Mary pushed his hands from her thigh, and knew that she had too much to drink. She could still feel the warmly insistent print of his fingers there.
"Please," she said, trying to straighten the rumpled skirt, trying to sit properly with her feet together.
"Oh, come on," Clark Weston said. "What the hell are you, some kind of teaser? Stacked like that, hustling me for that job you're so damned anxious about."
Mary's lips were just a bit numb. She chewed at them and said, "I do want the job, Clark. I want it very much. For reasons that you wouldn't understand. But I can't--I mean, I'd have to love someone to--"
He sat up, his handsome face hard, his brown hair mussed. There was a trace of lipstick at the corner of his mouth. He said angrily, "You think you can put me on like this, that you can wiggle those big tits at me and shake your ass and--"
She stood up, swayed just a little and caught her balance. The unaccustomed drinks were roaring in her blood, clouding her mind, but she knew what she had to do. All her training, her morality told Mary Conroy what she had to do.
"I--I'm leaving," she said. "Right now, Clark. I'm sorry you misunderstood what I--why I had dinner with you in your apartment, but I--well, I'm leaving now."
"Bullshit," he said, and his strong hand clamped over her left wrist. Startled, she tried to jerk away, and the sudden movement upset her precarious balance. She fell on the couch with an unladylike sprawling of her long, sleek legs, and before she could catch herself, Clark was on top of her.
On top of her! In that vile, beastly position when a man did it to a woman! She couldn't allow that--could never permit a man to--
"Damn you!" Clark grated, flinching from the battering of her knees as they reached for his belly. "You beautiful, prick teasing bitch."
Lights exploded behind her eyes and her neck went limp. Dimly, Mary realized that he had hit her, that she was lying nervelessly upon this man's couch while his eager hands ripped and tore at her clothes. But she couldn't move; the blow had hammered her into some kind of paralysis, and even though she knew that her flesh was being exposed, she couldn't even put up a struggle.
Her panties ripped, and her bra popped as he clawed at them, panting and snarling like an animal. An animal, her confused mind repeated, and she heard the warning lectures of her mother: don't ever let them touch you between the legs, dear; don't ever let them handle your breasts --they're such animals.
"N-no!" she whispered. "Oh, no--no! Please don't--"
But he jerked her wrists high over her head and lashed them. She strained against her bonds and knew that she couldn't break them. Her legs --he was also doing something to her ankles, and she tried to pull them away. He slapped the cheek of her ass and she flinched wildly at the sharp darting of pain. Mary's head was clearing, and she could move her body; the paralysis was wearing off and she--
Too late! Her horrified eyes swept down and saw that she was naked from head to foot, that she had been spread-eagled the length of the couch. Her ankles and her wrists were deftly pinioned by drapery cords drawn over each end of the couch and tied to the short legs.
Naked. Oh, Lord, she thought, naked. The nipples of her breasts were high and hard, trembling shamefully upon their full, milky-white mounds.
And down her shivering belly, far down to that delicate and sensitive spot that she had so often been told was evil, there Mary could see the thickly gleaming forest of her pubic hair.
She surged wildly against her ropes, and fell back panting. Locking her teeth into her lower lip, she fought to bring her knees together, to somehow weakly protect herself from that contamination sure to come. Maybe she could beg him off, buy him away from her body. She had plenty of money in the bank here.
"D-don't," she begged, and her eyes watched him peel out of his own clothing, saw the shirt and pants drop to the floor. He wore jockey shorts, and the huge bulge in them--his thing. His penis. A man's thick and heavy sex organ, being exposed to her shocked stare. She wouldn't look--she wouldn't!
"You teased me too long, baby," he said, his voice hoarse. "Now you're going to get fucked." That it was, that awful word. Not rape you or do it to you, or any of the nicer ways to describe that terrible subject; he simply came right out with it: fuck. The word ran echoing inside her head, and made her even more afraid.
"That's--that's rape," she managed to say. "It's rape, because I don't want to--"
Clark Watson laughed deep in his throat. "No guy on earth could blame me, baby. Not if he stood here the way I'm doing and looked down at all that fine body. You shouldn't have teased me so much--all those great tits, that red-haired cunt just crying to have a big prick stuck in it."
She was going to be raped. There was no way out of it now, and she couldn't even scream. She wanted to, but her throat closed as her eyes came open and she saw his penis. No, she thought. Oh, no, because it's so dirty and nasty and degrading, and no nice girl could allow herself to be put into such a position.
That penis. It was so big and ugly, so threatening. It was long and thick, with veins twisting obscenely around its horrid length. He called it a prick, proudly, as if he was glad it could be used to penetrate, to stab.
Mary twisted to free herself, but nothing helped. The big prick loomed ever nearer, ever larger, and now she could make out the shaping of the head, and see the lavender colors of the evil thing. There was a droplet of something clear, some strange liquid that trembled upon the blind mouth in the center of the blunt knob, and Mary shuddered to think what it might be.
Her eyes slid away from the threat, only to fix upon the hairy, wrinkled sack that swung below the shaft. His testicles, she thought. And tried again to scream, because she realized just what force was building within them, and what would happen to her when that power was released.
She would be pregnant!
"You'll like this cock," Clark said, and lifted one knee over her helpless leg, placing it upon the couch.
Pregnant; debased; ruined. The sex manuals had been quite explicit, and she had steeled herself against the graphic displays they had contained. But nothing could possibly have prepared her for the nearness of the real thing, those shaggy, pulsing testicles that contained the seeds of her damnation.
His hands toyed over her shoulders, her throat, sliding with slow and tingling insinuation along the white silk of her skin. "You're really put together," he said. "I can't believe you just turned eighteen. The first time a guy looks at you, he sees these big, firm tits, then he watches how your shapely ass swings itself back and forth, and how your long legs move."
She felt the couch move and her eyes flew wide again. Clark was kneeling between her legs now, and she could feel her thighs taut against his knees.
"You were born to be fucked," Clark said, drawing the tips of his fingers over her upheaving breasts, feeling the shapes and the resiliency of the mounds, feeling the hard nipples that leaped to meet his touch. Her nipples were so stiff they ached, and she could feel them quivering against the palms of his hands.
Pressing down upon them, Clark flattened her boobs, pushing the nipples far back into the creamy, shuddering orbs. It hurt, but with a hotness to the pain that made it wanted, and when he let go, so that her nipples snapped up harder than ever, Mary knew a fleeting sense of disappointment. She gasped as the twin points of her tits thrummed as if they were tuning forks and had just been fucked. No, no--flicked, flicked!
"Well, now," Clark said, trailing those agile fingers on down the soft mound of her belly, tickling the satin flesh, "you can wear my bathrobe back home, after I screw you some. You came here and rented an apartment in my building after I turned you down for a job today. You meant to screw for the job, baby--and that's just what you're going to do."
He touched her hairy pubic mound. She leaped like a startled horse, and his hand cupped her vulva, snugged her most private part into his palm as if he owned it and owned her.
"Beautiful pussy," he murmured. "All that rich, curly hair like little bird feathers, all soft and waiting to cling around my prick. I'm glad you teased me into forcing you, Mary. It's fun this way, having you stretched out helpless for me to fuck. And, man, am I ever going to fuck this juicy red snatch!"
All the bad and forbidden words wheeled around her like savage bats and she couldn't fight them off, could not deny them. Fuck. Prick. Pussy. Snatch. Screw. She clamped her legs tightly shut, as if by doing so, she could also close off her ears.
His hands were on her body again, tickling into the weak barricade of her pubic hair, toying along the shrinking lips buried so deeply within the little forest. Those lips were very soft, trembling along their length, turning softer and going damp by some unknown process, so that Clark's fingers slid easily, caressingly, up and down them, discovering their shape and quaking humidity.
Imprinted angularly against her eyelids, Mary saw the stern and disapproving face of her mother. Saw the always-tight lips and the cold eyes. She heaved against her bindings one more, futile time, and fell back with her mouth opening wide. Clark was ready and stuffed a wadded handkerchief into it. The shriek made a muffled noise against the material.
His finger probed into her secret place, moved insinuatingly into the shuddering lips of the pussy that even she had been instructed not to touch, except when to wash thoroughly. Mary flinched as the tip of Clark's finger penetrated and went sliding greasily into the heretofore untouched cavity of her vagina as her body liquids betrayed her and oiled the intruding stranger.
Please, she begged against her gag. Oh, please, don't do this!
Now she wanted to yell out that she was a virgin, that she was clean and pure, but she could only make formless noises against the gag in her mouth.
Her mound--her pussy--he was feeling over it and into it, working that finger back and forth inside her clinging labia, and although she struggled with all her mind against it, she felt a strange new sensation in her unpenetrated vagina, a buildup of pressure that she hadn't known existed.
"Tight. Wow, but you're tight," Clark panted. "You just keep right on faking it, baby. You tried to hustle me without fucking me, and that didn't work, so now you're going to get screwed and like it. Like it, hell--you'll love it!"
She trembled when his face came down, down, and as his lips trailed so hotly along her neck. Eyes closed, she stiffened out when his mouth moved slowly and teasingly across her collarbone and into the valley of her luscious breasts. Was he going to--would he actually kiss her there?
Wet and hot, Clark's tongue reached around her tit, explored damply over the rippling young flesh that had never known a man's mouth. It covered a nipple that was rigid in excitement, and she thought that it was like having a baby, a hungry baby, suckling on her nipple. She wriggled and her body heaved, but that only seemed to push his finger deeper into her flexing pussy, and she tried to back off it.
She could feel the ring of his teeth, and his tongue curled lapping over her vibrant nipple. When Clark opened his mouth wider, it was to try and draw her entire tit in, but there was too much breast, and her tit overflowed his lips. But the suction there was driving her crazy and making her head swim.
The rubbing motion of his embedded finger was turning her stimulated vagina wetter, and she struggled to hold back her inner lubrications, but to no avail. Her body was turning traitor, no matter what commands her outraged mind shouted at her. Her flesh was so sensitive, and weird thrills lanced through her nerve ends, making her skin ripple in trembling little waves.
Sucking on her tit, slipping his finger over the spongy nub of her inflamed clitoris and into her quivering vagina, Clark made her twist and turn in gyrations that had nothing to do with her attempts to get away. But she fought it grimly, battling until his mouth released her soft fluttering tit, until his finger eased slippery from the clenching lips of her inflamed pussy.
Maybe he was going to stop there, she thought, and the logical part of her mind knew a vast relief. But the emotions that had been set raging within her naked body, the fever that was burning her up, that was making her need something --something--that part of her mind, so newly awakened, was disappointed.
Then Mary felt the brutal grip of his hands upon the tender flesh of her upper thighs, so strong and holding her spread helplessly into position for what he was going to do next. Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord--if she had only stayed up in Southern Oregon, and never come down to Redding with vengeance on her mind. If only she had stayed home in Grants Pass, where men stopped trying to maul her when she slapped them--
It had all seemed so important just a day before, when she came to town armed with her new bankbook and a determination to get even, for her mother's sake, to pay back for all those years of being alone and discarded. But now--now, with this strange man pawing her and getting ready to rape her, nothing was that important.
His penis. She jerked against her ropes as the spongy head of Clark's hotly pulsating penis touched her soaking wet pussy, as that purple- knobbed and scary monster was pressed into the delicate and shrinking hairs of her cuntal lips. She could feel the swollen head, wet and glistening from juices, pushing hungrily and obscenely into the humid, trembling lips of her overstimulated cunt. It couldn't be happening to her, it just couldn't!
But it was, it was happening, and nothing could stop it. Steadily, Clark shoved the throbbing lust-swollen head of his pulsing cock at her reluctant pussy, and the velvet-soft head of that ugly thing, oiled by that droplet of stuff that she had seen gleaming upon it, began to widen her reluctant pussy, and the velvet-soft head of that gave, started to stretch their rubbery hot lips to fit around the cockhead, and Mary knew the gut shock of a man's hard flesh entering her damply giving flesh, knew the intrusion of a man's prick being forced up into her body.
One inch--and her sensitized vaginal lips felt the shape of the flanged head that was slipping into the sanctity of her virgin pussy. The outer labia gave way, gone all slippery and bubbled, seeming to writhe with a life of their own, and the inner lips met the assault of yet another inch, and another, as that hotly throbbing meat shoved ever deeper. It felt so huge, so immense, and she was certain that her heretofore-never-penetrated little pussy would split.
But it continued to stretch, to give a little more to the intruder, and the bulbous head of the man's huge cock came up against the barrier of her intact hymen. Her vagina was obstructed by that bit of inner tissue, and Clark's wildly throbbing prick was stopped by it. He backed off and lunged forward, and Mary made fists of her hands and clamped her teeth hard upon the handkerchief in her mouth as the swollen rigid cock rammed itself savagely at her virginity. He IP was killing her. Clark was destroying her, as she had come to town to destroy another man. And yet, and yet--
There was something else. Mary knew a pervading warmth, a greasy kind of intimacy that she wanted desperately to deny, but it was there between her quaking thighs, prodding insistently at her hymen, pushing and shoving--
Something gave way; there was a tearing sensation, a faint and muffled feeling of something ripped, and suddenly the swollen throbbing head of the crazed cock pierced deep. Mary felt the round hard flesh stroke all the way up into the clinging confines of her juicy vagina. It was so big, so big, and yet she was taking it, absorbing all that rigid painfully throbbing meat in the newly aroused sleeve of her cuntal depths. Did it touch her cervix? Had the monstrous cockhead reached all the way up to the cup of her womb?
Mary didn't know. She was lost in a swirling pink mist of sensation piled lavishly upon sensation, all parts of her body gone crazily tender, her cells and fibers alerted in a way they had never before known. She gasped against the gag as she felt something else--the soft slapping of his testicles as they came to rest in the crack of her ass. Clark's tormented erection was driven to the very root inside her body. Every thick and throbbing inch of the massive cock she had seen --all that was buried now in her belly, in the palpitating richness of her passionate cunt.
There had been a momentary flash of pain, soon over and already forgotten, but now there was--what? The sensation of being packed inside her vagina, of somehow having been turned into a receptacle now filled with the meaty shaft of the man who was raping her. It was rape. It was, and since she had done all she could to stop it, since she had fought the good fight and lost, all she could possibly do now was submit to him.
Clark pulled his rod back and back, until she thought that the entire length of his cock was going to be taken from the tight clasping of her pussy, but just as she felt the ridged head touch the delicate netting of her inner cunt lips, he pumped it powerfully into her tight vaginal recesses once more. Oh! Oh! This time, she felt the sliding pressure of her never-kneaded clitoris, and knew the hot, wet sparks that went sailing up her backbone.
Her hips rolled sensuously, but not in response. She swayed her hips gently from side to side, because her young pussy was so new and untried that she was trying to save it from further punishment. Still, each time she moved in such fashion, the caress was nicer, and the feeling was much better inside her cunt, along her clit.
It was as if she were somehow giving and taking at the same time, as if she were possessing and being taken, too. Mary's eyes popped open, and she forced her wandering mind back into familiar patterns. No. She wouldn't give this--this animal any more pleasure than he was forcing from her. She was still Mary Conroy Devlin, and she had been brought up as a good, honest girl, and--
"Oh!" she said against the material wadded in her mouth.
And Clark said, "OH, DAMN, BABY--THIS IS THE TIGHTEST, HOTTEST LITTLE CUNT I EVER GOT INTO. IF I DIDN'T KNOW YOU FOR A PRICK TEASER, I'D SWEAR YOU WERE A CHERRY. BUT--OH, YEAH, CHICK --ROLL THAT GREAT ASS SOME MORE, AND GRIND YOUR BELLY LIKE THAT, AND CLAMP YOUR PUSSY DOWN ON MY PRICK --OH, WOW!"
His strokes were long and strong now and she knew the fondling slap of his balls, the slickened thrusting of his big cockhead against her cervix. There was a vibration in her clit, and her entire pussy seemed to be clasping the spasming hot prick as if her vagina were a wet glove, holding to the erected shaft and squeezing down on it.
"Now you're fucking!" he panted above her, his fingers digging hungrily into the soft and tender flesh of her ass when he rammed home his distended meat, his rigid and hammering shaft. "You've really got it, baby--sweet and hot--juicy, but narrow and snug. What a pussy! What a hot cunt! I'm going to cum, baby. I'm going to pump my searing hot cum into your tight little cunt!"
At that ragged moment in time, she knew only a flash of panic, then it too was swept away by the overpowering urgency to hurry, hurry--the need to meet him and to match his driving rhythm and to go, go, go! Twisting and hunching as best she could with her arms and legs tied, Mary rode the piston of his pumping cock, rolled her ass and clamped its cheeks and tried to grind his wildly spasming prick off at the roots. His balls flapped wetly into her feathery cleft, and she went blind with the sudden explosion that convulsed her entire cunt.
She knew the enchanted feel of his hotly throbbing cockhead as it swelled and spewed, when the first roaring spout of lava-hot semen came thundering from its tip, when it gushed madly from the little blind mouth. Thick and creamy, hot and frothing, his boiling cum made a fountain inside her degraded pussy and hurled upward to splash stickily against her womb.
A man's semen was roaring inside her cunt. A man's potent come was soaking the trembling walls of her feverish pussy as his deeply driven cock shivered and flexed. And she--something insane was happening to her clitoris, and something was changing all the exposed nerve ends of her force-penetrated vagina. Hotly searing waves of goodness gathered strength behind her knees and came sweeping up the sleek and satiny interiors of her thighs, came around her hairy, humping pelvis and down to where her blistering pussy was slamming at the beautiful hard prick.
The surging waves came together at her clit, whirlpooling insanely there for a fragmented moment of glory, then leaped to burst like fireworks into the rest of her wanton pussy. Mary's head jerked back and her eyes rolled as she sucked breath noisily through flared nostrils. The wonderful, marvelous, exquisite feeling raced around inside the spasming walls of her oily cunt and over his stilled prick and back on down to where his balls lay packed snugly into the silken haired cup of her asshole.
Mary Conroy Devlin went drifting on a lotus river, turning her sleek and naked body among the scented blossoms, her legs gone slack and her arms like the flower petals themselves. Her pussy was a nest of warmth, a honeyed curling of delicate hairs and fragile aromas that was now the center of life and the very core of her new, ecstatic universe.
* * *
When she came eddying back to the harsher world, but one that would forever be changed for her, her eyelids fluttered. She was no longer tied down. Her hands and feet were free, and she moved them luxuriously, the caress of one polished thigh against the other stirring anew the wavelets of rapture within her pussy. It was sad for her to know that her pussy was empty, except for the good, slippery juices left behind by his departed cock.
Clark Watson said down to her, "You were out for quite a while, baby. I had plenty of time to take a series of pictures with my polaroid." Sleepily, not understanding, she asked, "Pictures?"
And he answered, "Shots of you and me together. I set the timer, crawled over with you, and worked my prick back into your cunt. I got some great angles, Mary."
Rolling over, drawing the stained and rumpled sheet up to cover her bare body, she said, "But --but why?"
He flashed some glossy color prints at her, so she could see the naked sprawling of her body, and recognize the terrible things she seemed to be doing of her own free will. Her hands tightened on the sheet and she found it difficult to breathe.
Clark said, "How the hell was I to know you were a cherry? If I didn't see the blood--I mean, you came on so strong, shaking those great tits around and leaning into me. You practically asked yourself to dinner, and then hit the bottle like you were used to the stuff. I thought you were putting me on, acting the cock teaser. But after I fucked you, I saw the blood."
She watched him, seeing his face, that stranger's face with the hard planes, the sharpness of his eyes.
He said, "I figured the only way to keep you from finking, from going to the cops, was to take these pictures. They sure as hell don't look like rape, baby."
Mary didn't feel warm and beloved anymore; she only felt soiled. "You tore off my clothes."
"I'll buy you a new dress," he said. "Here's my robe. You can wear it down the hall. Remember these pictures, baby."
She accepted the robe he held out to her, turning her back to put it on, her skin crawling at the feel of his bathrobe against her flesh. Her knees were weak, and now she was conscious of an ache deep within her outraged pussy.
CHAPTER TWO
When she walked up to his desk next morning, Mary could see the change that came over Clark Watson's face. First came the shock, then the wariness, and what she certainly hoped was a touch of fear.
The girl taking dictation from Clark glanced at her, flicked eyes over the fullness of her pants suit and over the long richness of the red hair that cascaded down her back. The girl's lips parted, but Clark made a gesture with one hand and said, "Yes? May I help you?"
Mary said, "I came about the job."
The girl frowned. "Aren't you the same girl we turned down yesterday?"
Clark said, "Miss Jepson, please leave us alone."
After the girl flounced away, he said to Mary, "Now, what the hell? Have you got a problem, baby?"
"No," she said, "but you'll have one in a few seconds, if you don't hire me. I'll start screaming and fall on the floor, and I'll claim you made me pregnant, and all kinds of things. I guess you could call that kind of action a problem."
He stared at her. "You bitch. I believe you'd do it."
"Right," she said, with a sureness she didn't feel. "Now, when do I go to work? And somewhere close to the big man himself. Not out in one of the branch offices."
His eyes narrowed. "You've got something more than just a typing job in mind, and I wish I knew what. But I'll find out. You interest me, chick--in several ways, now; so I'll find out what you have in mind."
Leaning back and putting his fingertips together in a steeple, Clark Watson said, "It just happens there's a slot open in the front office typing pool. Right where you'll see Mr. Mattingly himself walking in and out--when he's in town, that is. You've got the job, baby, and if you want to tell me why you want it so badly, it'll save us both a lot of trouble."
She shook her head. "I can't do that. Do I go to work right now?"
"Don't be impetuous." His brown eyes slid over her body, touched her breasts and dipped down to stare through the snug material that cupped her mound. Mary reddened, remembering what this man had done to her the night before. He said, "You may be working for the competition, but there isn't much you can learn here about the company operation. Mattingly keeps the secrets in his head, if there are any. Maybe the IRS? A spy for the government? That would be more like it."
He hadn't asked her to sit down, but she did, anyway, crossing her legs and sitting erect in the way that made her breasts poke out even stronger. She could feel the pants tighten in her crotch, and watched Clark's eyes dart there. A turmoil shook her tummy. Could she keep him away again? Would it be possible to work here, to live just down the hall from him, and to hold him at arm's length, if he tried to rape her again ?
His voice low, dropped almost to a murmur, Clark said, "You turn me on, baby. I look at you and see right through your clothes, see the nipples of your tits dark red and sticking up, see curly red hair on your fine, soft pussy. By the time we get home tonight, I'll be carrying such a hard on that it'll be difficult for me to walk."
That flustered her. Fingers turning white on her purse, she lifted her chin and tried not to look at him. A hot, wiggly thing moved in her body, and she told herself that Clark Watson wasn't good looking, that his mouth was too petulant and his eyes too sharp. But his body---a hidden shudder racked her flesh, and she held desperately to her purse. She wasn't one of those loose women, she wasn't. She had been raped, and the experience was traumatic, unsettling. She would get over it and be the same decent girl she had always been.
