes, like a light from hell. And in that moment I knew I had lost her. My own lust had cost me the power I had so briefly held.
"Give you back the statue?"
"Yes," I said, feeling my voice break. "I must have the statue. Give me that."
Once again she began to laugh and I knew that I had indeed lost my advantage. Now, as before, she was in control. A vision of a life of bondage stretched out before me and I trembled.
"You fool," she said. "You can never have the statue, not ever." She hesitated a moment, staring at me. Then she rose to her feet, a cruel sneer twisting her face.
"Break it."
"What?"
"I command you to break the statue." I could hardly believe my ears. My senses reeled.
"But how can I? If I break the statue, I will never have it. But neither will you."
"That's all right," Lucille Mason said. "It will be worth it to know that you'll hate me for the rest of your life. It will be worth that to see the pain and agony on your face. Now, go take the statue in your hands!"
I rose slowly, like a man walking in the midst of sleep. I moved to the altar, all the way feeling her eyes on my back and the whip but a whisper away. I reached out my hand, then hesitated. I could not break the statue; it would be like committing suicide.
"Take it! Smash it!"
I could hear the whip whistling through the air, threatening me. There was only one thing for me to do...
I ducked and the whip cracked above my head. I wheeled and stepped close to Lucille, at the same time swinging my fist in a gigantic roundhouse right that caught her flush on the chin.
She staggered back a few feet, then fell to the floor. But she was not yet unconscious.
I had had to move swiftly; if I had looked into her eyes or allowed her to command me, I would never have been able to strike her. But I had moved quickly. And now there was a different expression on her face. Her glazed eyes still burned with a fiery passion.
"Oh, Lyle, darling," she said, struggling up so that she rested on one elbow. "I love you so much."
It seemed hard to believe but the blow I had struck had served to place me once again in the position of dominance.
"Do it again, darling! Hit me again!"
I did. Not to please her, but to escape. I balled my fist and struck her full in the mouth. She cried out and then fell back, unconscious, her lips drawn into a crooked smile.
I turned and stared at the love stone. The object seemed to glow from some hidden source... perhaps within the stone itself. The figures seemed to be nodding their approval.
I slowly crossed the room and took the piece into my hands. The stone was suddenly warm, soft, like a woman's breast. I took it under my arm and hurried out of the room. I knew that Lucille Mason would not be back to bother me. I had emerged the dominant one, the victorious one.
I hurried down the stairs, past the man at the transom, past the clown, past the mass, copulating body in the living room. I clutched the statue close to my chest, lest it fall and break. Quickly, I opened the front door and slipped out of that terrible house.
The night was warm and comforting. I had retrieved the statue and was once again at peace with the world.
CHAPTER THREE
"Is your name Lyle?"
I glanced up, startled. As usual, I had been staring at the statue which I had placed on a shelf behind the counter where no one would be able to touch it except myself.
The man was short and stocky. He must have shaved that morning for he exuded a sweet scent of aftershave lotion. Still, his jowls were already covered with a grey stubble.
"Yes," I said, uneasily. Customers rarely asked me my name and this man had an official air about him.
"I'm Detective Jameson," the man said, producing his billfold and showing me the badge pinned to the inside of it. "I'd like to ask you a few questions."
"Well, I'm always happy to cooperate with the law."
"Do you know a Lucille Mason?"
I paused for a moment. The only thing I could think of was going to jail and being separated from my statue. Something must have happened last night. "No," I said, at last. "The name doesn't mean anything to me."
The man's eyes suddenly became hard and his eyelids narrowed. "That's strange," he said quietly, "she seems to know you."
"She said so?" My mind was racing. I wouldn't have believed that Lucille would report the theft. But she had mentioned that she had friends in high places. So now they had come for me, I thought. My mouth felt dry.
"Not exactly," the man said. He remained silent for a moment, studying me. "You see, we raided her place last night. Seems as if she was running a house of torture for people who like that kind of thing. We-" I must have sucked in my breath; to think that I had come that close to being arrested! The notion made me sick to my stomach and it must have showed in my face. The detective looked at me in a strange manner.
"Is something the matter?"
"No," I said, "nothing. Heartburn, is all."
"Yeah," he said, a trace of sympathy in his voice. "I know what you mean. Get a touch of it myself, sometimes. Terrible feeling.
"Anyway, as I was saying, we raided her place last night. Among other things, we took some interesting papers and records. One thing we took was Lucille Mason's checkbook." He stopped and gazed at me. It was all I could do to keep from crying out. "Your name was in it. For some reason, she gave you a check for five thousand dollars."
"I-I can't seem-"
"That's very unusual, Mr. Lyle. You see, Lucille Mason was in the habit of being paid, not paying."
It was all coming out now. I would have to be very careful. "Oh, yes," I said, nodding quickly, as if I'd just remembered, "Lucille Mason-Lucille Mason-yes, now I remember. She bought a statue from me."
"A statue? Can you explain that further?" He continued with his probing.
"Yes, a statue. Some of these things are very valuable. She had a true eye for beauty."
"Can you describe it for me?"
I sucked at my lower lip in a way I do when I get nervous. If I started to describe some nonexistent statue, I could be in trouble; they might very well go back to the house and check. If they didn't find any statue, they'd be back questioning me. And that could mean trouble.
I decided to gamble. I was not a very good liar-I didn't have the necessary courage. Nevertheless, I resolved to do my best.
"I can do better than that," I said. "I can show it to you."
"Oh?"
"Yes," I said quickly. "You see Lucille Mason first bought the statue, then decided she didn't really want it. So she brought it back to me. See, I have the check right here."
The money meant nothing to me, at least nothing compared to the statue. I took the slip of paper out of my drawer and handed it to him. He mumbled something under his breath and I wondered if he was in the habit of talking to himself.
"If she brought the statue back," the detective said, looking up, "why didn't she pick up the check?"
I answered instinctively. I had to-for I was so frightened, I never would have been able to think of a convincing lie.
"She told me not to bother," I said, "she's already cancelled it."
"I see." The detective was running his hand over the check, snapping it back and forth between his fingers. He was watching me very closely. "Then it wouldn't make any difference to you if I tore this up."
"No." I said without hesitation. I would gladly have given him the money if it would serve to allay suspicion. I did not want him to know I had been in the house. They might very well arrest me.
The detective tore a small piece off the edge of the check and then studied my face to see what my reaction would be. I stared straight ahead. At last the man grunted and tore the check into little pieces. I continued to stare straight ahead as he dropped the pieces on the floor. He seemed satisfied with my reaction.
"Okay, pal," he said, "I guess you're telling the truth."
"Thank you," I said, with a sigh of relief.
"Would you mind showing me the statue. For the report, I mean."
I could feel the muscles in my stomach begin to tighten. Now that I had seen the way people reacted, I was afraid to show it to anybody-especially an officer of the law who might have the power to take it away from me. But it didn't appear as if I had any choice.
I took the statue from its place on the shelf and handed it to him. His touch lingered on the curved bodies. He took one fingernail and flicked the nipple of the woman's breast. I winced, as if the pain had been my own. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I heard a scream.
"Say," the detective said admiringly, "that's some statue!" He was holding it close to his face now, trying to see where the bodies joined. At the same time he was running his finger down the crease of the woman's buttocks. "I can't get over the detail. I've never seen anything like it."
"This is a good piece," I said nervously. I could feel the sweat coming out under my armpits. The man's eyes had taken on a distant, dreamy expression and I knew that the statue was fast weaving its spell upon him. I had to act quickly.
"Here," I said, "let me show you something." I quickly took the stone from his grasp. He let out a little cry and grabbed for it. "See," I said, pointing to the faces, "you can even see the details of the eyes, nose and mouth. Yes, I knew you'd find it interesting." I turned and placed the statue back on the shelf. He gazed after it hungrily and, for a moment, I thought he was going to come around the counter.
"You must see many interesting things in your work," I said, leaning across the counter and cutting off his line of vision.
"Oh, yeah," Jameson answered, his eyes brightening. Obviously, he liked to talk about his work. "I guess you could say that."
"Tell me about the raid last night. Was it-interesting?"
"Well, I suppose so, if you can call arresting a bunch of perverts interesting. You shoulda seen the time we had separating them from each other."
"I can imagine." Something in my tone of voice must have almost given me away. Jameson looked up sharply.
"Oh, yeah? How can you imagine? Were you there?"
"Oh, no! I just mean-well, you describe things so well."
"I do? Gee, thanks." I had flattered him. Luckily this had been the right thing to do. I rested my head on my hand and leaned forward expectantly, as if waiting for him to tell me more. Anything, I thought, to keep his mind off the statue.
"Boy," he said, "I could tell you lots of stories."
"And I'm sure you will."
"What was that?"
"I meant to say, I hope you will."
The detective looked as if he was settling down to a long conversation and I could feel myself becoming restless. I wanted nothing more than to get rid of him and go back to looking at my statue and stroking myself.
He had taken a small, white plastic box out of his pocket and was rolling it back and forth between his fingers.
"Yes sir," Detective Jameson was saying, "that was a real bunch of weirdos we picked up last night. That Lucille Mason, especially. She was really something. Of course, she was nothing compared to old Doc Von Riegler."
I felt I had to be polite. "Who was Von Riegler?"
"Oh, Von Riegler couldn't be matched! You talk about perversion. That Mason woman couldn't hold a candle to him."
I found that hard to believe. But, of course, I couldn't tell Jameson that. "Just what did Von Riegler do?"
"He was a pill maker," Jameson said slowly, looking down at the white box.
"A pill maker?" I was beginning to think that Jameson was having fun at my expense and I could feel anger begin to rise.
"Yes," Jameson said evenly, "but his pills were-well, let's just say that they were unlike anything you have ever seen."
"Funny, I've never heard of him."
"Oh, he was caught and then put away for good. Right now he's serving out a life sentence with no chance for parole. He's in a maximum security prison, all by himself. There are only three men in the world who are allowed in to see him."
"The pills he made; did they kill people?"
Jameson sounded surprised, as if I had asked a hopelessly naive question. "Oh, no! They made people live. But they lived only in their minds. That was why he was so dangerous. His pills had the potential for wiping out the entire human race."
I didn't say anything, but I must have looked skeptical. Jameson snorted and suddenly unsnapped the hinged top of the white box. I involuntarily stepped back, started by what I saw.
It was a pill-unlike any pill I had ever seen. It was multi-hued, with all the colors of the rainbow. More, the colors seemed to move, vibrating, writhing, undulating together to blend and then separating to form bands of vivid color. It was almost as if the pill itself were some odd kind of power source. I thought of a nuclear reactor, radiating death.
Jameson reached in without hesitation and took the small, round object from its felt bed. He rolled it around in the palm of his hand for a moment, as if hypnotized.
"This is the only one left," he said, as though he were talking about some great treasure or the last man. "It's the only one, and there'll never be another. That's why they have Von Riegler locked away-so he won't be able to pass on the formula."
"How did you get hold of it?"
"I was part of the investigating team that uncovered Von Riegler and his operation. It was my responsibility to destroy the last of the pills. I kept one, just as kind of a souvenir." He looked up, then, almost as an afterthought, "You won't tell anyone, will you?"
I still wasn't sure whether I was being made the butt of some practical joke. "No," I said tightly, "of course not."
Jameson seemed to relax. He was still rolling the pill around in the palm of his hand, staring into its whirling vortex of changing colors.
"I don't know where he got the ingredients," the detective continued, "some say he found a long-lost tribe in the Amazon and the witch doctor showed him how to mix and prepare the powders. Others say he just cooked them up himself; he was quite a brilliant chemist, in his own right."
"Yes, but what do the pills do?" In spite of myself, I could feel my curiosity growing.
"Do?" Jameson leaned close to me so that I could smell the faint aroma of garlic on his breath. "If you take one of these pills, you will experience your most desired sexual adventures. I don't know how it works; I guess it acts on the central nervous system. Anyway, you pop one of these pills and your mind become a pleasure machine. They'll make LSD seem like aspirin. Anything you've ever wanted that has to do with sex-things you haven't even thought of that are floating around in your libido-they'll all happen to you. And it will be so clear-like a continuous marathon wet dream. Only much better."
"You sound like you've taken one."
Jameson laughed. "Oh, no. I'm a married man. They say that once you take one of these things, you never want normal sex again. That's why the government suppressed all information about Von Riegler and his set up. Anyway, my wife likes lots of loving. I'm not about to disappoint her by fooling around with one of these little things."
"Then how do you know they're so powerful?"
"I've seen what they do. Seen it with my own eyes. The night we raided, there were maybe a dozen people in his 'chamber,' that's what he called it. Men and women. He was making a fortune by getting people to take the first pill and go through all those experiences. Well, it was just like dope except that it wasn't addictive. Once they experienced these dreams with the pill, they never wanted to try anything else.
"Anyway, as I was saying, we came down into this cellar and there were all these guys and girls laying around on mattresses. Sound asleep, they were. Except that they were dreaming; wet dreaming! And I could tell they were mighty powerful dreams!"
"You've never seen anything like it. You wouldn't think a person had that much in them. But there it was, right before my very eyes." He looked up sharply at me, half-closing one eye. "You believe it?"
"Sure," I said, not at all as certain as I sounded.
Jameson replaced the pill in its case and snapped the lid shut. "Anyway," he said, with an air of finality, "that's the weirdest case I've ever been on. And I'll never forget it." He patted the case and slipped it into his vest pocket in what looked to me like a precarious position. His girth prevented the box from slipping all the way into the material. He went to the door and turned, his hand on the knob.
"Now, you're not holding anything back on me about that Mason woman, are you?"
I looked him straight in the eye. "No, sir." I said. "I've told you everything I know."
"You'll be around if I want to ask questions?"
"Yes," I answered, half-heartedly.
"Okay," he said with a wave of his arm and what passed for a smile on his face. "Take care of that statue of yours. That's a really fine piece of art."
The bell tinkled and he was gone. Another sound mingled with the bells and I looked down on the floor to see the little white box vibrating on its edges, then finally coming to rest just inside the door.
"Mr. Jameson! Detective Jameson!"
He moved quickly for a man his size. I was not exactly slow but, by the time I had come around from behind the counter, picked up the box and opened the door to call after him, he was already climbing into a cab. The door of the car slammed shut and I was standing in the street, the box containing the last of Dr. Von Riegler's pills clutched tightly in my hand.
I tossed it carelessly from hand to hand and wondered, still if Jameson had been making fun of me. I almost threw the box into a trash can, thought better of it, then took it back into the shop with me.
Immediately, the statue caught my eye as I stepped in through the door. The figures in stone seemed-happy. I could feel their joy radiating through the room, caressing me as I walked about. I felt light-headed and very content, totally at peace with the world. I could not believe I had been so fortunate. I had retrieved my statue from Lucille Mason and the police had missed me in their raid. It almost didn't matter to me that I was possessed by the carved figures.
I walked back behind the counter and took the statue in my hands. I reached out and caressed the female's breast, not hard and cruelly as Jameson had done, but softly, gently, running my fingertips over the stiff nipples.
It moved. Or, at least so it seemed. I took my hand away, as if I had touched a hot stove; but not too far. My fingers lingered near. I looked down into the woman's face.
She was smiling. Urging me on! I touched the stone breast again; I felt something wet on my finger, as if I had been kissed. I shook my head, closed my eyes and then opened them again. Of course, the statue was as it was before. But the figures had seemed so alive!
I was suddenly seized with a single, overwhelming thought; I must take the pill!
I shivered, half with fear, half with excitement. I could not understand where I had gotten such an idea. It was probably a hoax, I thought; the detective's little joke that he played on dozens of people every day.
Then how did the colors move? My imagination, I decided. But certainly I shouldn't fool with such a thing. Surely-
I suddenly realized that I was standing there with the box in my hand. Slowly, I reached down and unsnapped the lid. The pill was there before my eyes. No, I thought, I shouldn't do such a stupid thing. I reached to close it.
My hand froze in mid-air. I could not bring myself to close the box!
I should have been frightened, but was not. Instead, I was filled with a delicious, warm sensation. Somehow, I knew that everything would be all right, that the figures in the statue wanted me to take the pill.
I hesitated only a moment. Somewhere in the back of my mind, must have been the realization that this was madness-that I could die from taking the pill. I must have known that it was the statue-or its terrible curse-that was making me act in such a way. But I was too weak to do anything about it. With quick, trembling motions, I reached into the box, took the tablet into my hand and placed it in my mouth. It burned with a strange fire and I yearned to spit it out. But my muscles seemed to act of their own accord; I swallowed and the pill went down my throat as easily as a raw oyster. It was in me.
It was as if all my surroundings-in fact, my life-were illusions, recorded on slides. And now someone had changed the slide. There was no sensation of dizziness or unconsciousness. Suddenly I was just there, standing in the middle of a meadow, ankle deep in grass that was soft and blue-green under a warm yellow sun. A stream flowed by a few feet to my left and its sound was magnified in the still air, peaceful, soothing as it rolled over its stone bed.
The meadow stretched on seemingly forever, as if the world were flat and had no horizon. More, I could feel no sensation in my body, such as the feel of my clothes against my flesh or my feet on the ground. It was as if I floated in either, or lived only in my mind. But it was not an uncomfortable sensation; in fact, it was the most pleasant feeling I had ever experienced. I could have simply stood there forever and been completely happy. But there was more.
I heard no sound-in fact, there was no sound in this meadow. Nevertheless, I knew she was there, just behind me. I turned and smiled.
It was the girl in the stone, come to life. She was incredibly beautiful, with eyes the color and shape of almonds-with blonde hair that flowed freely down over her shoulders and back and arched in rhythm with a breeze which I could not feel but which nonetheless was perfectly real.
Her body was perfection, more perfect than any I had ever seen, more perfect, even, than Debra's. She was clothed in a garment made from material that I knew could not exist-it was so soft, so transparent, highlighting every curve and sensual hollow in her body. And she was wearing it for me. I could tell by the look in her eyes and the way she moved.
We did not speak. I do not think the sound would have carried, even if we had. But there was no need to speak. We smiled and looked into each other's eyes as if we had known and loved each other for a thousand years, for as long as she'd existed.
My groin felt filled with molten lava and I looked down and saw that I had spent, simply by looking at her. Nevertheless, there was no sensation of discomfort, for even a moment. There was no feeling of dampness or of let down. The only sensation I had experienced had been the eruption itself and that had been wondrously explosive, unlike any I had ever had before. What was more, I had experienced absolutely no lessening of desire. I felt I could continue to climax for as long as we stood this way.
But it was not to be so. She laughed-soundlessly, with vibrations that registered in my brain-and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around my neck and planting her lips on mine. I put my arms around her body and allowed my mouth and lips to sink down upon the wet, warm wonder that was her mouth.