"I--I'll come back after lunch," she said, trying to recapture her dominance of the situation. "You can show me my desk then, and tell me my duties."
Not waiting for his answer, she hurried out through the office, intercepting a glare from Miss Jepson on the way. Back on the street, she forced herself to relax, to concentrate upon what she had to do. She had already bought a generous supply of the Pill, and taken one. That had been embarrassing, too, simply asking for the things, but she had gotten through it.
Turning into another drugstore, she sat at the counter for sugar doughnuts and coffee. Luckily, she had never had to worry about over-eating. Even though she was full-bodied, tall and statuesque, she could eat heartily and never put on a pound. Munching the doughnuts, she considered her accomplishments, and what they had so far cost her.
She had the job; she had bluffed Clark Watson into hiring her for Mattingly, Inc. He had suspicions, but he was yet nowhere near her real objective. She wasn't a business spy, nor a snoop for Internal Revenue. Nothing so mundane. Mary Conroy was on a crusade, and if the original wrong could never be righted, then the sinner could certainly be made to suffer for his transgressions.
Poor mother, she thought, living so long alone and embittered, struggling to make ends meet but refusing to accept charity. She had me to raise, to school and clothe, and she did that to the best of her ability, the poor, unlucky woman, once widowed and once deserted.
Deserted by Paul Mattingly, Mary thought, and clenched hard upon the coffee cup. He had never contributed a dime to our support, and how my mother had ever managed to save so much money over all the years, I will never know. Self-denial and dedication, she thought, scrimping and doing without, so that I could have a chance.
She shifted upon the counter stool, and her labia twitched, reminding her that she was no longer the pure girl that had left Grants Pass. She had taken a man's hard thing in there, and had suffered the explosion of his semen deep within her vagina.
Not only had she been--fucked--but she had fucked him back. Trembling, Mary rattled her cup against its saucer and left the other doughnut on its paper plate. Paying her check, she went back onto the street and drifted aimlessly up and down until time to go back to the office.
Steadier then, holding to her grim determination, she ignored the hateful glances of the other girls and set herself up at the desk that Clark Watson personally escorted her to. Leaning close, he whispered into her ear, his breath hot and thickly, "See you tonight, baby. It's Friday, and there's the whole weekend ahead for us."
For a while, she was unable to concentrate because of that threat, but doggedly she went to work. The reports were standard, and she was a good typist, the best in GP High, her teacher had said. Fingers flying, biting her lower lip, she sailed through a stack of work, losing herself in it.
Just before closing time, he walked into the office.
She stopped typing because the room had gone suddenly quiet around her, and when she looked up, her eyes met his. Immediately, she knew who he was. There could be no mistake. The other girls were smiling and nodding, and the man was smiling back at them as he strode by their desks. It was Paul Mattingly, all right. Only the boss could exude such confidence, such arrogance.
Mary's mouth was open, and she closed it firmly. She hadn't expected him to be so handsome. The old, blurred photos she had didn't show this kind of man, and couldn't.
He was strong. He was tall and wide shouldered and his suit was perfectly tailored. His hair was still jet black, except for the eye-catching wings of silver reaching back along his temples. The small moustache set off a mouth that was generous, and could be tender.
He stopped at her desk. "You're new here."
"Y-yes, yessir," she answered, hating herself for the clot in her throat, for the shaking of her fingers upon the typewriter keyboard. She hated him, hated him, and she refused to be afraid of him, or to be taken in by the outward handsomeness. A rattlesnake was pretty, too.
Paul Mattingly said, "You're very lovely. You light up the office."
The door to his private offices closed behind him before she could even say thanks. Her cheeks felt warm, and she raised her hands to them, seeing the virulent glare of Miss Jepson aimed her way, looking over beyond the glass partition to catch Clark Watson watching her, also.
Nobody was happier for five o'clock, but she tidied her desk before leaving. Paul Mattingly hadn't come out of his office, and she didn't want him to shake her up anymore, so she went out into the hall. Clark wasn't there, so she waited for the next elevator and went directly to her apartment.
There was nothing in her fridge yet, and she thought that she would have to do some shopping that evening. The excitement of the day had made her sticky, so she filled the tub, added her favorite bubble bath, and climbed into the steamy, perfumed water to relax.
Nothing had prepared her for Paul Mattingly. Somehow, she had been picturing him as an evil old man, maybe even with little hidden horns. Or something like that movie about Dorian Gray, all blotchy with his mean character.
Running her hands lightly over her full thighs where they rested beneath the caressing water, Mary thought that the evil was within him, where it didn't show. She touched her vulva and hastily withdrew her fingertips, but not before a little electric thrill tingled through her suddenly taut belly.
She felt her nipples leap erect. Did being raped do that to a normal woman? Make her so sensitive that she couldn't touch her own body? She wouldn't allow that, would not submit to such base emotions. Think clean, her mother had always told her. Concentrate upon higher planes.
Her mother had never said how good looking, how masculine and compelling Paul Mattingly was. But she wouldn't think of him in such fashion. She would only think of how to destroy him, to show him to the world for what he was, a man who would desert his wife and child. She wasn't really his child, but he had taken on the obligation for her when he married her mother.
Was her mother ever beautiful enough to attract a man like him? Mary slid deeper into the bath water and wondered about that. Maybe her mama had lost the bloom of youth by working so hard.
She climbed slowly from the tub, and the water seemed to fondle her legs as she arose--not brutally, not as a rapist might, but with the sensitive and tender fingertips of a lover. Mary stood awhile naked, and saw herself in the full-length mirror behind the bathroom door. She had never really done that before, not in all the eighteen years of her life, because being naked was being bad.
Now--she turned, pirouetting so that she could actually see the body that so many boys and men had claimed drove them out of their heads. The breasts were big, always sticking out full and round. She had always had difficulty hiding them. And now the heavy nipples rose like deep-red cherries, taunting her with the memory of a man's mouth licking over them.
Her shape was long, so that she didn't look as big as she really was. The legs long and sleek, full in the smoothly rounded thighs and tapering gracefully to dimpled knees, to the sweep of svelte calves and nicely turned ankles above reasonably small feet.
Her butt--her ass, she corrected herself deliberately, her ass was modeled, the cheeks like polished and lustrous pears, the cleft showing only a tricky little peeping of pubic hair deep and richly red, and so curly.
Stop it, she said sharply inside her head. Stop being bitchy and try to plan an attack on Paid Mattingly. She would have to have it ready by no later than Monday.
CHAPTER THREE
Mary slept fitfully, bothered by sensations within her body, troubled by dreams erotic and dreams frightening. She was chased by men waving their overgrown cocks, and rescued at the last possible moment by a man with silver wings in his jet black hair, a man who looked very much like Paul Mattingly.
Now it was Saturday morning, and she was freshly showered, trying to ignore the tingling feelings in her thighs. She had been getting these new stimulations, ever since she had been raped, as if different portions of her body were just now coming awake after lying dormant all her previous life.
She downed a solid breakfast, enjoying the act of cooking in her new kitchen, and was just sliding into a pair of cutoff jeans, when the door buzzer sounded. She sat with the jeans unzipped, with the white nylon of her panties showing the confined richness of her pubic curls. The buzzer rattled again, and she zipped up the cutoffs to shrug into a man's floppy shirt and walk barefoot to the door.
When she opened it, Clark Watson stood there. "Baby--"
Instinctively, she tried to slam the door, but his knee was in the way, and he came pushing right on inside, using his heel to kick the door shut behind him.
"Mary--cool it. I didn't come here to hassle you."
She glared at him. "I don't want anything to do with you. Get out of my apartment right now." He grinned at her, and she thought that his leer was evil, that he had more than his share of cold nerve. "Or what?" he asked. "Or you'll call the cops? Don't forget the pictures, baby--in living color. You might even say wiggling color." She bit her lip. "How could I forget? What do you want, Clark?"
"That's better," he said. "You look great in those cutoffs. They show off your legs properly, and I can see your bra peeping through that old shirt. You're dressed just right for what I want, baby--a trip to the beach."
Staring at him, she said, "You--you must be out of your head! What makes you think I'd go anywhere with you, after--after--"
"After I fucked you?"
That word jolted throughout her system, shook her flesh and centered deep within the shamed confines of her tummy. She said in a tight, hoarsened voice, "I saw you at the office because I had to. For no other reason."
He moved closer. "That's something else. You were scared out of your head that I'd tell somebody you screwed me, and then you came to put pressure on me. I'd better find out why that job is so important to you. It might be important to me, too."
She backed away. "It--it's only something personal. Please, get out of here and let me alone." He kept moving nearer, so that she could feel the heat of his body reaching out at her. "Leave you alone? No way, baby. I can't get you out of my head. I've had a hard on ever since I pulled out of that fine, tight pussy. You dug what happened to you, Mary. You enjoyed being fucked, once you got started. And that was only the beginning, kid. You have no idea how many ways you can swing. But you'll learn, and you'll dig every second of it."
She tried once more. "I don't want to have you touch me. Not now and not ever. If--"
"You're going to need help," he insisted. "Whatever you have in mind at Mattingly, Inc., you'll need my help."
Mary knew that that was possible, and since she had some vague idea in mind that entailed using her body to embarrass Paul Mattingly, it would be no worse to use it now. If she had to. Maybe she could convince this man that she was an agent for the IRS or something, so he would be afraid to push her too far. It was an idea, and she could also try milking him of all information concerning Paul Mattingly.
"All right," she said. "The beach, you said? What will I need?"
"That's better." His hands lifted to gently touch her waist, the insinuating fingers sliding around to rest lightly upon the upper curvings of her hips. "Just a couple of towels and a change of clothes, if you want. I borrowed this camper from a guy I know, and we'll park it on a deserted beach, far from anybody."
His fingers were burning into her flesh and she had to move away before her knees turned any weaker. She found an overnight bag and stuffed things blindly into it, conscious of its implications, but denying the vivid images that persisted in flashing through her mind.
Downstairs, Clark played the gentleman, lifting her elbow and helping her into the truck cab. In fact, he was friendly but distant all the way to the coast, chatting with her as if he had never tied her down and stuck his big, ugly thing into her virginal body. But he didn't tell her much, really. Only that Paul Mattingly was married and had a grown son off in Europe, that the firm and the man himself were highly thought of, although the image of both was staid, respectable and stodgy.
That was plenty, she thought, watching the tall redwood trees flash by the truck window. That made Paul Mattingly vulnerable, opened him up to the threat of scandal. She would make him pay for the wrong he had done to her mother and to herself. Now the time was getting closer, and she thought that on Monday she would start a campaign against the man.
"Here we are," Clark said, steering the truck off the blacktop road and down onto the beach. "No other car in sight. I'll park it over there, under that overhang of cliff. Nobody much comes here. A couple of campers if the weather is right, and a few surf fishers."
It was going to be all right, she thought, climbing from the cab and walking around back to the camper with him. Clark just wanted to know what she was doing at the company, and maybe her questions had scared him off a little. He wasn't going to force her to--to do it with him again, and that wasn't a twinge of disappointment, she told herself. She would be happy to sacrifice her body, if it meant paying back Paul Mattingly, but for no other reason. Even though she wasn't a virgin anymore, she was still basically a good girl.
Clark opened the door and helped her up into the camper. She caught at a wall for support then, her eyes going wide, for another man was staring at her.
"Baby," Clark said, "meet my buddy Johnny Adams. He owns this rig, but we thought it better that he ride in the back this far. Johnny--did I lie? Isn't this the greatest body you ever saw on a chick?"
Johnny Adams was slim and blond, very young looking, with fair, tanned skin and blue eyes. He swung his legs down from the bed and grinned at her. "Hi, Mary. You're beautiful all the way. Clark had a lot to say about you."
She braced her hand against the wooden wall of the camper. "What--what is this? Clark--you never--"
"That's right, baby, I never said anything about Johnny, because you would have gotten all uptight. The way it is, he's here and we're here, and that's how it's going to be." He pushed her on into the camper where she stood uncertainly at a table.
Splashing something into a glass, Clark said, "Here, you probably need this."
Uncomprehending, Mary gulped down the liquor and felt the fiery bite of it in her belly. Clark certainly couldn't mean to include this other man in--in whatever he was going to do. Surely, he wouldn't want company if he was going to rape her again.
He poured more whiskey. "Have another, Mary. Get a little smashed, because we don't want to bother tying you down this time."
Oh, Lord, she thought. This is a bad dream. Nothing like this could happen to real people. Clark's lips were peeled back in a wolfish smile of savage domination, while Johnny was looking sort of puzzled at them.
Johnny said, "Hey, man, I thought you said she was a willing, swinging chick."
"Oh, she is, she is. Sometimes she likes a little power, some strength to turn her on," Clark said. Then turning to look at Mary, he said, "Drink it down, baby."
Moving in numbed disbelief, Mary swallowed another stiff jolt of liquor, coughing when the stuff burned her throat. She heard music from a transistor radio grow louder around them, beating out a rhythm that seemed both primitive and compelling. She shouldn't have trusted Clark. She shouldn't have thought that she could handle him, bluff him. The man was a beast, a monster. "Me first," Clark said. "Ever since I popped her cherry, my prick has been aching for a chance to dip into that sweet cunt again."
First? Her head swimming, Mary turned helplessly, realizing that both of them meant to screw her.
"Johnny doesn't mind waiting a little longer," Clark said. "He's really been looking forward to fucking you, though, since I told him about how you used to be a cherry until the V night." She felt his hands unbuttoning ohh t, and stood like an animal led to the slaughter house, not understanding it all. "Look at those tits," Clark said. "Didn't I tell you they were fantastic?"
"Yeah," Johnny answered, his eyes glittering now. "They are fantastic!"
Mary tried to struggle then, belatedly attempting to push herself away, to do something, to break out of the camper and run, run until she was exhausted. But Clark only slapped her hands casually aside and jerked down the zipper on her jeans. She reached for the cutoffs, and he moved her back toward the bed. Before she knew what was happening, the two men had lifted her to the cabover bed and had sprawled her upon the wide mattress, while she desperately tried to hold on to her pants.
The whiskey roared within her body, mixing up her head as she tried to hold her legs stiff so the panties wouldn't slide off. But they did, and she clutched at a sheet to cover her exposed flesh, feeling the stab of eyes that ogled her bare skin, knowing their probing at her nipples and crotch. Oh, no. Oh, no! Her mind raked with fear.
Suddenly, Clark was on top of her, covering her body with his own, and she squirmed helplessly at the contact, moaning when his hungry mouth clamped onto hers, when his tongue reached deep into her cavity.
"Man, oh, man!" Johnny said, his face very close, his hands stroking along the curves of her reluctant body as Clark Watson struggled to get the head of his cock set against the entrance to her humid, pulsating cunt.
Mary felt Clark's tongue running around inside her mouth, and shuddered at the wet, hot slipperiness of it, at the clashing of their teeth. She fought for air then, twisting away her lips, gasping while his hands were brutal upon her breasts and his cock poked blindly down into her sensitive, hairy mound.
That terrible cockhead, all puffy and spongy- hard, blunt at the tip and greasy with its pre- seminal fluid--it was threatening her vulva once more, mean and awful and so powerful that her poor trembling labia couldn't possibly resist it. Swollen with blood, gorged with his animal lusts, the cockhead prodded and pushed, and she felt it sliding, felt it slipping, over the already-damp lips of her pussy.
"Stick it to her, man!" Johnny grated. "Here --I'll hold her knee wider--"
Two men, both mewling and snuffling like beasts, one waiting his turn to fuck her while the other one's cock thrust and--her cuntal lips quivered and turned even more buttery, and Clark's big, flanged head began to inch into them. Panting for breath, Mary steeled herself for the penetration, for the lancing of pain that didn't come. Only the slipping in of the lust-swollen mushroom head, only the greasy sliding of the turgid meaty shaft that followed the hotly pulsating knob up into her satin-lined pussy.
It was in her again. The hard, distended man's prick was shoved inside her one-time penetrated vagina once more. All the way in it went, easing through the welcoming wetness of the clinging tissues until it stopped with the bulb near her womb and the thick, veined root of that threatening monster pressed firmly against the elastic lips of her labia. His testicles, hairy and swollen inside their wrinkled sack, nudged down into the crack of her ass, nestled softly into the fluffy hair that made a warm bed for them.
Holding her legs stiff, she tensed her entire body, tried to make it unyielding and non-responsive. She hadn't asked for this unsuspected marauding on her virgin body. She hadn't in any manner brought it on, except by coming out here with Clark, and she didn't want to--didn't want to.
"Hot and tight," Clark hissed into the column of her throat. "Your snatch is so hot and tight that I'll never get enough of fucking it. Grind your hot cunt on my rod, baby. Shake that beautiful ass and roll your satin belly against mine. Come on, Mary--fuck me, fuck me."
Shuddering, her legs softened and her thighs twitched as he stroked his painfully hardened shaft in and out of the grasping suction of her passion-inflamed pussy. They curled when he touched bottom with the bulging head of his pole, and even though she tried valiantly to resist the urge, her legs lifted slowly to cross themselves around the small of his heaving back.
Bright, hot lights wheeled inside her head, and her entire body broke free of the bonds that held it to earth. Flying, soaring, she went blind in the sudden sunlight of high, far places, and felt her hips rolling, her belly grinding, felt her buttocks clenching and releasing as she screwed this rapist back. With long, undulating thrusts, she met his penetrating strokes, reveling in the ramrodding motion, taking the whole length of the lust-swollen shaft as deeply as she could and trying for even more depth, even more searing hot meat within the secret places of her body and her soul.
Her arms wrapped him in, folded softly and warmly around his shoulders to draw Clark as closely as possible, so that his hairy chest crushed down upon the tender nipples of her softly quivering breasts, so that they were pushed down into the mounds themselves, so that her tits went flat in a sweet, fiery agony.
"Look at her screw!" Johnny panted, and his hands slipped up and down that side of her body, moving hotly over rib cage and arm, caressing her hip and the thigh that was hiked to box in another man's body.
Mary enjoyed the wild feeling, dug the sensation of two men loving her, one deep in the nether depths of her hot pussy and one upon the surface of her quivering body. It made her doubly wanted, desired by both these hard, driving, sex- crazed men. Twisting her face from the hollow of Clark's shoulder and the light sheen of sweat there, she turned it outward, pointing her lips toward Johnny.
His intent eyes caught hers, and as if he was mesmerized, he moved nearer, his own lips damply excited. His mouth was tender, surprisingly so, and she loved the warm feel of it.
At that moment, Clark gave a special, grinding lunge that made her now-distended clit leap in response, so that her tongue matched the reaction by sliding between Johnny's lips and into the hot cave of his hungry mouth. Her teeth raked lightly, thrilling across his, and she trembled at the soft blow of a hot tropic wind as his tongue curled around her own.
She was voraciously taking the hot tongue of one man in her mouth while another man wildly pounded the throbbing shaft of his huge cock in and out of the blood-engorged lips of her thoroughly inflamed wanton cunt. Mary gasped half words into Johnny's mouth, rolled her belly and clamped down with her vaginal muscles upon the ramming shaft inside her snatch. Her mind reeled, and for just one sharp moment, her mother's disapproving face made everything stop--her mind and her body and the juicy loving of her vagina.
But only for that cutting fragment of time, then the image disappeared in the whirling sensations of Johnny's fondling of one tit while he licked hotly across the roof of her gasping mouth, of Clark pounding his big penis harder and harder, stronger and stronger into the avid cupping of her straining cunt.
"OH, LORD. OH, MY GOD! OOOOOHHHH!" She hissed into Johnny's mouth. "OOOOHHHH, I'M GOING TO HIT IT. I AM, I AM! I CAN'T HOLD IT BACK ANY MORE. OOOOHHHH! I'M CUMMING, I'M CUMMING!"
Clark grunted and gave one more slam of his wildly jerking cock. "Here, you hot-assed bitch. Take my big cock and my hot cum!"
When the hot creamy semen thundered against her cervix, Mary came and came... and came, and when she couldn't stop, she fainted.
CHAPTER FOUR
During lunch break, Mary wrote a short note on another typewriter, folded it into a plain envelope, and put a stamp on it. She mailed the letter down the street before grabbing a quick sandwich. She had to hurry back to the office to beat the clock, and when she slid behind her desk in the typing pool, she was panting a little.
Her breasts were rising and falling in a compulsive rhythm, pushing strongly against the confinement of her bra, and she could feel the extreme sensitivity of her nipples there. There was a new excitement in her, alien to the residual effect of the wildest weekend Mary Conroy Devlin had ever known.
She had just made the first real move against Paul Mattingly. That note, when it was delivered later in the afternoon, ought to set him on his ear and perhaps even start a tremble in the foundations of his financial empire.
There was another stack of reports waiting her, and she started in on them immediately, supple fingers flickering accurately over the electric keyboard while her mind raced even faster. Paul Mattingly would get a shock when he read her accusation. And she wanted to see his reaction.
All she had written this time was, You are a wife killer and she took a long time to die.
That ought to hit the suave, handsome Mr. Mattingly like a kick in the pit of the stomach, she thought. She hoped it hurt like hell.
Shifting in her chair, she glanced often at the front door of the main office, hoping that he would come in. She caught Clark Watson's eye across the partition, and when he grinned at her, Mary felt the blood leap into her cheeks. She looked away immediately and tried to concentrate on her typing, but made three mistakes in a row before she could cool herself down.
I hope that Clark Watson is damned for complicating everything. Without him, things would be simple, but he insisted upon mixing her up. Those two days and nights on the beach--he led her into that, and forced her to stay when all she really wanted to do was to get out of that camper and run, run, run, and never stop.
"Well," the catty female voice said at her shoulder, "it seems you can type, too. But some of us girls think you're overdoing it, dear. Take it slower."
Mary blinked up at the falsely sweet smile of Miss Jepson. "I wasn't pushing my speed," she said. "I can go a lot faster, but maybe that's because I'm so much younger?"
The other woman's eyes slashed at her, then Miss Jepson whirled away, stopping at other desks before passing behind the personnel-office partition. Mary shrugged, the motion making her heavy breasts do jiggles. Probably she should have been nicer to the Jepson woman, in the interests of office peace, but she just couldn't stand the bitch.
Mary flinched inwardly. She never used such words in her thoughts before. They were part of her new vocabulary, and she should try not to make them commonplace. That Clark--and Johnny, too. She blushed again, and lowered her face so that others couldn't see her confusion.
Imagine, being laid by two men, one right after the other, even before the waves of her first marvelous orgasm had died with her sizzling vagina. That's how Johnny did it, just moved over her as soon as Clark withdrew his thing and moved from between her vibrant thighs. Her head was rocking from side to side, and her overheated body was pulsing to a primitive rhythm all its own, when she dimly realized that a strange man was with her, his hands fondling over her flesh.
When she opened her eyes and saw Johnny, something recoiled deep within her, for this wasn't even closely akin to love; it was lust run rampant, and if she responded in any way to it, she was hopelessly lost, a complete and utter bitch. So Mary put up her hands, placed her sweaty palms against his tanned chest and tried to push Johnny Adams away.
He did fall back a little, so that she got her first look at his penis. It wasn't as heavy as Clark's, but it seemed to be longer, a slim and fearful prong that could reach to her womb and damage it. But Johnny didn't go away. Instead, he took her by the hips and twisted, surprising her by the obvious ease with which he rolled her over so that she lay face down on the rumpled bedsheets.
The thought darted through her mind that he was perverted, that he meant to--to do something awful to her, Mary struggled to sit up, tried to tell him that she wouldn't couldn't, dc anything like that. But Johnny paid no attention. He clamped powerful hands upon her slim waist and she felt the hard knob of his thing reaching in between her thighs, knew the sensation of it poking into the steamy cleft that another man's penis had just left.
"Stop wiggling," he ordered her. "Settle down long enough for me to get it into that hot gash. Man--are you juicy! All slick and buttery in your cunt hair---ahh! Ahh, you hot bitch--there, there, It's going in."
It was. She shivered when the blunt tip forced its path into the wetly receptive slot of her vulva, parting the already-well-greased and stimulated labia to slide up into her vagina from behind. From behind, like being topped by some animal, as if she was a bitch in boiling heat and mounted by a dog with his shaft jabbing, jabbing, all red and slippery.
Mary took the rod completely, the soapy velvet of her inner tissues clasping the extreme length of that new shaft. Johnny lowered his chest and belly then, pressed against her back and rubbed his hairy crotch into the valley between her shapely buttocks. His testicles swung into the vee left by her spread thighs, and for a dizzy second, she thought that they were going to rise high enough to slap against her belly.
Johnny's hands came around to each cup a pendulous breast, to use her downswinging tits as handholds for the seesaw motion that his hips were setting up. His shaft worked into her foamy slot, moving more freely because of the semen that Clark had left bubbling inside her.
The shadow was at her desk, angled across her before she realized that it had been there for some time. With a guilty start, Mary's fingers made the keys clatter.
Paul Mattingly said in that confident, deep voice, "I see you're an expert typist. How are you on shorthand, Miss Conroy?"
Her voice was squeaky when it answered. "A- all right, I guess. No, I mean, I'm pretty good." His dark eyes looked into hers. "Conroy--Conroy. It seems I should remember that name." Her jaws tightened. Paul Mattingly damned well should remember the name. It was his ex- wife's maiden name, before she had married Larry Devlin. Before she had married a man named Mattingly.
"I may see you later," he said, and she looked after him as he passed into the inner office. He was wearing a dark suit with a pinstripe, and it made him look as if he had the body of a young, virile man. But he had to be forty-five years old. Maybe even older. So all that youthful appearance was only a front, as false as his conservative, trustworthy attitude.
Miss Jepson was staring acid at her over the fiberglass wall, and two other typists had stopped work to add their silent hate. Mary looked down at her hands, and waited for whatever was going to happen when the boss read his afternoon mail. She might not really know, because he surely wouldn't want to spread that kind of news around the office. And she had to know.
Her buttocks drew tight in anxiety, and she pulled in a deep breath that made her wince when her tender nipples thrust into her D-cups. What would Paul Mattingly think, if he knew that only two nights before, she had been taking a man's stiff meat up her vagina, dog fashion?
That would shake him from his cool. He wouldn't be so damned anxious to stop by her desk to pass the time of day, distributing his words like verbal pats on the head. But he was a beast, too. Her mother had said so, plenty of times. Mother had crossed her arms over the pain in her belly and over the bitterness in her heart, and told of how any decent woman ought to close her body against such a man as Paul Mattingly.
And Clark? And Johnny Adams? Such different men, in size and build and coloring. Different even in sexual tastes. She hadn't known about that, until Johnny mounted her from behind and fed that eager hardened cock into her resilient sheath with such steady, powerful strokes.
Her fingernails had dug into the sheet, bunching it into damp balls within her hands, while the slamming action of Johnny's shaft went on and on.
Mary's head bounced, and there was sweet pain in her tits, where his hands squeezed. His rigid meat pounded fiercely into her hairy nest, and his balls slapped wetly against her thighs. He ground his crotch into her buttocks, smeared his belly into the crack of her trembling ass and laid that hard shaft up in her snatch as if he was trying to rip it apart.
So savage, so degrading. She was the helpless cow and he was the triumphant bull, straddling her soft body and pumping his male tool home with raw and lascivious strength. But she found her hips moving, discovered that her pelvis was humping and that she was moving back against him to take his churning shaft ever deeper.
Rotating her ass, grinding and hunching, she twisted her body hungrily, and when he made several more rapid, spasming punches up into her rippling cunt, Mary was ready for his release. Her own climax flowered brightly as she came, as the hot waves of ecstasy crashed foaming against her clit and passed through the rest of her tightly clasping vagina in an all-encompassing tidal wave.
Johnny let go his own searing hot cum at that enchanted moment, and the spurting fountain of his semen was a welcome deluge for her inner pussy. Thick and slippery, heavy and oily, the jets of cum wet down her vaginal walls and swirled around her womb. He bit the back of her neck and made little, choppy strokes against her cheeks, groaning against her skin.
When the hand touched Mary's shoulder, she jumped. Clark Watson said in a low voice, "The old man acts like he's hooked on you, baby. Never saw him talk to any other girls out here. Do you have any idea what's on his mind? He just buzzed me."
She shook her head. "N-no, Clark. I--he didn't say anything to me. Just asked if I was any good at shorthand."
Clark whistled softly. "Maybe he's putting his private secretary on an extended vacation, and it's past time for that; she's a shrewish old woman. That would be a real break for you, baby. You could dig up whatever you came here to find."
There was nothing she could say to that, and she watched him knock on the inner office door, thinking oddly that the set of his shoulders wasn't at all like that of Paul Mattingly, and wondered why she was comparing them at all.
At least, she had held back her reason for being here, though Clark had badgered her for it over the weekend. But what with all the liquor flowing, and the stuff the men smoked, it had been fairly easy for her to divert his attention. And that was a good reason for her to knock out another note.
This time, she used her own machine. If anyone checked the type, the variety would serve to confuse them a bit. The following day she would write another letter on yet another typewriter. She felt quite wise.
Clark Watson came out of the boss' office, a puzzled look in his black eyes. Her heart leaped when she saw the note in his hand. It was the one she had written.
Again he slowed at her desk. "The old man got real shook up about this. He wants me to hire a private detective. How about that?"
Clark was gone before she could find an answer, and s he wondered if he had meant to shake her up, too. A little chill settled along her spine and refused to go away. A detective? Visions of policemen and courts, jails and prisons, dangled before her eyes. Mary sat up straighter and reached for another report. She hadn't done anything illegal; she had only said what Paul Mattingly was, what he had done. She had made no threats.
Her abdominal muscles tightened and she felt warm. At least, she had made Paul so afraid he was trying to protect himself. The note was a fine idea, a great idea. The next day, when she would send another one, she would use a clipping about her mother's death, and maybe enclose an old, yellowed picture to jog his memory.
Finishing the report, she took her purse and went to the bathroom. For days now, she had been ever conscious of her body, of its unlimited possibilities. Now she had an inkling of its power. Hadn't she still been up and excited when both her lovers were worn down? But Mary still couldn't think about that without feeling guilty and dirtied.
It just wasn't right to do those things and, especially, she had no business enjoying them. Her objective was all-important, that was true, but she might be destroying herself in the process. When Paul Mattingly toppled from his high position, she might not be able to pull herself up from the mire.
Voices floated over her booth door. "Can you imagine that top-heavy bitch, swinging her ass in here and just taking over?"
Someone else. "What do you bet she's the old man's private secretary by next week? He keeps looking down her dress."
"Well," the first voice said, "if Mr. Mattingly wants to act like an old fool--anybody can see what she is, just a cheap hustler. I wonder where Clark found her--in some crib?"
Mary sat quietly until the restroom was empty again. Only then did she tidy herself and come out of the booth. Maybe they had known that she was in there, all the time they were cutting her up. Maybe they did it on purpose, trying to make her feel unwanted and dirty. She checked her face in the mirror. She wouldn't do that, not for a bunch of jealous women. Most of her life, she had been faced with the same sort of feminine viciousness, ever since she had started to grow breasts.
She couldn't help the way her body grew. When she was twelve, she looked sixteen, and much older boys were always trying to get their hands up her dress. By the time she reached her fourteenth birthday, married men were making passes and offering her money. Of course, she had nothing to do with any of them. She was good; she was pure. And her mother helped to keep her in that state of unapproachable virginity, pristine and unsullied.
So long, she thought, opening the door and walking back to her desk as if she hadn't a care in the world. She had waited so very long for a man to take her, to make her squirmy and alive and--
It was wrong to think like that. Composing herself, she sat in her chair and went back to work, efficient and fast, deliberately working up her speed to further antagonize Miss Jepson. Had Clark been doing it to Miss Jepson, before he met Mary Conroy? That was it. The bitch was probably jealous, and Mary would bet the skinny woman had never made it with two men, with a pair of lovers who took turns with her, putting it to her in hungry passion for the better part of two days.
Working through the afternoon, Mary glanced often at the door to Paul Mattingly's inner sanctum, but the man didn't emerge. She wondered what he did in there, how many deals he set up, how many other people he lied to. For he was a liar, even if he was handsome and sexy-looking and very successful in business.
At five o'clock, she put the cover on her machine and tucked things into the drawer. She had no reports left to type, but saw stacks on other desks. Purse strap over her shoulder, she headed for the elevator only a little behind the others, glancing back once more at the closed door.
She was striding along the street toward her apartment house, glad that she had rented so close and didn't need a car, when Clark came up beside her.
"Dinner tonight," he said.
"I--I have some things to do."
He took her arm. "Some good Italian food, a bottle of vino, maybe a good screw later. You want to hear about the detective, don't you? He might want to hear about you, baby."
Mary nodded as they turned into the foyer, the chill returning to her backbone. Clark Watson knew something!
CHAPTER FIVE
"His name is Copeland," Clark said over a final glass of purple wine. "Dan Copeland, and he looks more like a bank clerk than a private eye. Has his own agency, if that means anything. The old man wanted him hired to chase down the sender of that note he got today."
To cover her tension, Mary sipped wine, then dabbed a spoon at her spumoni dessert. He was toying with her, needling her and trying to make her panic. She didn't say anything, just waited for him to go on.
"I'll talk to the guy tomorrow," he said. "Give him this note that might still carry a fingerprint or two--unless the author was smart enough to wipe the paper well, or to wear gloves. Do you think the author wore gloves, Mary?"
She put down her spoon. "I want to go home now."
"Sure, baby," he said, picking up the check.
"And so do I. We have a lot to talk over, you and I."
She made up her mind to tell him nothing, but she did want to get a look at the note he was carrying, to smear it good. She hadn't thought about fingerprints, and didn't know if he was putting her on. But how was she going to keep him from pushing his own investigation?
Inside her doorway, she took a deep breath. She knew how to keep Clark busy, and she denied the thrill that rose in her at the thought. She would only do it to protect herself, not for fun.
When she turned and pressed the length of her full body to him, Clark responded as she knew he would, by holding her tightly and cupping her buttocks in both hands. His belly rubbed back and forth across hers, and she could feel the swelling of his penis as it lifted and hardened.
"Told you that you were a hot bitch," he said. "Once you got turned on, you can't do without a stiff cock, can you?"
She said nothing, lifting her mouth for his kiss, wiping her hot tongue across his and pressing the erectile nipples of her breasts into his chest. He didn't have to be so vulgar, and she wouldn't admit she couldn't do without it. This time, there was a very good reason. She wanted to wear him down and get that note, and she didn't want to tell him anything about herself.
Stepping back and taking him by the hand, Mary led him to the bedroom. Grinning at her, he shucked out of his clothes to hang them upon the back of a straight chair. She felt the blood rise to her cheeks as she wiggled out of her thin blouse, and tried not to look at the engorged head of his ready thing. Awkwardly, she climbed from her pants and hurried the stripping away of her nylon panties.
There was a robotlike movement to her body, a stiffness in her joints as she climbed onto the bed and lay on her back with her thighs veed wide. Somehow, she was trying to disengage her true self from what she was being forced to do, but the transition was difficult.
It seemed that his hands were everywhere at once, cupping her breasts and rolling the sensitive nipples between thumb and forefinger. They were on her belly and on the planings of her hips. They drifted hungrily into the satin tenderness of her thighs to find the thickly curled pubic hair so red and rich.
"Damn," he grunted. "You've got the most lush, ripe body I ever saw. Your big tits, this pretty cunt with all the shaggy red hair hiding your pussy lips. Fabulous, baby."
She lay quiescent, her breasts rising and falling with her rapid breathing, and now there was a slow, tick-tock movement starting in her hips as the heat gathered in her mound and the lubrication began to wet her labia.
But he didn't stick his knobby thing into her. Clark spread his knees wider and lifted his buttocks up to sit lightly upon her mound. Startled, she opened her eyes and stared up at him.
He said, "There's a difference this time, baby. I thought we'd get around to this over the weekend, but Johnny and I got too hung up on your fine pussy to make it any other way. But now. I'm going to show you something else."
Clark's knees moved yet further up her body, and she stared with hypnotized fascination as the knob of his shaft advanced to hang threateningly above her face. He didn't mean to--
Her mind raced over all the dark and nebulous things she had ever heard about sexual perversion, which wasn't much. Would he do something terrible to her, an act so far out that she couldn't even guess what it might be?
"Those big round tits," he said. "So soft and glossy. I'm going to put my cock between them, baby. You're about to be titty-fucked."
Horrified, she watched the big throbbing bulb of his erected cock as the whole inflamed length came down to snuggle into the tender valley of the soft resiliency of her breasts. Clark used one hand to guide the pulsating erection to make the blunt, spongy purple tip slide up and down as he set the lust-swollen shaft into place. Then he squeezed her luscious breasts together around the hard and pulsating length of his vein-coursed prick, pressed them tightly around the blood-inflated shaft of his throbbing big cock.
He moved then, backed his hips and shoved them forward in long, easy strokes that tingled over her breasts. She stared down her nose and saw the shiny head of his manhood emerge from the compressed folds of her breast flesh. Saw the monster retreat again and couldn't stop her belly from surging up and down in avid little arcs. It was a wild thing he was doing to her body, a strange and crazily stimulating thing that sent hot sparks leaping within her inflamed cunt- al crevice.
But the head of his thing, like the head of a striking serpent, came closer and closer to her chin, moving further and further out of the clenched breasts. Mary lifted her chin just as the sticky knob prodded her skin gently, and a shiver of fear ran through her body, turning it taut. How awful could anything be? A man's penis, actually rubbing against her chin!
She wasn't expecting it, when Clark let go of her breasts. As they sprang back to their normal positions, he caught her head between his hands, digging his fingers deeply into the heavy wealth of her long hair.
When she struggled, trying to roll her head away, trying to pull his hands free, Clark only growled deep in his throat and hunched his thing at her. The sticky head bumped her closed lips, slid off and came back to thrust at her mouth again.
No, she thought. Oh, no! It couldn't be--she couldn't possibly accept this deviation, this unimaginable perversion.
"Clark," she said, "Oh, please--"
And that was a mistake, for when her lips opened to beg, he shoved the tip of his penis into them, holding her face steady in a grip like an iron vise. Horror piled upon nameless terror, and she gagged at the very idea of what was happening. The head of the heated cock popped into her mouth, sliding over her teeth and across her tongue. Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord! She could even feel its rubbery caress along the roof of her mouth.
"Eat it," he hissed down at her. "You beautiful bitch, eat my cock. Suck on it, damn you. Use your tongue and lick all around the head. Do it, baby, or I'll shove my meat so far down your throat that you'll choke on it."
That was no idle threat. She felt the prodding of the insatiable head of his long hard cock as the purple mushroom head reached back into the nether depths of her throat. Choking, her body whiplashing behind his rump, Mary was forced to shove her tongue against the monstrous thing, so it would move back some and allow her to breathe.
She tasted the thing, It was salty and sweet and musky, all at the same time, the flavors blending and melting to become something she had never known before. Swelling beneath her tongue touch, the threatening head twitched and trembled.
Eyes closed, mind reeling, she followed Clark's commands, pulling upon the blood-engorged bulb, dipping in her cheeks, pushing them out as her tongue lapped puppylike over the dreadful thing moving over it. For, now, he was stroking into her mouth, pumping into her mouth as he had done to her vagina, with the same sensuous thrustings, only not burying his shaft so deeply.
It was like nothing ever before. It was intimacy not possible in any other manner, an enforced but somehow acceptable debauchery that made her less than she was. But Mary took his thing, pumped her mouth back and forth on the meaty length of the throbbing penis, caressed the blunt end and even pushed the tip of her tongue far down into the little mouth. He held her head in his hands and crooned instructions down to her.
And soon he quivered, his belly and his crotch spasming in taut reflex as his ejaculation overcame him. She hadn't even thought about that, and tried suddenly to pull away, but he held her face close, held her mouth over the jetting bulb of his shaft. So she took that, too, tasting the musk of his geysering semen. It was hot and creamy. It was rich with a bountiful power, and ripe with the essence of maleness. The searing hot love cream flowed down her throat and didn't harm her.
When he pulled his thing from her mouth, she was even a little sorry, but the rush of revulsion came flooding in and she turned away from him.
He let her go, and lifted himself from her body. Her head rocked, and she thought that she would never, never rid herself of this new and indelible stain. She had reached the depths now. There was no lower that she could possibly go. Oh, mother, she cried in the silent corners of her mind. Oh, mother, forgive me. But she knew that there could be no forgiveness.
Clark lay beside her, and for once his hands were gentle upon her shrinking flesh, touching her breasts and her belly, but when he tried to stroke her mound, she jerked her lower body away from him.
"You'll get over it," he said. "You're a natural, baby. I mean, the way you ate me was as if you'd been doing it all your life. Deep down, you got your kicks doing it. And before long, you'll admit it even to yourself."
She wouldn't talk to him, and turned her face to wipe her mouth on the back of her hand, knowing she could never scrub off that particular sticky feeling. Man cum!
Clark kissed her breast, and she couldn't restrain the answering shiver that his hot breath caused. But she steeled herself against the response when he licked the nipples, and he soon moved down to her rib cage. When his tongue flicked hot and wet down the silken curve of her tummy, Mary flinched because she just couldn't help it, and when he thrust his tongue deeply into her belly button, her knees drew up sharply.
"Hang loose, baby," he breathed against the trembling skin of her belly. "Just lie back and enjoy it."
His thick breath stirred the curls on her pubic hair, and Mary sucked in a steadying breath. What was he going to do to her now? Surely, he didn't mean to repeat the act he had forced upon her. Done in reverse. Would any man willingly put his mouth down there, on the wetly quaking labia ?
He would. And he did! Her back arched as the hotness probed down through the woolly fluff of her abundant pussy hair and found the sensitive lips hidden there. A violent thrill shot through her belly, contracting it, then passing fiercely on up her body to escape through the distended vibrancy of her nipples.
The slithering tongue touched her clitoris. Searing and humid, slippery and tickling, the end of Clark's coarse tongue reached down into the protective hood of soft flesh and uncovered the delicate seat of the lust-distended love bud. But he didn't keep his tongue there long, sliding the thick, squirmy thing deeply into her vaginal slit, to move it up and down, to draw it back and forth through the palpitating lips.
Too much! It was all too much, and the shock waves of raw excitement hammered at the seawall of her denial, breaching it and drowning all her good intentions of resistance. Mighty surges shook her, and her buttocks drew tight in self- defense, only to fall apart again as his tongue caressed her clit once more.
How did her hands get down there on his head? And when had Mary lifted halfway up so that she could try and bury his face deeper into the writhing, convulsive volcano that her mound had turned into.
"OOOHH--OOOHH!" she moaned, not realizing that she was making a noise, not consciously knowing anything but the intense emotions that were sizzling within her burning vagina.
Mary didn't resist when he slid his hands under the soft cheeks of her ass and rolled her back. She spread her thighs wider, then found that her calves were lifting to drape themselves across his shoulders. His face burrowed into her vulva, and now she felt the gentle raking of his teeth. Now she knew the suction as he began to pull her tender tissues into his lips.
Clark chewed on her labia, laved them with his tongue and teeth, then shoved them back, repeating the motions until she was caught up in the sensuous rhythm and began to hike her crotch, to roll her hips and to wiggle.
Sweet and hot, the good feelings swelled within her lust-contorted vagina, blossoming until they filled the rippling cavity with rapture. Mary bucked against them, hiking and pounding her pelvis into the maddening bliss of that avid suction, into the gulping love of the mouth that was worrying her aching clitoris so insanely.
"CUMMING!" her voice said. "OH, LORD--OH, CLARK DARLING, I'M CUMMING, CUMMING, CUMMING!"
He kept sucking, continued to bite, went on pulling and licking while her body arched madly and slammed back down upon the protesting bed. Her hands tore at his hair, and her mound ground viciously into his teeth. She came and came, the hugely satisfying orgasm reaching all the hidden pores of her entire body. Red and black spots spun behind her staring eyes, and she bit her lower lip as she was being devoured, and gave herself up to the banqueting in voluptuous abandon.
Time stood still.
When at last she came drifting back to earth, Clark was standing naked beside her bed, his penis still stiff and swollen. He was holding out a glass to her.
"Have a shot of this, Mary."
She took the glass without question, and sat up groggily to drink down its contents. Bourbon and water burned a damp path into her belly and glowed there as her eyes slowly cleared and she came back to normality.
"Baby," he said, "I thought you were going to break my nose. Wow, you really dig oral sex, don't you?"
"I--I guess so," she admitted, shocked by her own confession.
He sat down beside her. "You can get all of that you want, and give it, too. You can do things you never even thought about, and I'll guide you along the way. But, baby, you have to do something for me."
Still in vague shock, Mary blinked at him. "What?"
He said, "Cut me in on this shakedown that you're pulling on Paul Mattingly."
CHAPTER SIX
She had been conquered by the oral sex he had thrust upon her, but Mary was far from defeated. Emboldened by the drinks of whiskey, geared up by her own determination, she decided to fight Clark Watson as much as possible.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "I just wanted the job there because I thought I could move up right away, maybe become Mr. Mattingly's personal secretary."
Clark sat on the edge of the bed, still naked, but with his staff slumping now. She wished he h d put on his shorts, at least. He said, "And maybe you were thinking of letting him seduce you, so you could draw a fat salary and dream of him divorcing his wife and marrying you some day?"
She slid off the bed and took a robe from the closet. Tucking the belt around her slim waist, she said, "Something like that, I guess."