Her tongue glided along my lips, poking my teeth, seeking entrance. I opened my mouth and the soft flesh filled me, caressing my own tongue, lapping the insides of my teeth, darting back and forth in such a way that the liquid flowed from me in a continuous current. I could feel the softness of her breasts pressed against my chest; a sensation that was heightened by the two hard nipples that poked right through the fabric-against my own. It was then I realized that one could feel sensation in this strange universe; but only those sensations that had to do with the sexual experience.
Her triangular mound was firm and swollen against my own stiff member. This she stimulated by putting first her groin, and then her upper thigh, gently but firmly between my legs. I placed my hand beneath the upper part of her flowing robe and slid it along the silky texture of her stomach, then finally up to the soft mounds of her breasts.
The flesh flowed through my fingers, the nipples dancing, first in the palms of my hand and then along the tips of my fingers. All the time, her tongue was working its way in and out of my hungry mouth.
I kept one hand on her chest, squeezing and cupping both of her breasts together while with the other hand I slid down past the gossamer fabric of her gown until it came to rest on the thick, silky hairs at the base of her belly. The growth was soft and downy, like a pillow made from the finest goose feathers. Suddenly there was a movement of her hips and her flesh parted. I found myself with my hand on her lips; they were unlike any other that I had ever touched. They were hot, rather than merely warm with passion. But it was the heat of a mineral bath or a bath when the muscles are aching; a heat that could give only comfort and pleasant sensation.
Then the lips parted and I found my hand moving in wet, hot flesh that writhed and lapped about my fingers, caressing, sucking them in hungrily. Liquid from her body flowed through my fingers and down over my wrist and forearm as she began to pump her hips slowly, back and forth in perfect time to music that I could feel springing from the grass and rocks and water around us. Her hand was in my pants, stroking my dripping, hard member, bobbling my flesh gently in her palm.
Then her tongue was gone from my mouth and it took me a moment to realize that she had slid her face down my body and was kneeling in the soft grass before me. My rod, stiff and throbbing, was inches away from her mouth. Even as I watched, it grew in size, stretching out for her. I looked into her eyes.
She was staring straight up at me, her hand never missing as slowly, rhythmically, she pulled the flesh back and forth over the hard, inner core of my stalk. Her lips were parted and moist and she seemed to be loving me with her eyes, inviting me to look deep into their depths and see how much she wanted to please me. As before, there was no sensation of haste in me. I wanted her to take me into her mouth, but I would have been perfectly happy to have her remain where she was, quietly serving me. Everything was bliss; her slightest glance or movement was sufficient to keep the passion flowing within me; it was one, long, never-ending release.
At last she looked away. Holding my tool erect at its base with just the tips of her fingers, she took the tip into her mouth. I gasped, yet made no sound. She stayed just at the rim, moving her lips around on it, lapping the sensitive crown with her soft tongue. Only gradually-it could have been hours that this continued-did she allow the full length to penetrate her; slowly and easily so I was not even sure that I was completely in until I looked down and saw that I was buried to the hilt in her wide-open mouth. Yet, she showed no sign of discomfort. She continued to move back and forth easily, with only expressions of pleasure on her face and in her eyes. She seemed perfectly content to do what she was doing. It appeared that her only desire was to make me happy.
She raised herself up slightly, so that my tool was wedged into her mouth at a slightly upward angle, leaving the rest of me dangling loose. Next, she parted her garment so that her breasts could hang free. Continuing to hold me in her mouth, she reached up and cupped both breasts in her hands, bringing them up on either side of my flesh, moving them gently back and forth, stimulating me further.
I could have stayed there forever. She seemed never to tire and the depths of her imagination were bottomless. Again and again-although I certainly did not need them-she devised new and exciting ways to arouse me and keep the flow of desire running. But then I was aware of another presence and I quickly turned, pulling myself away from her.
It was the man in the stone. He was sitting on the grass, calmly staring at me, smiling in the same way I had seen the girl.
He was completely naked, but did not seem at all ill at ease, either with his own state of undress or with the fact that he had been sitting and watching us in the most intimate of situations. The peace of his mind flowed into my body, comforting me, relaxing every muscle in my body.
Nor did the girl seem the least bit upset. She was still kneeling in the same position, as if waiting for me to return. She merely glanced at the man, smiled as if she had known him for a long time, then turned back to me. It was then I realized that both of them wanted nothing more than to see my every desire fulfilled.
I stood very still for a moment, uncertain of what to do. Suddenly the man rose and walked past me to stand in front of the girl. Without a moment's hesitation, she took his member into her mouth and began stimulating him as she had done me. I sank down into the grass and watched, aware that, as if magically, my body was living in his-I was feeling what he was feeling. I could lie there in the cool grass, sucking a long, succulent stem, and still feel the girl's lips on my flesh, her soft breasts enfolding me.
After what seemed hours-or days or weeks, for time had no meaning in this place-he stepped back and sat back down on the grass, smiling at me as he had done before. When I looked back, the girl's clothes had seemingly evaporated, leaving all her charms exposed to my view.
As I watched, she leaned back on her elbows and spread her legs wide until I was looking up the red channel of her body into the center of her being. The flesh moved, beckoning me. I dropped to my knees and crawled slowly over the grass, coming nearer and nearer. At last I was above her. I hesitated only an instant before dropping my head and burying my mouth in her sex.
She did not cry out in passion, an action which once might have aroused me. Here there was no need for impassioned cries; the flesh itself spoke through its movements.
I mouthed at her greedily. I had no difficulty breathing, despite the fact that all of my mouth and the tip of my nose was buried in her. It was as if my entire body breathed, or as if there was no need for air at all here in this place. I was there, my lips and tongue playing with her flesh while the flesh itself responded to my attentions, wrapping itself around me, gently squeezing and pulling.
Suddenly I was aware of a cloud in the sky, or in my mind; I could not tell which. But it was there, dark and foreboding, cooling the air. I came away from her body and stood up, looking around me with more than a bit of apprehension. There was a feeling of evil in the air, of impending violence. Oddly enough, I found it vaguely exciting in a new and different way from the excitement which had been generated by the feel of the girl's lips on my flesh.
I looked at the man and the woman. They were obviously aware of the change in the air, yet neither seemed troubled.
It was as if they had been expecting it and it was all part of this strange world they inhabited. Their faces were calm and they were gazing off somewhere behind me, in the direction of the stream. I turned and followed their gaze.
There was a woman standing by the stream, staring at us. I could not understand where she had come from, for, as I mentioned before, the land seemed to be completely open, stretching on for what seemed eternity. Nevertheless she was there. And it was obvious that she was interested in us. She took a few steps forward and I sucked in my breath.
The woman by the stream was the exact opposite of the woman in the stone who had made love to me. While everything about the statue girl was gentle, this woman's face was etched in cruelty. She was beautiful-astoundingly so-but it was the beauty of the hooded cobra, or the well-tied hangman's noose. Her jet black hair was pulled back severely, framing her face in a mask of evil.
She was dressed all in black, in garments that might have been wet rubber. Her breasts surged beneath her blouse, pointing straight out so that one could imagine their nipples cutting and tearing any who would touch them. Her legs were encased in sheer black nylons. Her high pumps glistened. In her hand she held the butt of a whip which snaked out over the grass in front of her, lighting and smoking the blades where it touched.
Suddenly the woman opened her mouth and let out a soundless scream that I could hear in my mind. I started as she broke into a run, coming directly at us, her whip uncoiling behind her, ready to lash out against our skin.
I raised my arm as if to ward off a blow, but then realized that the woman was moving in slow motion, jumping and gliding at a very gradual pace as she crossed the meadow toward us. I was immensely relieved for, though I was tremendously excited at the way her breasts bounced as she ran, I did not want any of us to be injured. I turned to run and then realized that neither the man nor the woman had moved from their positions.
The man was still sitting in the grass. The woman had risen and was watching the other woman approach. The expressions on both their faces were perfectly calm. The man looked at me and motioned for me to sit down beside him. I did so, cuddling down into the warm grass and stretching out my naked limbs to gather in the sun.
The woman in the stone glanced at us once smiled her curious smile, then turned to face the onrushing fury of the woman in black. All motion suddenly returned to normal... the were running across the field, both of the racing headlong on a collision course. They met in the center of the meadow with a force that caused the ground beneath us to tremble. I looked at the man beside me, but he was perfectly tranquil, chewing on a blade of grass. I turned my attention back to the fight.
The woman in black was kicking out with her needle-pointed shoes, but our woman leaped and dodged like a gazelle, always out of reach. The tip of the lash whipped out, touching my woman on the breasts, leaving in its wake a purplish welt.
Then they were locked together, wrestling to the ground. The whip of the woman in black had been knocked from her hands.
They rolled over and over, a moving tableau of silence, first one, then the other on top. They ripped and tore at each other's flesh and hair with their teeth and fingernails. I glanced at my groin. I was flowing, as before. I looked up quickly, so as not to miss a single blow.
My woman seemed untouched. However, the garments of the other woman were torn and shredded. Black garters and the ribbed tops of her stockings stood out against the stark white flesh of her thighs. Her breasts seemed to leap and dart across her chest as she struggled with the woman in stone.
They tumbled back and forth on the grass, beating each other with their fists, kicking and kneeing at every sensitive area of the other's body. Once they rose to their feet, still locked in each other's grip, and staggered back a few yards, finally toppling over into the waters of the stream. Their fall was silent, as always, but the water rose from the stream into the air, hovered there for an eternity, then slowly fell back while breaking up into a thousand flashes of color.
They were out of sight and I started to rise from the ground. The man beside me put his hand on my arm, stopping me.
They emerged from the water a moment later. They were still locked in one another's arms, but this time their embrace had a different quality; it was an embrace of passion.
The water had not only cleansed the dirt from their wounds, but had also miraculously healed them. Both bodies were now devoid of all clothing, and shone white and clean from the water. Although far away across the meadow, they seemed near enough to touch, as if my eyes had suddenly been transformed into binoculars.
The legs of the two women were entwined and their hips moved furiously back and forth. Each was fondling and caressing the breasts of the other, alternately slapping and squeezing. Their hands were everywhere, on their breasts, between their legs, stimulating themselves.
Suddenly the women sank to the ground, out of sight. I tensed, stiff with passion, apprehensive lest they fail to return to my line of vision. I did not wish to rise again only to be pulled back down, and so I sat still. I could feel the ground under me moving, swelling almost like an ocean current. It was a peaceful, lulling motion.
This time it was the man beside me who rose, turned, and beckoned me to follow. I did so, moving easily through the grass, which had somehow, in the time we had been sitting, grown waist high.
We hurried to the stream; they were nowhere to be seen. The man shielded his eyes from the sun and glanced about him. Finally, he pointed to his left. I followed his gaze and could see the grass moving rhythmically back and forth in a manner different from the windblown currents in the rest of the meadow. We quickly walked over.
The woman in stone and the woman in black were, once again, locked together. They grappled in the act of love.
Each woman had her head buried between the thighs of the other. Their arms were locked around each other's bodies, as were their legs. They jerked up and down, back and forth, satisfying their lust. The grass around them was wet with the juices of their passion. It had gathered in small puddles that glistened in the sun. My own liquids burst from me, adding to the moisture in the field. I opened my mouth in a silent scream of passion, arched my back, and let the stream of my essence flow from my body.
How long I remained in such a position, I do not know. I seemed to be conscious of the sun moving back and forth across the heavens, yet I did not grow tired. My legs remained solidly beneath me, and I continued to scream, although I could not hear the sound. I do not know what made me stop; perhaps it was a sudden sensation of loneliness. I looked about me. The man was nowhere to be seen. I could feel lingers of panic running along my spine; the meadow was empty, stretching off endlessly.
With a small cry, I parted the grass on either side of me, looking for the female lovers. They too were gone, as if swallowed up by the earth. I got down on my hands and knees, frantically searching for some sign of them. There was none. There was only a small pile of shiny black rock, broken and splintered into shards. My lady in stone!
Tears rolled freely down my face. I reached out and clutched the pieces, holding them to my breast, trying to find some way to fit them back together. It was an impossible task.
Beside myself with grief, I jumped to my feet and raced to the stream, flinging myself headlong into its waters, which had suddenly become dark and choppy. I sank down and down until finally I could hold myself in no longer; I opened my mouth and let the water run into me, filling my lungs.
CHAPTER FOUR
I awoke in a hospital bed. Detective Jameson was standing over me, a strange expression on his face.
"Are you awake?"
I hesitated a moment. I remembered the pill... and the meadow and the man and the woman. Still, I could not believe that I was alive. Everything there had seemed so real.
"What's the matter?"
I had suddenly covered my face with my hands, as I remembered the pieces of stone in the meadow. That was why I had wanted to drown myself; without the statue, there was no reason to go on living. Had the broken statue been only part of the dream... or had the man and woman actually been destroyed? Perhaps, in my drugged madness, I had stumbled about the shop and knocked the sculpture off the shelf! There was no way of knowing, not while I was in the hospital. And I could not communicate my fears to Jameson.
"I'm all right now," I lied. "I just had a sudden headache."
Jameson's expression changed from one of mild sympathy to one of accusation. "You swallowed the pill."
"Yes," I said. There seemed no sense in denying that; the floor of my shop must be covered with proof of my indiscretion.
"What happened?" There was barely suppressed excitement in his voice.
"It was pretty much the way you said it would be. All of your most extreme sexual fantasies come true... also your greatest nightmares." I had to find some way of discovering whether the statue was still intact. "How did I get here?"
"Your landlady found you. Quite a shock for her, I guess. I hope you've got a long, unbreakable lease on that store of yours. She looked at you as if you were the devil incarnate. Anyway, she called the police-that's how I came into the picture. We called the ambulance."
"I don't understand why I needed a hospital."
Jameson, in response, pointed to the center of my bed. I looked down and was startled to see that the sheet rose into the air almost a foot above the spot where my genitals should be. I gasped in astonishment and tore off the sheet; my member was encased in a plaster cast, making it seem monstrous, almost a foot long and at least three inches in diameter.
"It's gonna take some time for that thing to heal," Jameson said. There almost seemed to be a trace of satisfaction in his voice.
"The sta... " I stopped, biting off my words. I had almost told him that the statue had made me take the pill. Then he would think I was crazy. Certainly incarceration in an institution would be as bad as prison. But I still had to find out if the statue was unbroken.
"You were about to say?"
"It was nothing. I think I still have a touch of the fever."
"I wouldn't be surprised," he said, and tugged at his lip. "You shouldn't have taken the pill. It was the last one left. There'll never be another."
Once again, there was accusation in his voice. "I thought someday, when I was too old, or I was retired or something, I'd take it myself." He looked closely at me. "I love my wife... she never refuses me and we have fine children. But there are things I want to do that I could never do with her. Can you understand? That pill was my only hope of knowing complete satisfaction."
"I'm sorry," I said weakly. "It couldn't be helped."
"Being sorry won't bring back the pill," he said. "It's just gone. You took it... and almost killed yourself in the process. Would have served you right."
I decided to try to change the subject, and to find an answer to the question that was burning a hole in my brain. "The shop," I said, "when you found me... how did it look?"
Jameson tugged even harder at his lip. "The same as it always did, I guess. Why?"
"There was nothing broken?"
"No, not that I can think of." He gazed down at me, suspicion filling his eyes. "What were you afraid of?"
"Nothing. I just thought, I might have smashed something up. I don't have complete insurance coverage, you know."
The detective shook his head. "No, I don't think anything was broken. Like I told you, all the action takes place in your mind."
I breathed a sigh of relief. It was premature. Jameson moved a step closer, then leaned on the bed so that his face was very close to mine.
"Let me tell you something, Lyle," he said quietly. "There's something funny about a man who messes with a drug like that, even after he's been warned about it. There's something suspicious about you, anyway. I don't know what it is, but I can feel it in my bones. Nobody's ever accused me of being a sneak, or of hounding a man. So I'm telling you now what things are going to be like. I'm going to be keeping an eye on you and I want you to know it. You mess up once and I've got you."
I swallowed hard and would have said something in my defense. Instead, the door creaked open and Jameson turned in that direction. I tried to look down to see who had come into the room, but my vision was obstructed by my plaster-wrapped organ.
"Detective Jameson," a sweet female voice said, "You must leave now. Lyle needs his rest. His strength must not be taxed."
It was the most fantastic voice I had ever heard, innocent and clean, rippling like a mountain brook... but brimming with untapped sensuality. Like a ripe peach ready to be picked. From the sound of her voice, I guessed that she might be a virgin; perhaps, I thought, she was ugly. A man cannot go to bed with a voice.
In any event, Jameson respected the voice. He nodded eagerly, threw me one last suspicious glance to let me know that he had not forgotten me, then disappeared behind the erupting folds of my 'tent.' The woman-whom I assumed to be a nurse-was still out of my vision. I could hear the clinking and rattling of trays and steel utensils. I closed my eyes and tried to recapture the vision of. the early time in the meadow, when the woman in -stone was loving me and delighting my body with her caresses. It was no good; I was getting a headache. And all I could think of was the broken shards of the statue.
I opened my eyes and drew in my breath. Standing over me was a vision of loveliness; a woman surpassed in beauty only by my own lady of the statue. She was dressed all in white-her nurse's uniform-and the color seemed to accent her purity. Her features were lovely... large dark brown eyes peering out of a beautiful face that soothed me simply by its presence. But it was her body that aroused me to new, unexplored heights. A small woman, no more than five feet and a few inches, she had the largest bust I had ever seen. It swelled beneath her uniform. There were fresh needle marks on the bodice and I suspected that any uniform this girl bought would have to be altered considerably to allow her to fit her chest into it. Her name-emblazoned on a tag which was pinned just over the spot where one of her nipples would be-was Miss Morluv.
"Now then," said Miss Morluv, in her best bedside manner, "what seems to be the matter?"
At first I thought she was kidding. I mean, it seemed obvious to me what the matter was. It was only then I noticed the small word 'student' written under Miss Morluv's name.
I pointed to the 'tent' over my midsection.
Miss Morluv looked in the direction of my finger and a slight flush crept up into her cheeks. "Oh my," she said, "I hadn't noticed that." She looked at me and her voice took on a confidential tone. "I really can't see a thing without my glasses. I left them at home."
She stepped up very close to the bed and leaned over, peering down at my injured organ.
"Did you have an appendectomy?"
"No, not exactly."
"Then why... does it look like that?"
It occurred to me to suddenly slip back the sheets and show her exactly what part of my body was affected, but I was afraid that it would scare her away. I was enjoying her presence immensely. Besides, a student nurse was better than none and I was becoming worried. There was no sensation at all in my member and I was anxious to find out what treatment had been prescribed and how soon I could expect to have feeling come back.
Also, I wanted to know how soon I could be released from the hospital. The longer I stayed here, the greater the possibility of my store being burglarized or burned. I could not bear the thought of losing my statue.
"You see," I said, trying to find a tactful way of telling Miss Morluv what was wrong, "I've hurt my thing and I want to know what's being done to make it well."
"Thing?" she echoed absently, as if trying the word out for size. "I'm sorry," she said at last, "I'm only a student. What part of the body is a 'thing?' " I spelled it out for her.
"Oh, goodness! That!"
"That." I started to pull back the covers.
"Oh please don't," Miss Morluv said. "I don't know whether I could stand to see such a sight... I mean, a thing like that."
"It's in a cast," I said, almost apologetically, as if to explain its inordinate size. "That's what I want to find out, you see; why it is in a cast and how soon I can expect to get out of here."
Miss Morluv did not seem to hear me. Her monstrous breasts were shaking like twin bowls of pudding and I assumed it must be from fright. She had covered her face with her hands.
I was about to tell her not to be afraid when the door opened for a second time. A second nurse breezed into the room, this one slightly taller than Miss Morluv and almost as beautiful, except that the lines in her face were harder and she walked with the gait of a woman who is proud, with perhaps a touch of cruelty. While Miss Morluv radiated an air of innocence, this woman was the picture of corruption and the sight of them both together sent a little thrill down my body.
They presented a remarkable contrast. However, although my mind was aroused, I still could not tell whether their presence was having any affect on my imprisoned tool. Hard or soft, the plaster cast would still keep it in a perpetual erection. And there was still no feeling.
The second nurse stopped before Miss Morluv and put her arms about the woman in what seemed to me more than a motherly manner.
"Miss Morluv," the second nurse whispered in a voice that was like the rustle of silk against flesh, "what is the matter? We can't have one of our student nurses unhappy now, can we?"
"I'm sorry, Miss Blake," Miss Morluv murmured. "I don't mean to seem unprofessional."
"That's all right, dearie, you just relax for a minute and get your composure back."
I watched them in astonishment. Apparently, Miss Morluv did consider Miss Blake's manner to be motherly, for she made no move to back away, even when Miss Blake slid one hand down Miss Morluv's slim buttocks and began to massage and squeeze them. Perhaps, I thought, Miss Morluv found that comforting.
Miss Blake had used her other hand to pull up her own skirt. She appeared completely indifferent to my presence as she readjusted her garter belt, then slipped her hand down into her panties. Miss Morluv could not see what the other woman was doing and, consequently, seemed quite happy to remain enclosed in Miss Blake's embrace.
"Put your arms around me, darling," Miss Blake was saying in the same motherly tone. "I'll rub your boobies and that will make you feel better."
"Oh, thank you," Miss Morluv murmured. "I do like it when you rub my boobies."
Miss Morluv wrapped her arms about Miss Blake, thus freeing the second nurse's other hand which she placed atop one of Miss Morluv's massive breasts. She rubbed it back and forth, then pushed it in and out. The sound of the rustling nylon was driving me mad with passion. Still, I could not feel anything in my organ and I was beginning to fear that there might be permanent damage.
Miss Blake's hand-the one in her panties-was moving very rapidly and finally she arched her hips back and spread her legs. I thought I could see the hand disappear up to the wrist, although I could not be sure since my line of vision was not the most advantageous.
At last Miss Blake's body shuddered; she gave two or three quick thrusts with her hips, and was done. She removed her hand from her panties and, still without disturbing Miss Morluv, reached down, readjusted her garter belt, and smoothed her skirt. Only then did she take her hand from Miss Morluv's breasts.
"Do you feel better now, dear?" Miss Blake's voice was like the purring of a cat.
"Oh yes," Miss Morluv said, finally releasing Miss Blake. "I think I'm ready to go on now."
"Good, good. Let's go see how our patient is doing."
"He says he hurt his thing." There was still a trace of panic in Miss Morluv's voice, and Miss Blake immediately moved to comfort her.
"It's all right, darling. You stay close to me.
Miss Blake patted Miss Morluv once on the shoulder and, finally, turned her attention to me. Her eyes met mine and they were dark with mocking laughter. I think she sensed the discomfort she had caused me and was quite pleased by it. I wondered if she knew how fortunate she was to come across an innocent like Miss Morluv. I immediately concluded that she did; the look on her face testified to the fact.
"How do you feel today?"
"Well, frankly, I... " She had not bothered to wait for my answer. As soon as I opened my mouth, I found a thermometer in it.
"Now be sure to keep it under your tongue," she said.
I wanted to tell her that it wasn't my tongue I was worried about, but thought better of it. This Miss Blake looked as though she could make things very uncomfortable for me, and so I leaned back and let the thermometer roll around underneath my tongue. Miss Blake's gaze never left me and after a while I began to realize why she had dared to act the way she had in front of me.
The look in Miss Blake's eyes was that of a conspirator, one criminal to another. It was as if she could see directly into my soul and knew that anyone who came to a hospital with his penis in that condition was not a man who could afford to go to the authorities to report a lesbian relationship between two of the nurses. Like Lucille Mason, Miss Blake was convinced she had me completely under her control. I couldn't argue with her. She took the thermometer from my mouth and glanced at it fleetingly.
"You're running a little fever," she said, her mouth pulled back in a cruel grin.
"I'd say you were a little hot, yourself," I said.
Her glance told me that I should not risk offending. I shut my mouth, then opened it again in astonishment as Miss Blake-in one swooping motion-tore back the bedsheet. My monstrous, wounded member stood exposed for all to see. Whoever had made the cast-and I was beginning to suspect that Miss Blake had had a hand in it-had done a masterful job of fashioning it so that it pointed straight up, directly toward the ceiling.
"Oooh!" Miss Morluv said. It was more a whisper than a scream. She was quite shocked.
"Nov pay close attention, Miss Morluv," Miss Blake was saying. "I'm going to attempt to teach you some anatomy."
The prospect seemed to brighten Miss Morluv's spirits. She came over to the other side of the bed and watched as Miss Blake took both her hands and wrapped them about the plaster cast. There was a fire in her eyes now, a glow that was building and which I recognized immediately as being unholy.
"This is Mr. Lyle's thing," Miss Blake was saying. "As you can see, it's been hurt."
"Yes, I can see that," said Miss Morluv, staring openly at my problem. She no longer seemed embarrassed. In fact, I would have guessed that she was becoming aroused, although she would have been shocked to realize such a thing about herself. In any case, as I lay there and stared at Miss Morluv's rising and falling breasts, I was quite sure that the cast was no longer necessary. I was certain my manhood would point to the ceiling all by itself.
"Mr. Lyle hurt his thing through his own stupidity," Miss Blake was saying. "Men seem prone to do stupid things."
"Bad Mr. Lyle," Miss Morluv said, shaking her finger at me as she might at a small boy.
I said nothing, not because I couldn't have thought of something to say, but because Miss Blake had grasped me in the palm of her hand and was bouncing me about. The combination of pain and pleasure was making me quite breathless. There was no doubt about it; I could feel things there.
By now, Miss Morluv was not at all shy and I could see that she was looking on at her instructor and my 'thing' with more than a small amount of interest. "May I touch it?"
"Certainly, my dear. Go right ahead."
Miss Morluv surrounded me with her cool, smooth hand. Pleasure rippled through me. I could see Miss Blake's hand fidgeting around again, exploring herself. When she spoke again, her voice had a high, unnatural quality to it.
"Well," she said, staring at the spot where Miss Morluv was toying with my sanity, "I should judge from Mr. Lyle's muscular response that he is almost cured. I would suspect it is time for the final test."
I had a suspicion that Miss Blake was not primarily interested in the extent of my recovery and I wondered what she had in mind. I did not have long to wait before I found out.
"I would normally conduct the final test," Miss Blake was saying as she walked across the room and locked the door. "However, dear," she continued, looking directly at Miss Morluv, "since you are a promising student, I will let you do it this time."
Miss Morluv's hand was still on my flesh but she was not moving it about any more and I cursed Miss Blake under my breath.
"Standard procedure in cases like this, my dear. You must allow him to enter your body in order to see if his responses are normal."
"With his cast on?"
"Of course my dear." There was a thin line of perspiration along Miss Blake's upper Up. "We don't dare remove the cast until we're sure he's all right." Miss Morluv pondered that for a minute. "I suppose that makes sense," she said at last. "But I've never had a man inside my body before. I don't think I would like it."
"Tsk, tsk, my dear. This is in the cause of Medicine. You do want to help the sick, don't you?"
"Oh yes, I do!" Miss Morluv seemed on the verge of tears and, for a moment, my passion for what I guessed was about to happen was replaced with pity for the poor, overdeveloped girl. However, I did not allow my sympathy to get the better of me. For one thing, my cast was beginning to twitch and that meant that my 'thing' was alive and stiff beneath its plaster coating. Also, Miss Morluv did not seem to dread the ordeal as much as I thought she might. There was a hint of smoldering desire in her manner.
"Well then, get on with it!"
"What do I do?"
"Lift up your skirt and take your pants off!"
Miss Morluv did as she was told and I was offered a glimpse of a very full, black-haired triangle that reminded me of a strange variety of ripe, unplucked fruit. I could feel my hips beginning to move in anticipation of what was to come. Miss Blake's hand was back in her panties and she was caressing herself spasmodically.
"What are you doing?" Miss Morluv was staring at Miss Blake.
"I have an itch, for goodness' sake! Get on with it! Get up on the bed and slide down on him."
"Shouldn't I take my stockings off?"
"No, there isn't time. I mean, that isn't necessary. All you have to do is guide yourself onto his thing."
Hiking up her skirt, Miss Morluv climbed up onto my bed. The fragrance of her perfume combined with the smell of her love fluids was overwhelming.
"Down on him! Slip down on him!" Miss Blake was madly jouncing herself back and forth, leaning against the bed for support. I could see that her hand was indeed buried inside herself to the wrist. Her eyes were wild.
I did not, for a moment, believe that Miss Morluv would be able to take all of me and my cast into her, but I had grossly underestimated her capacity. She threw one leg over my body and then sank to her knees so that her orifice was just over my encased member. I watched in amazement as her body opened wide, like an unfolding flower.
"Down!" Miss Blake was screaming. "Down!"
Miss Morluv obeyed. I watched-stunned and stupefied-as the plaster and flesh organ, fully a foot long and three inches in diameter, slowly disappeared up into her body.
"Oh my," Miss Morluv said, her eyed wide open in surprise. Then she screamed, again and again. But she did not get off. In fact, she had started to rock back and forth and to slide up and down as if she were thoroughly enjoying herself. Her screams were of pleasure and not of pain.
To me, it made no difference. I swore that I could feel her, even inside my plaster cast. Feeling at last!
I moved with her, rocking back and forth to supplement her own efforts. I was driving myself into her to the hilt and still she was asking for more. Her own hand had gone down and she was trying to slip her middle finger into the tightly stretched skin where our bodies met. Somehow, she succeeded in implanting the finger, and I could feel it, a hard ridge along the upper portion of my organ.
In the meantime, Miss Blake was not idle. She had become so aroused by the spectacle of our lovemaking that her hand and wrist were no longer sufficient to give her satisfaction. She had climbed up on one corner of the bed and was now in the process of trying to insert the shiny brass knob at the top of the post into herself. She had almost succeeded, when the bottom part of the bed broke and she came crashing down beside me.
She was like a wild animal, leaping up and clawing at Miss Morluv's uniform. In a moment, the newly-sewn seams had burst and the air around my bed was filled with Miss Morluv's flapping breasts. Both women were screaming with delight as Miss Blake took one of the huge nipples into her mouth and began sucking it.
I had already exploded at least twice and I felt I was about to do it again. However, if I was, indeed, all right, I did not wish to tempt fate by taking too many chances or over-exerting myself all at once. Consequently, I did not mind too much when, with a loud sucking sound, Miss Morluv came sliding off me and the two women went crashing onto the floor, still locked in each other's arms.
I got up off the bed-taking care not to step on the two writhing women-and walked over next to the window to inspect my injured piece.
I was not surprised to find that a goodly amount of liquid had soaked through the plaster, softening the cast. I tentatively took the plaster between my fingers and pushed at it. It moved. I pulled; it gave.
Holding my breath, I closed my eyes and tugged at the cast. It slipped off easily. Slowly, I opened my eyes and looked down. There was absolutely nothing the matter with me; no scars, no scratches, not even any sign of undue wear. A marvelous weapon, I thought.
My mind raced with many questions. Why had I been brought here in the first place? Certainly, they would have thought I was sick, laying on the floor of my shop. But why the cast?
My gaze went back to the two women rolling about on the floor, their lips smothered in each other's thighs. And suddenly the answer came to me. Miss Blake!
It had probably been her idea to put the cast on, to suit her own perverted desires. Maybe the rest of the hospital staff didn't even know I was in this room. Miss Blake had undoubtedly been the one that had sent Miss Morluv down to me.
Fantastic, I thought. Utterly fantastic.
I found my clothes in a nearby locker, dressed quickly, and slipped out the door, leaving the women to their pleasures.
CHAPTER FIVE
Upon returning to my shop, I was most pleased to find that everything was in order. Someone-undoubtedly my landlady who did not find me as repugnant as Jameson imagined-had cleaned up the mess and all of my pieces were newly dusted, the windows washed. Best of all, the statue was in its place, exactly where I had left it.
But for a moment, I imagined that I heard-or felt-a sigh of pleasure or relief from the shelf where I had placed the statue. I walked over and looked at it.
The man and woman were making love, as before. It was astounding how much they resembled the figures in my dream and, as always, I found myself swelling with desire just by looking at the object. I picked it up and put it between my legs, rubbing it back and forth, delighting in the sensations that raced up and down my spine. I knew I should be happy.
But there was something wrong. Something I could not immediately put my finger on. I was not happy, despite the fact that I had survived the terrible ordeal of the pill and the hospital. Perhaps, I thought, the experience had done something to my mind, finally pushed me over the edge.
But no, I was already over the edge. That was what marred my happiness, the almost uncanny knowledge that I was insane... and did not want to do anything about it.
I was in love with a statue; literally in love, to the point where it was the statue which controlled my entire sexual being. I knew I could probably find any of a dozen doctors who would treat me... or who would show sympathy. But I did not want that. It would probably mean that the statue would be taken away from me. That would be their prescribed treatment. And I could not bear the thought of being without the statue.
What was its power over me? Once again, I went over its history.
Debra had given it to me; Debra of the luscious lips and legs and depthless sex. Debra who would have given her life for me; Debra Who had given up her husband for me.
But I had rejected her, laughed at her. I had had everything I wanted from her. I had come to know every inch of her golden body, we had performed every act together... of what use to me was she? I had to find new fields to conquer and I had told her so. She had cried but, naturally, I was not one to be moved by a woman's tears, least of all by a woman who I had totally conquered.
She had given me the statue a few days after that. I'd protested, but not very much. After all, I could tell by looking at it that the statue was valuable and who was I to question Debra? If she wanted to give me a gift, so be it! She'd said it was a 'going away' present, something for me to remember her by.
Well, it had certainly helped me to remember her. There was not a moment during the day when I was not totally preoccupied by thoughts about the statue-and, thus, of Debra.
There had been many times since then that I'd wanted her back. I'd even approached her once and almost been killed for my efforts. She had gone back to her husband, Ben, who had forgiven her. She'd said that her time with me was madness, perverted, sickness, and that she never wanted to see me again. That was what she'd said. She'd even said that she wanted the statue back. Naturally, I'd refused.
Then she'd begged me to throw it away, saying something about there being a story about it. I'd asked her what kind of a story and she'd mentioned something about a curse. I'd laughed at her, turned and walked away. I figured she would be back.
She wasn't back, and I knew she wouldn't be. And so I was left with only the statue.
Where had she gotten it? The Amazon. That's what she'd said. She'd picked it up during one of her expeditions for the museum.
But she'd always been secretive about the other details of the sculpture. Who had made it? What tribe? I had not thought any primitive tribe capable of carving such detail. Certainly, there were dozens of other 'love pieces' in the museums and curio shops of the world... but none like this one. It was as if two members of a race of tiny people had been captured and petrified in stone; they were that real. Curse? I did not believe in curses. I was a grown man and this was the twentieth century. There were no such things as curses. Then how could I explain the power the statue had over me? It was destroying me and I was allowing it to.
For the hundredth time, I wished there was some way I could find Debra one more time, to ask her to tell me all about the statue. But there was no way for me to do that. Her husband-knowing about the affair she had had with me-had moved to another part of the city, and their telephone number was unlisted. There was no way to find her.
I could not bring myself to destroy the statue. I even imagined that, if I were, say, to break it, my own body would break, splinter into a hundred pieces. If I were to burn it, my own flesh would feel the touch of the flames... forever.
I turned around and continued to stare at the statue. The figures were moving once again and, as I watched, I imagined I could see the man's fingers touching and playing with the woman's nipples. In that moment, I would have paid any price for just one more of the pills that Dr. Von Riegel had manufactured. How I wanted to be back-if only for a few moments-in that meadow where the man and woman in stone lived and loved in the flesh.
"Excuse me, sir. Would you help me, please?"
Startled, I jumped up sharply. I must have frightened the young girl, for she backed away quickly.
She was quite a marvelous creature, different from any of the varieties of women I had so far seen. My desire was immediately whetted and I could feel the approval of the figures in the statue, urging me on.
She must have been in her mid-twenties-you could tell that by the way she moved her body. Still, she looked much younger. And it was not a question of using the right kind of cosmetics; she looked young with a look that could not be faked or painted on because it sprang from innocence; she was the picture of every vision every mother has ever had of the way she would like her daughter to grow up. Still, the only thing that mattered to me was the fullness and wholesomeness of her body. Her innocence only served to arouse me more.
She was dressed in a sailor suit, very cute, very expensive; one that had come from one of the city's more famous boutiques. I tried to smile reassuringly. I was positive that my eyes shone with lust, but she must not have recognized it as such for she smiled back at me. Her face glowed.
"You startled me, jumping up like that," she said.
"Well, you startled me, too. I didn't hear you come into the shop. Anyway, I'm sorry. How can I help you?"
All of her uneasiness was gone now and she spun on her toes and glanced around my shop, like a child in a circus.
"Oh," she said, her voice rippling with fresh laughter, "you have so many things. I don't know what to pick."
"Well, what did you have in mind?" Her back was to me and so I risked staring up and down her body, trying to imagine what she would look like with her clothes off.