"Bullshit!" He turned to face her, and she couldn't help a shudder as she saw a glistening of leaked semen on his hairy thigh. "You were a cherry until I stuck it to you, baby. And you were scared shitless to screw. You still are, in fact. So that wasn't it. You were willing to create a scene in the office, if I didn't give you the job, so your gimmick must be pretty important to you."
Mary moved around the bed and headed for the kitchenette. "I don't have to tell you anything, Clark. It's my business."
He followed her. "Mine, too. I think you're shaking down the old man, or planning to. And I want in on it--or else I tell my suspicions to the private cop I just hired."
She hesitated at the sink, and reached for the bottle of bourbon to pour some into her glass. "That's all you have. Suspicions."
"And this note. Pour me another drink, too, if you can keep your hands from shaking."
The note. Fingerprints. Mary's heart skipped its rhythm. Her entire scheme could be endangered if she wasn't very careful. All of it would simply fall apart, and her planning, her time and trouble would have all been wasted. Even her virginity had been given up on the altar of her vengeance, and she couldn't allow it all to be for nothing.
"A-all right," she said. "Let me clean off that note and its envelope, and I'll tell you what it's all about."
He grinned at her, still hairy and naked, and now assured of himself. "My drink? Thanks. Let's sit here and talk it over, baby. Take your time and make it clear to me. I've been wanting to cut old man Mattingly down for a long time, and this may be my chance."
She wanted to tell him that Paul Mattingly wasn't really old, that the man was very attractive and handsome in a mature way, but of course she said nothing about that. Instead, she took a chair at the little table and said, "He--he was my stepfather."
Clark took a long gulp of bourbon over ice. "Wow! That's pretty good for a starter. Doesn't he recognize you? Is that why he was hanging around your desk?"
"He doesn't know me," she said. "The last time he saw me, I was only a child. And I don't know why he keeps stopping to talk with me. He must be--well, attracted to me."
Nodding vigorously, Clark said, "I'll buy that. Maybe even something in his subconscious that's pushing him toward a little juicy incest thing. Oh, wow. Old hardnosed Mattingly, the pillar of the business community, with a hard-on for his own stepdaughter."
She swallowed, and covered her confusion by sipping more whiskey. She had better take it easy on the stuff, she told herself; she had already had a lot more than she was used to drinking. But it seemed to help keep her from being embarrassed so much, and eased her trepidations about letting Clark in on her secret.
"I don't know about--about that, Clark. All I want to make him do is pay back for the bad time he gave my mother and me. I want him to suffer for deserting us, for running away and never sending us a cent for all those years until my mother died."
He held up his glass and watched the light in the whiskey. "This gets better all the time. Old Mattingly might pay a nice chunk, to keep that kind of news from being spread around. It sure as hell wouldn't do his public image any good." Mary sipped at her glass and noticed that the liquor was all gone. "I never thought about money. I just want to shake him up, make him ashamed. Then I'll tell the newspapers and his business competitors, and--and anyone who will listen. I want to hurt him, destroy him, make him move away from here because he's so guilty." Clark shook his head. "Baby, baby, you've got it all screwed up. The way to hurt Mattingly is to hit him in the checkbook. Hell, maybe we can milk this for a good piece of bread. I mean, suppose he never bothered to divorce your old lady? That would make his present marriage illegal, even if your mother is dead now. She wasn't, when Mattingly married the society chick he's got now."
She got up to bring back the bottle. Her knees were a bit wobbly, but otherwise she felt great. It was possible that she could use Clark's help, and not only in steering the detective away from her. "I don't know anything about that, the divorce, or if there was one. All I know is that my mother suffered a great deal, and not only her ego. She had to scrimp and slave, making do so that she could put me through high school. She never had anything for herself, and Paul Mattingly sure ought to pay for that!"
"With interest," Clark agreed. "Compounded for years and years. With bread, baby. With all the fine, rich bread we can squeeze out of him." Her lips were getting numb, but she could taste the flavor of the whiskey anyhow. Funny that it didn't burn anymore. "If that's the best way to hurt him, I'm all for it."
"His old lady would freak out," Clark said thoughtfully. "She's real social register, all that uptown class. But maybe we need something a little stronger to hold over him. I still dig the idea of him committing a little technical incest with you." Mary pushed back her glass. "Look, I'm still a good girl, no matter what you forced me to do--raping me and bringing Johnny Adams out to the beach to do it to me, also. And--making me take your thing in my mouth. You held my head to do it, Clark Watson; you know you did."
"Okay, okay. But you enjoyed it, baby. You're just a naturally born sexpot. You can talk all you want, but when it comes down to the nitty, you like to fuck and you like to eat it. And I thought you were going to climb the walls when I went down on your juicy pussy. So don't come on with all that bullshit about being a good girl. Good, yes--but a good fuck."
She leaped up from the table and staggered. Catching her balance, she said, "I don't have to listen to you."
He laughed. "The hell you don't. I've got you right where your hair grows short--there in your sweet, hot crotch, baby. If you don't work with me, I'll twist out your cunt hairs just like that. I picked a dumb private eye, but he'd have to be super-stupid to pass up a suspect like you, especially if I steer him your way. You have to listen, all right. And you'd sure as hell better listen closely."
She hated him, detested him, and she tried to move regally away, but the effect was somewhat spoiled by her dizziness. But even though she was a little bit smashed, she realized the truth of what Clark was saying. He could ruin her plans very easily. She paused beside the couch, and was startled to find him right behind her. When she stopped, his body nudged gently into her buttocks from behind.
Lots of money," he purred into her ear, where the hot breath made her tingle. "All we could need, and tax free. We can get him from both ways, baby. First we push him into some kind of payoff with the stuff you have on him about deserting his wife and kid. Then you let him screw you, and we get good, clear pictures of that action, too. We nail him to the wall with those, and get another bundle. It's beautiful, beautiful." His hands were on her waist, and he pushed against her butt. She tried to move away, but he held her, drew her back against his crotch so that he could roll his pelvis into the cleft of her buttocks.
Mary said desperately, "I'm kind of smashed right now, and it's easier for me to--to make it with you. But with him, with my--Mr. Mattingly, I don't know. I can't drink in the office. I'm scared of him, Clark. He's my stepfather--or he was--and I'm frightened of him, and of what I'm doing. Now that's the truth."
He eased up on her. "Yeah, I guess it is. We'll have to do something about that."
Relieved because he wasn't trying to lay her again, Mary moved along the couch, circled it and put one hand on its back to steady herself. She said carefully, "I need a cold shower, to clear my head. Then we can discuss this some more." She rinsed her mouth, brushed her teeth and gargled with a strong mouthwash, but there was no way that she could get rid of the lingering taste of the semen that had jetted so thickly into her throat.
Climbing into the shower, Mary thoroughly scrubbed her body, and even washed her long hair. Redheads were supposed to be hellions, weren't they? Red haired women were legendary trouble makers, hot tempered and overly passionate. That's what everyone said, and there was no reason for Mary Conroy Devlin to be an exception. Hadn't she proved that by swallowing a man's ejaculation, by not gagging, by squirming hotly when it happened, as if she was reaching a sympathetic orgasm of her own.
And she could have screamed out her rage, shrieked her shock when Clark in turn put his face down between her thighs. But she didn't. Instead, she had moaned and wiggled and, at the end, wrapped up the deviate act by bucking her mound strongly against his suctioning mouth.
What did that make her, some kind of whore, some sort of loose woman like her mother had always warned her against becoming? Worse, probably.
Cold, clear water stung her skin and made her gasp while the perfumed soap suds flowed down her legs and into the drain. She shook like a puppy dog, but stayed beneath the cascading water. When her flesh was goosebumped and tingling from the cold, she turned off the shower and used both hands to wring out the heavy wealth of her hair.
Using a fluffy towel, she dried her body and her hair. Then took another towel from the rack and made an absorbent turban. She felt better--still not sober, but better--and when she strode back into the living room, her robe was drawn primly about the richness of her body, trying to deny the treasures there, but not succeeding.
Clark was drunker than he had been. True, he wore a dishtowel around his hips as some slight gesture toward respectability, but otherwise he was snockered. And when she started to suggest that they discuss it all over in the morning before they went to work, the door buzzer sounded.
Mary's head snapped around and her eyes went wide. Who could be at her door this time of night? Nobody even knew where she lived, except Clark. He had her address in his personnel files, of course, and almost any of the workers in his office would have access to her folder. But why would anyone come here looking for her?
The detective? Miss Jepson?
"Clark," she said, "go hide in the bedroom. I'll answer the door and get rid of whoever it is."
He grinned lopsidedly. "Play hell getting rid of her. Called her myself, while you were in the shower. Boy! She sure didn't take long getting here."
Mary stared while he pushed by her and went to the door himself. "Who? What do you mean?"
"Good friend of mine," he said. "Going to be a good friend of yours, too. Hell of a chick--AC/DC chick always ready for a party."
"I--I don't understand," Mary said, and watched him open the door.
The woman slipped in quickly, and at least Clark had the good sense left to shut the door behind her. The woman said, "Clark, you goof- ball. What kind of costume is that?"
"You don't like it? Okay, I'll take it off." He suited action to his words, whipping away the dish towel to expose his hairy crotch and the long, soft penis dangling there.
The woman giggled. When she turned toward Mary, her face was small and golden. In fact, Mary thought, she looked golden all over, hair and skin and the bright look of her sparse clothing. In mini and bodystocking, the woman managed to expose more flesh than most women could completely naked. She was small but neatly modeled, her breasts high and compact, yet beautifully sculptured. Her legs were slim and sleek, and her tummy was boyishly flat.
She said, "Hi, I'm Eileen Miller, and you have to be Mary. You're certainly everything Clark said, and more."
Mary couldn't say anything. She was surprised and a little upset that Clark would call in another girl, for any reason. But tonight of all times, when they had been discussing plans for the attack upon Mattingly--that was very bad, and she wouldn't forgive him for it.
There were still so many things to be ironed out--how she should send the old, yellowed pictures of her mother; if she should add harassing telephone calls to the letter onslaught; how she was going to go about getting herself into Paul Mattingly's private office; what she would say in case the private detective chose to ask her questions.
Clark said, "Ain't she something, though? Real amazon, but soft and tender as a pussycat, once she gets a cock in her. Would you believe it, Eileen, that this kid was a cherry, last week?" Sliding close, Eileen put one soft hand on Mary's arm and looked up into her eyes. Eileen had strange, gold-flecked eyes that were warmly probing. "Of course, I believe it. She has a pure, untouched look. Did he hurt you much, darling? Clark can be such an insensitive ass, at times."
"He--I--" Mary said, and stopped in confusion. It was too far-out, discussing the loss of her virginity with a total stranger, and a woman at that. "Please, I don't know why Clark invited you over, but he's a little smashed and I--" Clark grunted. "Still a cherry, for you, Eileen. Never been touched by another chick."
And Mary went cold all over. Eileen Miller was a--a lesbian!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Shrinking back, Mary tried to stop the fluttering in her body, but that was no worse than the mental flap she was in. A lesbian. Why did Clark Watson think he ought to call in such a sexual deviate, and why for her? She was as normal as any woman in the world, and certainly didn't need something like this to make her alive or whole, or anything but disgusted.
Mary had only read about such women, and only superficially at that. The very idea had turned her off, and she had always skipped ahead in the magazine articles. But, Eileen Miller didn't look like Mary's preconceived picture of a female homosexual. She thought that lesbians were supposed to be big, heavy women, very tough and masculine. Eileen was small and tidy, very polished and neatly put together, altogether a lovely and friendly appearing girl not much older than herself.
Eileen didn't follow her. Instead, she said to Clark, "Didn't you tell her I was coming?"
Clark answered, "She's kind of square, until the swinging starts. Then she's a wild piece of ass. Believe me."
"You can always win medals for being crude," Eileen said, and to Mary, "I'm sorry, dear. But since I'm here, shouldn't we get acquainted?" Mary murmured, "I--" and giggled, not as sober as she had thought. "I was going to say that I'm not that kind of girl."
Eileen laughed softly, with understanding and good humor. "You're a very special girl. I can already see that. May I have a drink?"
"I'll get it," Clark said.
"You get some clothes on," Eileen suggested. "Mary and I can take care of ourselves."
"Believe it," he muttered, but fell back to make way for them.
Somehow, Eileen had caught Mary's hand, to hold it gently within her own. Maybe, Mary thought, she was wrong, and that this tiny, sweet girl wasn't queer, after all. How would Clark know her, if she was? Clark had called in another man to help him break down her resistance, so why shouldn't he bring in another woman?
At that thought, she shivered, picturing the three of them all naked, seeing Clark advancing upon them with his rigid thing in one hand as they lay waiting upon the bed, holding hands gently and smiling at each other. Would he, could he, do it to both of them, taking turns?
Unthinkingly, she took the cold glass that Eileen slipped into her hand, and when they clinked glasses, she somehow felt as if she had known the girl for years. There was that feeling of camaraderie, and she toasted to it.
"Here, Mary," Eileen said, "let me help you."
She was stretched upon her bed before she knew how she had gotten there. It was very nice, lying quietly while a cool, soft hand stroked her forehead and lay against her cheek. Eileen was really a very nice person, and Mary thought that she would tell her so, as soon as she got over being snozzled. That last drink! God, she should never have taken that last drink!
A woman's hands were vastly different from a man's. They were exceedingly gentle, and knew just where to bring the most comfort. Small and deft, they stroked and petted, became fondling and carressive. They were nice. They were cool. They were delicate.
Mary moved easily when the butterfly fingers drifted down her throat and across her shoulders, and relaxed sleepily as they slid over her upper arms and back again. She stirred once when something fragile touched her nipples, but it seemed just right to lie very still and let it all happen to her.
Her nipples lifted, swelling to meet the touches, and the mounds of her breasts seemed to respond also, expanding and filling with a heavy expectancy. Eyes closed, Mary floated in only a slightly dizzy warmth, listening to her own pulse beat, hearing the rhythm of her heart and the flow of her blood.
A feather soft kiss blessed her cheek, and she didn't know when her robe fell open. Mary moved lazy and slow, moved like a turgid river, her curves following the path of the exploring fingertips so dainty and elegant.
The kiss moved from her cheekbone to the side of her mouth, and hung there tenderly, misted by a faint and sultry perfume. It seemed only natural that the small, shapely lips slip over to lie breathing gently upon her own. Very soft, like a tiny animal seeking a place to snuggle down, a tongue tip hesitantly tapped Mary's lips. She opened them slightly, to let the little wiggly and warm and slippery flesh inside.
The shock was electric then, a jolt of high voltage juice that turned on bright lights all over Mary's body. Was there a real bed lamp nearby, and was it spinning, its low beam a crazy finger turned toward the ceiling?
Mary tried to move, but couldn't. Her backbone had gone jellied, and the elfin face above hers was indistinct, a pale golden gleaming of intense eyes and a soft red mouth.
She couldn't breathe. She was smothering. For a maddened, savage moment of resistance, Mary thought that she couldn't stand anything like that. It was impossible for her to give in to the forbidden thing that was on the verge of happening.
And then she didn't think at all.
She only clung to the small, wondrous figure that was wiggling close to her body. She only sobbed without words as the deft hands ran over her breasts and caressed down between her thighs and felt triumphantly into the dampening slot of her mound. It was too late to resist. She had gone too far, and was past the point of no return.
She could no more have prevented her actions than she could understand the wildly whipping and imperative need that urged her on. She only clung to Eileen, knowing that sleek, strong arms were around her, that Eileen's tongue was now lancing deep and hungrily in her mouth, and that her own tongue was responding.
Mary's hands found the short, curly hair and tangled there, and she drew her tighter, pillowing her slim body upon the deep luxury of her breasts. She was a symbol now, a sensuous release of something that had lain buried within her until just this moment. Pirouetting and heaving against the sleek form, Mary's body was a frenzied lashing that blended heat and light, that stirred together flesh and fire into a wraparound curtain of impossible softness that closed her in and bore her back to where she knew nothing but thought that she knew everything.
She knew only that this marvelous girl, this beautiful and sensuous woman was kissing her breasts and her delicate hands moved over her tense and squirming body. Eileen's mouth was hot, her lips suctioning as she drew the raised nipple between her teeth and pulled upon it tantalizingly.
"Oh!" Mary said. "Oh, no--oh, yes--oh, please--" Her tummy knotted inside, while her thighs stiffened and relaxed, and her pelvis was grinding in an arc of desperation as Eileen's gentle hand found it, discovering the satiny inner surfaces of her thighs and probing into the mound itself, into the slick and wanting cleft of her labia.
It was as if she were a virgin all over again, for surely these were a different kind of sexual delight. Eileen's fingers darted like hot little fish, fondling and teasing all the erotic parts. Mary's flesh was warm and steamy, opening for the new caresses as she spread her full thighs wider for the small, warm leg that guided between them.
Suddenly, Mary was grinding and hunching, thrusting her quivering pussy forward and back in aggressive strokes. Suddenly, she was wild and demanding, and she hit a couple of swiftly racing orgasms that whipped lightning-like through her hotly pulsating vagina and were gone, leaving behind a sensitive residue of voluptuous need.
Leaving her breasts, Eileen slid questing down Mary's chest to her heaving belly, her mouth setting fires in the skin, her flicking tongue touching wetly and hotly here and there. When she bit down on her navel, Mary thought that she would go completely insane. Her hips rocked spasmodically, and she dug her fingers into Eileen's hair.
Eileen went lower still, and Mary was glad that she knew what to expect, that she had known some forewarning from what Clark Watson had done to her earlier the same night. The knowledge didn't shake her this time, for she welcomed it in a newfound freedom, in a debauched looseness that threw off all former restraints and shed false shame like an outgrown skin.
Mary loved what Eileen was doing to her. She loved what was going to happen. She adored the hotly panting mouth as Eileen moved it into position over her heaving pussy, as the wanton girl got her tongue and lips and teeth ready for the ultimate. Ahh! The tongue thrust inside, moved up along the shivering labia and made its lust-swollen lips stretch lovingly.
It was so warm and wet, so deep and slidy, and so loving. Her teeth raked damply up to the uncovered erect clit, and her delving tongue sought out the trembling little nub. Eileen was delicate and sweet and very gentle. Waves of sweet heat climbed softly through Mary's aching body as she hiked her asscheeks for the clenching of Eileen's hands. Rotating her pelvis, Mary brought her firm thighs close, so that she could hold the small head trapped forever within their shuddering walls.
Eileen gently sucked the quivering clitoris between her teeth and nipped. She sucked hard and deeply, drawing the center of all thrills into her hungry mouth. And then, oh, God, as the orgasm came racing, came leaping to hurl everything before it, Mary ripped into many little wetly throbbing pieces. She cried out and sobbed and screamed in intense ecstasy, wriggling upon the laving tongue and stroking against the devouring lips.
She climaxed magnificently, with a surging of hips and a burning deep inside her pussy. Her asscheeks drew tight and she thought that she would explode, that she would turn inside out in the roaring ecstasy of the magic moment.
It was better than Clark--oh, far better than what Clark had done to her before--because Eileen was a woman and knew exactly where a woman's responses lay hidden, knew exactly how to uncover them and to set them free to fly singing through the universe.
She was groggy, her mind bending with the fluctuations of her body, seesawing with the slow retreat of the dizzying climax, but she realized that Eileen was lifting a dripping mouth from the saturated moss of her slot, that the girl was trailing wet kisses back up over her heaving belly.
It was too much. Mary couldn't possibly stand any more stimulation, and she protested weakly. "Eileen! Oh, darling, no more. Please, no more."
Another voice cut in, rough and husky and male, a voice alien to them. "Damned right, no more. I'm going to get in on some of this hot ass."
Clark Watson was alien, but he was powerful, and moved in with them just as if he belonged there. Mary barely had time to catch her breath when he was at them both, feeling her breasts and sliding a leg over the slim body of Eileen Miller.
"Guess I could stick it to Mary here while she learns to go down on another woman, but maybe I'll save that lesson for another time. Haven't fucked you in a long time, Eileen, so--"
"Take both of us, Clark," Eileen urged. "A few strokes into one pussy, a few into the other, okay?"
"Sure, okay," Clark grunted, and Mary felt the other girl's thigh as Eileen lay down beside her, making their bodies touch from hip to ankle.
She watched Clark climb between the little girl's legs, and saw the big club of his penis as it poised with its blunt head above the small, golden mound. She saw him bend his cock down and push the bulging glans deeply into the bronze pubic hairs of Eileen Miller, and caught herself wondering if the tiny girl would be able to take all of that long, thick meat.
Inch by slow, slippery inch, Clark's prong worked itself inside the downy lips, and Mary watched with fascination as the vein-coursed shaft disappeared into the wet, pink lips. His hairy balls came to rest in the cleft of the trim ass, and he was inside her all the way.
But this was wrong, Mary thought. If Eileen was a homosexual, then she was supposed, to love only women, wasn't she? It wasn't right that she was taking a man's big prick. But she was, and she was rolling her slim hips and bucking her boyish crotch up at him, meeting him driving stroke for stroke.
"Hey, now," Clark grunted, and stopped thrusting into the small girl's pussy. "Keep this up, and I'll cum right away. Then, Mary wouldn't get any cock. Here it comes, Mary."
Trembling, Mary parted her thighs to allow him passage between them. Staring, she saw the greasy shining of his glans, and realized that the oil upon its stiff length was from the clinging depths of Eileen's vagina.
Mary closed her eyes and waited for the feel of that throbbing beauty.
CHAPTER EIGHT
She left Clark Watson's desk with a purposeful stride, wearing her new pantsuit proudly, knowing that it clung to her hips and drew attention to her long legs. Her chin was held high and she pretended not to notice the glares she drew from Miss Jepson and some other women.
Mary had it made for a while; she had mailed another accusing letter to Paul Mattingly that morning, and that afternoon Clark would slip another readied one into the mail from a box across town, so all the notes wouldn't seem to originate from the same area.
And now she was walking toward her new job, partially set up by the connivance of Clark Watson in his position as personnel director, and partly because the boss had been interested in acquiring a new private secretary--her. His old one, Miss Slovik, was taking an extended sick leave.
"Beautiful," Clark had repeated that morning. "That private cop is out chasing around the town, looking for some nebulous would-be blackmailer, while we're snug here at the office. I gave him a couple of leads. All phony. Disgruntled ex-employees, mostly. Of course, the old man had to tell us both about his former wife, Letitia Devlin. But Dan Copeland won't be checking her out for a while."
And Mary had answered, "You didn't have to do that last night--bring in another woman, to degrade me even more."
"Sure I did. You were getting ready to fight me again, or try to. Eileen broke you down and made you pliable. Besides, you were very grateful for her, last night. You even thanked me for her. And when I was screwing both of you, taking turns in your tight little snatches."
Miss Jepson came officiously to the desk, rattling folders and sniffing, so Clark changed tone and dialog. "So, understand that is only a trial period, Miss Conroy. Mr. Mattingly is very particular. Please report to him now."