Her buttocks were small and tight and I imagined that was also the word to describe her sex: tight. A man would just be able to squeeze into her, then stay, easing gently back and forth, for it looked as though she would not be able to stand much pain and one would not want her to pass out in the middle of the love act. Complementing her figure was a pair of deliciously long legs, the kind that a man dreams of having wrapped about his body, the ankles locked above his spine. Her breasts were tiny but this only added to the illusion of innocence and I knew from experience with other small-breasted women that the nipples would be like rosebuds, soft and full of moisture in the mouth.
"My boyfriend will be coming home in a few days," she said, her face beaming. She pointed down to her clothing and passed one hand over her chest, a gesture that made my flesh leap immediately to attention. "He's in the Navy. That's why I bought this outfit. It was terribly expensive.
"I'm sure he'll be pleased," I said, wondering if her sailor boyfriend had knowledge of what was underneath.
"Oh, I hope so," she said, flushing to the roots of her hair. "We're going to be married, you know, right after he comes back. He loves antiques and little knick-knacks and I thought I'd buy him a present. But I just don't know what to buy. May I look around?"
"Of course. Take all the time you want. Let me know if you see something you want."
I watched her moving about the shop. Already, an idea had taken shape in my mind and I had to ponder it, for I could hardly believe that it was my own idea. It was almost as if someone-or something-had placed it there.
I had gone through so much to keep my statue. Here it was, safe in my shop. And I was thinking of selling it to this girl! That was impossible, I thought. What could make me want to do such a thing?
But the idea was there, insistent and demanding. The thought was tugging at the muscles in my groin, arousing me even further. The girl with my statue! The girl naked before me, like the woman in the stone!
"I think I may have something for you," I said. The words were already out and there was nothing I could do to take them back, even if I wanted to.
"Oh, that's wonderful!" the girl cried, skipping up to the counter. "What is it?"
"This," I said. I reached back, grasped the statue, and set it down on the counter in front of her. "It's a very valuable piece of sculpture from the jungles of the Amazon. There are very few like it in the world."
She seemed quite dismayed, almost embarrassed. I looked for some signs of arousal in her face, but there were none. Whatever the corrupting power of the statue, it did not seem to work on her. I was beginning to fear that she wouldn't take my statue. I did not understand, as yet, why, but I knew I must sell it to her.
"I don't know," the girl said, rubbing her cheek as she stared at the copulating figures.
"It does seem rather... extreme, doesn't it? My boyfriend and I, well, we're not exactly what you'd call swingers. I suppose some people would call us square. I don't know whether he'd like to have this thing around the house, I know I wouldn't. It seems almost... indecent."
"It is authentic," I said quickly. "It would be a wonderful addition to any art collection."
"I don't know whether you could say Alex was an art collector... he just kind of likes knick-knacks, if you know what I mean."
I did. And the thought was filling me with fear that she would not take the piece. It seemed to me that the figures were moving again and, at this moment, I wished they would stop. I had to find a way to get this girl to take the statue.
"You said you were getting married."
"Yes, that's right."
"Well, let me tell you something else about this statue. It is also a good-luck piece. You know, it's supposed to help newlyweds." I winked slyly, but I don't believe she noticed.
"Help newlyweds? How?"
I cleared my throat behind my hand. "You know. It's a love-piece. It will help you... your first night in bed."
"Oh!"
I had offended her. I had to think quickly. I acted boldly, stepping out from behind the counter and placing my arm around her slim waist, taking care to keep my body off to the side so that she could not see my swollen member. Touching her gave me a wondrous sensation. I could feel the line of her panties and garter belt beneath the thin fabric. She started to pull away and I concentrated all my attention on sounding fatherly.
"My dear," I said in a soothing tone, "we are living in an enlightened age and we must not let old superstitions affect us. Now, sex is a fact of life and anyone knows that a good sex life is ninety percent of any marriage. Your husband will certainly want you to be a good sex partner. He will expect that of his wife. Don't you want to be a good wife?"
She was more relaxed now and did not seem to mind my arm around her waist. I pressed my fingers a little tighter against the panties and garter belt but stopped before I lost control. If the girl even suspected I was trying to feel her, I knew she would leave the shop immediately. I must not let that happen. I had to make the sale at all costs.
"Oh yes," she said breathlessly. "More than anything else, I want to make Alex a good wife."
"Then take it from an older man who would like to help you. The first night with your husband is most important. You will want to give him every pleasure that he's always desired. You must love him as he's never dreamed possible."
"Yes, I suppose you're right. I do so want to please Alex."
"Then don't be afraid to use something to help you. Take the statue. The natives who made it knew what they were doing. They would give it to all young brides on their wedding night."
"And that would help them make love well?"
"Absolutely," I said, my voice ringing with conviction. For all I knew, I was telling the truth.
She thought for a moment. "I suppose you're right," she said. Her face suddenly brightened. "It will be a useful gift. It'll help our marriage get off to a good start."
"Exactly," I said, reluctantly removing my arm from around her waist.
"How much is it?"
"Five hundred dollars."
"Oh dear," she said, her voice faltering. "I don't have... you see, this outfit cost me really much more than I could afford to pay."
"All right," I said quickly. "Five dollars."
"But... "
I shrugged. "You'll only have one wedding. I want it to be a good one."
"I don't know how to thank you."
"Be a good wife."
There were tears of joy running down her face as she opened her purse and withdrew a five dollar bill. I took it and quickly produced a pen and sales slip.
"Name?"
"Alice-Alice Peterson."
The blood was pounding in my skull. "Address?"
"Ninety-eight East Madison."
I finished filling out the slip. I wrote PAID across the copies, tore out the carbon and handed it to her. I put the original into my pocket.
Carefully, I wrapped the statue, aware all the time of the tremendous risk I was taking. What if Alice Peterson should drop the statue on the sidewalk? What if it should be grabbed from her-some street thieves- would take anything which looked valuable. But there was nothing else to do. I had sold her the statue and that was as it must be.
I handed it across the counter to her. She took it under her arm, thanked me once again, and left.
I followed her to the door, looking after her as she skipped and jumped her way down the sidewalk. She was filled with joy, and such a woman is a marvelous sexual being. I waited until she was out of sight, then closed the door and locked it. I pulled down my CLOSED sign and went into my rooms in the back of the shop. I had much work to do before nightfall.
Gloves; I needed gloves. But they must be very light, slipped on and stripped off very easily. I found them. I put them into a small airline carrying bag. I also put in a ski mask that I had bought years before but never used. Sneakers, old clothes... at last I was set. I zipped the bag shut and sat down to wait for the night, images of the statue filling my brain.
It was so perfect, I thought. I was a prisoner of the statue; it filled my dreams and my nightmares. But if I must suffer, I would have others suffer with me. If I was a victim of the statue, then I would make sure that I was not alone. I would use the statue to lure other young women. I would let them fall in love with the statue as I had done... and then I would take it from them.
The only thing that bothered me about the plan was that the idea was not really my own, it was the statue's. My will was as much a prisoner as always. But that did not really matter. To be a prisoner of the statue was better than to be without the statue. I would do its bidding.
Thinking of the sculpture had excited me. Nonetheless, I resisted my urges. I would save myself, I thought. Save myself for the night and for Alice Peterson.
She lived in a rather large apartment building on the third floor. I knew that meant I must be very quiet and act quickly. I was frightened. One scream, one chair overturned, and I would be caught. How Detective Jameson would gloat over that! But I had no choice. Alice Peterson had my statue and I must get it back. She, too, must be made a victim of the stone.
I checked the directory and discovered her apartment number. So far, so good, I thought, riding up in the elevator. But I was not home free yet. I still had the problem of getting into the apartment-and slipping into my disguise so that I would not be known. I got out of elevator on her floor and found the door to her apartment. I could feel the excitement pounding in me; I could not believe I had been so fortunate! Her apartment was the last one on the corridor, overlooking a deserted courtyard below. There was a huge window at the end of the hall. Next to it was a fire escape which led right past what I knew must be one of Alice Peterson's windows. Glancing about to make sure I was alone, I climbed out the window and made the one little step which put me safely on the fire escape.
I walked along the metal platform and stopped just to one side of her bedroom window. There was light flooding out into the night and I knew I must be very careful not to be seen. I knelt down and peered around the edge. Alice was still dressed in her sailor suit but she was stretched out on the bed, watching television. Her body looked even more inviting than before. Her skirt was pulled up almost to her waist and her white flesh glowed in beautiful contrast to the tops of her blue stockings. I could just see a flash of blue nylon which I guessed to be her panties. The color of the panties seemed to glow iridescently in the reflection from the television and, in that moment, I envied those panties and wished that it was I hugging the soft contours of her. Soon enough, I thought. Soon enough.
I could not enter the bedroom yet. I had to wait until she left. In the meantime, I prepared myself, slipping on the gloves and the ski mask. I checked the lock on top of the window and determined that I could jimmy it very rapidly, if need be.
I settled down to wait, only one thought making me uneasy. Where was the statue? It was nowhere in sight. Of course it could be in any one of the other rooms, but my fevered brain could not long tolerate uncertainty, not where the statue was concerned.
I didn't have to wait much longer. At last Alice yawned, rose and walked out of the room. I guessed that she was going to the bathroom to brush her teeth and otherwise prepare her luscious body for bed. That would take her about ten to fifteen minutes, I judged. More than enough time.
As soon as she disappeared, I got to work on the window. I slipped a screwdriver beneath the wood frame and, with one little tug and a jerk, the window was open. I hurriedly climbed in over the sill and closed it behind me. I was in!
In, but not safe. One false move would lose the statue forever. I could take no chances. I moved across the room and hid myself in the large, walk-in closet at the opposite end of the room. I moved back into the clothing, hoping against hope that the woman would not come in there before she retired to bed. I waited in the hot darkness, my breath coming in short gasps that I was positive everyone-even the couple in the next apartment-could hear. At last I heard her steps returning. The door was half open, but I was not in a position that would enable me to look out and see what she was doing or where she was in the room. I had to rely on my ears. She was moving about and I could hear the sound of a zipper and then the rustle of clothing falling to the floor. So, I thought, she was undressing. That would make it that much easier for me to take her when the time came. I started to relax, and then tensed again. She was coming to the closet! Perhaps she meant to hang up her clothes, in which case I would be discovered. She would scream and I would be caught.
My hands came up. In that moment, I knew I would do anything to protect myself and get back the statue. The moment Alice Peterson's lovely face appeared in the doorway, the moment she opened her mouth to scream, I would reach out and...
Her footsteps had stopped. She was at the door now. The muscles in my legs bunched and I made ready to leap forward...
The door clicked shut. That was why Alice had crossed the room; to shut the closet door, not to open it.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I was still undiscovered but now I had another problem; I could not see out into the room and thus could not judge the best time to make my move. I had to take a chance.
I elbowed through the thicket of coats and dresses and pushed the door, just slightly. There was a small squeaking sound but Alice did not appear to notice. I pushed a little harder and the door opened wide enough for me to see through a little crack. Alice was right in my line of vision.
She had removed her skirt. She stood in her blouse, panties, blue stockings and garter belt. Even as I watched, she reached up and began to unbutton her blouse. It seemed an eternity as her fingers flew over the buttons and the blouse rustled to the floor to join the rest of her clothing. How fortunate I was, I thought, to have picked a victim that was none too neat.
Her back was to me and I watched as she reached behind her to unsnap her bra. She was having some difficulty with the catch and it was all I could do not to jump out and tear it from her body. But that would be suicide, I thought. I had only to wait a few more minutes and I would have everything I wanted; the statue and her. A pain suddenly shot through my head and I almost cried out. What am I doing? I thought, what am I doing lurking here in the shadows of a girl's apartment like the lowest animal on earth? What have I come to? And of course I immediately knew the answer; I had become the vilest creature on earth... because of the statue. Now there was nothing for me to do but play out my part.
At last she succeeded in unsnapping the bra. New and stiff, it fell to the floor with a dull, thudding sound. She turned.
Shit, her breasts were beautiful, just as I had imagined. Small and incredibly firm with dark red nipples that spread out over almost half of their surface. How good they would feel in my mouth, I thought.
She went to the television and shut it off. I stiffened. I had counted on the noise from the television, to cover the sound of my footsteps as I crossed the room. Now it was very silent.
Alice crossed the room. She was still wearing her panties, stockings and garter belt. The rest of her was naked. Her snail, firm breasts moved just slightly as she walked and I could feel myself swelling up to monstrous proportions inside my pants. I could not hold myself in much longer. Soon, I must burst from the room and fall upon her, regardless of the consequences. That would be the end of me but surely, I thought, it would be worth it. To end inside the body of a woman like that...
I was spared any suicidal action. Alice had crossed the room in order to turn on the radio and, even as I watched her begin to sway back and forth, the sounds of violin music filled the air.
But she was moving around and around; it would be very difficult for me to approach her.
But now she was facing in the opposite direction, still swaying in time to the music. I could wait no longer. I reached behind me and grasped a scarf that I had seen dangling on a hanger. Slowly, I pushed the door open wider, paused, and then stepped out into the room.
She did riot sense my presence until the last moment. By then, it was too late, I was already upon her. She turned just as I approached and her mouth opened wide with terror, I could imagine the scream taking shape in her throat... and then I had the scarf in her mouth.
She fought well, scratching and kicking like an enraged tiger. She was surprisingly strong for her slight frame. Nevertheless, my gloves, ski mask and heavy work clothes protected me from her scratches, just as they protected my identity.
The more she fought, the better I liked it. Alice must have sensed this for she soon quieted down and allowed herself to be thrown on the bed. She lay there, one leg thrown protectively over the other, her breasts taut, the red nipples puckered and pointing at me accusingly. I watched her for a few moments, allowing my blood to run hot, then quickly pulled out four short pieces of rope from my airline bag.
At the sight of the rope, Alice began to struggle again, but I was too strong for her and soon I had her tethered to the bed, spreadeagled with each arm and leg tied to one of the bedposts. She was at my mercy.
Only then did I remove my gloves, piling them neatly where I would not forget them, and taking care not to touch any hard surface where I might leave fingerprints.
I circled her, allowing my eyes to drink in her beauty. Her eyes followed me everywhere, trying to pierce the darkness of my mask. Finally I stopped, reached out, and took one of the rosy nipples between my fingertips. I simply held the soft flesh in my hand and, before long, it had hardened-, just as I knew it would. I would make her enjoy this experience whether she wanted to or not.
When that nipple had hardened to its maximum size, I reached out and touched the other one, kneading it gently until it sprang to life and moved beneath my fingers and palm. Then I bent down and took the flesh into my mouth, giving it a hard flick with my tongue just as my lips closed over it. With my other hand, I continued to stimulate the other breast.
First I moved the nipple around between my lips, alternately pressing it tight, then sucking it, pulling it out from the breast. I moved across to the other nipple, repeating the same action.
At last I mouthed harder and her lithe body shuddered. The breasts were so small that I was able to capture them almost completely, allowing the hard nipples to brush against the back of my throat as I moved slowly up and down. She was soft inside me and I stayed in that position, sucking them as hard as I could until I felt my own body shiver.
I sat up and looked at her, staring at my prize. Her breasts were red and puckered from the attentions of my mouth and her eyes were crazed with a combination of passion-which she could not prevent-and horrified loathing.
I removed my trousers and let them fall on top of her own clothing. Slowly I ran the palm of my hand over the soft, silky flesh of her belly, lingering for a moment on the navel, reaching inside it with my fingers, bending down and running the tip of my tongue along its firm, outer ridge. Her body tensed again and I felt myself stiffening in preparation for the second onslaught. It was her innocence which fired me; that combination of desire and loathing that sent tingling fingers of ice and fire up and down my spine. She was no longer making any attempt to loose the gag from her mouth.
I began to stroke her nylon-sheathed legs, lingering around her slim ankles, then running my hand down inside the tops of her stockings or beneath her garters. I leaned over and licked the flesh inside her thighs. She stiffened, drawing her knees up as far as they would go. At last I reached out and cupped the palm of my hand over her panties. The blue nylon was slippery beneath my touch and that silkiness-combined with the feel of the soft hair and flesh beneath-sent the blood rushing into my groin.
I tore off my shorts and stood up for her to see. My flesh thrust out into the air above her and she stared at its length through glazed eyes, as if hypnotized.
I reached down, hooked my fingers over the elastic top of her panties, and tugged. They parted down the center with only a whisper of sound. I took the torn nylon and threw it aside. She lay completely exposed to my gaze.
There were a few droplets of moisture on the pubic hair, but the lips had reacted to my passionate advances by swelling apart of their own accord.
I stepped sideways so that I stood directly at the foot of the bed, staring up into the center of her body. Without a moment's hesitation I fell between her legs and shot my stiffened tongue into the gaping pink hole. She let out a cry that carried, even through the gag. Her body hunched and I could feel a slight pressure on my sides as her legs strained to the limit of their bonds and tried to press against me.
Still keeping my tongue buried inside her warmth, I drew my lips up and covered the hole, alternately sucking and massaging the entrance with my mouth. She was squirming violently until I feared that her bonds might burst. Still I was far too inflamed to even consider stopping and tightening the ropes. I burrowed my tongue deeper and deeper, licking and lapping the flowing insides, sucking mightily at her outer and inner lips, alternately swallowing and spitting out the fluid that poured from her.
At last I touched her stiff clitoris with the tip of my tongue and I lunged forward, grabbing it between my lips. I tugged at it, sucked and stimulated it with the tip of my tongue; the flow of her fluid increased.
At last I could delay no longer. I took my head away from her body and, in an instant, was up on the bed, kneeling between her legs. I stared down at the soaked sheet beneath her. I quickly reached behind her head and grasped the pillow, which I thrust beneath her hips, elevating them so that the entrance to her quivering sex was but a few inches from the tip of my manhood. I looked fully into her eyes-now dark and clouded with passions and desires she did not understand-and thrust myself into her.
I was drowning in a sea of pleasure. Her orifice was as I had imagined-tight and fresh. I longed to have her legs wrapped around my body but, of course, I could not risk freeing them. And so I continued thrusting myself into her, enjoying the multiple sensations that were already flowing into my body.
Two or three times I felt the insides of her canal contract in explosive orgasm; I could feel her fluid churning around my member, mixing with my own. But still I held back; I wanted more. Again and again I thrust deeply, placing my hand on her taut belly in order to enjoy the sensation of the muscles tensing and relaxing as her body reacted to mine.
At last I climaxed, explosively, shooting into her with a force that she must have felt on the neck of her womb for, at that precise moment, her belly and internal muscles contracted once again in her most powerful orgasm. Fluid squirted out onto the insides of my legs. Her eyes rolled back up inside her head and her body went limp.
I quickly checked her pulse and breathing; everything was all right. Alice had simply fainted from an excess of passion and delight. I withdrew myself and dressed quickly. I had to move rapidly now. I wanted to be gone before she awoke.
First I put my gloves back on and then dusted the room with a piece of clothing to be certain I had not left any fingerprints. Next, I checked the surface of the bed, around and under the unconscious girl, to make certain I had not lost any hairs or other item that might serve to identify me if it ever came to that. At last, satisfied, I left the bedroom.
It was a relatively large apartment but I did not feel that I would have any difficulty finding the statue. Surely, I thought, she would have put it someplace where it could be seen. After all, it was a work of art. I looked about the living room. There were many paintings there and even a few pieces of sculpture; the statue was not there. I could feel the panic growing within me.
I looked everywhere in the room, behind the cushions, over the mantelpiece, under the furniture. I went into the kitchen and searched. I even went back into the bedroom and looked through the closet and the drawers. There was no sign of the statue. The girl was beginning to stir.
In desperation, I flung open the door of the hall closet. It was the only place I hadn't looked. The statue was on the top shelf, pushed far back, still encased in its wrapping. I took it into my arms and wept with joy at the touch of the hard stone beneath my fingers.
I started to leave, then stopped. I could hear the moans of the girl in the bedroom as she struggled toward consciousness. I could not go yet; it would be too easy to trace me. Quickly, I scooped up a number of objects which looked valuable, stuffed them into my pockets and beneath my shirt. I would simply have to take the chance walking into the corridor with them; there was nothing else to be done.
Satisfied that I had gathered enough to make it seem like a real robbery, I hurried back into the bedroom.
Good, I thought. She was still unconscious, though the frequency of her moans testified to the fact that she would not be for long. I did not want her to strangle or starve to death and so I slipped off her gag before returning to the other room. I quickly pushed my mask into my pocket and opened the front door a crack. The hall was empty. I hurried out, walking quickly, stopping only to hurl everything but the statue down the chute leading to the incinerator.
I made it out of the building with no one seeing me and was two blocks away before the sound of sirens split the night.
CHAPTER SIX
I was in my shop, gloating over my triumph, when Detective Jameson came in. The muscles in my stomach jumped with nervousness but somehow I must have managed to appear outwardly calm for Jameson did not seem to notice my discomfort.
What did he want? It had been three days since the business in Alice Peterson's apartment and there had been a story in the paper about some man who had confessed. Of course it was all wishful thinking on the man's part-and the police would determine that sooner or later and set him free. But the heat should have been off for at least a few days.
"Hello, Lyle," Jameson said evenly, his eyes searching my face. "How're things?"
"Just fine," I answered, trying to match his tone. "Business is pretty quiet. Slow season, you know."
"Oh? You mean you haven't sold anything this week?"
He was trying to trap me and I wondered if he was purposely being clumsy about it.
"Detective Jameson," I said, allowing a trace of impatience to creep into my voice, "I didn't say I hadn't sold anything. I said business has been slow."
"Of course, of course that's what you said." He turned his back to me and began walking slowly around the shop, inspecting the merchandise on all the shelves, as if looking for something. What?
"I wish my business was slow," Jameson said casually, as if trying to make conversation. "Of course, the criminal never sleeps."
"You mean crime never sleeps,"
"Right," he said, turning around to glance at me. Then he resumed his tour of the shop. "It's amazing how many crimes are committed in this city every day. All kinds of crimes... and for all different kinds of reasons. Some steal because they need the money for narcotics; some kill out of passion.
Some men embezzle because they think they can get away with it. Yes, usually you find a reason for most crimes and that's what helps us to solve them."
I knew Jameson was coming to a point and I was becoming increasingly uneasy. I wondered what he was after.
"Of course, every once in a while you get a real stickler. Like a few nights ago. We had a rape and a burglary. We got some guy who confessed but I don't believe it. We'll have to let him go sooner or later. In the meantime, I want to get back on the trail of the person who did it."
"That's fascinating," I said, clenching my hands together to keep them from shaking. "What was so unusual about the rape and burglary?"
"It just doesn't ring true," Jameson said, suddenly turning and looking at me directly. "By the way, do you still have that black statue around? You know, the one that you originally sold to Lucille Mason?"
My mind raced. Since I could always feel the presence of the statue within me, it sometimes seemed as if the statue were actually physically present. But, of course, it was not. I had locked it safely away, knowing that its presence would surely prove that I was the attacker. Many months from now I would devise some scheme whereby I could use it again in the same manner but right now it must stay hidden. And I had to be extremely careful of what I said to Jameson.
"I sold it," I said evenly, trying to effect a sadness in my voice.
"Oh, really? But I thought you were very attached to that statue? Didn't you tell me once it was almost priceless?"
I swallowed hard. "This was a special instance," I said, "a special situation."
Jameson was rubbing his stubble of beard. "How much did you sell it for?"
"Five dollars." I knew my voice could barely be heard. I was so frightened that I felt as if there were steel bands around my larynx. But I could not lie. He would have already gotten the information from Alice Peterson.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you. How much did you say?"
"Five dollars."
"Five dollars? For a priceless statue. Isn't that rather odd?"
I squirmed. "I'm a sucker for a sad story," I said. "It was to be a wedding gift and the poor girl couldn't pay any more. She had her heart set on it and, well, I just couldn't deny her."
"Hmm," Jameson said quietly. "Very compassionate of you."
I said nothing. I could not tear my eyes away from his. I imagined that he could see deep into my mind, peeling away the tissue of lies to expose the truth. My flesh crawled.
"You don't happen to remember who you sold it to?"
"Well, now, let me see." I made a pretense of digging through my papers in the drawer. "Yes, here it is," I said, scarcely daring to breathe. "Her name was Alice Peterson. She lives at-"
"I know where she lives," Jameson said. He sounded disappointed, as if he had been hoping that I would lie. "As a matter of fact, it was Miss Peterson's apartment that was burglarized. And she was raped."
"Surely, you don't think I had anything to do with it?"
He stared at me. "I didn't say that," Jameson said at last. "I'm just following a lead. What would you say if I told you that the statue you sold Miss Peterson was one of the items that was stolen?"
"I'd say the thief had good taste."
"Yes, but thieves are interested in money, isn't that right?"
"Of course."
"Statues have to be fenced. It's liable to cost him a pretty penny to find an outlet for it. And the other things he took weren't that valuable. Isn't it strange that he didn't even look in her purse? It was sitting right on her night table. Had almost seven hundred dollars in it. Her boyfriend had just sent it to her to save for him."
"Maybe he was in a hurry."
"He had time to rape her. Really did a job of it, too."
"Maybe he was rushed. Someone might have been coming."
Jameson slowly shook his head. "No... no, it wasn't like that. I talked to the girl. She said it was some time after she regained consciousness that she was able to call for help-maybe ten or fifteen minutes. By that time, the guy had already left. So you see, he was in no hurry. He raped her, ignored the pocketbook and then took a bunch of junk... stuff that is almost of no value. The only valuable thing that he took was the statue-your statue; the one that figured in the Lucille Mason case."
He seemed to be waiting for me to say anything. I worked my tongue across the top of my mouth, trying to summon up some moisture. "That seems very strange," I said at last.
"There's more; we found some curious things in the incinerator. Ashes and remains of certain things that we've almost been able to identify as the objects that came from Miss Peterson's apartment. Everything, that is, except the statue."
"You said almost."
"Oh, it's hard to identify ashes and so forth. But if those ashes are the remains of the objects in Miss Peterson's apartment-well, it certainly is strange, isn't it? Why should the thief steal those things, then throw everything away except the statue?"
It was time for me to be firm. Jameson was playing cat and mouse. "Yes, it certainly would be strange. However, if you're accusing me of something, I wish that you'd come out and say so. After all, is it a crime to do a young girl a kindness? I don't believe it is. Also, it's not my fault if you have an eccentric thief on your hands. If you want to arrest me, arrest me. If not, please leave me alone."
Detective Jameson threw up his hands in mock surprise. "Whoever said anything about arresting you, Lyle? I came here because I knew of your interest in antiques and curios-and especially the statue. It occurred to me that somebody else might know about it too and come to you trying to sell it back." He paused. "Has that happened, Lyle? Has anyone come to you trying to sell you back your statue?"
"No. And if they had, I would have immediately reported it to the police. I wish you'd give me some credit, after all!"
"Yes," Jameson said, heading for the door. He paused with his hand on the knob, turned and spoke slowly. "By the way, do you know a man by the name of Ben Miller?"
I must have jumped for Jameson's eyebrows flickered. Ben Miller! That was Debra's husband! What possible connection could Ben Miller have with Jameson?
"I'm afraid the name doesn't ring any bells, Detective-Jameson." I had no choice but to lie. I had no desire to get into a discussion of my former relationship with Debra Miller.
"That's strange," Jameson said, scratching his stubble even harder. "He seems to know you. I say, 'seems' because I mentioned your name one day-just in passing reference to the Lucille Mason business-and he just about fell out of his chair. I asked him what he knew about you but he clammed right up. I thought I might get some answers from you. Well-"
"Just a minute," I said, stepping out from behind the counter. Jameson turned back. "This 'Miller'-is he a policeman?"
"Yes." He studied my face and must have seen fear there. "You're sure you don't know him?"
"I'm sure. I was just curious who he was."
"Like I said, he's a cop. A detective, like me. Just joined the force a few months ago. Real angry guy-like he's carrying some kind of grudge or something. Great for catching crooks-although he's pretty hard on some of them-particularly sex offenders." Once again, like a hawk, he was studying my face. "Is there anything you want to tell me, Lyle? I sure hope you haven't got this Miller guy after you."
"No, no," I said, "there's nothing wrong. Any more questions?"
"No," Jameson said easily. "You will let me know if anyone approaches you with that statue?"
"Sure."
"It's nice to know there are still law-abiding citizens," Jameson said. I could not tell whether he was being sarcastic. And then he was gone.
I grabbed a broom and rapped on the ceiling. I waited a moment, then rapped again. At last there was the sound of footsteps. I breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back against the counter.
Eva, my landlady, had taken care of the store before and I was positive she'd be more than glad to do it again. After all, she loved my body and, in exchange for my making love to her once or twice a month, she was willing to do anything I asked.
She came around the stairs and into the store, wrapped in a sarong. I guessed from the way her breasts and hips moved, that she had nothing on beneath the robe. Her hair and skin were glistening, as if she'd just come out of the shower. She moved toward me, breathing heavily.
Eva was in her forties, the same as me. Usually, I preferred younger women like Alice Peterson but, in a pinch, there was always Eva. And I couldn't complain. Eva made up for her lack of youth with experience-and passionate hunger. Eva knew every trick there was. She could move around a bed, using every corner of it, and leave a man completely exhausted but still begging for more.
But now was not the time. I was completely panicked by Jameson's visit and by the newfound knowledge that Ben Miller-the man who hated me the most-was on the police force. Also, it seemed they were closing in on me. I had made so many mistakes that I had not even been aware of-I felt it was only a matter of time before I would be arrested. I needed time to think. I had to get away from the shop to plan what I would do. That was why I had called Eva.
But Eva, obviously, had other ideas. She thought I had called her for one of our monthly sessions.
"Hi, sugar," her voice was thick with desire. "It's about time you gave me a rap. After that mess I cleaned up off the floor, I figured you'd worn yourself out for the year. What did happen?"
There was no time. "Look, Eva," I said. I felt my head splitting. I had to get out into the air. I could almost hear the prison doors being slammed shut; I could feel the statue being torn from my grasp. "I haven't got time to talk to you now-"
"I don't want you to talk to me-I want you to screw me. What the hell do you think I came down here for?"
"Eva," I said, making no effort to hide the pleading in my voice. "I can't now, I have to get away from here for a while. Please believe me. Will you watch the store for me? Maybe when I get back."
"Is something bothering my darling?"
"Yes," I said impatiently, "something is bothering me. Will you help me?"
"Of course I'll help you," Eva said, moving closer to me and running her tongue over her lips. "Eva will fix you up good."
With one deft motion she reached down and untied the belt around her waist. With both hands she pulled the folds of her robe apart baring her body to my gaze.
Like always, I was unable to take my eyes away from Eva's body. Passion had kept her flesh firm; passion and much use. Her large breasts did not sag but, rather, stood out in a most provocative manner. Her nipples-the little mounds of flesh that I had sucked so often-were a pale brown. Even as I watched, they moved slightly and I could feel my mouth filling with water.
"Eva-I have to leave."
She reached up and cupped her breasts, squeezing them, holding them out to me.
"Do it darling."
"Do what darling?" he asked.
"Suck me, darling," Eva cooed. "Suck me like you used to."
"Eva-I-" She spread her knees. Her pubic hair parted and I could see the soft edges of her lips protruding from between her legs. "I'm yours, Lyle. You can do whatever you want. Come into me. Let my body relax you."
I was still filled with an unspeakable panic but my body reacted instinctively. My pants swelled and Eva stared at the bulge knowingly. She reached out and began to stroke me. I opened my mouth to speak but she had already moved up close and covered my parted lips with her own, filling it with her very hot, thick tongue. My fingers came up and cupped her breasts. She wiggled her body back and forth, causing the warm flesh to dance in my hands; the nipples tickled my palms. I could feel my tension begin to melt away. Visions of the statue leapt into my mind, filling me with passion.
Before I knew it, she had begun to slide down my body, pulling open my shirt and sucking my nipples and my navel. Then she was on her knees, fumbling with my fly.
She was a true expert. She had the zipper undone in a moment and had extracted my stiff member from my pants. Immediately she slipped it into her mouth, at the same time loosening my belt and pulling it down around my knees. I looked up and realized that the door was still unlocked, the shade open. Anyone could have walked in. But I did not move. At that moment, I did not care. I was completely lost.
Now she had pulled down my shorts and one hand was cupping me, stroking and squeezing in order to assist the build-up of fluid that would eventually squirt into her.
It was happening-I could feel the fluids seething around in the millions of channels, working up pressure, ready to flow out of me with the force of water from a giant fire hose.
"Your mouth, Eva!" I rasped. "Take it back in your mouth!"
But she was already there. Her delicate hand had felt the pressure building and she had already gobbled me up, taking me to the hilt. I grasped the edges of the counter. My fingernails scratched the varnished wood as I exploded.
I must have left the ground; I could feel my body jerking back and forth but she held tight, her fingers buried in the flesh of my buttocks until, at last I was finished.
She bent back, then looked up at me, her eyes still smoldering with desire. "Was it good?"
"You know it was." My breath was coming in short gasps as I reached down and started to pull my pants up. Her hand reached out and grasped mine.
"Why not let me do it again? I'll give you time to rest. I need it, Lyle. I want you in my mouth, then in my-" She pointed. "I have to leave."
"Didn't I relax you?" She had leaned back and was once again squeezing her breasts, both to excite me and to satisfy herself. I reached down and took her face in my hands.
"You did relax me, Eva. I love the feel of your body. But I have to be alone for a little while to think some things out. I need you to watch the store for me."
She had reached one hand into her crotch and was fingering herself, staring at my limp, dripping staff. "Can't you tell me what it's about?" Her body was beginning to stiffen.
"Not now. Maybe we'll do it again when I get back. All right?"
Her breasts were bobbing up and down with her effort and, in spite of myself, I was hardening again.
"Quickly," I said. "Lean back and spread your legs."
Eva did as she was told and I slipped down on my knees and thrust myself into her. I finished almost immediately. Few men, once inside Eva and feeling the indescribable motions of her body, could hold themselves back for very long. Eva let out a shriek and dug her teeth into my shoulder. I groaned and let loose a second stream. Her insides were tightening as her body went through its spasms.
I waited until she relaxed, then pulled myself out-stood, and zipped myself up. "When you get back?"
Yes," I said, "when I get back.
Elsa sighed, got up and wrapped her robe around her. She went and stood behind the counter.
I looked at her and guessed that any customer who came in would certainly try to buy more than a curio. But that wasn't my concern at the moment. I had to find a way to save myself and keep the statue. I leaned around the counter and kissed her. I glanced once at the cabinet where I had locked the statue, then went out into the night.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I walked for many hours through the dark streets of the city. Eva's attentions had served to calm me, but my panic had been transformed into a dark gloom. I was so depressed that, at one time, I stopped on a bridge and looked down into the black waters and thought of ending my life in thier cold depths. If I had had the statue with me, I might have, but I could not face the prospect of dying alone. I could not live without the statue. I could not die without it.
Had Alice Peterson given the police a description of her attacker? She must have. Jameson hadn't mentioned it and, certainly, his rough exterior served as a cover for an extremely clever mind. I most certainly was a suspect. What if he came back with a search warrant? What if he found the statue? Even now he could be walking into the store. Eva would know nothing about it and would fully cooperate. She had all my keys and would cheerfully open up all the locked cabinets, and then I would be finished.
I gave a soft groan and turned around, heading back for the store. Soon, I found myself running. I burst into the shop completely out of breath. "Has anyone been here?"
"Just a customer." Eva looked pleased. Already she was starting to part the folds of her robe. Once again, her eyes were going dark with passion. I felt a tremendous relief. The police had not been here. Perhaps, I thought, I was letting my imagination run away with me.
I went to Eva and kissed her on the neck. She writhed with desire. I took my hand and slipped it beneath her robe, cupping one firm breast in my hand.
"What did you sell for me?" I whispered in her ear.
She was panting heavily. "A statue," she said. "A black statue. One of the sexiest things I've ever seen."
I jumped back and the look in my eyes must have frightened her. "What's the matter?"
"You sold my statue?"
"Yeah," Eva said, then paused. She looked frightened. "What the devil?" It was just a couple screwing away. I got almost four hundred dollars for it. Besides the man said he was picking it up on order. He even gave a perfect description of what it looked like. I didn't see any harm. I figured you'd have a special order locked up, so I got it out and gave it to him."
I raised my hand and brought it crashing down across her face. The slap reverberated in the closed space of the shop. Eva staggered back, her eyes filled with a hurt which was more than physical.
"Lyle, I'm sorry if I did something wrong. I only wanted to please you." Her robe was wide open now but I turned away from her and she drew it closed. Somehow, I was able to quiet my mind enough to ask her the obvious question.
"Was it a man or a woman?"
"A man."
"What did he look like?"
"Oh, on the tallish side. Maybe six-foot-two or three. Blonde hair cut short. Clean shaven. He had a funny twitch, kind of, in one eye."
I moaned and put my hands on my stomach as if I were suffering a cramp. I knew who it was and I wondered.
"Did you find out what his name was?"
"Yeah," she said, touching her bruised cheek. "Ben Miller. Don't you know him? He said that you did. He said that he ordered the statue from you personally."
"Get out."