Miss Jepson's sniff turned into a strangling noise, and she dropped the folders. Mary said, "I'm sure Mr. Mattingly will find me satisfactory."
That's when she walked away, exaggerating the roll of her hips a little, just to tee off the catty females watching her go. She could hear the hissing behind her in her wake and feel the envy chopping at her like so many little sharp knives. Less than a week in the office, and she was moving up to the most desired job in the company, personal secretary to the boss.
He wasn't in there yet! she had checked on that. So she had time to clean out her desk of the few belongings she had accumulated there, and to carry them into the inner sanctum. Beyond the dark mahogany door, her knees turned weak.
The office was big and roomy, put together with leather and brass and deep-piled carpeting. His desk was huge and somehow forbidding. There was a small bar in one corner and a dark leather couch that she glanced quickly away from. His office looked like Paul Mattingly; it was efficient and male and somehow throbbing with latent power.
Her own small desk was angled to one side of his, and there was a partition off to the right, where she would be expected to do her typing and take his calls. She felt close to him, and the nearness terrified her. But Mary forced herself to move, to ready her new desk, to think of him as a target rather than as a man.
He was a brute, an unfeeling slob who had run off on a baby girl and a sad woman when they needed him most. And she was here to make him pay for his transgression, in any way possible, by any path that would at last bring him to his knees.
She looked around: a washroom over there, a small closet here; up overhead, there was an air- conditioning outlet; two big windows at the far end of the suite. Just about any of those places would make hiding spots for Clark and his camera, when the time came. When Paul Mattingly would seduce her.
Shivering, she checked behind her office partition and took the cover off the typewriter there. She could almost feel the pile of the carpet under her buttocks as she squirmed nakedly under his body, as he pounded down into the softly giving cleft of her flexing vagina.
Mary shook herself and fought off the image. Maybe she wouldn't have to prostitute herself for the man she hated. It was possible that Clark could blackmail their boss into enough money without that added touch. Money. Was it enough? Clark said it was, but Mary wasn't all that certain. She would see. She would wait and see.
Clark had been right about the night before, though. Eileen Miller and her lesbian love had broken through any barriers that Mary was strong enough to erect. The shock of having a woman make oral love to her, the traumatic experience of sharing a man's penis with that same woman--Mary had been overwhelmed. She could resist no longer, for Clark had beaten down all her defenses by degrading her so. He had moved her from one stunning action to another, playing upon her collapsing morals as a pianist might feel through an unfamiliar score.
She had one thing left, one of the dreams that she had set out with--the destruction of Paul Mattingly and what he stood for. She would work toward that worthwhile goal, whatever slime she was dragged through, on the way. "Good morning," he said. She flinched.
"Good morning, Mr. Mattingly."
"Ah," he said, and she dared to face him, to see that tanned face and the silver wings in his black hair. "Miss Conroy, I'd hoped Mr. Watson would be intelligent enough to choose you as my secretary's replacement. You brighten up this office."
"Thank you," she said, damning herself for not being able to control the blush that warmed her face and throat. Why was she so silly around this man ? She wasn't afraid of him. She hated his guts!
"The usual routine is coffee, then the mail, and dictation. Did Mr. Watson tell you?"
She nodded. "Yes, sir. I--I've already goofed, because I haven't started the coffee."
His smile was white and understanding. She wished that he weren't so handsome. It hardened her heart to remember that her mother's beauty had faded swiftly, that the bitter lines around her mother's mouth had been caused by the unfeeling neglect of this man. Wasn't satan supposed to be handsome, too?
Busying herself at the bar, she made coffee and poured a cup for him while he was on the phone. He motioned for her to join him, and she didn't want to. But, of course, she did join him and when she sat close by, noticed that his eyes were following the length of her thigh.
She sat straighter and crossed her legs, arching her back to make her breasts stick out more. If he wanted a peep, he could take a good, long look. Paul Mattingly didn't know it, but every hungry peep at her body was bringing him just that much closer to his own doom. So why did she feel like Jezebel, or at the least, Delilah?
"Good coffee," he said. "I like it strong."
"I'll get the mail," she said, and knew his eyes followed her from the room. It was the feeling so familiar to her, the yearning that her body brought to so many men since she had reached puberty. But now it was somehow different, bringing her a vague uneasiness that she found difficult to define.
That was because she was no longer a virgin, she thought. Before, she could hold herself aloof from the boys, since she didn't actually know what desires they were feeling. Now she knew, and the forbidden longing was just as powerful in her, if not more so.
Gathering the mail from the OUT basket on the last typing desk, she brought the sheaf of letters into the office where Paul Mattingly waited. She had almost forgotten about her own note, until she saw it tucked among the other mail, and a little thrill shot through her. Now she would be able to see exactly the reaction he got when the accusing words leaped out at him from the paper.
Mary waited impatiently, doing little unnecessary things at her desk until he reached for her letter. She watched his face go tight and saw the frown that marked his forehead; his lips thinned for a long moment. The note read: DID YOU THINK THEY WOULD STARVE, THE WIFE AND CHILD YOU LEFT BEHIND?
When he glanced over at her, his face was smooth again. Noncommittal. "Buzz Mr. Watson, please."
Clark came in and she didn't look at him. Paul said, "Another one. Get it to Dan Copeland, please, and tell him I want a preliminary report no later than five this afternoon."
"Yes, sir," Clark said, taking the letter and hurrying out.
Mary pretended that she didn't know what it was all about, keeping her face bland and readying her notebook and pencils for dictation. Deliberately, she slid forward in her chair so that the crotch of her pants pulled tight and outlined the ripe shaping of her mound, outlining her cunt slit.
She thought that she heard an indrawn breath as Paul Mattingly got up and walked to a window to peer down at the street far below. Mary thought of the detective then, of what was being done to throw the man off the trail. She hoped Clark was handling that all right.
And, waiting for Paul to turn around and face her, she couldn't put thoughts of Eileen from her mind. Eileen--so smooth and sleek, wiggling in erotic rapture. Small, sweet girl, with a fiery mouth and a tongue that probed deftly and deeply. Trembling, she felt her nipples rise and push against the barricade of her bra. She couldn't be so aroused by an act of homosexuality. It was against her nature, her upbringing, and all her moral codes.
But she was aroused, and if she didn't stop thinking about making love with Eileen Miller, she would soon be dampening her panties, possibly even enough so that Mr. Mattingly could see the stain. Crossing her legs protectively, she waited.
At last he turned. "You may as well know what's going on, Miss Conroy, I'm getting anonymous letters that bring up something in my past, something I thought was forgotten and behind me. Mr. Watson is helping me find the person who's sending the letters, through a detective agency, of course. As my personal secretary, you should know everything that happens in this office, but I would appreciate your not letting it spread outside."
She swallowed. He seemed so hurt, so withdrawn. If she didn't know him for what he was, her heart would have gone out to him. She said, "Of course not, sir."
Paul Mattingly moved to the bar and poured himself half a tumbler of straight Scotch. "It's early in the day, but this seems called for. May I ask you to join me, Miss Conroy?"
If he drank more, he would be more open to her attraction, she thought. If he was shaken by the notes and needed to tell his troubles to somebody, she would be right there. "Yes, I'll join you. A little ice, please."
He poured for her, and she saw that her fingers brushed his when he handed her the glass. Paul said, "Damn it. A man goes along for years, working to establish something, even when the reasons have dimmed somewhat. Then something comes out of his past to remind him of--what he'd as soon forget."
Mary drank the Scotch, liking the smoky taste of it before the iodine flavor caught up to her tongue. Then she decided to stick to bourbon when she drank.
Of course, he wanted to forget his past. He had been such a bastard then, and now she wasn't sorry that she was bringing it up to him, not sorry at all for his obvious pain. Mary only wished that he had grown ugly and wrinkled and old. She wished that he weren't so charming.
"I didn't know Scotch could taste so good in the morning," he said, with a sad little smile. "My wife plans our social functions, and I can't stand most of the people I have to drink with. You haven't shown any curiosity about my past, Mary Conroy."
Making a face, she finished her drink. "No, sir."
"In my private office, I wish you'd stop calling me sir. It makes me feel even older than I am." The words were startled from her. "Oh, but you're not old! I mean--well, you're not."
"Thanks," he said, and this time his smile was warmer. "You don't care for the Scotch? Would you like something else?"
"I don't think I should. I get high very easily."
"Because you're so very young and not jaded.' It must be wonderful to be so young--and so beautiful. Would you have another drink, or two, with me if I buzzed up front and told them to hold all calls and tell any visitors that I'm in conference?"
It would be a good start, she thought, if not a shot at the real thing. Besides, she felt kind of responsible for his mood, and he was so damned handsome, and--well, Clark Watson had practically commanded her to make a play for the boss. She answered, grinning at him, "Okay, let's make a world of our own in here."
His dark eyes caught at hers. "That's a nice thing to say, Mary. A world of our own."
He shouldn't be so open and eager, she thought. He just, shouldn't be so boyish and up front with his emotions. She could read them easily, and if this was lechery, maybe she was too young to recognize it. But Paul seemed to want to throw off his trained and proper decorum, to break free of some invisible prison he had constructed for himself. Mary would bet all the money she had that Paul Mattingly had never done anything like this before. And, probably, he should have.
He gave orders into the intercom, and went to lock the door. Peeling off his coat, he took off his tie and said happily, "We'll have lunch sent in--lobster and champagne. Do you like lobster and champagne, Mary?"
"I don't know," she said, laughing. "I never had any. May I turn on this radio?"
"Turn away, but I'm not up on modern dancing."
"Make it up as you go," she said, tuning in some soft rock music, keeping the volume low.
Two drinks later, she was dancing with him, making her body do the sensuous movements, the rolling and posturing that would turn him on more than ever. Her breasts moved freely, shaking and thrusting, and when he put his hands on her slim waist, Mary hunched her pelvis in slow, insinuating strokes.
When her eyes met his, she knew that she was ready for her next move, and she steeled herself to make it.
CHAPTER NINE
She dropped her panties on top of her bra and stood looking down at him where he sat on the black-leather couch. Mary was glad for the whiskey racing through her veins, knowing that she probably wouldn't have had the nerve without it. Yet she wanted him, desired to intimately know his body more than she had yet craved any man. Or any woman.
Paul Mattingly was even more handsome, naked. His body was deeply tanned and well kept, slim in the hips and flat in the belly. The only sign of his age was the scattering of gray hairs across his chest. And in his crotch, she observed.
Then Mary's eyes went wide, as the shaft of his penis began to lift from between his muscled thighs. It was big, big--the purplish head of that erection like a great, shiny knob, the rod itself very long, thick and heavy, strung with twisted veins, with a droplet of clear juice shimmering at its slit. And, down below, his balls laden with semen hung heavily. A sight she couldn't believe.
Could a man be that huge, and not be malformed? She had thought that Clark had a big cock, and that Johnny Adams had a long one, but neither one of them had in any way prepared her for this.
Paul said softly, "If you're afraid, I won't blame you."
She bit her lip and shook her head, then took a tentative step toward the upright club. This was something she had to do. Even if she hadn't gone this far and gotten her body all stirred up, this screwing of Paul Mattingly was still a chore that had to be accomplished. Because it was the first step toward setting him up for the blackmail pictures that Clark would take the next time.
"You don't have to," he said. "I'm so large, I know that it's frightening. You--I've never used this office for this, but you changed my life the moment I saw you, Mary Conroy. I don't make passes at my secretaries, but I had to reach out for you, just this once."
She kept moving toward him, her tummy quivering inside, her nipples hard and demanding, an oily heat moving behind the lips of her excited mound. "I want to, Paul. I need to. I was only afraid that I--maybe I won't be good for you. I'm not very experienced."
As she placed her bare feet one on each side of his legs, he reached up and caressed her thighs, moving his hands slowly and thrillingly up and down the smooth, sensitive skin. "Such lovely skin," he said. "Flawless and young. And your mound--so beautiful, so luxuriant with all that gorgeous red hair curling richly over it. I've never seen such a beautiful cunt."
Pulling her close, he kissed her belly, then turned his face to rub his cheek up and down her shivering flesh, his chin touching the edge of her pubic hair. Mary stroked his head, touching her fingertips into the silver wings that slanted over his temples.
But he wasn't going to go down on her; he was just snugging close, wanting the warmth and satiny feel of her skin. So Mary felt down and found the bulging head of his thing, getting her fingers sticky with its juice, but using her arms to urge Paul gently back from her belly so she could set the end of his huge cock into the trembling, humid lips of her hair-lined vagina.
Paul Mattingly sagged back, his eyes closed in bliss as she guided his painfully hardened glans into the hot entrance of her vulva. The thing was gigantic, so immense that she might never get it all inside her little-used pussy. But she was certainly going to try. Her entire vagina was flexing and rippling in anticipation, and hot little waves of urgent need slid along her thighs.
Letting her knees unhinge just a little, she squatted to lower her weight upon the hotly throbbing cockhead. Mary felt the lips of her pussy stretch, felt them expand as the tip of that tormented erection began to find its way into the vaginal cuntlips. Only the tip, then the spongy, but hard-cored flanges of the head itself, pushing up and up into the softly giving heat of her beautiful cunt.
She gained an inch, and knew the ecstatic trembling of the man beneath her spread thighs as the bulbous head of his shaft eased slowly up into her wanton body. Paul groaned behind clenched teeth, and she felt like doing the same. Another inch, as the labia gave way before the throbbing pole, and the whole glans popped inside the depth of her quivering womanhood.
The rest of his blood-engorged shaft entered with ease. The swollen shaft followed the knob, slipping into her wet cleft, oiled by its own slippery leakage and by her inner juices. As she came slowly down to straddle his lap, her pelvis met his; the cuntal lips of her quivering cunt pressed down on the root of his huge penis. She had taken it all. Oh, God, every distended stiff inch of that hotly pulsating meat was now inside the full length of her vagina, surrounded by the tightly grasping of her hot, wet cuntal tissues.
Mary wrapped her arms around his head and pressed the soft pillows of her tits to Paul's face. Gladly, he took in a nipple, sucked heavily upon its turgidity and sent another wild flame down into her quivering body. She fed him her luscious tit and started to rock gently on his buried rod. She was packed with all that hard meat, filled to capacity by all that rigid flesh, and she loved it, loved it. Oh, God, how she loved it!
It was tremendous, for not even the tiniest move of her hips could prevent the stroking of her hardened clit, and a lifting motion drew an orgiastic pressure along the vibrant nub. She could feel the flared head far up her cuntal depths, feel its hotness nudging the cup of her cervix. So big, so hard, and so glorious--all that cock was hers alone, to do with as she pleased.
Mary swiveled her hips and gasped as his vein-coursed cock touched all the walls of her quaking vagina. She made a little seesaw of her pelvis, lifting her buttocks slightly, only to let them drop again. Paul chewed her nipple and laved it with his hot rasping tongue. His arms were around her waist, and he supported almost all her weight upon his legs.
Most of the sinuous movements were up to her, and she made them as Paul hung on, as he clung to her hips and nuzzled avidly into her re- silent breasts, moving his suctioning mouth back and forth from one glorious nipple to the other.
Bracing her feet against the thick carpet, Mary shoved him back, moved his body back and down so that she could get over on top of him. She gasped in shock as the full, unimpeded length of his penis reached the very depths of her tightly sucking vagina. For a crazy second, she thought that the head of his cock was coming up into her stomach.
But she controlled it, and got her knees folded on the leather couch beside his narrow hips. Hands flat against his sweating, heaving chest, she held him in position while she fucked him good. Her ass pumped up and down, and the solid club of his prick moved within the clutching hot depths of her slippery pussy.
"UMM!" Paul groaned. "UMM--OH, DARLING! WHAT A WONDERFUL YOUNG CUNT! SO TIGHT AND JUICY--ALL HOT AND NARROW. OH! MARY--MARY- SWEET, LOVELY MARY. OH, FUCK ME, DARLING. PLEASE FUCK ME!"
She pumped faster and faster, sensing the explosion that was now climbing up from his cum-laden balls, feeling the jerkiness of his humpings and hearing the rasp of his breath. She wanted to make it with him, to cum with Paul Mattingly at the height of his ejaculation.
Swinging her ass, grinding her pussy on his slippery rod, she felt the powerful hammering of her climax behind her knees. It came wheeling up the inside of her throbbing thighs to lance hotly at her clitoris. Shaking and heaving, her crotch caught fire, and the darting sparks fanned out through her pussy, shook her womb and caused her to cry out.
Digging his fingers into the cheeks of her ass, he gave a mighty, lifting push, and the head of his crazed prick went off in the abyssal depths of her wanton cunt. Semen geysered from its shaft, spitting blobs of hot, rich liquid all over her vaginal walls, wetting down her cervix and packing her shivering pussy with the searing, frothing love cream.
She loved the sensation of the spewing, all slidy and gushy within her cunt; she loved the feel of her cunt as the cuntal walls pushed out around the thick root of his cock as the hot cum oozed stickily down to puddle 'along her left thigh where it was pressed against his. Such a wondrous, enchanted lubricant--the essence of the male animal, the drenching of love.
Gently, she lowered her upper body to cover his, pressing the hard tips of her nipples into the soft hair of his chest. It felt very nice to lie like that on top of him, as she still kept his shaft tightly snuggled within the confines of her flooded quim. It was beautiful being there, with his hands stroking tenderly over her ass, with the knob of his pole still bobbing inside her sheath.
Against her ear, his lips close and tender, he said, "That was magnificent, my darling. I have never been loved better, and never so wildly. You're a fabulous girl, Mary, and I'm deeply grateful to you."
She rolled off him, dragging that giant, still hard pole out of her vagina with a wetly gulping noise. "Don't thank me," she said harshly. "Just don't thank me."
Keeping her back to him, not wanting to look at him or for Paul to see any more of her than he had to, Mary scooped up the panties and bra. She felt awkward as she got into them, but muddled through, even though her thighs were slippery with the excess of his semen.
Her pants suit hung across one corner of his desk, and she hung it over her arm, trying to be careful with the blouse. Behind her, he said, "Of course, I thank you, Mary. I'm more than twice your age, and very grateful that you took pity on me."
She whirled to face him. "I didn't make love to you out of pity! I did it because I--because I wanted to. And I don't make it with just any guy who happens to feel down, either."
He said, "Mary--" but she couldn't talk any more to him just then, so she fled into his private bathroom and slammed the door. Hanging onto the sink with both hands, her clothes draped across the john lid, she stared wildly into the mirror.
What the hell was she getting herself into? The touch of him clung to her flesh, and the essence of his manhood was still sticky on her legs. Mary scrubbed at that with a wet paper towel.
But she couldn't remove the marks of him, the feel of him that was sunken deeply into her being, that seemed to be graven upon her soul. She shook her head and splashed cold water on her face. It was the size of that monster penis, the stretching and shock of his huge club that made Paul Mattingly so different from the other two men she had done it with, that set him apart from Clark Watson and Johnny Adams. That and no more.
She peed, and couldn't wash him out that way, either. She dressed, brushing her hair and putting on fresh lipstick. And she realized after a time that she was postponing going out and seeing him again. It wouldn't be nearly so bad, if she wasn't planning to blackmail him, and more. Mary wished that she hadn't told Clark anything about her ideas.
Did she also wish she hadn't come down to Redding, that she had gone on to college or found a man to marry? No. He deserved anything that he got, deserved to lose money and prestige and stature. Paul had brought all that upon himself, and if she backed down now, if she let him go his way without any form of punishment, then there was simply no justice in the world.
Chin up, she unlocked the door and went out to face him, strengthened in her resolve now and shaking off any silly ideas that she might have gotten because he was built to be such a superb lover.
He was in shirtsleeves, no tie, socks without shoes. His hair was rumpled and the sight made a pang in her heart because it made him look so boyish, and just a little helpless.
Paul said, "Mary, you're the best thing that ever happened to me. If that embarrasses you, I won't mention it again. But neither do I want to spoil this very special day by going back to business. The hell with business; the hell with everything but what you want to do, and I want to do. If--if you'll do things with me, Mary Conroy."
"What--what kind of things?" she asked. "Walk along the beach. Roast hot dogs. Drink beer and be silly. Go to a movie, go swimming, take a drive up the coast. Do all the things I never have time for, anymore."
She said slowly, "And after we're through being silly and acting like kids on a holiday? Do we --make love again?"
"I'll ask you," he said. "I'll ask you as seriously as if I was asking your hand in marriage, and I'll hope you say yes. Here or at your place or--"
"Not your place," she said.
He moved to the bar and looked at the label on a Scotch bottle. "I can't do that. I would very much like to, but I can't."
"Your wife," she said, and wanted to add that a man like him should never marry, that he just had to be a playboy. Colder now, much more steady, she thought that Clark Watson wouldn't like it, if she let go Paul Mattingly just now.
"I'll go with you," she said. "Sure, why not?" But let me go first, please, so the whole office won't know about us, right from the beginning. I'll meet you around the corner, and that will give you time to get dressed."
Moving to him, she brushed back his hair and kissed him lightly upon the mouth. Clamping her teeth shut so the little acts of love wouldn't make her dizzy, she left him there to unlock the outer door and step quickly through it. At her old desk, she paused to collect herself and to ponder about telling Clark.
At his partition, she leaned over and said in a low voice, "I'm doing something for Mr. Mattingly. I'll be gone the rest of the day--and so will he."
His grin was knowing and just a shade evil. "Good girl. Do something good for the old man, and I'll call you later."
Still in a daze and sorting her thoughts, she went down in the elevator and stepped out into the lobby. A big man stood in her way, a man with an open face and who wore casual clothes, but his eyes were like scalpels. "Miss Conroy?"
"Yes."
"I'm Dan Copeland, the detective hired by your boss. I'd like to talk to you."
"Not now," she said. "I can't. I really can't. I have to meet someone," and she darted away to the street, leaving him staring after her.
But she knew that she soon would have to answer his questions, that she had aroused his suspicions now.
CHAPTER TEN
Clark Watson was waiting when she got back. She was windblown and tired, and she had just been kissed goodnight as she had been in junior high. The kiss had been sweet and tender, with no tongue thrusting and teeth clashing. It was kind and understanding. Paul hadn't even asked if he could come up to her apartment, just saw that she was tired and thought of her, rather than of himself. Now she faced a man of an entirely different outlook. Clark came down the hall just as she swung back her door, and whipped in after her.
"Well? Where the hell were you all day?"
She put a carnival doll on the table and went to the refrigerator. "All over town--the beach, a carnival, a movie. I'm beat, Clark."
"Did you lay him?"
Mary sighed. "In the office this morning, but not since. He was too busy letting go and having fun. I thought he was coming up here with me, but he's very considerate."
Clark frowned and took the bottle of bourbon from her hand. "Yeah, real considerate. Are you getting hung up on that old man?"