"Lyle, you promised me that we'd-" I glanced over at her and the expression on my face was enough to stop her from talking. I was suddenly sorry that I had hit her. It had not really been her fault. But how could I explain that she had just sold the statue to a policeman-to Debra Miller's husband! Miller hated me and now he had it within his power to destroy me. Once he showed the statue to Jameson, they would both be back here with a warrant for my arrest. I was finished. And the statue was gone forever.
I took a step toward Eva and she flinched. "Don't be afraid. I won't hit you again. It wasn't your fault." I was after something else now. In a few minutes, the police would be knocking at my door, ready to take me away. For many years. There would be no women in prison, no statue with which to comfort myself. Eva was probably the last woman I would see. I reached out and touched her breast. It stiffened and came alive. She took her hand and placed it over mine, pressing down on it. With the other hand, she had grasped her other breast and was squeezing it. I drew back the folds of her robes. She groaned with passion and leaned back against the wall.
She took her hand away from mine and put it down into my crotch. Then she froze. "Lyle, what's the matter?" I had not realized it myself until that moment. Now I could feel beads of sweat breaking out over my forehead, despite the fact that it was a cool night. I pressed her hand harder into me. Nothing happened. I remained completely soft. I could not get aroused.
"Nothing's the matter," I said quickly. "I'm tired. I walked a long way. I have to get my wind back. Then I'll be all right."
She snuggled against my cheek. "I'll help you rest up."
She had unzipped my fly and reached in. I was embarrassed when she reached in and found me useless. She took it out and laid it across the front of my trousers, caressing it, as one might a pet cat. I waited to spring to life. It lay there, soft and lifeless.
"Well," I said, "do something. Excite me! That's what women are for!"
She caressed me faster, harder. I could not understand what was happening. She continued to work as she had in the past. There was no change. I was beginning to panic. To have to go to prison was one thing, to be impotent was quite another-worse, as far as I was concerned.
"Lyle, what's the matter with you? I've never seen you like this."
There was a tone of indulgence in Eva's voice and I did not like it at all! Always before, I had been ready for her the instant she wanted me. Now, it was as if I had broken some kind of treaty between us and Eva could not figure out whether or not to forgive me. Now, suddenly, I was but a mere man instead of the superman lover she had known. I could almost see the thought in her eyes: hell, men are a dime a dozen. Lyle was good before, but now-
"Isn't there anything else you can do?"
"What do you want me to do, Lyle? You're like cooked spaghetti. Now, if you get hard, then I'll do something. You know that."
There was a trace of pity in her voice. It was all I could do to hide my terror.
"Please, Eva," I said. 'Try putting it into your mouth. Maybe that will do it."
Eva gave a little grimace of distaste. "Honey, it's so soft. It'll just fall right out again."
I tried to inject some bravado into my voice. "Eva, nothing stays soft in your mouth."
That seemed to revive her spirits. She chuckled, then bent over and flopped the cold piece of flesh into her hot mouth.
I tensed, waiting to swell and expand to my usual excited state. I closed my eyes, waiting for the delicious sensation of bubbling down there. My ears strained for the sound of Eva moaning with pleasure. I waited.
I looked down. Eva still had me in her mouth but she was looking up, questioningly. I reached toward her, as if to force her head further down on the flabby stem, but she pulled away, drew her robe around her body and stood up. My organ, still wet with her saliva, fell back down over my opened fly as if begging permission to go back in.
I quickly zipped myself and stood up, grabbing Eva by the arm.
"Please, don't go," I said. "Not yet. Don't leave me like this. I'm sure I'll be all right in a few minutes. Let's try a few other things."
"Call me some other time, Lyle, when you feel better." She was moving toward the stairs. I did not need to have her tell me to know that she would not be back. Eva was a lovemaking machine, willing to do anything for anybody if they would only give her what she craved. Once, I had been the man who had been able to satisfy her. Without her-without the statue-I would be completely alone. There would not even be anyone to visit me while I was in prison, nobody to describe how the light played over the surfaces of my stone man and woman.
"Please, Eva, don't leave me like this." I could feel artificial anger crawling up my throat. "Look, it's all your fault. You were the one who sold my statue!"
She turned to me now, a puzzled expression on her face.
"You mean, you need that statue to do anything?"
I could feel the blood rushing into my cheeks. I had to look away. "It didn't always used to be that way," I said thickly. "Even now, it's the only thing I can figure. You see, the loss of the statue has made me so upset that I can't get in the mood." I knew it was much more than that but I could not bring myself to tell Eva everything. "Please, if you'll only stay around for a little while and work on me, I'm sure I'll come around. Please."
"Sorry, pal," Eva said, pulling out of my grip. I made no move to 'stop her. "Anybody whose love life depends on a statue is a little too kinky for me."
And she was gone. I could hear the padding of her feet going up the stairs, the door of her apartment opening and closing and then silence.
I knew Eva was gone out of my life for good. She would forgive a man anything, except failure to make love to her. The only way I could get Eva back would be to break into her apartment and rape her. That she would like. But that was impossible. I could feel myself dangling loose and heavy between my legs. I was no longer of any use to a woman. And I knew the cause. The statue!
I had become so dependent on it for erotic excitement that, with it gone, I could not even become aroused. I was truly cursed! The figures in the statue gave all, when you possessed them. But now they were gone. Stolen by Debra Miller's husband. I was done for. I knew that now. When Miller had taken the statue, he had taken my sexuality. He might as well have taken my life, and I wished that he had. At least he could have let me die with the statue-die like a man with Eva groaning and bucking in my arms.
Once, just the thought of intercourse with Eva would have been enough to rouse me to heights of steaming frenzy. Now it brought only sadness.
I slowly walked to the door and lacked up (I considered leaving it open for the police when they came but I decided not to make things too easy for them). At last I shuffled back through the curtains and into my bedroom. I did not even bother to undress but, rather, fell on the bed and lay staring at the wall. I knew I would not be able to sleep anyway.
There was a chill in the evening. Nevertheless, I was sweating all over and the moisture clung to my body. I thought dreamily of that wondrous meadow of the pill where the only sensations were those of sex. What I would have given to be back there now, with the man and woman of the stone, who were gone from me forever, stolen by Ben Miller.
Why had he done it that way? The question occurred to me for the first time. Why hadn't he and Jameson simply come in with a search warrant and taken the statue? Obviously, he had been certain it was there. And why Miller and not Jameson?
He must have known that I'd never sell him the statue and so he must have waited outside. For how long? Days? He couldn't possibly have known just when I would ask Eva to mind the shop for me. Why? Why? And why hadn't they come for me? It had been almost two hours since the statue had been sold. Plenty of time for him to get hold of Jameson and have a warrant sworn out for my arrest. The statue was proof of my guilt. So, what were they waiting for?
Questions, questions. They were like hammers, beating on my sore, tired mind. I didn't want to think of anything. I couldn't think of anything except the loss of the statue. Perhaps he had done it for revenge. Yes, that was it. He hadn't told Jameson because he wanted to pick up the statue himself. Certainly, he would not have been afraid of my becoming violent. I think he had always known that I was somewhat of a coward. Still, he had done what he had done.
And that was why he was taking so long. He knew I would not run anywhere. I was too cowardly, even for that. It was his plan to make me sit here and think about what was going to happen, about years in prison, away from home. That was the only answer.
I had to find some way of regaining my manhood! I lay back on the bed and tried to conjure up the old images.
There! There it was! The statue, all black, solid and gleaming, before my eyes. The woman, writhing in passion, just like before.
The man, astride her, pumping his hips, thrusting himself deep, hurting her with the size of his massive organ-as I had hurt women with mine.
His hands were on her breasts, cradling them, squeezing and slapping them, puckering them up, gorging the nipples with blood. Then his mouth would be upon them, sucking them in, making the woman howl with delight! Her hand was underneath him, playing with him.
I put my hand down into my crotch. Surely, I thought, I must be rock-hard. I would make certain and then I would rap on the ceiling with my broomstick. Debra would come running, She would fling her robe aside and I would thrust myself into her, ram it home harder than ever. Even Eva would be forced to scream with pain.
I was completely soft. The image of the statue had excited me, but not enough. It was as if Miller had taken a part of my nervous system along with the statue. And in that instant, I knew that-if I were ever to be normal again-I must retrieve the statue. Since that was impossible, it meant that...
Oh, fuck! I rolled over into my pillow and let the tears flow freely. There was no hope for me. I bucked my hips up and down in a futile attempt to get some kind of life between my legs. The only thing I managed to do was to make myself sore.
The phone rang, shattering the stillness, suspending my agony. I ignored it but it continued to ring. At last I picked it up.
"Who is it?" My voice cracked.
"Well, Lyle," the voice said. "You don't sound too good. Something the matter?"
The voice, there was something terribly familiar about the voice. It was laughing, mocking me. A man's voice. I searched back in my memory in an attempt to match a face to the voice. Suddenly I knew. But my response was mechanical, almost as if I hoped, by asking the question, to erase the voice from the line, to wake up and find it was nothing more than a bad dream.
"Who-who is it?"
"Why it's old Ben Miller. The one whose wife you were screwing. Surely you remember me. I'm told you used to come around to where I worked just to look at me and laugh. You remember old Ben Miller."
"Mr. Miller, oh." My breath caught in my throat. Why was he calling? Why wasn't he here with Jameson? Why wasn't he arresting me? Why must he mock me? "Did you lose something, Lyle?"
"My statue," I said. There was no guile or subtlety left in me. "Why did you take my statue?"
"Why, it's evidence. Didn't you know? Funny thing how that statue keeps popping up in our cases. First, Lucille Mason, then Alice Peterson." His voice suddenly grew very cold and hard, like the edge of a knife. "You know that that statue is enough to send you up for twenty years, don't you. You raped that poor girl."
"Yes, yes," I said, blubbering into the telephone. "I admit it. Why don't you come and get me?"
"All in due time. All in due time."
"Will you bring the statue with you? Will you let me see it and hold it one last time?"
There was a long silence on the other end of the line and, for a moment, I thought he had hung up. "There's something about that statue, isn't there, Lyle?"
"Yes, there is," I said, trying to control my voice. "It's very valuable. That's all. I love beautiful pieces of art. I would just like to see it one more time before I'm put away."
"No," he said, "I think it's more than that. There's something unusual about that statue, the way it figures in everything you do. You don't even care if you're arrested, just as long as you can hold that statue in your hands." I said nothing. Again, there was a long pause. "I tell you what I'm going to do, Lyle," Miller said at last, his voice very low, "I'm going to break the statue. I'm going to break it right now!"
"No!" It was a scream and it must have echoed through the building. Certainly it must have cut into Miller's eardrums. "No, no! Please don't do that!"
"I'm going to smash it into a thousand pieces!"
I was sobbing openly now. "Please don't," I murmured.
"Then there is something about the statue. It has some kind of hold over you, doesn't it?"
"Yes," I said at last. There was no use in lying. Miller knew the truth. "I think it possesses my soul."
I thought Miller might laugh, but he didn't. I could hear the sound of his breathing over the line. When he spoke again, his voice was very serious.
"I thought it might be something like that.
It's incredible. Debra mentioned something about some curse. She thought it was all a joke but she gave it to you anyway. She hated you that much. She thought it just might be true.
Isn't that fantastic? The statue really has a curse. Debra really got back at you."
I was reduced to pleading. "I'll give you money."
"Trying to bribe a police officer?"
"Yes," I said without hesitation. "I'll give you anything you want. I'll spend the rest of my life working for you. I'll give you all my money, everything I own. All I want is the statue back." I hesitated, trying to imagine the expression on his face. "Please."
"I have everything I want," Miller said. "I have you exactly where I want you." His voice began to rise in pitch.
"Do you think I've ever forgotten what you did to me and Debra? How would you like to spend all your nights thinking of another man's mouth on your wife's body? How would you like to spend every waking moment thinking of how you've been cuckolded-"
"I'll do anything to make it up to you!"
"Even if you died, it wouldn't be enough. I want you alive, to suffer as I've suffered!"
"Anything!"
"Debra told me everything when she asked me to take her back. Everything, Lyle. Think of all the things you did together! Think of all the things I must think about!"
I was crying loudly and he had to shout to be heard over my sobs.
"That's why I took the statue, Lyle. That's why I haven't reported it to Jameson or anybody else. Prison is too good for you. I'll send you away when I'm good and ready. First, I want to torture you! Torture you like you tortured me."
"Are you going to smash the statue?"
"No, not yet anyway. I just wanted to see how you'd react. No, that would be too quick. I'm going to break it up, but only a little bit at a time, a chip here, a chip there. Maybe I'll start by carving scratches in the woman's nipples That'll give you something to think about. How will that pretty stone look with cracks all over its surface?"
"You can't! Those people are real. I know they are!"
"Real to you, Lyle. That's the beauty of it. Nothing but stone, but to you, they're real. By crushing them, I crush you."
"Why don't you just kill me?"
"That would be far too easy."
"I'll go to the police and turn myself in. I'll tell them that you have the statue."
"I'll deny it."
A giant claw was squeezing my body, draining the life from me. I knew Ben Miller would do exactly what he said he would do. And he would prolong it, day by day, week by week, month by month. He would chip off a little piece every day, then call me to tell me about it. That would be his revenge. And I knew that I could end only one way, as a screaming maniac, being carted away to spend the rest of my days in a padded, white cell. I began to scream.
"Scream, Lyle!" His voice came over the line, even stronger than my own. "Scream your lungs out! I'm not even going to start carving up the statue until next week. That'll give you more to think about! Think about it, Lyle. The next time you hear from me, there'll be a few pieces missing from your precious statue!"
I did not even hear the click on the other end of the line. My screams were drowning out everything. At last I passed out, falling into blessed unconsciousness. But even my dreams were filled with horrible images of Ben Miller working on my statue with a nail or a chisel. I awoke in a cold sweat. The phone was dangling off the hook, buzzing. I hung it up and stared into space. My clothing was drenched. I already felt half-dead and the doors of my sanity were beginning to close. There was nothing to do.
Somewhere in the distance I heard parade music. But it was the middle of the night. Still, I was certain of it: the drums beating, bugles blowing, excited cries of children as the tanks and artillery rolled past. It was still far in the distance and yet I knew that sooner or later, it would pass below my window and I would look down and see that all the people were made of stone. Their steps would shatter the sidewalk and their features would be set in frozen masks. The music would be jungle music, the savage beat of drums.
They would be drawing a series of long carts behind them, grotesque floats. On each of the floats would be a man and woman locked in a different embrace of passion. The parade would be a catalogue of love and perversion through the ages.
It would all pass below my window and I would be helpless to do anything but stare down. And then the last float would come into my line of vision, empty except for a nest of writhing, stone snakes and a place for me. Everything would stop. A man would motion for me to come down. I would hesitate but it would do me no good.
They would be coming for me, walking up the sides of the building, defying gravity. They would be coming through the windows, through the walls. I would feel their cold, stone arms around me and they would not be comforting like the arms of my woman in stone.
They would carry me down with them, down to the empty, snake-infested float. Beneath its wheels would be the shards from my statue. They would be blaming me for its destruction and I would open my mouth to try to explain but no sound would come out. It would be like the meadow, a world with no sound.
I would struggle but it would be useless. They would lift me in their stone arms and drop me onto the float. Then I would see that I, too, was turning to stone, my arms and legs becoming heavy, without sensation.
I would feel silent laughter in the air-the laughter of Ben and Debra Miller, of Eva and Alice Peterson and Detective Jameson.
Then the snakes would come for me, curling about my legs and groin, squeezing with demonic force, working their way into every opening in my body, just as I had used every opening of every woman's body that I had ever known. They would curl there, biting at me until...
It was coming closer and closer. The music was louder. The drums more savage and insistent. And, when it reached my window, I knew I must die.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I do not know how long I remained in such a state. In any case, I was suddenly aware of morning. My fever-and the sounds of the ghostly parade-were gone. My beard was very thick and heavy which led me to believe that I had been in a kind of trance or coma for two or three days. There was a gnawing hunger in my belly.
I felt a little better, a feeling which was almost dissipated by the memory of the phone call from Ben Miller and the realization that soon-in a few more days-he would begin to destroy my statue. And there seemed to be no way that I could stop him.
Sudden panic gripped me. How long had I been out? Perhaps the week was already up! Perhaps, in a few moments, the phone would ring and it would be Miller, telling me that he had just broken off an arm or a leg, that my statue was mutilated!
I froze, staring at my telephone. It rang and I had to bite my tongue to keep from screaming. Slowly, with fingers that trembled uncontrollably, I reached out and lifted the receiver.
"Hello?" I waited, like a victim below the executioner.
"Hello, Lyle, this is Eva."
I went limp with relief. She sounded anxious. Perhaps she was sorry for leaving me the other night.
"I just called to find out what had happened to you. You haven't been in the shop for days."
I hardly dared breathe. "How many days?"
"Two."
Ah, I thought. There was still time before my execution.
"Listen," she continued. "I was thinking about the other night. I guess we all get tired and out of sorts. Maybe I was a little rough on you. I thought we might get together, you know, maybe I can work on you some more."
She sounded hungry and I entertained the thought of trying again. But I knew it would be no use. First I had to find a way of saving myself. Without the statue, I could never be a man again. There was no sense in trying.
"Not now, Eva. I have to get away for a while."
"You want me to watch the store?"
"That won't be necessary," I said. There was no reason to tell her that the store meant nothing to me any more. Money meant nothing to me. I thanked her for her concern and hung up over her protests.
The knowledge that I still had time gave me renewed strength and will to live. I rose, showered and shaved, changed my clothing and went out into the street.
I took the first bus that came along, without even looking at the sign in the window. It did not matter where I went-I had to get someplace where the surroundings were different and I could think.
I thought of running and immediately discarded the idea. No matter where I went, the police would find me. And I would still have to live with the thought that Ben Miller had my statue and was destroying it. There was nowhere to run.
I got off the bus and found myself in a strange part of the city. I walked around for a half hour and finally entered a small diner and sat down at a booth in the back. "Can I help you, sir?"
She was a statuesque woman with a good body. Her hair was a bleached blonde that excited me. Her eyes gazed down into mine as if I were on the menu. At any other time I would have taken her up on her unspoken offer. But that was when I had the statue.
"Three hamburgers and a chocolate milk shake."
The waitress hurried off, wiggling her buttocks in one last bid for my attention. I took a napkin from a stainless steel holder and began folding it into squares as my mind wandered over all the facts.
Miller had the statue. And he hadn't told anyone else about it, not even Jameson. He was content to work his revenge by himself. That meant that if I could get the statue back from Miller, I would not only possess my manhood once again but I would be safe from the law.
However, even if I could get the statue back, Miller would certainly take his story to the police. I would be done in, in any case. I could never bring myself to destroy the statue. And my needs dictated that I keep it close by me. There seemed no way out.
My head was sinking down to the table, just as I was sinking into despair.
"May I have a cup of tea, please?" My eyes opened wide, breathing stopped and everything hung suspended in time and space. I dared not look up. My ears strained and heard only the clink of coffee cups, spoons and the subdued conversation of the others in the diner.
"Would you like lunch with your tea?"
"Please. And a lettuce and tomato sandwich on toast."
I forced myself to look up in the direction of the woman's voice and there was a tremendous crashing sound in my head, like the sea. I almost shouted with ecstasy. Instead, I clapped my hand over my mouth and moved further back in the booth, hiding my face down behind the leather seat.
Naturally, I had thought of finding Miller and killing him. But it had only been a fleeting thought. Although it probably would have been relatively easy to find him, I never would have had the courage to kill. Now I did not have to. Ben Miller's wife was sitting a few feet away from me. She would be the key to my freedom!
Debra was even more beautiful than I remembered. Her auburn hair swept down over her shoulders, glistening even in the relatively dim light of the diner. She was dressed in a blouse and skirt. The blouse was transparent and I could see the outlines of her slip and the snaps on her bra, poking just above it. And I knew that the bra held two of the softest, most luscious breasts I'd ever held in my hands or mouth. Nipples that were large and red and sweet, nipples that one could suck on for days without tiring. Skin that was like a soft warm silken blanket that warmed you and thrilled you with its nearness.
Her buttocks were planted firmly on the stool, her thighs straining against the confines of her skirt. I imagined that I could see through the fabric. Easily I could visualize her sex, soft and firm, encased now in its nylon sheath, livelier than any I had ever known, with lips and muscles that seemed to move instinctively to delight and thrill.
She wore black nylons. The material clung to her legs like a second skin, accenting the smooth, even flow of her perfect ankles and calves.
Debra Miller was mine once again! It was through her that I would retrieve my statue and assure myself that Ben Miller would never bother me again!
A diabolical scheme was taking shape in my mind, more terrible than anything I had ever planned before. Now, it was incomplete, a dim outline somewhere just below the surface of my consciousness. Soon, it would flower. But first I must find some way of bringing Debra Miller back to my shop.
My food arrived and I ignored it. I was concentrating all my attention on the woman seated at the counter. She seemed to eat so slowly, or, perhaps, it was merely my terrible impatience to get on with what I knew I must do.
At least she had finished her tea and sandwich. She patted her mouth with a napkin, then rose and went to the cashier. She paid him and walked out of the diner.
I reached into my pocket and withdrew a ten-dollar bill and slipped it under my plate. I rushed out of the door, terrified at the thought that one little delay could cause me to lose my prey.
I could see Debra at the far corner of the parking lot. She was just getting into a pale blue car. Her skirt rode up her leg, revealing a beautiful thigh. Had she seen me? No. She was closing the door and searching in her pocketbook for her keys.
I raced across the lot and, without a single wasted movement, flung open the door on the passenger's side and slid in beside her.
She looked around at me and her eyes bulged with fright. She opened her mouth to scream but I clamped my fingers over her throat, stilling the sound. I wrestled her down to the seat, out of sight. Then I hit her once with the side of my hand on the back of her neck. She slumped, unconscious.
Quickly, I sat up and looked around. The lot was deserted and there was no one looking from the windows of the diner. I had succeeded. I started the car and drove out of the parking lot, heading back toward my section of the city.
I drove very carefully, so as not to break any traffic laws. It would not do for a policeman to find an unconscious woman on the seat beside me.
Occasionally I glanced sideways at her. She was breathing regularly but still unconscious, as I judged she would be at least until I had time to carry her into the shop. I had not hit her hard enough to hurt her but hard enough to keep her unconscious for some time.
Her head was resting against the door panel and her feet were facing in my direction, one leg sprawled on the seat; the other dangling down on the floor. I watched the even rise and fall of her huge breasts. They were like living mountains, rising and falling back to the earth.
Keeping my eyes on the road, I reached out and rested my hand on one of the huge mounds. My manhood sprang to life, straining against the fabric of my trousers. I let out a small cry of pleasure and squeezed the breast. I could feel the large nipple even through the material of her blouse, slip and bra.
Quickly, I unzipped my trousers and took my hardness in my hand, jerking it up and down. The car swerved to the side and I grabbed the wheel. I must be more careful, I thought. I looked into the rear view mirror. No one was following me. I began to relax. I left my hard flesh exposed and went back to fondling Debra's breasts. I drove carefully.
Somehow, I thought, the existence of the very possibility of retrieving the statue had returned my manhood to me. I knew that I must not falter, even for a moment, or I would return to my former, sad state. Even so, the statue was now almost within my grasp and life had returned to my groin. I squeezed harder, alternating my grip from one breast to the other.
Once again I glanced over at the unconscious woman. Her skirt was just above her knees and I felt the muscles at the base of my organ begin to twitch. I put my hand on her ankle and slowly slid it up the length of her leg. The skirt rode up, exposing the tops of her stockings and garters. I touched those parts, delighting in the contrast between the feel of her nylons and the exposed flesh around her thighs. I pushed the skirt higher until I could see her soft mound. I reached and touched it, fingering the lips. They rolled back and forth beneath the silk panties.
The pleasure was more than I could bear. I reached out and pulled down the top of her panties. Her hairy mound was open before me.
I took my hand and thrust three fingers deep. Unconsciously, Debra's body reacted to my fingers. Her muscles coiled about them. Her hips began to move up and down. I could feel her insides becoming moist.
Enough! I would finish with her later. Now I had all the time in the world. I withdrew my hand. The torture of the past few days had taught me patience.
With the stimulus removed, my flesh softened sufficiently to replace it in my pants.
I zippered myself up and covered Debra's legs.
I drove the rest of the way without incident. It was still light when I reached the shop and I feared that someone would see me carrying the woman. At once, I remembered a large shawl in the trunk of the car. I took it and wrapped Debra in it, flinging her across my shoulder. People were used to seeing me coming in and out bearing strange objects. They would think I had simply bought one more curio.
Up the stairs, balancing her while I unlocked the door, and I was in! I was safe!
I bound her in the same manner as I had bound Alice Peterson, spread-eagled across the bed. But this time I did not remove her clothes. I wanted to do everything slowly, savoring each of my actions. I would undress her slowly, rape her slowly, taking my time. I would do it again and again, until my passion had been spent.
And I would be getting the statue even as I did it! The thought was almost too delicious to bear.
Debra was beginning to stir. I slapped her lightly on the cheek. She blinked and stared at me, her eyes filling with disgust. It did not matter. I found even her loathing exciting.
"Lyle!" She spoke my name like a curse.
I smiled back at her, letting my face show my lust. "It's been a long time, sweetheart. I've missed you." I put my hand on her breast and squeezed. She gave a cry of pain and loathing.
"Ben will kill you!"
"Ben will do nothing!" As if to accent my words, I tore her purse open and rummaged through it until I found her wallet. There was an identification card inside it with her address and telephone number. I picked up the phone and dialed.
Miller's voice was groggy, as if he had just awakened from a nap. "Debra?" he said, his tone thick with worry, "is that you? Where the hell have you been? I've been worried sick-"
"It's Lyle."
I could hear him suck in his breath. Obviously, I was the last person he would have expected to call him.
"Lyle! How did you get my number?" My voice assumed an air of mocking, casual innocence. "Why, your wife was kind enough to drop by and give it to me."
The terror in his voice clearly communicated itself over the line and I felt a thrill of excitement surge through my body. A sensation of power tingled my nerves. "I don't believe you. You don't even-" I gave one of Debra's breasts a hard squeeze. She cried out in pain.
"Debra!" Ben Miller's voice carried through the room. "Debra, is that you?"
"Your wife is busy now. I've got her tied to my bed. She's spread-eagled. All I have to do is lean over and I can see right up her."
"Ohh!" It was a long, drawn-out cry of anguish. "Let me talk to her!"
"Sure."
I held the telephone to Debra and she lifted her head. Her lips were bloodless, drained by the effort. "Ben, Ben, it's Debra. Help me please! He's mad. I don't know what he's going to do with me!" As she was speaking, I ran my hand up her leg and touched the mound of her sex. She gave a short squeal. I wondered whether-despite her terror-she was not becoming aroused. At last I took the telephone from her.
"So," I said, not bothering to hide the gloating in my voice, "it seems I now have the upper hand."
"I'll smash the statue! I have it in my hands right now. I'm holding it up over the floor. If you don't release Debra right this instant, I drop it!"
I could feel my flesh crawl. Being a coward, I was usually easily bluffed. But this was a different situation. If I did not carry out my plan successfully, I would lose the statue anyway.
"But I have your wife," I said evenly. "If you smash the statue, I smash your wife. To me, that would be a fair trade."
"He means it!" Debra was screaming at the top of her lungs. I was thankful for the thick walls surrounding me. Still, even if Eva heard, she would not interfere. She was used to strange goings-on and unusual noises from my apartment. I picked up a large pair of shears and clicked them noisily, so that Miller could hear and identify what they were. Then I held them to Debra's throat.
"Can you hear that, Miller? I'm not kidding. Whatever you do to that statue, I'll do to your wife. I promise you."
"What do you want, Lyle?" There was a long pause. "I swear I'll kill you if any harm comes to Debra."
"Shut up," I said. "You're not in any position to issue threats. As a matter of fact, I don't want you to do anything just now but listen."
"Listen?"
"Yes, listen! I'm going to rape your wife!"
"No! You do that, you'll never see the statue!"
"If you don't do as I say, you'll never see your wife! I mean it. You tried to torture me, I almost died from worry. Now I'm going to give you some of your own medicine."
"You can't get away with this!" I pinched the soft flesh of Debra's thigh, just hard enough to make her cry out. "All right! Don't hurt her."
"Now," I said, "I'm going to set the telephone down on the nightstand where you can hear everything. Every once in a while I'll reach over and say southing just to make sure you're listening. Heaven help your wife if you don't answer. I'll cut her throat. I swear I will. Are you listening?"
There was the sound of heavy breathing on the other end of the line. Then, finally, his voice, very weak and subdued. "Yes, I'll do whatever you say."
"Good."
I set the receiver down on the table, then stood up and looked down on Debra. I was drunk with my own power. The blood had rushed to my head and my groin and I felt as if I could control the world. More than anything else, I reveled in my control over Debra. I could hardly wait to sink my long member into her quivering flesh.
I would go slow, savoring my triumph, making this woman and the man on the phone suffer as I had. And I was not entirely convinced that Debra did not want this. After all, she had left her husband once for me, why not again? But I looked into her eyes and could find no confirmation of my suspicions.
"Lyle," she said softly, "you know how I hate you? Why are you doing this to me?"
"Your husband has my statue. That statue that you gave to me."
"I'll make him give it to you. Don't make me go through this all over again. It's like reliving some nightmare. I don't know whether I can take it."
In response, I slipped my hand around her ankles. She tensed, but could not fight her bonds. Slowly I undid the buckles of her shoes and let them drop to the floor. I could hear what sounded like a moaning from the telephone.
I looked at her feet. I had always loved Debra's feet, small and dainty. I bent down and planted my lips on their soles. Debra squirmed but I kissed the feet even harder. The feel of the nylon was driving me mad with passion. And I thought I could detect a response in Debra's body. She had always liked to have her feet kissed and licked.
Next I crawled up on the bed and kissed her ankles, running my hands and my lips all over the lower part of her legs, letting my mouth finally come to rest inside the back of her knee.
"Fight him, Debra!" Again, Miller's voice filled the room. "Don't let him do this to you!"
"Ben, he has me tied up! There's nothing I can do!"
She was absolutely right. There was nothing she could do. I rose to my knees and ran my hands lightly over her huge bosoms. They shuddered under my touch, jiggling all over. I felt myself begin to tremble as I took both hands and planted them firmly on the mounds of flesh, squeezing and kneading them. Her eyes looked at me wildly. They were growing darker and I knew that, despite herself, her natural passion was coming to the surface. I suspected that Debra was enjoying this more than she let on. But she would never admit this to anyone, much less to me. So much the better, I thought.
With one hand, I began to unbutton her blouse. The buttons slipped out of their holes easily and soon I could part the material, exposing her slip and bra. On impulse, I tore the blouse from her body. That would give Miller something to think about! I tried to imagine his frame of mind as he heard his wife's clothing being ripped from her. I leaned over and spoke into the telephone.
"Did you hear that, Miller? I just tore your wife's blouse. I'm squeezing her boobs right now."
"I'll give you anything you want, Lyle. You said that to me once, now I'm saying it to you. I have a lot of connections in this city. I can set you up in business. I'll start taking graft and give you the proceeds. Only, please leave my wife and I alone. I'll give you your statue and make sure that nobody ever bothers you again. I'll take care of Jameson."
I laughed, drawing it out. "I have everything I want. I have your wife. And I'll have the statue soon, anyway. No one is going to bother me. You'll see. In the meantime, if you want your wife to stay alive, you keep on listening!"
There was a mumbled reply on the other end of the line but I had already sat up and was holding my scissors just above Debra's chest. Her eyes filled with horror, as I think she decided that I was going to kill her. Instead, I reached down with the scissors and deftly cut through the two straps holding her slip up. The little cords of nylon parted without a sound and I peeled the material down off her chest, as one might skin an orange.
Only her bra was left, the bra that had to be made especially for her huge breasts. Excitement-or fear-had caused her nipples to pucker so that they formed large indentations in the fabric. I touched them with my fingertips and they jumped beneath my fingers. I took both my hands and cupped them over her, leaning down so that the entire weight of my body was on her breasts. I could see pieces of flesh beginning to flow out from the sides and top of the garment. I bent down and ran my tongue up and down the cleavage that was exposed to me. Debra moaned softly.
"Please let me go, Lyle. Please." She was whispering now, so that her husband could not hear. "If you want me, take me. But don't kill me and please don't hurt my husband. I love him. I really do. You've done enough to ruin our lives."
"Oh, c'mon now," I said, still leaning on her and delighting in the flow of her flesh, "you had a hand in it too. I didn't exactly drag you off to bed with me."
With that, her eyes lowered. I hooked three fingers beneath the bottom edge of her bra and gave a quick yank.
My yank, and the pressure of her own breasts inside caused the fabric to pop like a rotten rubber band. Freed from confinement, the globes danced before my eyes. Flesh moved and slapped against flesh. The nipples-huge, massive, puckered tips of red pointed straight up at me. They looked sharp enough to pierce my own skin and I felt a thrill run the entire length of my body. I reached out and touched one, pushing it back into the flesh. I released it and it popped out again, rigid and pointing as before.
"It looks as if your wife is excited," I said into the telephone. "You ought to see her nipples."
"Stop it!" Miller cried. "Stop this madness!"
I bent over and took one of the nipples into my mouth, just the nipple, pressing it between my lips, licking its surface with my dry tongue. The flesh leaped and darted. I rolled it back and forth, pinning it to the roof of my mouth with my tongue and then moving my head back and forth, extending it. Debra moaned.
"Please, Lyle. Please."
She was begging. But it was no longer clear to me whether she was begging me to stop or to continue. The image of the statue suddenly loomed before my eyes and the muscles in my loins bunched and grew even more rigid. I lay down on the still-clothed lower half of her body and began humping up and down on her leg. I could feel her garters digging into my member and it gave me an unexpected thrill. I pistoned harder and imagined that I could feel her leg moving up and down, in tempo with my own motions.
In the meantime, I had taken as much of her in my mouth as I could and was sucking for all I was worth. The contrast in textures between her nipples and the rest of her breast was maddening. I rocked back and forth on her, moving the nipple with my tongue, pressing it up and down, lapping it and licking it, stretching it back and forth.
With my other hand, I had grasped her other nipple and was squeezing it, occasionally, giving it a hard slap or jerking it back and forth. Surely, it must have hurt her but she gave no indication. Debra was lying quite still and I noticed that her eyes were closed and there was a thin smile across her face. This was the foreplay she had always enjoyed the most. I was happy to see that things had not hanged.
After a few minutes, I switched position and went to work on her other breast with my mouth. There were gurgling noises coming from the telephone and I realized that the sounds of my sucking and the slapping flesh must have carried through to the man on the other end of the line.
I had finished with her breasts for the time being and I spoke once again into the telephone. "Did you hear that, Miller? I was sucking your wife's breasts. They are absolutely enormous!"
Once again, there was the sound of heavy breathing on the other end of the line. But it was more like a panting and it took a moment for the incredible truth to dawn on me: Miller had become excited by the sounds and mental image of what we were doing!
"Miller," I said. "You like what we're doing, don't you. Admit it! Admit it! You're playing with yourself right now, you bastard."
"No, no, I'm not." But he was. I could tell he was just reaching his climax for he gave a couple of groans and then shouted out. He was quiet for some time, then his voice came on the line again.
"You're a liar," Miller said. Then louder, "Don't listen to him, Debra. He's lying. I'm not getting any pleasure out of this!"
Debra said nothing. She- was staring at the ceiling. There was the same enigmatic smile playing around the corners of her mouth. She wiggled her chest in such a way that her breasts did their little dance, then she looked at me. She was no longer making any effort to hide her passion.
"Look," I said into the telephone, "I'm really sorry if you're getting a boot out of this. But I still have your wife and I'll still kill her if you don't do exactly as I say. Is that understood?"
"It's understood." He sounded guilty. "I'm running my hand up your wife's leg now," I said.
"Haven't you done enough? Let her go now! I'll bring you your statue!"
"They're so smooth and so perfect. Do you enjoy your wife's legs, Miller? Do you like to run your hands up them? I do. I always have."
"You devil! You'll rot in hell for this!" I had become too excited to continue the conversation. My hand was already up past Debra's knee and I thought I detected a slight effort on her part to flex her thighs and spread them further, or it may have been my imagination. In any case, I devoted my entire attention to the matter at hand.
I reached my hands around her body and drew her skirt and slip up around her waist. Her garter belt, stockings and panties were completely exposed to my view.
I slowly unhooked her garters, one by one, delighting in their tension against the flesh of her thighs. There were long, white grooves in her thighs where the elastic had pressed into the flesh.
I finished undoing the garters, then rolled her stockings slowly down her legs. I took them and rubbed my lips in them, licking them and touching my face and hands with their silky texture. I was achieving new heights of ecstasy.
I reached behind her back and unsnapped her garter belt. I could have sworn that Debra elevated her hips, as far as her restrictions would allow. In a few moments I had the band of nylon and elastic in my hands. I dropped it on the floor beside her stockings. Once again, there was the sound of heavy breathing on the line.
I stood, staring at her for a moment but did not move to take her panties off. I wanted to draw out the ecstasy for as long as possible.