She held out her glass of ice cubes and watched him pour golden whiskey. One drink, she thought, and off to bed. Tomorrow was a work day. "Of course not. You know what I have to do to him. It's just--well, he's different than I expected, that's all."
He took a big drink for himself, and put back the bottle. "Tell me how you got him to screw you in the office. Wow, you must have really turned him on, for the old man to put the meat to you right there in his private shop."
Irritated, she said, "He wanted me, right from the first time he saw me, or at least that's what he said. He--I don't want to talk about it, Clark. It's working, and that's all that counts, isn't it?"
"That's right," he said, tossing down his shot of liquor. "And don't you forget it."
She moved past him and touched the goofy little carnival doll. "There's something else. That cop wanted to talk to me, downstairs in the foyer. Paul was coming down right away and I sort of panicked and ran."
"Cop? Dan Copeland--a great big guy, dumb looking? Why the hell should he be talking to you? Damn, Mary, you should have conned him somehow, found out what he wanted. Now--"
"I know," she said. "You hired him, so lead him away from me. I'm not so sure he's all that dumb."
Clark came over and put his hands on her hips, sliding them around. Despite her fatigue, she found herself responding to his touch. "Please don't," she said. "I am tired."
"Okay," he answered. "I just got to thinking of him putting the meat to that fine, hot pussy, and got all excited. I can wait."
"Thanks," she said, and gave him her cheek, but he didn't kiss it. Clark just walked out of her apartment, and she stood for a moment comparing the two men, placing him beside Paul Mattingly in her mind.
Then she went in to bed, stripping off her wrinkled suit and climbing between the sheets without taking a shower. She drifted almost immediately into sleep, dreaming of boardwalks and beaches where people skipped like kids, of cotton candy and dinner in fancy restaurants where the maitre d' didn't dare look down his nose because she was with Mr. Mattingly.
Waking early but rested, Mary took her bath and pill, and dressed with more care than usual, using her special perfume and taking pains with her hair. Paul had said that he was mad about her hair. Grabbing a cup of coffee and a sweet roll, she slipped two old pictures into an envelope, shots of her mother and herself.
Hand-printing the message, What were they worth? she carefully wiped everything with a hanky, and put a special delivery stamp on the envelope. She felt guilty, sneaky, and had to think bard about the things her mother had told her, about what a hard life her mother had, because of this man.
She wore bluegreen, a clinging skirt and matching blouse that set off her fair skin and red hair. At the corner, she dropped the letter into a mailbox, and was just stepping down off the curb when Clark Watson caught up with her.
"Missed you at your place," he said. "Look, I've got an idea on stepping up this thing. Go back and call in sick, but get put through to the boss himself. Then ask him to drop by, tell him anything. Say that you just can't make it without him, any bullshit that you can think of."
She stared at him, at the hard planes of his face in the early-morning sunlight. "But why? I thought--"
"Contacted a guy last night," he said. "He's coming over to bug your place this morning, and he'll set up a couple of cameras, too."
"Clark," she said, "I don't know. Isn't this all kind of fast? I mean, I mailed another letter and some pictures just now, and--"
His hand closed over her upper arm, shutting down hard. "Do as you're told. I'm not about to let you screw up a good thing like this. Now get your ass back up there and call him."
She tried to pull her arm away. "And if I don't?"
"I turn you over to the cops, private and public. There's not a damned thing to connect me with any shakedown. It would be a shame to lose an opportunity to grab a lot of bread, but that's all I'd lose. And, of course, after you get busted, I'll mail my collection of dirty pictures back to your home town, say, to the high school principal, the banker, guys like that."
Mary felt cold. She said, "All right. I'll call him, but what if he doesn't come?"
"He's got hot nuts for you, hasn't he? The old bastard will come, all right. Panting and shaking and with a hard on. If he can get it up twice in two days, that is."
Miserably, she turned to go back to her apartment, and Clark said behind her, "You'll know the electronics guy. It's Johnny Adams."
Somehow, she got through explanations on the phone, though she trembled when Paul himself came on the line. But he seemed to understand and, in fact, his voice deepened with pleasure when she asked him to come by.
"Wonderful," he said. "Give me about two hours to clean everything up here. Mary--well, this is just great."
She gave him her address, wishing there was some other way, hating herself for what she was about to do to him. Maybe he deserved all the bad things that could happen to him, but she was starting to feel sorry for being the instrument to bring him pain.
When the door buzzer sounded, she jumped, then went to let in Johnny Adams. He was grinning widely when he put down his metal boxes. "You look groovy, chick. Maybe we'll have time to swing a little, after I get the bugs and cameras set up."
"Maybe," she said, knowing damned well that she wouldn't even try. What did they all think she was, some kind of sex pervert, a nymphomaniac, or just a cheap and easy lay? It wasn't all that long ago that she was still a virgin.
A week, she thought, and went to the bottle to fortify herself against all the hassle to come. Johnny would hurry his work, so he could get her on the bed and pound that long, hard penis of his up into her body. He hadn't put it into her mouth, but she imagined that that would be his next move. He had surely banged her enough down on the beach that weekend.
But he wasn't as good as Paul. And neither was Clark. She swallowed a jolt of whiskey and shuddered at its bite. What would Paul think about Eileen Miller? Would he be open enough, far-out enough, to accept her as part of sensual love? She couldn't know the answer to that question, but she knew that she would avoid Eileen if Paul asked her to.
Why, damnit? One screwing by an oversized cock, and she was almost ready to throw over all those years of suffering and deprivation. She was just about ready to kick away her chance to get back at the man who had brought her mother so much anguish, both physical and mental. Just about. Almost, but not quite.
In his way, Clark Watson was right; Paul should be stuck where it hurt him most, the checkbook, his ego, his business connections. Mary considered the bottle again, then shook her head and put it back on the shelf. She wouldn't let Paul Mattingly make a heavy drinker out of her, either. Damn him. He had it coming. Maybe he was all sugar and spice now, but that didn't change his past.
"Just about hooked up, chick," Johnny said from where he stood on a chair. "Got a camera in the bedroom and in here, too. Mikes are everywhere, tied into recorders. You won't have any trouble picking up a whisper. Now, how about you and me hooking up?"
She said, "No time, man. Clark tell you anything about what's happening? Well, the other guy is due here in just a few minutes."
He grinned ruefully at her. "And it wouldn't do, to rush any screwing with you, right? But I'll be back, chick. I'll come around late tonight and see if you shake that gorgeous ass as much, when you get my shaft up it again."
When he came over to put his hands on her body, Mary stood quietly, letting Johnny feel her breasts and cup her buttocks. She wondered if it was so wrong, to feel a quick lifting of emotion, when he did those things. Tilting her mouth for his kiss, for the wet reaching of his hungry tongue, she thought not. It was only because she was so mixed up, changed around by all the sex she had had and the thoughts of how much more she had to put out.
"Maybe Clark can swing with us later," Johnny said "Last time, we only took turns. I'd like to fuck you with him."
"Yes," she murmured, anxious now to get him out of the apartment. "You'd better go, Johnny." Behind him, she hooked the door chain and clicked the lock. Johnny and Clark. Clark and Johnny. Both of them could turn her on. She was certain that she was nowhere near in love with either. Would she be doomed to a series of Clark- Johnnys, if she didn't get herself free of them now? But there was no way out; Clark had the pictures, and knew the detective, and he wouldn't hesitate to use leverage on her, if she tried to run away and forget this whole awful mess.
She had another drink, then went to brush her teeth, so Paul wouldn't smell the stuff on her breath when he arrived. Doing it before cameras, she thought. Screwing a man where hidden microphones could pick up the slightest sound and record every cry of delight. That ought to be personal, she figured. What a man and woman said and did to each other should be secret, unless both of them decided to share the act with another.
Like another woman? Like Eileen Miller? As if Mary didn't have enough trouble, she couldn't get the sleek, wiggling body of the little golden woman out of her head. Eileen had truly enjoyed eating into her mound, and Mary couldn't help but wonder what it would be like, to actually put her own mouth to another girl's labia.
The door buzzer sounded loud and warningly in the room, reminding her of the big timber rattlesnakes that hunted the Siskiyou mountains back home. She was scared now, afraid to meet Paul Mattingly and just as afraid not to. Moving mechanically, she went to the door and slipped the chain, turned the lock.
"Paul. Please come in."
He looked bright and shiny and happy. "I've a better idea. Grab your purse and let's go out."
Desperately, she said, "B-but the office--what will people think, if they see us together?"
"The hell with all other people," he said, his smile charming. "We're the only important people in the world. And since I ran you ragged yester day, I thought today could be more restful. I have a private place, Mary--a special motel out of town, the Bourbon House. Pool and excellent food and water beds. Have you ever tried a water bed?"
"I--we ought to stay here," she said.
"Come on. I never tried a water bed, either." He was so winning, so boyish, that she couldn't refuse him. It would give her time to think, anyway. Clark was rushing things with the electronic stuff. She just knew he was.
"All right," she said, "let's go."
They climbed into his car at the curb, and she saw a dark car parked behind it. As Paul drove off, the other car pulled away, too, following them. She thought she could make out a big man behind the wheel.
Paul laughed aloud. "At nothing in particular," he said. "Just because I feel so damned alive, and about twenty years younger. You're the cause of that, Mary. Both cause and effect, and I feel like laughing."
She tried to catch his mood, to be glad she was near him like this, her thigh touching his. But she fretted about what Clark would say, what he might do, when he found out that his plot had gone wrong.
When Paul turned into a rich-looking motel and drove around back to a hidden parking lot, she remembered to check behind for the dark car.
It wasn't there, and she thought she might have been dreaming up complications. Who would be following Paul Mattingly?
Entrances to the rooms were discreetly shielded by flowering bushes, and the door was unlocked for them, so they slipped inside, giggling like conspirators. They came naturally together then, their bodies flowing to meet one another, their mouths clinging.
She took the lead, forcing his tender lips apart with the attack of her tongue, shoving it through his teeth and deeply into his mouth. His own tongue rose to meet hers, and she retreated, making him follow. When his tongue was inside her mouth, she sucked at it voraciously.
All the while, her hips were swinging from side to side, so that her pelvis worked across his, so that her hungry mound could feel the lift and swell of his huge penis. When the bulge touched her crotch, Mary quivered from head to foot and sucked demandingly upon his tongue.
She felt an answering shudder pass through his body, and his hands held tightly to her buttocks as he pulled her closer, so he could thrust that distended shaft into her belly. Mary tore away her mouth and gasped for air, shaken to the core by the violence of her need for this man.
This time, she thought, she'd do everything she wanted, to him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"I've always been embarrassed by the size of my penis," Paul said. "So I never got around much. I know I should be far more experienced than I am, but--"
They lay nakedly together, his huge staff pressed against her tummy, her nipples digging into his chest. Side by side on the water bed, they swayed up and down together, their hands feeling over each other's bodies, caressing, embracing, and exploring shapes.
"Shh," she murmured into the base of his throat. "I love the size of your penis. I think it's wonderful, and I don't know much, either. I told you that before. But I do know how to do this." Urging him over onto his back, Mary kissed his shoulders, a flame building hotter within her belly as she dragged the tips of her breasts across his hairy chest. She tasted his skin with her tongue, and felt him tremble. There was muscle along his rib cage, and she nibbled that, feeling very powerful, in control, able to make him twist and turn at will.
There was a line of silver-black hair that marched down to his belly button and beyond, so she followed that with her lips and heard his gasp above her head. He loved her hair, so she took its heavy, thick length in both hands to spread its perfumed fineness across his arching body.
Dragging her hair over the upright and throbbing shaft of his cock, she tickled the big thing, teased that shaft by wrapping her hair around its thick length by making a coverlet of its red cascade for his balls.
"Mary," he said above her. "Oh, my sweet Mary."
The purplish bulbous head peeped from her hair, all shiny and smooth, its little mouth gathering a droplet of pre-seminal fluid within its lips. Daringly, wanting very much to turn this man on as he had never been thrilled before, she reached down with her tongue and siphoned off the droplet.
"Ahh!" he gasped. "Oh, my dear. Please don't think you have to--aah!--do anything exotic for --ahh!--me."
Curling her tongue around the flanged ridge was very stimulating, for Paul's pelvis jerked at every touch, so she continued to tease him with the wet fondlings. But she was fascinated by the living monster, and opened her lips to taste more of that lust-swollen mushroom. So big, so vibrant--she didn't even think of deviation or perversion as she lowered her mouth over the spongy knob. She thought only of giving him ecstasy.
The tip was drawn in past her teeth, and Mary opened wider so that she wouldn't hurt the ultrasensitive skin of his cockhead. The flavor of his shaft was marvelous--all musky and male, rich and strong, yet threaded through with delicate tastes, too. Hungrily, she pulled it in, filled her mouth with his hotly throbbing meat and began to suck upon the whole shaft of the lust-hardened erection.
"Oh, no!" he groaned. "Oh, Mary--how can you--ahh, ahh--"
His cock was hers, she thought in a blind daze. His big, beautiful prick belonged to her now, and to no one else. She nipped it possessively between her teeth, relented and petted the bulb with her tongue, lapping all around throbbing thickness and at last sticking the tip down into the sticky slot.
Wandering down, his fingers worked themselves deeply into her long, flowing hair. But he didn't try to drag her away. He held on and started to lift his pelvis a little, making very gentle fucking motions. Paul's big shaft pushed far back into her voracious mouth, and she bobbed her head on the whole length, laving the pulsating shaft with her tongue.
Her cock. Her loving daddy-cock. All hers, every sweet inch of the glorious meat that she didn't have to share with anyone else. He would never leave her now. He couldn't. He was hers and she was his, and darling daddy would never want to run away again. She could give him more love, better love, than anyone else in the world, so that he wanted to stay forever.
"Mary, Mary," he sighed. "Isn't there a way we can--we can share this?"
She paid no attention, being dedicated to adoring his shaft, gnawing lightly upon its head, pulling the shiny head in with suction and then pushing out with her tongue. But she felt him turning, felt the slow and steady twisting around of his body. The cockhead rotated within her mouth, and the sack of his balls turned gently, moving from against her chin to above her nose.
Then she felt his breath, his warmly searching breath, as it played over her thighs. More alert to what was going on now, Mary realized that Paul had pivoted his entire body so that his head was down at her lower belly. She knew a tremor that rippled over her flesh, and she stopped sucking on his rod. Holding her mouth in place, she waited quaking for his next move. Would he really eat her cunt, too? Was it possible for a man and woman to do that to each other, at the same time ?
Hesitantly, awkwardly, his mouth found her pubic mound, and Mary wiggled as his tongue probed into the depths of her pussy hair. Shifting her hips, she moved her labia over to the hot, wet fondling, and knew a violent thrill, a savage kind of exaltation as she possessed him and was possessed by him. His head worked in between her thighs, and she felt him tightly there, moving them up and down in a sexy rhythm.
Grinding her ass, she forced her clit against his teeth, and gulped around the head of his shaft when his tongue slid in and out of her vagina. Paul Mattingly was doing it well, following his instincts, eating a pussy for the first time but turning into a natural at the delightful chore.
Mary timed her own sucking to his licking, and they moved together sensuously, their heads tucked between each other's thighs, their mouths and tongues laving adoringly. She hurried to catch up with him, slowing her siphoning on his rod, then pumping her head up and down furiously as her climax came wheeling up from somewhere down around her anus.
Paul moaned into her pussy, bit deeper and her clit went crazy against his teeth. The head of his club swelled even more, turned immense, and she closed her eyes in glad anticipation of the deluge so close.
She hit the crest of her orgasm at the exact second the gush of semen came spattering from the slot in Paul's cockhead. Creamy and foaming, hot and heavy and rich, his come poured out as if it would never stop. Swallowing, gulping, she drew the river of hot semen down her swallowing throat, and continued to suck, continued to pull the attar of his body from his shuddering penis. His strength was hers; his core was melted and shot up into her throat to slide down into her stomach.
And at the same time, Paul was licking her clit, rubbing her labia along his teeth, sucking and pulling upon them as if he meant to devour them, also. Mary whirled away into a starry universe of her own--no, their own--for Paul was with her. Her sweet, darling daddy was at her side, holding her hand, skipping with her to the soda fountains and the dress shops and the carnival she had always been too poor to attend.
Her father's prick was in her mouth, and she was the first to take it there; her mother never would. And neither would her ironbound mother ever allow her husband to kiss her mound. That sort of thing was for animals, the lowest sort of animals.
Guiltily, she rolled off him, let his shaft slip out of her mouth and turned onto her back. The water bed moved up and down, and only then did she remember that it was any different, that it rocked with small tidal waves and dipped to cup the protrusions of her body.
Mary tried to shake the images from her head, to rid herself of the daddy-pictures, but they refused to go away, only blurring a little around the edges. Oh, Lord, she thought. Had she been that jealous of her own mother? For the first time, she realized what she had done.
Her mother had laid this man many times over in the months they had been married. Her mother had taken this hard shaft up into the shuddering, shrinking cavity of her body. Now the daughter had screwed that shaft, too. Now the bitchy, debauched daughter had sucked the semen from her father's penis.
Paul said softly, "I seem to always be thanking you, Mary. But then you're doing new things for me, lifting me high up into new levels I never knew existed. You're the most exciting thing that ever happened to me."
More exciting than her mother, she guessed. Or perhaps he had said the same thing to that other long-ago woman, not long before he left her. Mary whispered, "You're thrilling to me, too. Oh, how I wish I was still virgin when I met you.
o--no, I don't. If I'd still been so afraid, all uptight and ready to scream if a man touched me, then I'd never have made love with you. And I certainly wouldn't have been ready for oral love, neither to give it nor to receive it."
He stroked her tummy, his hands gentle as any woman's, as tender as the deftly knowing fingers of Eileen Miller. Why should she be thinking of Eileen at a time like this, to keep from probing too deeply into the reason why she felt so gratified, so content beside this man she was sworn to destroy?
She sat up, restless and wanting to do something, anything, to turn her mind away from Paul Mattingly, and from the girl who had once been his step-daughter. Would he thank her if he knew that?
Sitting on the edge of the water bed with her knees up and feeling foolish because of the awkward position that the low frame put her n, Mary happened to be looking right at the door when the knob turned. She would never have seen the movement, otherwise. Staring, she watched the brass knob move around, and stared at the crack that widened slowly, almost imperceptibly.
She reacted in protective reflex, snatching at the sheet and throwing it over Paul, grabbing a pillow and holding it up in front of her naked body. "Keep your face hidden," she hissed at Paul. "Whatever happens, stay under that sheet!"
She saw the camera, blinked into the flash of its bulb, and knew that the man behind it was Clark Watson. But there was also someone else--a small, golden head at his shoulder.
Eileen Miller?
That might have been a trick of the light upon her retinas, for a green-bright spot hung in her eyes, and the heads were bobbing around. The door slammed back and she felt Paul trying to sit up. Pushing him down again, she guarded her nude body with the pillow. It was difficult bouncing out of the heaving bed, but she caught it on the upswing and managed.
Clark's face was congested with rage, and he was trying to aim the camera again. "Get out of the way, you stupid bitch! I can't get a clear shot of him."
It was Eileen behind him, grinning and bouncing in high excitement, looking trim and lovely in a white suit. Had he brought her as a witness? Why had he broken in here like this, jeopardizing everything that they had planned?
Then she saw a blur behind them, something that loomed very large and swift. Clark's camera flew from his hands to smash itself against a wall, and he was yanked off his feet. Whirled around kicking and spitting, he was thrown out into the entrance.
Eileen squeaked and ducked away, flitting out after Clark. The big man slapped her loudly on the ass as she went, and stepped back out. The door banged closed behind him, and she realized that she had seen Dan Copeland in action.
That dark car following them away from her apartment building; it hadn't been lost in traffic, after all. The detective had simply hung back, out of sight until he was needed.
How had Copeland known that he would be needed ?
Mary backed to the chair where her dress hung, where her undies were folded. And Paul Mattingly had refused to date her in her own place, begging her out here to his favorite motel, instead. He had suspected something, then. Or had he been warned by someone else? Copeland?
Just a dumb cop, Clark had said. Just another stupid cop. Clark Watson had picked him, hired the man, and now Clark was getting slammed around by his newest employee. Mary was frightened. She wanted out of the motel, and maybe out of town, and in a hurry. She had on her panties when Paul came from under the sheet she had tossed over him. "Mary "
"I want to go home," she said. "Damn it, I want to go home."
"All right," he said, "but please listen to me first. That was quick thinking, but why did you protect me and leave yourself exposed?"
She bit her lip. "Because you're somebody and I'm not. A picture like that can't hurt me, but it can do you damage." Turning her back to him, she shrugged into her bra.
"You're very brave," he said.
"Not really. Will you send me home in a cab, please?"
Paul said, "I don't want to send you anywhere, darling. I'm sure you didn't have anything to do with all this. Stay with me, Mary."
She tried, but couldn't tell him. She honestly wanted to say that she had gotten into this mess of her own accord, but that now she wanted out. The words wouldn't come out, for the male taste of his semen was still rich in her mouth, and a sordid confession couldn't penetrate that.
Catching up her dress and shoes, she fled into the bathroom, knowing that she had done this before, thinking that this would no doubt be the last time. When she would run from Paul Mattingly again, she would never see him again. She would run all the way across the country if she had to, rather than see the hate in his eyes.
"I can't stay," she said from behind the bathroom door, but heard someone else in the room, another voice that blotted out her own.
"The guy got away, Mr. Mattingly," the deep voice said. "I think I know who he is, though. Rather not say anything until I'm sure, but I'll check him out. The little woman knocked the hell out of me with something, and I let him go. The camera is smashed and the film exposed. I don't think you'll need me any more today."
"Good," Paul answered. "See me tomorrow at the office, and thank you for a job well done." Mary waited in the bathroom, and when she had the nerve, she opened the door and went out. "A taxi, Paul?"
"You're upset," he said. "I can't blame you for being upset, Mary. All right, I'll call the taxi. But I'll see you later."
If only he could, she thought. If only he could.
CHAPTER TWELVE
She had a suitcase half packed when the knock sounded at the door. Hesitating, Mary tried to ignore it. And the buzzer, too. Then she gave up and went to the door. "Yes?"
"Darling," the soft voice called, "it's Eileen. Please let me in."
"Are you alone?"
"Please," Eileen said. "Clark ran off and left me."
Dropping the chain, Mary slid the bolt and turned the knob. She couldn't slam the door in time, because Clark Watson shoved Eileen through and plunged after the small girl.
"I'll scream my head off," Mary threatened, and staggered back with the force of a slap that spun her around and made lights go off behind her eyes.
"Try it," Clark hissed at her, "and I'll beat your ass until you can't yell."
Legs trembling, Mary backed to the couch and dropped upon it. Her head was ringing, and she saw that Clark had an ugly bruise over one eye, and another at the corner of his mouth. He had a wild look to go with them. She wouldn't try to stand up to him, she decided. Clark was desperate and dangerous now.