I walked up to the top of the bed and kneeled directly beside her. Her eyes followed my every movement as I reached down, undid my belt, unzipped myself and pulled down my pants. I noticed that her lips had suddenly become very moist and her chest was rising and falling with her heavy breathing.
I pulled down my shorts. My manhood sprung out into the. air just above her face. "Take it in your mouth," I commanded. She shook her head violently back and forth. "Take it in your mouth!"
"Lyle!" Miller's voice came over the old line. "What are you doing?"
"Taking your wife! You took my statue, now I'm taking your wife!"
I waited for a moment but Miller made no reply. Debra had turned her head away from me and I could see that she had pressed her lips tightly together.
I reached out and grabbed her hair close to the scalp, forcing her head around. I pushed my hips forward so that the tip of my flesh rubbed across her lips. Debra closed her eyes and, with a movement so rapid that I was not sure it had actually happened flicked out her tongue and licked my tip. I pushed harder, forcing the outer ridges of her lips apart, but her teeth were tightly clenched. I took the scissors and ran the dull edge over her jugular.
"Open," I commanded. "Take it into your mouth or I'll cut you. And don't try to bite me. Remember that I have these scissors."
She had done it so many times during the few months of our relationship. The memory was clear in my mind, maddening me. Perhaps, I thought, she was resisting now only to please me. That notion excited me even more and I pressed down with the tips of the scissors. The flesh beneath the steel went wild. She opened her mouth.
I thrust my hips forward, inserting the organ right to the hilt. My sudden movement had been unexpected and, as I hit the back of her throat, Debra gagged. I pulled back, just so that the tip of me was in her. She caught her breath and looked up. She made no attempt to move. She just lay there with her mouth open far enough to allow me to move freely.
This was not the same Debra, I thought. The Debra I had known would have been mad with frenzy by this time. That angered me. What was I? Sick? How was I different now? What right did she have to refuse me? She had been the one who had given me the statue and brought its curse down on me. What right did she have now to shy away from the consequences? I was the product of her evil.
I dropped her scissors and reached down with my hand, squeezing her mouth around my hard flesh, moving the lips back and forth. "Do it, you bitch!"
She could not speak for her mouth was filled with me. She moved her head slowly back and forth. "Harder!"
At last her lips closed over me and I could feel the pressure inside me as she began to apply suction to my organ. I began to rock back and forth, her lips held me tight. I could feel the fire building in my loins. "Harder! Harder!"
I don't believe Debra did any harder but my own passion had carried me to the point where it no longer made any difference. I gave two or three lunges and hit the back of her throat. Once again she gagged but I held myself in her until my spasms had subsided.
Finally, the last drop of passion expelled from my body. I pulled away from her. She coughed and turned her head to the side. I could feel my anger rising. There had been a time when she would have reveled in the feel of my climax.
"All right," I said. "You didn't like that. Let's see how you like this!"
I reached down and tore her panties from her body. The sound of the shredding nylon brought a gasp from Miller but he did not speak. I was already re-aroused and did not wish to take the time to talk to him.
Quickly, I rearranged my body so that I was kneeling between her legs. I touched her swelling lips, rubbing my middle finger up and down their crease until I could feel the moisture begin to flow.
"You used to like this real good," I said. Debra murmured, trying to control her passion. It was slowly dawning on me that she truly loathed me. That made no difference. Her body now belonged to me and I could do what I wanted with it. If she would not respond to me, then her flesh would.
I rubbed harder. The lips swelled out, taking me in like a hungry mouth. My finger was now quite wet with her juices.
I pushed, applying just the lightest pressure. Her hips jerked spasmodically and my finger sank into her body like a knife into melted butter. I could feel the muscles inside her tightening around me.
"Stop. Please, please."
I stroked harder, moving three fingers in and out now, imitating the motion of my rod which I knew she now craved. I moved my fingers faster and faster. Her hips began to rotate.
"Please, it feels so good. I don't want this. I don't want this."
"It doesn't make any different what you wanted. Besides, you do want it. Relax and enjoy it!"
"No... "
In one swift motion, I had withdrawn my fingers, bent down and was lapping at the groove, extending my tongue the length of it from the top near her pubic bone to the bottom. At the same time, I took my finger and began tickling sensitive flesh. Debra wriggled uncontrollably. I stuck my tongue deeper, hardening it into a point and darting in and out.
Now she was spending all over my face and I had to stop occasionally so that I could breathe. This was just the way I remembered it and the laughter of the figures in the statue cascaded over my senses. It was as if they were listening in on the line with Ben Miller, delighting in the knowledge that they would soon be returned to me, ecstatic with the same pleasure I was experiencing.
Finished, I could feel her begin to dry and tighten. But not for long. I continued licking the insides of her and tickling her and before long she was once again soaking my mouth and the underlying sheets. Her curls glistened with the fluid from her body. It was time for the final act.
"Now, Miller," I cried into the receiver. "I'm going to do it now."
Miller's only answer was a soft cry. It seemed he had given up any hope of keeping me from doing what I had set out to do. One thing for sure, he was still listening. I could not decide whether he was listening because he knew I would hurt his wife if he didn't, or if he was listening because he enjoyed the sounds of our lovemaking. It made no difference to me.
Grinning victoriously, I took my rigid stalk into my hand and thrust it forward for her to see. Then I hunched down and drove it into her as hard as I could. It sank effortlessly right up to the hilt with room to spare. I knew from experience that it would take twice as much as me-an organ that did not exist-to completely fill Debra. How many times had I seen her reach down to stimulate herself, even as I was in her!
She let out a scream, but it was a scream of passion and not of pain. Miller must have realized it for I heard his loud groan.
I held myself as long as possible, straining to think of something else besides the indescribable ecstasy of being absorbed by Debra's body. Meanwhile, her desire had taken complete possession of her mind and she was jerking up and down beneath me, responding to my every move. I could not have asked for a better partner. The fact that she was tied and doing this against her will made the experience even more stimulating.
I thrust two more times, very hard, very deep so that the rest of me bumped and jarred against the underside of her buttocks. And I came. Again and again I felt my penile muscles contract, sending a thick jet of liquid against the insides of her. She, too, jerked and her juices mixed with my own. It was over. I felt released. I was almost at the end of the tortuous journey that had begun with Miller's theft of the statue.
Perhaps, I thought, it was even meant to be this way. Who-or what-was it that had planted the idea in my mind of using the statue to lure Alice Peterson into my hands? The statue! It had been the statue that had given me the idea!
So it seemed certain that the statue had had a hand in this also. Perhaps it had been the statue's idea for itself to be stolen and for me to retrieve it in this manner. Certainly, the stone's power transcended time and distance. It could certainly reach out and touch Ben Miller's mind.
Yes, I thought, the statue had given me all this and I knew that I would soon have it back.
CHAPTER NINE
I pulled my limp member out of her and dressed quickly. I was filled with a delicious warmth which pervaded my entire body, like the effects of two or three bottles of wine. I was completely at peace with the world.
Now for the final phase of my plan. I sat down on the edge of the bed and took the receiver in my hand.
"Miller? You still there?"
"Yes." His voice sounded very weary. Was he, even at that moment, holding the statue? The thought intrigued me. I was no longer even worried about his breaking it. I knew I had him completely in my power.
"Of course I'm still here. Are you... finished?" he asked.
"Yes, at least for the time being."
"I should smash the statue right now," he said, but his voice completely lacked conviction.
"Don't forget that I still have your wife," I said sternly. "Don't forget that for a single moment. If you do-if there's a single scratch on that statue-you'll never see your wife alive again."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "I'll do whatever you say. I told you that."
"All right," I said. "Listen carefully. You know where my shop is-that's how you stole my statue."
"Man oh man, I mean man... man it was like... it was like stealing. I'm not going to argue with you. You come here now. And bring the statue with you. Wrap it up good because I don't want it broken accidentally. I know exactly how far away you live. It should take you no more than twenty minutes to get here. If you're not here by that time-with the statue-I can't be responsible for what happens to Debra. Do you understand?"
"I understand."
"And, of course, you'll come alone. And you'll tell no one about it. You don't know that I don't have spies watching you. If you bring anyone with you-or attempt to contact anyone on the police force-you'll never see your wife again."
"I'll do everything exactly as you say." From the tone of his voice, I could tell that he meant it. "Can I go now?"
"Yes. Be here in twenty minutes. With the statue."
I hung up with a force that I knew must have hurt Miller's ear. I looked at my watch. It was eight o'clock. I turned to Debra.
"Your husband had better be a good driver," I said calmly. I took up the shears and snapped them in the air. "And he'd better have that statue with him."
Debra said nothing. She was completely naked, except for the skirt and slip bunched around her hips. Her sex was still moist from our lovemaking but she did not seem to notice her nakedness.
She seemed quite indifferent both to her nakedness and my threats. She was staring at the ceiling, but her eyes weren't glazed as they would be if she were stunned or suffering from shock. The eyes were very clear and steady, as if she was deep in thought.
"What the hell are you thinking about?" Anybody who was obviously paying more attention to thoughts than to senses made me nervous.
She turned to look at me. "Among other things, about what you're going to do when Ben gets here. He's likely to kill you."
"Not when I've got these shears next to your throat."
"But what are you going to do after you've got the statue? What's to prevent Ben from killing you then, after I'm free? The least he'll do is take it right back from you and go to the police. How can you stop him? I don't believe you'll kill us. Not that you wouldn't like to. You just haven't got the guts."
I looked away, trying to hide the gleam in my eyes. "You'll see," I said. "Everything is going to work out quite nicely."
"You do have a plan, don't you?" She seemed surprised.
I looked back at her. Her nakedness was beginning to arouse me once again and I had to fight off the impulse to reach out and grab her. I needed all my wits about me. Miller would be in the shop in less than fifteen minutes.
"Yes," I said, not bothering to hide my triumph. "I have a plan."
Once again she was staring at the ceiling and, for just a moment, I thought I detected pity in her eyes. That angered me. How dare she feel pity for me! I had beaten her husband. I had beaten Jameson. I was doing exactly what I wanted and no one was able to stop me. Most important, I was about to have the statue back in my possession. So how dare she feel sorry for me!
"What the hell are you thinking about now? Answer me! Why have you got that expression on your face?"
She turned and looked into my eyes. I was right! She was looking at me as she might look at a wounded animal.
"I've done this to you, haven't I.'"
"Done what? What the hell are you talking about?" I could not bear the tone of her voice.
"I gave you the statue."
At the mention of the statue, my flesh jumped to life. I blinked rapidly as images of the stone man and woman tumbled through my mind.
Her voice was dreamy, distant. "I was so angry with you, Lyle. I never meant to. I mean, I loved you so much. I would have done anything for you. Then you... did what you did. You left me. I hated you for that. I tried to think of ways to get back at you but you were so strong... so insensitive. There was nothing I could do. Then I thought of the statue."
"You gave me a statue which I've come to cherish. What kind of punishment is that?" The words almost stuck in my throat. I knew what the statue meant to me, but I was unwilling to admit it, even to myself.
"Oh, Lyle... don't you see what I've done to you? Don't you see the power the statue has over your mind and soul?"
I did, but I said nothing. I would not give her the satisfaction. My organ had swollen to the point of bursting. But I had to restrain myself. Ben Miller would be in the shop soon.
"There were stories about the statue," Debra continued, "mad legends. But I never dreamed they could be true, I just gave you the statue because I couldn't think of any other way of getting back at you. It was an act of desperation. If I had ever thought-"
"What legends?" I could feel the hair on the back of my neck beginning to rise.
Debra sighed, dropping her head back into the pillow and closing her eyes. I sat, tensely waiting, hanging on her every word. At last, I thought, I was to learn the secret of the stone.
"I don't think you ever knew the whole story," she said. "I was gone to Brazil almost three months; two months longer than I was scheduled for. The museum almost sent out a search party to look for me.
"The reason I took so long was because of this very statue. From the moment I laid eyes on it, I knew that it was more than an ordinary 'love piece' that some of the tribes used in their fertility rites. This one was much more detailed... and, if you stared at it long enough, you could almost see the figures move."
I know, I thought. I know. "Anyway," Debra continued, "this particular statue had a special place in the tribal life of the village. It was kept in the witch doctor's tent and taken out only at certain times of the year, during the tribe's marriage ceremonies.
The couples who were to be married were allowed to go into a closed tent and be with the statue for a few minutes before they went to their marriage bed. I asked the chief why. He told me that legend said gazing upon the statue would enhance a man and woman's sexual powers and guarantee them a long and happy life together. But he said that it was extremely powerful medicine and one could only look at it for a short time or the statue would reach out and grab the person's soul. I asked why, but he refused to tell me. It was a tribal secret and no outsider was allowed to know.
"It took me the entire two months extra to gain the acceptance of the tribe, and the chief. Finally, he agreed to tell me the secret of the stone, but only after I had experienced its power. I agreed.
"One of the chiefs sons had developed a desire for me. It was he who I sat with in the ceremonial tent, gazing at the statue. The next thing I remember was waking up in the morning, in his arms. He had a tool that must have been a foot long and he'd been jamming it into me all through the night. My body was incredibly sore. The ground around us was still wet and sticky.
"I had proven myself. The statue was placed back in the witch doctor's tent. The next night I was invited to come to the chiefs tent to learn the legend of the statue."
"The legend of the statue," I said, breathless now. "What was the legend?"
She looked at me sharply, reproving me for my impatience, then continued in the same quiet tone.
"A young man and woman had fallen in love. This was thousands of years ago, when mankind was in its infancy. Anyway, the chief of the tribe wanted the woman for himself. The man and the chief fought and the chief, of course, won and banished the young man to what was called 'the land of fire'... which, as close as I can figure, was a region of great volcanic activity. To go into that area meant almost certain death.
"With the young man gone, the chief figured he would have no difficulty with the girl. He was wrong. Despite repeated beatings, starving and other forms of torture, the girl would not agree to go through the marriage ceremony-which, at that time, was extremely intricate and required the cooperation of the bride.
"Incensed, the chief finally banished her to the fiery region, along with her young lover. Her mother, grief stricken, cast a spell over the girl before she departed. Death was inevitable once they entered the region; but the mother made certain that, first of all, they would die in each other's arms, completely happy. Second, their bodies would be preserved in some manner and their death would come back to haunt the chief.
"The chief found out about the spell and put the mother to death, but not before the girl had disappeared into the fiery place.
"A short time later, there was a violent volcanic eruption. The young couple were killed, but the mother's spell had worked its magic. The lava had flowed across their bodies just as they were reaching a climax in the act of love. Rather than destroy their bodies, the lave and heat shriveled them to the size of dolls; also it served to petrify their bones and flesh, welding them together for all eternity.
"After that, it rained for weeks; torrential floods unlike anything anyone, even the oldest members of the tribe, could remember.
"At last the rains stopped. The next night a black tiger appeared in the center of the camp. Of course, the beast was instantly killed but, when they went to skin it, the members of the tribe found a small statue in its mouth.
"They gasped in astonishment; the figures in stone were exact likenesses of the young man and woman who had been banished from the village. The natives immediately took the statue to their chief.
"From the first moment the chief laid eyes on it, he seemed mesmerized, withdrawn into himself. The elders of the tribe could not understand his actions as he sat hour after hour before the statue, playing with himself. His wives were completely ignored.
"Finally, in an act of desperation, the elders of the tribe crept into his tent and took the statue from him. When the chief woke the next morning, he found himself locked in a cage. Without the statue.
"Thinking that they would cure him of whatever evil was possessing him, the natives danced around him day and night, chanting their spells. It was all to no avail.
"The chief died screaming in anguish for the statue. Since then, legend has had it that the statue, when used properly, will stimulate young lovers to new heights of ecstasy. However, in the hands of an evil person, it will possess his soul and destroy him. That is the curse of the love-stone."
I drew in my breath sharply. The muscles in my groin began to ache. "An old wives tale," I said. "Nonsense." But there were the sound of drumbeats in my ears, and ghostly laughter. The parade was coming closer.
"That's what I thought," Debra said softly. "Then I gave the statue to you." She paused, studying my face. "It seems the story is true."
"No!" I had leaped to my feet and was brandishing the shears over her breasts. "Stop that stupid talk!" I turned and took a deep breath, trying to control the shaking of my hands. I glanced down at my watch. It was almost eight-twenty.
"If your husband's not here in about five minutes, there'll be no more stories from you."
"You don't have the nerve to kill me!"
"I wouldn't be too sure of that."
I reached down and put one hand on her breast, jiggling the fleshy globe beneath my palm. The nipple immediately engorged with blood and rose.
"I'm not even so sure I want to give you up. Maybe I'll get rid of your husband and just keep you here. I'll feed you by hand-I wouldn't want you to lose your lovely figure-and screw you whenever I want!"
Debra began to cry. I glanced at my watch. It was past time.
"If he doesn't hurry up and get here," I said, feeling the blood rush into my skull, "he won't have a wife to worry about."
I sat down on the bed, close to her head. I held the shears in one hand. I stared at my watch. I knew that, after all, I might have to kill her. If Miller did not bring the statue-or if he was trying to play some trick-I would definitely have to kill her. The fever that had risen in my brain would force me to.
It was a quarter to nine. My fingers were shaking uncontrollably. Debra had grown very still. She must have realized that I was no longer myself and might be quite capable of killing her if my plans were thwarted.
Ben Miller came bursting through the door, out of breath. I heard him running through the shop and then, suddenly, he was around the partition and into the room. His face was beet red and his eyes were crazed.
"Oh... No!" he groaned when he saw Debra with her chest bared, her sex open and exposed. He took a little step toward me but I was very close to Debra, the point of my shears just a fraction of an inch from her throat. He stopped.
"Why are you late?" My voice trembled. "If you've crossed me, I'll... "
"No, wait!" He held out his hand. "There was a broken water main on Smith Avenue. It took me almost fifteen minutes to get around it. I was so afraid... Debra... he hasn't...?"
"He has," Debra said softly. "He's done everything his evil mind could think of. You heard it all. But I'm right except for that."
Miller was breathing easier now. He took a heavily wrapped package from under his arm and held it out to me. "The statue," he said, as if uttering a curse. "Here's your statue. Take it and let my wife go."
I touched the point of the shears to Debra's throat. She flinched and let out a small cry.
"Unwrap it," I said. "I have to make sure you've done nothing to it."
"I haven't... "
"Unwrap it! Show me!"
Miller's fingers trembled as he struggled with many layers of covering. At last the cloth and paper fell away and I let out a little gasp of joy as the statue gleamed .in the light of the lamp. Already, the figures were moving before my eyes, writhing and humping up and down, back and forth in their eternal act of love. They were laughing; I could hear them in my mind. They were overjoyed to be back with me. It was mine, now, forever.