"You dumb bitch," he said. "Why did you let him take you to the damned motel? This place is rigged perfectly, but you let him pack you off where we couldn't get a thing on him."
She rubbed her cheek. "I couldn't help it. He wouldn't come in. Don't you think that detective warned him?"
"You couldn't help it," he mimicked. "No more than you could help throwing the fucking sheet over him, could you? What the hell was that all about?"
Mary said, "I--I didn't know that that was you. How could I know you were coming out to the motel? I was scared and surprised, and just--kind of reacted, I guess. How did you know we were there, follow us?"
He stalked to the kitchen cabinet and found the bourbon. While he drank it straight from the neck of the bottle, Mary glanced over at Eileen. The girl shrugged and held her palms up. "He made me, Mary."
"Damned right," Clark snapped. "No, I didn't follow you. When Johnny called in and said you'd split with him, I checked the old man's private files. He uses that motel a lot, but not for swinging. Just to get away from his wife, or to hold business conferences. I figured to get some quick flash shots and wrap it up without too much more screwing around. I could use the pictures plus what you've got on him, hit him for some heavy bread, and cut out."
She said, "Leaving me behind."
"I didn't say that." He drank again, his eyes mean. "That damned private cop showed up at just the wrong time, and he knows who I am. He'll be checking on me now, and I don't dare even go back to the office."
"What are you going to do? Look, Clark, let's just drop it. I mean, it all blew up on us, so we ought to get out of town before we get arrested." He strode over to her, still carrying the whiskey bottle. "No way, baby! I've lost my job, and I have to make up for that, at least. Old Mattingly will have to pay off. That means you have to get him back here, or if he won't go for that, make it with him in his office again. By now, Johnny Adams has that bugged, too."
Mary shook her-head and clenched her fists upon her knees. "I can't, Clark. I won't. He--he let me go because he didn't think I had anything to do with you breaking into the motel room. I can't set him up again."
He leered down at her. "Oh, can't you? Eileen, lock the door and turn the radio up pretty loud."
"Clark--" Mary tried, but knew he wouldn't listen. He was kicking off his shoes and unzipping his pants. "Clark, no. That won't do any good."
"I have to stay somewhere for a while," he said, taking off his shirt. "That cop will look for me at the office and at my own apartment, but not here. If he does come sniffing around, Eileen can lead him away. He didn't get a good look at her face, before."
"He got a good shot at my ass," Eileen said. "It still aches."
"Shut up," Clark said. "You love it, you goofy bitch. Just as you'll love what we're going to do to Miss Big Tits, here."
Fear clotted her throat as he stood naked before her with his strong shaft poking out. Clark knew exactly how to get to her, how to break down her resolves. He could do it by sexually degrading her, by forcing her to do things she didn't want to do. That destroyed her will to resist, and he was well aware of it.
"He--Paul Mattingly may come here for me. He said so."
Clark fondled his penis, rubbed his hand up and down its shaft and over the throbbing head. She couldn't take her eyes away, but her stare was like that of a bird mesmerized by a snake. "That why you were packing so fast? Don't try to kid me, baby. And, Eileen--you get bare- assed, too."
Mary gasped when he clawed down and ripped her dress down the front. She tried to roll away, to spin on the couch and get her feet under her, but Clark caught her bra strap and tore that, too. He got one hand into her hair and jerked her head back. His other hand was cruel at her panties, yanking and sawing at them until the tortured nylon gave way. Then she was nude, trying to grab his wrist, trying to get her hair from his grasp.
He threw her over onto the floor, and her knees dug painfully into the carpet. She didn't want to do anything with this man. Just a little while ago, she had been making love to Paul's huge, adorable rod. She didn't want this other one in her cunt now.
"Do I have to tie you down, you bitch. Gag you again?"
"N-no. Don't tie me up. Oh, please, Clark--"
"I'm real glad you're here," he grunted from above and behind her. "I need to take out my mad on somebody, and you're just right. I get tired of slapping Eileen around. She digs it too much." Mary hung her head, and her breasts hung down, too, swinging heavily as she waited upon hands and knees for whatever perverted trick Clark would think up to perform on her. There couldn't be many other things, if any. She had probably already run the sexual gamut at his evil guidance. But Mary was glad that he had had nothing to do with the way she and Paul had eaten each other. That was their own idea.
"Eileen," he said, "lie down and feed her your pussy. That's right, on your back so you can slide your legs under her body. Yeah, that's it. You've been aching for this girl to eat your snatch, so here's your chance."
"Oh, no," Mary said, and a spasm wracked her body. She was going to be forced to perform a lesbian act, and it wasn't right. Not any more. Not since Paul.
But Clark had a big foot in the crack of her buttocks, pushing her, and the girl's slim, golden knees lifted, one each beside her head. Staring down, Mary saw the bronzed curling of the lovely pubic hairs, and the pink lips of the dewy labia peeping out.
Eileen murmured, "Love me, Mary. Just as I loved you. Kiss me and use your tongue in me. Suck my clit and chew it. I want you, Mary. I want you very much."
Clark said, "Go ahead--eat her out." Helplessly and reluctantly, Mary's head dipped toward the beckoning mound, and her cheek slid softly along the magic velvety skin of the other girl's thigh, and the tip of her nose brushed the upper limits of the lovely pubic hair. She smelled the alluring scent that rose from the mound, and with a sigh, dropped her face to press it into Eileen's vulva.
The hairs were crinkly, yet silken, and Mary rubbed her cheek into the richly matted crotch, also feeling the torrid slipperiness of the pussy lips. Such a small, sweet pussy, she thought, so tender and yielding. Tentatively, Mary nudged the labia with the tip of her tongue, and was rewarded by the hungry leap of Eileen's pelvis.
She was conscious that Clark was kneeling behind her, that the man was fondling her buttocks and caressing the curve of her back, but Mary was too enrapt with the trembling pussy spread like a golden feast before her. She didn't care what Clark did, at that moment. Throat taut, the nipples of her resilient breasts aching with desire, Mary pressed down and moved her tongue right on into the soft lips of Eileen's tiny cunt.
"Oh, darling!" Eileen panted. "Love me, eat my pussy!"
Behind Mary, Clark poked the head of his rod between her thighs and slid the spongy knob along the length of her labia, making them tingle and soften more, turning them humid and dewy. His hands rested lightly upon her hips, and his belly moved as she eased his shaft back and forth along her quivering pussy without attempting to guide the tip inside.
In simple reflex, her hips rolled gently with the motions he was making, and she moved her own hands beneath the modeled cheeks of the golden girl, lifting her crotch higher and spreading it wider. The feel was ecstatic around her tongue, all hot and slidy and squirmy. Mary licked in and out, feeling around for the more sensitive places to tickle, pressing her lips harder against Eileen's twitching labia, raking her teeth wetly there.
It was good. It was intimate and sexy and dirty, and Mary loved every second of it as she pulled upon the slick tissues and felt her way up to Eileen's thrumming clitoris. The girl heaved and bucked when Mary caught the expanded nub between her teeth and sucked on its erectness lovingly. Hot and wild, crazy and frantic, Eileen surged her pelvis against Mary's mouth, and her little hands darted up to tangle themselves into Mary's hair. Eileen pulled Mary's head harder into her thrusting crotch, tried to bury it inside there as the sleek thighs curled around and around.
Cheeks wet, chin slippery with the other woman's love juices, Mary clung to Eileen's twisting, gyrating ass. Then she felt something at her own, a pressure and fever that was trying to get inside.
Inside her anus?
Mary tried to lift her dripping face from the undulating hairy nest of the other girl's snatch, but Eileen held it down, humping and screwing as her climax was approaching.
And Clark gripped Mary's buttocks firmly, powerfully, as he pushed his pre-greased cockhead at the tight ring of her ass. No, she thought. Oh, no--impossible, crazy, sick!
He grunted at her, "Better shove back and try to keep your asshole as loose as you can. If you fight my cock, it'll hurt you. Relax and take it up the old back road, you bitch. Just go right on eating Eileen's pussy while I fuck your ass."
Shaking, groaning into the muffling folds of Eileen's vagina, Mary felt the insistent prodding of that implacable cockhead, and knew the reluctant giving of her anus ring. The tip of his penis had been oiled by her own cuntal lubrication, when he had rubbed it along her cuntal lips. It was slippery and spongy, but with a hard, steely core that was forcing itself ever deeper into the narrow passage of her rectum.
Pain cut at her, there, and she forced herself to relax the rubbery ring, to push it up and back at the intruder, and she knew the weird sensation of the knob as it spread the entrance wider. Did some of its slip by the barrier? Had an inch or two passed the constricting ring?
Eileen stroked into Mary's mouth, held her head fast and made her pelvis into a seesaw that rocked back and forth against Mary's lips.
"I'm about to cum," Eileen panted. "Oohh, sweet girl, I'm going to cum--to cum!"
Mary trembled as the girl heaved strongly to her mouth, as the juiciness seemed to increase in Eileen's flexing vagina. Another ripple passed through her heated flesh as she felt the stroke of Clark's staff, the extra push that made the swollen bulb of his penis reach far up into the tight tubing of her anus.
"All the way in," he said hoarsely. "Got my prick shoved all the way up your hot ass, baby. Feel my balls against your cheeks? Got it shoved home to the roots, and you love it, Mary. You dig the hell out of taking all my meat up your ass."
"No!" she shrieked into Eileen's pussy. "No--I hate it, hate it!"
But her ass was swinging in easy, slow arcs, and when Clark pulled his shaft back for another penetrating stroke, her tight clasping ass thrust against his burgeoning rod, holding the pulsating shaft within her body. And as Eileen came, hunching and corkscrewing against her mouth, Mary could only hold onto the girl's butt and let her own butt do as it pleased.
What was that wiggling against her own vulva, then? Eileen:--Eileen's foot, the bare toes pushing between the shuddering, moist lips and some of them tantalizing the clit. It was too much, and she moaned softly as Clark picked up the rhythm of his screwing.
"YEAH, YEAH--OH, YEAH!" he chanted, sliding the meaty length of his slippery shaft back and forth in her tightly clenching hole. "YEAH, BABY--SHAKE YOUR ASS AND HUMP IT TO ME. MAN, OH, MAN--WHAT A FINE, SOFT ASS! LET IT GO, BABY--FUCK ME HARD AND LOWDOWN AND--AND--AHH!"
His ejaculation hissed into her tube, slicked it down with hot and greasy thickness. She felt the pulsing jet stream splash into her most secret area, knew each lessening spurt of his semen as it filled her piping. Clark's fingernails dug into the cheeks of her quaking ass, and his pelvis made slow, jerky motions.
She fought it. She tried very hard not to let herself go, but now Eileen was wiggling her toes into Mary's vagina, and the searing hot semen made her feverish and now Eileen was sitting up and pressing a hard little nipple into Mary's mouth. Mary went off with a skyrocketing sensation that burst spiraling out from the nova of her clit to radiate throughout her recoiling vagina. She came crazily, bumping her snatch around the little toes, backing her ass over the ramrod of the man's embedded tool.
Nothing. She was nothing, then, but a hotly throbbing vacuum imprisoned between the bodies of a man and a woman who controlled her. She was lost in flesh, surrounded by skin and hair and sensual shapings.
When she sagged forward in a state of near collapse, they let her go, and dimly she heard Clark say, "She'll do anything now--anything I tell her."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Damn them both. Mary lay sore and disgusted in a hot bath, trying to soak away her revulsion, yet betrayed by the tingling of her aroused nerve ends. Was there anything left for her to do, any degrading act that she could blend with?
No doubt there were other combinations that three or four--or more--people could get themselves into. She knew now that she had been lucky with Clark and Johnny, that time on the beach. They could have forced her into other wild performances between them, using their things upon her like deadly weapons, making her eat one while she screwed the other, possibly even taking one in the anus while one worked within her aching vagina.
She climbed out of the hot water and toweled her pink skin roughly. Once, long ago in the dear, dead ages of a week past, she had thought that sex was a simple thing, straight and perhaps painful, but not a thing to make her miserable. Now she wasn't certain. Life had been far less complicated when she lived at home and was a virgin who meant to stay untouched.
Damn Clark and Eileen, for making her a squirming, helpless part of their sexual appetites. They thought they had broken her will, that she would dumbly obey again. Maybe not this time. She was growing up a little more, through each incident.
Clark wanted to blackmail Paul Mattingly, and Eileen--the golden girl--seemed to get all she wanted, just by being in on the sex parties. And what did Mary Conroy Devlin want?
Those damned incriminating pictures, for one thing. Clark had threatened her with them again, those terrible photos taken that first night when he had raped her into near-oblivion. If she could find those, at least she wouldn't be so vulnerable. She could leave town and know Clark couldn't hurt her mother's memory by mailing them back home.
He wasn't in his apartment, of course. He and Eileen ducked out right after they had beaten her down, so he could hide from the private detective. Funny that Dan Copeland hadn't shown up yet, she thought. He had been prompt at the motel. Maybe he had, gone first to the office.
Mary bent over and looked closely at her own lock. The one on Clark's door would be the same, so she examined it with care, and tested the bolt with the edge of her gas credit card. It slid back easily, and she smiled. She was about to become a housebreaker.
The card slid between doorframe and lock when she coasted down the deserted hallway to Clark's place. Wiggling it, Mary got the bolt back and turned the knob quickly. The door swung in and she stepped into the darkness there, holding her breath. She should have a flashlight, she thought. Burglars always carried them.
But Clark wasn't home, and the light switch ought to be somewhere over--
The light snapped on and the big, hard hand clamped over her mouth in the same startled moment. Her knees let go and she tried to scream, but something held her up and the hand effectively throttled any noise. She was off the floor, held roughly against a big, male body, being carried right across the room while she kicked and wiggled.
Against her ear, the husky voice whispered, "I'll let go, but if you scream, I'll have to knock you out. Do you understand that?"
Mutely, she nodded, as terrified as she had ever been in her entire life. He dropped her into the overstuffed chair and took away his hand. Mary looked up and up, into the serious face of Dan Copeland, private detective.
He said, "Well, Miss Conroy. You do get around."
"It's not--not the way it looks," she said. "I broke in, myself. With this." She held up the credit card. "He--Clark has something I want, very badly."
"That figures. Like the rest of those old pictures?"
She stared up at him. "You know, I--"
"Sure. Watson was careful not to mention you when he hired me. Of course, he skipped some other employees, too. But I wondered why he didn't say anything about the girl who came to work on the very day the anonymous letters started to arrive."
"I never asked him for anything," Mary said. "Not a dime, so that isn't blackmail--is it?"
He backed off and sat down on the couch, facing her. "No, it isn't, but it was turning into blackmail, I think. You came here from Grants Pass and went right to work for Mattingly, Inc. You sent Mr. Mattingly those letters, not quite threatening, but bad enough to disturb him a lot."
She flashed at him: "He deserves to be upset! He left us, abandoned us, and he needs to be punished for that."
"Ah, yes," he said, cool eyes flicking over her face. "You weren't very smart about hiding your name, either. It all tied together so neatly that I was beginning to wonder if it wasn't a real smart put on by Mr. Watson. How did he start working with you on this, and why did you set up Mattingly at the motel?"
Mary pressed her knees together. "I didn't set him up, I didn't. Clark wanted me to meet him in my own apartment. Oh, hell, I don't have to tell you any of this. Clark got me all mixed up, and took those pictures of me naked the night he tied me down and raped me. He said he'd send them back to my home town if I didn't--there, damn it! I didn't want to cry, either."
When she finished wiping her eyes, he was grinning at her, and his eyes didn't seem nearly so cold then. Dan Copeland said, "Guess Mattingly had you pegged right, at that."
"Paul," she said. "Does he know who I am?"
"Not yet," he answered. "I'll have to tell him, but that will be later. Now, what was all that about pictures?"
He helped her search, and Dan was very thorough, she saw. He knew his business, and they turned Clark's apartment inside out, looking under the carpet and inside the toilet tank and in old shoes, looking everywhere. Mary could have sobbed with disappointment when they didn't find the pictures.
"Maybe he keeps them at the office," she suggested, hopefully.
Dan shook his big, shaggy head. "Don't think so. Too many people would have access. Do you know anybody he's close to, some friend he might use to hold the stuff for him?"
"Just Johnny Adams," she said. "He's the one who bugged my apartment and--and Paul's office, too. Yes, Paul's inner office has camera and microphones in it, now."
Dan frowned and dusted his hands. "Nobody else?"
Mary snapped her fingers. "Sure! Eileen--Eileen Miller. She would do anything he told her."
"Little blonde girl? The one I got a slap at, back at the motel?"
"That's her. But--I don't know where she lives."
"Let's look around some more," he said. "This time for phone numbers and addresses."
They found it in the phone book, underlined in red pencil. Dan said, "Shall we go pay a call?"
"Right now," Mary agreed. "I'll guarantee she'll tell us where she's keeping those pictures of me."
Downstairs was the dark car, and he opened the door for her. When they were driving toward the south part of town, she said to Dan Copeland, "I had already decided to leave town. Even though Clark demanded that I call Paul and ask him to see me again, I'd already planned on leaving. I never meant to take his money. I just wanted to hurt him, as he hurt my mother."
Dan turned a corner and said to her, "Mattingly divorced Letitia Devlin when you were small. He left her because she was a frigid, nagging woman who made his life miserable, and she would have kept him as uptight as she was, never allowing him to make the most of his talents." Mary stared out the window, but saw only blurs. "He didn't have to leave us broke."
"He didn't," Dan said. "I saw the money order receipts. They went out regularly for fourteen years. Every month for fourteen years. That's a lot of money."
Closing her eyes, Mary said, "She never told me. She just complained and said what an animal he was. I guess that's where my inheritance came from. It was a lot more than I expected. My mother hung onto the money and made us live like we were on welfare and ashamed of ourselves."
Copeland didn't talk any more, and she was glad to be with her own thoughts, regretful as they were. Poor mother, she could have enjoyed life, instead of fighting it. Frigid, of course. She had to be frigid. All those dark and harrowing tales about the evil of men, the bestiality of sex, and never anything good.
And what a surprise the poor woman must have gotten when she discovered the size of her new husband's penis. Mary thought that her mother must have gone into some kind of shock, a state from which she never thoroughly recovered.
Mary had taken that same penis into her body and loved it. She had also pulled the big, adorable head of the staff into her mouth so she could lave it with her tongue and tease it with the tender grasping of her teeth. Letitia Devlin's daughter had sucked down the spurting semen, so that she could possess him forever as a part of her body. Same man, same penis, but different women. She said, "I'll tell Paul who I am, and about those notes. I swear, I will. I'd just like the news to come from me."
"I'll wait awhile," Copeland said. "Long enough to give you the chance to tell him yourself. Here's the street. Now which is the house?" He found Eileen's street number, a small house that sat back from the sidewalk. There were flowers around, and rose bushes. Mary thought the house looked like its occupant, trim and slight, tidy and golden. It was difficult to be really angry with Eileen. She followed Dan up the walk and stood to one side of the door as he rang the bell.
Eileen was home. She came to the door wearing a white terrycloth shortie robe that barely covered the tops of her suntanned thighs. She looked small and vulnerable and open.
Her voice was low, too. "You're the guy who whapped my fanny at the motel."
"Dan Copeland," he said. "Are you alone?"
"Not any longer." Then she saw Mary and said, "Oh."
Mary pushed in, giving the girl a hip that shoved her roughly aside. The detective followed her in and kicked the door closed. Mary advanced on Eileen. "Okay, where are the pictures Clark gave you to keep for him? My pictures, Eileen. I want them right now."
Tiny and submissive, Eileen said, "Okay. They're pretty good, though. Did you know I was in love with you before I ever saw you in the flesh? Just from the shots of you and him, I mean. You looked so fresh and lovely."
"Well," Copeland said, "who would have thought it?"
Eileen looked innocently at him. "That I love girls and men, too? I do, you know, and I'm glad I do. I'd have missed so much, just being straight. Would you guys like a drink?"
Mary said, "I'd like the pictures, please."
"Oh, sure. But Clark won't be back tonight. He went to talk with Johnny Adams. I'm kind of tired of Clark. He gets too mean, sometimes. I like to be dominated, but not the way he does it."
Mary saw Copeland shaking his head, and the man said, "Damned if I won't take that drink, miss. You're so honest that you're interesting." Eileen moved to a cabinet and poured gin over ice. "Gin is all I have," she said, "and I'm glad you think I'm interesting, Dan Copeland. I thought that of you ever since you slapped my ass, and slapped Clark around, too. I'm sorry I hit you with that coke bottle."
He laughed and sat down to take the glass Eileen brought him. Mary accepted one, too, and drank it quickly, only to choke on the powerful stuff. When her eyes stopped streaming, she saw the small woman standing before her, holding out the sheaf of color photos.
Redding, Mary took them, dropped them intact into her purse. "He doesn't have any copies?"
"Not that I know of. I hope you keep those, Mary. It would be a shame to destroy them." Mary stared. "You are the damnedest girl."
"Yes." Eileen seemed high, excited as she skipped to turn on a stereo, flashing the rounded bottoms of her tail, showing just a tantalizing tuft of bronze pubic hair. Her little breasts bounced unconfined, and the robe fell open to show the cleft between them.
Copeland was watching, entranced by the girl's burnished loveliness, and Mary knew exactly how he felt. Eileen had that effect upon people, being an unabashed sexpot in miniature. Now the man seemed in no hurry, and Mary felt only great relief at getting her hands on the incriminating pictures. She leaned back in an easy chair, trying to digest all she now knew.
Eileen was chattering brightly about something, and Mary closed her out. Imagine all those years when her mother had been getting monthly checks from her ex-husband, and pretending that she was churchmouse poor. The checks must have increased in value as Paul became more successful, and that's why Mary Devlin had inherited almost twenty thousand dollars in cash, plus the small house and the corner lot, all paid up. She had been dense, not to suspect such a windfall.
But all that had been on her mind was vengeance, seeing herself as the tool of retribution for fourteen years of purely imaginary wrongs. Poor mother' she had been thinking, but there was also poor Paul. What torture and shame he must have suffered, when Letitia recoiled from his big, solid shaft, and how frustrated he must have been, not being able to arouse his wife.
"You're big and beautiful," Eileen was saying, and Mary came back to reality to see Eileen sitting on Dan's lap, to see the man's large hands stroking delicately over her slim legs, as if he was afraid he might break something.
Mary got up and went to pour herself more of the awful-tasting gin, looking from the corner of her eyes as Eileen wiggled on Dan's lap, grinding her modeled little ass into him. The girl never missed an opportunity, Mary thought, and wondered if that was so bad. Because Mary had been lied to, she had missed a lot of chances, herself.
Dan saw her watching, and seemed embarrassed, but Mary lifted her glass and said, "I don't blame you. Eileen is hard to resist."
Eileen turned her head and moved her legs. Mary could make out the heavy bulge in Dan's pants. His penis was almost as big as Paul's, she saw; nearly as long and just a bit slimmer than the one she adored. Dan's thing was nothing to be ashamed of. It was much bigger than Clark's, and twice the size of Johnny Adams' skinny thing.
Eileen said, "Look, Mary, your apartment probably isn't safe tonight, at least not until late. Clark and Johnny may be over there checking on the bugs. So why don't you stay here awhile?"
The gin was burning within Mary, drowning her guilt and building a fire against the cold. She said, "Why not? If Dan isn't in a hurry, that is."
"Me?" his sandy eyebrows shot up. "Not me, mam'. I hope I last all night."
"Join us, Mary," Eileen suggested.
"I don't think so," Mary said. "Not now, anyway. I think I'll just get quietly smashed. But you two go ahead to the bedroom. I don't mind being alone."
Eileen said softly, "No bedroom. I'm better with an audience." And she started to unbutton Dan's shirt, running her small, hot hand across n his hairy chest as her tail swung back and forth against his straining shaft.
Mary watched with interest.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was early in the morning, and Mary was suffering her first real hangover as she drove toward the office. The icy shower hadn't helped much, but the two cups of black coffee were trying. She parked the black Ford in the company lot and left the keys in it as Dan Copeland had said. He had loaned her the car, giving her time to see Paul. To confess.
And he was in no hurry to leave Eileen. The little girl had given him quite a time last time, almost grinding him down to a nub. For a while, the action had gotten so hot and heavy that Mary had thought about joining in, especially with the potent gin pushing her.
But she hadn't meshed with them as she had once done with Eileen and Clark, as she had once taken turns with Clark and Johnny. She had wanted to, but something held her back, and then the watching had been almost as much fun, anyway.
Mary had never seen people screw. She had been mixed in with them when they did, but she had never placed herself in the role of spectator only, and it was different. She watched with keen interest as Eileen helped Dan get naked, and as the girl played games with Dan's big, throbbing penis. She saw the small, deft fingers tease into the man's sandy-haired balls, watched Eileen bob down to plant light, butterfly kisses upon the flexing glans.
"You're big and strong," Eileen said then. "Pick me up and stick it in me like that. Fuck me standing up."
Eagerly, Dan Copeland came off the couch, swinging the schoolgirlish body easily, and with the flagpole of his stiff rod standing tall. Eileen wrapped her sleek legs around his hips and balanced with the bronzed, curly hairs of her mound just an inch away from the glistening head of his cock.
Cupping her cheeks with both big hands, Dan eased the richly haired crotch down upon the ant end of his nozzle, and Eileen squirmed to seat herself properly. Mary stared in gin-soaked fascination as the head penetrated, as the fragile ass slid down and down to take in every inch of the vein-coursed and swollen penis.
"There," Eileen breathed, her arms around his neck and her trim ass grinding sensuously upon the stem of his shaft. "There--you're in me all the way, so let's be friends."
Mary shook from her reverie and went into the office building, her purse hanging heavily at her side. All those pictures, she thought, and wondered why she hadn't ripped them into dirty little pieces the moment she had them in her hands. Now she would have to hide them in the office; she didn't dare drop torn bits into a wastebasket. It was enough, what she was going to have to admit to Paul Mattingly. She didn't want him to find these other bad things she had done.
The elevator whirred her to the right floor. She was first in the office, and it looked strangely uncluttered with nobody working. Deserted and somehow lonely, the desks stood waiting as she passed between them. Her key let her into the inner office, and she went to her typing desk to take the photos from her purse. Stuffing them into the bottom drawer beneath a loose ream of paper, she closed the drawer again and looked around.
Coffee came first, and little drums banged in her temples as she filled the pot. Coffee and the mail, then dictation--but not for her. Some other girl would come in to take her place, maybe even that vile Miss Jepson. Another woman would sit in her chair and watch him walk to the window to stand looking down at the city he had practically conquered.
Frowning, Mary turned and hurried from that room, to cross behind the partition and look into Clark Watson's desk. It had been emptied of all personal effects, cleaned out. That was something else he had done the night before, come back here and taken everything that belonged to him. She would bet that his folder had been removed from the files, so Copeland would have a difficult time tracing him.
Had he removed the bugs from Paul's office, too? Had he helped Johnny Adams wipe out all trace of his involvement in a blackmail scheme? That would be like Clark, covering his trail all the way, taking care of himself.
She went back to the inner office, knowing now that it would be her word against his, that only Dan Copeland could connect Clark in any way with an attempted shakedown, and that identification was more than a little loose.
Damn it, she thought. All that stuff didn't really matter. What counted was how Paul would feel, knowing she had betrayed him, that she had been ready to shake him down for money, in the name of her childish revenge. All she could do was to hit him in the face with it, then run like hell somewhere until she might get her head straight. If ever she got it straight.
When she turned from the coffee pot, meaning to look behind the drapes and pictures and under the desk, meaning to search for hidden mikes, she saw him standing just inside the door. He looked pale and a little bit drawn, and she wondered if he had slept the night before.
Paul said, "I felt you'd be here, Mary. I hoped this was where you'd come. Last night, I went by your apartment and you were gone. I didn't know where to look."
She took two long steps and was in his arms, their bodies coming together hard and hungrily. Her breasts went flat against his chest and his shaft began to stir beneath the barrier of his pants. Holding him close, she buried her face into the vee of his neck and shoulder, feeling whole again because he was here.
Then she remembered what she had to tell him, and her body went rigid as Mary lifted her face and backed from the comforting circle of his arms.
First she poured coffee for him, and took none for herself. He watched her quietly, one hip on the corner of his big desk, foot swinging, waiting for her to speak. How well he could sense her moods, she thought. How neatly Paul could reach into her soul and touch her inner emotions.
Clenching her hands together, she braced her feet and said, before she lost her nerve, "My full name is Mary Conroy Devlin. Mother wanted to somehow enshrine her maiden name in me. I lied when I came here, and I lied to you. You are--you were--my stepfather."
His eyes widened. "Mary--of course. Conroy. That's where I heard the name before, but--"
"Don't cut me off, Paul, I may not be able to finish, if you do. I deliberately seduced you. I felt your passion for me, and I tempted you into making a pass, then I was really easy to get. Right here in your office. Oh, wow. No--don't say anything now. Save it until later, please."
Blood making her face red, making her eyes water, Mary stood erectly and told him the rest of it, how she had been pushed into an attempted blackmail plot by Clark Watson, how she had agreed to milk Paul Mattingly of all the money they could squeeze from him.
"At first, I came to make you pay in pain," she said, trying not to look directly at him, fixing her gaze instead on one of the silver wings in his hair, but that was almost as painful. "Then, when Clark did it to me and talked to me, I just went along with his ideas. I didn't have to. It seemed a good way to hurt you."
He said softly, "Mary, dear--"
Quickly, she continued, "Last night I discovered that you'd been sending us money all those years, mother and me. She lied about that, and about other things, but I'm not blaming her, either. It's my own fault, Paul, and now I'll pack up."
He stood up. "The hell you will. You beautiful, mixed-up kid. The very kid who used to kiss me goodnight before she toddled off to bed. Damn it, Mary."
They were back in each other's arms, straining body to body, and he kissed her avidly. Mary's tongue met his, and she sank to the couch with him, to that black leather couch that was an extension of his virile personality. Head whirling, she ripped at her clothing so she could be closer to his flesh.
"Mount me!" she said. "Climb on top of me and in between my legs and stuff that big, gorgeous penis into me. Shove it right on into my pussy. Daddy--oh, daddy--fuck your daughter!" Paul Mattingly made some kind of choked sound, and as her hips swung back and forth in beckoning arcs, threw off his own clothes. That huge cock leaped out at her, the purpled knob--massive and gleaming.
"Little girl," he murmured, "you fantastic, lovely girl."
Then she had his cock in her hands and was fondling the shaft, urging the monster to enter the bushy cleft that was twitching so hotly, so longingly for the feel of its erection. He cupped her tits and rolled their nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, making bright flames swell through the white mounds.
He was poised above her, and she steered the flanged head of his shaft where it belonged, guided the hardened pole into the steamy moss of her pubic hair to find the slippery labia. So hard, so good. So long and heavy--his penis thrust down and she hiked her crotch to meet the pulsating rod. The bulb worked into the slit of her vulva, and when the cuntal lips widened for the wondrous meat, Paul's rod passed right on into the rapturous clenching of her vaginal tissues.
His cock was home. Her daddy's enchanted cock was pushed to the very root in her wanton body. It belonged there. His hard meat forever belonged inside her pussy where it could be loved and cuddled and milked gently down for the marvelous fluid that it contained. That was hers, too. The sweet ejaculation that would leap from his balls to flood her vagina, to be absorbed by all her inner pores.
"DADDY," she purred, "OH, MY DADDY, FUCK ME AND SCREW ME AND DO IT TO ME. I CAN FUCK YOU BETTER THAN SHE EVER DID. OH, HOW I LOVE YOU!"
"AND I LOVE YOU," he panted. "SO HOT AND SO JUICY--GRINDING ON MY COCK- EATING MY COCK--PULLING ON IT--AHH, MY DARLING, MY SWEET LITTLE GIRL. UH--UH--UHH!"
She felt it cumming, even though it was quick and spasming, she knew it was a need being fulfilled, a pounding, demanding urgency that they both had to release, or die from holding it in. Different this time, so very different. Smashing out from some hidden recess like a bursting forth of searing lava.
New, because they were honest with each other now. Strange, because it was as if they had never screwed before. Mary hiked her pelvis and gyrated her ass, drawing his essences from him and anticipating the blast of his ejaculation.
"Cumming, cumming," Paul whispered hotly. "Oh, darling, I'm cumming into you!"
Quivering, convulsing deeply within her vagina, she accepted the hosing of his semen, reveled in the gush and boiling of his hot cum. Heavy and creamed, it soaked her womb and drenched her vaginal walls, and she clamped down upon the head of his beloved shaft to force more of the precious milk from the burning erection.
Wrapping her long, strong legs around the small of his back, Mary hugged him with her thighs, drew up her knees and rubbed her heels into the cleft of his buttocks. Reaching down and around one thigh, she groped for and found the hairy, wrinkled sack that held his now-drained balls, and fondled them with her fingers.
He said into the softly throbbing column of her throat, "My darling, each time it's more beautiful."
"I know," she murmured. "Oh, I know, my love."
She held him, rocked him in the cradle of her body, wanting never to let him go, to hold his manhood always in the grip of her vagina. For he was truly hers now. He knew who she was and what she had meant to do to him, and he loved her, anyhow. He said he loved her.
Mary's head rolled to one side, and she breathed in the pungency of his shaving lotion. So many things she had to learn about this man. So many little details that she wanted to know, as she knew the penetration of his heavy penis.
The light was flashing on his telephone. The bell had been shut down, and only the light was flashing. Bewildered, she glanced over at the desk clock and saw it was too early for business calls, too early yet for anyone to be in the outer office.
Regretfully, she drew back her pelvis and let his thing slide out. "Have to do something," she said, and he lifted so she could roll from under his body.
She didn't even get to say hello, after she picked up the phone and punched the proper line button. The man said, "Thanks, baby. Johnny got some great footage from the fire escape. I'll let your daddy know how much and where to bring it. Bye for now, little daughter."
Wordlessly, she stared at the phone long after the line had clicked dead. Clark Watson seemingly had won, after all.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
He was sitting nude on the couch when she told him, and Paul took it well. She didn't see even the slightest flicker of suspicion cross his face, but Mary thought it had to be inside him. After all, she had let him go ahead and make love to her, without notifying him of the bugs and cameras still in place around his office.
"I--I didn't expect them to be here so early," she said, "or I'd have told you. I kind of forgot, too, when I held you. You drive everything else out of my mind, Paul."
He found his shorts and climbed into them. Mary felt more exposed, more naked than she had ever been, so she looked for her own pantsuit. Paul said, "Did he mention money?"
Facing down, she answered, "Just that he'd tell you how much and where to bring it. Oh, Paul, I didn't mean for this. I'm so sorry."
"I'll get Copeland," he said. "If he can't stop Watson somehow, then I'll have to buy back the films."
"And some tapes, probably," Mary said. "They ran wires out of here to some other room. Clark has a tape, I'd guess, of everything you and I said to each other while we were on the couch."
He tucked his shirt into his pants. "I can be hurt with that stuff. My wife would destroy me." Mary said again, "I'm sorry."
"I haven't had much luck with marriage," Paul said, going to the phone. "I've been happier with you, just the few times we've been together, than with both my wives."
"And I screwed you up," Mary said miserably. Paul lowered the receiver. "Copeland isn't in his office, and he doesn't answer his home phone, either."
Mary reddened, but picked up her purse and dug through its contents to find the scribbled address and number. "Let me try to reach him, Paul. And please don't think I'm working against you. Dan Copeland caught me searching Clark's place last night, and told me that he knew all about me already, that he'd run a check on me. He--well, he said he'd give me enough time to tell you myself, and I think I know where he is." She dialed the number and let the phone ring awhile. Sleepily, Eileen said at last, "Morning."
"This is Mary. Get Dan, quick!" Waiting until the man answered, Mary gave him her report, all the available details, and said. "Yes, I'll tell him."
To Paul then, she said, "He'll get right on it. He doesn't know if he can find them right away, but he'll go to Clark's place and find where Johnny Adams lives, then he'll call in."
He was pouring coffee, and she wondered how he could be so calm--or was it cold? She couldn't blame him for putting her down, now and forever.
But to help clear things up, she told him about the night before, about Eileen and Dan and how she had met the golden girl in the first place. It wasn't easy, and she found herself blushing behind a lifted coffee cup, but Mary forced out the story, from the first rape to the more-or-less willing scenes with Eileen and Clark. She didn't leave out the events on the beach, either. It wouldn't do her any good now, she knew. Things had gotten too messed up, too complicated for any kind of understanding with Paul Mattingly.
Still, she wanted to be completely open and honest with this man. If she did that now, where it counted most, then maybe she would be able to pick up the pieces of her life later.
"That's all," she said, "every detail of the mess I've made. It isn't pretty and I feel stupid. But I had to tell you."
He put down his coffee cup and looked at her across the wide, polished expanse of his desk.
She saw light glint softly from the silver wings in his jet hair, and knew a pang when she realized that she would never run her fingers through them again. Being so damned dumb, letting herself be debauched, had cut her off from this man forever.
Paul said thoughtfully, "I think I've had fantasies all my life, sexual fantasies that cast me as the central character in a passion play where I loved, and was loved by, two women who also loved each other. Of course, I always shoved back those dreams, buried them where I hid the embarrassment about the size of my cock. Now I'm beginning to think that it's possible to bring out those dreams and help them turn into reality." She stared at him. "Paul--do you mean--can you forgive me and--"
The phone rang. He picked it up, his dark eyes holding hers. "Yes? Wait a minute. I can't be expected to get that kind of money together at this time of day. What? Yes, I suppose you'd know about the amount in the company safe. I think it's about six thousand dollars in cash. Yes.
I can do that, too. But where do I bring it?"
Paul hung up and nodded to her. "That was Watson. He wants the office cash and a certified check made out in his name for twenty-five thousand dollars more, plainly marked as severance pay. That way, if I stop payment, he can fight me in court. Very shrewd, really. Will you make out the check for my signature, Mary?"
"Shouldn't we wait until we hear from Dan Copeland? I mean, there's no guarantee you'll get the films and tapes."
His smile was rueful. "I know, but there's nothing else to do, just now. He'll call back soon, with other instructions on delivery."
"It's like a TV script," Mary said, "except I don't ache, watching TV. Paul, when you talked about your fantasies, did you mean--"
The phone cut her off again, and she damned it in her mind. Mary looked up at the change in his voice, and for the first time, she heard Paul Mattingly talking with his wife. He was quiet and proper and reserved, but she failed to detect an iota of warmth in his voice.
"The outer office people are coming in now," he said when he replaced the receiver. "Perhaps you should put in an appearance and let them know we were at work early. Oh, and move Miss Jepson up to take Watson's place as personnel chief. There's no need to tell her why he left so abruptly."
The coolness was for her now, and she tidied herself before going out to do as he ordered. Miss Jepson was pleasantly shocked, and a buzz of conversation followed Mary across the office again.
"Wait a minute," he said behind her, and when she turned quickly, she was glad to see Dan Copeland's big, burly form.
For effect, she said, "Oh, yes, come in. Mr. Mattingly is expecting you."
Inside, Dan went to the desk and shook his head at the offer of coffee. "No, thanks. I grabbed a cup earlier. Mr. Mattingly, I can't find either of them. I had a buddy in the Redding police give me a hand, and hired two other part-time operatives, but there's no sign of the guys. I have a certain house staked out, and if they go back there, I'll know right away."
The phone again, and the conversation was short. Paul said to them, "He wants me to put the money and check in my briefcase, then bring it downstairs to the street."
Dan frowned. "That's it, just to the street?"
"Watson said he'll have someone there to tell me where to go next. He said there'd be no more demands. That I can have the pictures and tapes." What good was that kind of promise, Mary wondered. And answered herself; not very. She walked nervously across the office, glanced down at the bar and knew that she shouldn't, that she would need a clear head to give her best for Paul. There was the window where Paul often stood to look down and think.
She stood there now, gazing across the city, thinking how his vindictive wife could take most of this away from him, how Paul's work could be ruined, and she would be the cause of it all. Far below was the parking lot, and the black Ford she had parked there, the car belonging to Dan Copeland. Idly, she wondered if he had caught a cab from Eileen's house. She saw the other cars, row upon row, and the twin delivery vans, and the camper on the Pickup truck parked next to the building.
The camper, on a red-and-white truck, made familiar by the ocean and sand, by the indelible memories of two men's bodies as they exchanged places between a frightened girl's legs.
Whirling, she said sharply, "I know where they are. Paul, they're hiding out in Johnny Adams' camper, parked down in the lot. I didn't notice it when I drove up, but it's here now!"
Dan. bounced across the room and stared down as she pointed. "Baby," he said, kissing her on the cheek, "I love you. Mr. Mattingly, take an empty briefcase and use the elevator, but give me a few minutes to get down the fire escape." Mary said, "Paul, I'm going with you. He might try to hurt you, and I want to be at your side." Paul looked at her and said, "No, Mary." They were gone then. Dan out the window and Paul carrying his briefcase. That was it, she thought. No, Mary. The putdown coming to her, the kiss of death, although for a second or two she had thought that he might relent, but the fantasies were going to remain in his dream world. She didn't fit in either of his worlds, so after a while she got her purse and went through the outer office and got into the elevator.
Something must have slowed things up, for when she reached the street and passed across the foyer, she was in time to watch Clark Watson approach Paul on the sidewalk. Just as she started forward, Paul swung the briefcase and caught Clark along the head, staggering him back against the building.
Mary caught her breath as she watched Paul pile into Clark, with both fists swinging. Clark's head snapped down as Paul banged him in the belly, and jerked upright again when Paul hammered him in the face. It was over in a flurry, and Clark was sitting with his back against the wall, holding his head in both hands.
Dan Copeland came around the corner from the parking lot. He was dragging Johnny Adams, and in his other big hand was a can of movie film, a roll of sound tape. It was all wrapped up, she thought, and turned to leave by the side entrance. Paul was safe again, once more secure in his marriage and his business, so it had worked out for the best, for just about everybody.
She caught a cab and went home. Her next home would be somewhere else. She had always wanted to see New Orleans. Maybe she would go there. Almost twenty thousand dollars would take her a long way, but it wouldn't fill the great empty place in her body.
There on the bed, her suitcase waited, still only half packed. Mary took things from the closet and crammed them into the bag, then cleaned out the bathroom. She had two full bags and a little one she would take on the plane. There. She was all packed, with nowhere to go.
The tears came unexpectedly, and she just let them flow. Mary Conroy Devlin didn't give a damn what she looked like today. There was nobody to be attractive for.
Mother, she cried silently. Oh, mother, you shouldn't have done this to me, to us. So many lies that rubbed off on me, so much trouble that could have been avoided. I'm- not afraid of you anymore, mother. I know that you should only be pitied, not feared and hated. I'm sorry for all you missed, mother. And for all I'll miss, too.
Mary went to the bathroom and cleaned her face, but her eyes were all puffy. Was it just two weeks since she had come to town, full of righteous fury? Since then, she had lost her virginity to one man, had been screwed by two other men, and had shared herself with a woman. Since then, she had fallen in love, and that hurt more than the breaking of her hymen.
Hell, she thought. She didn't even have a phone yet. But she could catch a cab downstairs, so she looked around to see if she had forgotten anything. Not here, but at the office. Those damned pictures! She had left them in the bottom drawer of her desk. Well, if Paul discovered them, he could have a good laugh. She brought her bags to the door and set them down. Then she opened the door.
Paul Mattingly wasn't laughing as he stood in her doorway. He was flushed and panting as if he had been running like hell, but he wasn't laughing. He said, "Someday I'll learn to explain the things I do, to someone I care for. I didn't want you with me when I went to meet Watson because I knew I was going to beat the hell out of him, whether Copeland found the film or not. That's why I said no to you, Mary. No other reason."
She said, "But after I caused all this--"
He came in and closed the door. "I wonder if your apartment is still bugged? No matter now. If it is, it might be fun playing back the tapes and seeing how the pictures came out. Oh, that reminds me. Here are your own pictures. Copeland mentioned them, and we searched them out. Here, they're yours to do with as you please." She stared at him, not believing. "You saw them--and you're here? I mean, Paul--why--what--"
"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," he said. "I've been an idiot many times, but not now. I don't want to lose you, Mary Conroy --Mary Conroy Devlin."
She threw the photos across the room, and her hands went to the zipper of her slacks. A rolling wiggle, and she stepped out of them, peeling down her panties with one quick motion. Her suit top and blouse and bra flew to join the photos on the rug, and she stood proudly tremblingly naked before him.
The nipples lifted on her breasts, and she cupped the mounds to offer them to him. Paul Mattingly shucked his own clothing swiftly, and that immense cock rose to stand powerfully out from his hairy belly.
Mary said, "That's the most beautiful thing I ever saw. I love you, Paul. I don't care about your wife or your ex-wife. I want you and love you now. It may not last forever, but it's now and it's wonderful."
He moved toward her with his swollen shaft in one hand, and she backed toward the bed. "About your fantasies--we can do something about them, too. I'll get in touch with Eileen later, for I don't mind sharing you--so long as that makes you happy. We'll both love you, and each other."
"Marvelous," he breathed, and when she lowered herself to the bed, he was with her, his hands on the resilient mounds of her breasts, his huge sex organ pressing against the silken planes of her tummy.
She took it in her hands and set the knob into the already-humid red hair of her crotch, feeling its mighty throb of strength. "I only have one more thing to say, Paul."
He hesitated before shoving it home. "What's that?"