Francine DeRoan thumbed through the thick pale-green ledger sheets one last time, as if hoping some heretofore unnoticed figures might somehow appear in the accounts receivable columns, or perhaps some long-unpaid bill might have vanished from the books. Francine was worried, and justifiably so, and her brow was furrowed with unaccustomed ridges of anguished concern. This wasn't something she'd bargained for; since Marty's death everything had been smooth and simple. But now - now was a different story. The bills were coming in daily, and in ever-increasing amounts, some with unmistakable threats typed across the bottom, but the sales were steadily going downhill.
Her little boutique, most of what she had to show for eleven years of marriage to Marty DeRoan, just couldn't pull the customers like it once did. Maybe it was only a sign of the times - inflation, perhaps - but whatever it was, Francine knew she was in trouble unless she moved fast and correctly.
Harry Bresler sat comfortably in the brown leather chair opposite Francine's desk, his shiny-black Italian pumps propped leisurely on the magazine-littered coffee table. He knew she was thinking his proposition over; he knew also that a vicious argument was taking place at this very moment in Francine's brain, that his offer probably made her sick to her stomach. But Harry didn't mind; in his line of work one grows used to looks of disgust and ruffled morals. He'd been in the flesh trade too long to think about things like that any longer; those worries were for the squeamish, and this was one operation that wasn't for the weak-hearted.
The wrinkles in Francine's forehead rose up and down like puckered ridges in a carpet as she nervously fingered the ragged edges of the accounting sheets held in her hands. She looked older with the wrinkles, but still not nearly the forty-three she actually was. Francine was incredibly well-maintained for a woman over the hump of forty; she could have passed for an easy thirty in any beauty salon in Washington, and she'd tried them all at one time or another until she found her miracle-worker, Kenneth Lamont of Mister Kenneth fame, and now she was confident of her constantly renewed youthfulness. But in Francine's case, there was more than just skill involved - Francine was blessed with the taut, springy skin of a nineteen-year-old, and her body was one many a girl in her twenties would have envied. "I just don't know, Harry," she spoke after a while, "It just sounds all too easy to me... and it would be awful if we were caught. Just imagine what the papers would say - 'Suburban Prostitution Ring Broken in Nation's Capital!' Why, every wire service in the country would pick it up. We'd probably get thirty years when the press finished with us!"
Harry had opened his fingernail clip and pulled out the tiny file and was using it on his left hand, rhythmically sliding it back and forth across his neatly-manicured nails. "You're a worrier, Francine, you know that? A Goddamn worrier... And it's only been in the last few months that you've gotten this way.
What happened to the old carefree, free-swinging Fran I used to know? It can't be your old man's death any more, that was over a year ago."
"I know, Harry... it's just the lousy business that's doing it to me. One good month, just one good month, and I'd be good as new again," she said, slipping the tattered ledger sheets back into her top drawer. She was silent for a long while, then she brushed the bottle-blonde hair from her eyes and sat down at her desk, painfully aware that Harry was waiting for an answer.
His proposal had caught her totally by surprise, and only now was the whole incredible scheme beginning to fit into place. It wasn't what he had proposed that had shocked her; she'd known Harry for several years, they'd been cautiously intimate even before Marty's death, and his profession was no secret to her. She knew his big bankrolls came from fast-money dealings in the prostitution racket - just how and where and when he'd never chosen to divulge. But she knew all she needed to know. The shocking part had been his plan to include her in on the take, to glean his stable of new girls from Francine's assorted young female customers. And even there he'd been deliberately evasive, insisting that everything would be simple and safe if she left all the details to him.
"Well, what'ya say, Fran?" Harry asked impatiently, dropping his nail-clip back in the left pocket of his custom-tailored suit of English wool, "Are you in or out? I can't wait around for an answer. You know I've got to move fast. I've got too many clients and not enough girls. I need some fresh meat on the table, and I need it right away. The money's there, and all you've gotta' do is give the nod... " Francine avoided looking him in the eye; sometimes he could twist her around his finger like a piece of twine with those bottomless coal-black pools he had for eyes. Finally, she looked up, "All right, you win... But I've got to hear more about this before you start. I want to know everything, Harry. If I've got to go this far, I want to know what's happening at all times, you understand?"
A slow, mocking grin eased across Harry's face. "Okay, baby, whatever you say." He jumped up from the chair as if someone had hit him with a hot wire, "I'll see you tonight... We can go over the details then." He didn't look back as he closed the door to the office behind him. Francine heard the store chime sound as he passed through the glass doors and into the sparse assortment of shoppers along the covered walkways of the Foxcroft Shopping Center.
Her chest sank as her lungs quickly emptied; without meaning to, she'd been holding her breath since she had given Harry the go-ahead. And now, with Harry hardly out of shouting range, she was beginning to have doubts and fears already. It was all so frightening, so dangerous, yet it seemed the only way out. If she closed the shop, she had nothing left. Marty's insurance money had all dwindled away in new inventory for the spring season, and there was simply nothing left.
She heard the door chime signal a prospective customer, and Francine unhesitatingly leaped from her swivel chair to meet her. She hoped the afternoon would be busy; at least enough people around to keep her mind off all this. She only had to make it 'til tonight; Harry would ease her anxieties in the best way possible when he dropped by - that much she was sure of.
CHAPTER TWO
It was nearly ten when Harry finally arrived; late as usual. Fran had kept everything in the oven; she was used to this by now. She unlatched the door when she heard his car turn into the driveway and returned to the kitchen to pull the dinner back into shape.
"Fran, baby, it's me!" came the expected shout from the entrance hallway, "Where are you?"
"In the kitchen!" She heard the door close and Harry's heavy tread on the long hallway floor.
"Sorry I'm so late, honey," he began unconvincingly, "But I got tied up with a client. You know how those things are." As he spoke, he lifted the lids of every pot and serving dish Fran had clustered around the work counter, obviously searching for something. "Oh, there it is... " He spotted a ceramic serving bowl on the back of the gas range, "I thought you'd forgotten it."
Fran brushed him aside to get into the oven, "Get the hell out of here, Harry. I'll bring everything to you in the dining room... including your boiled beef and horseradish." She pulled a steaming casserole from the oven and let the door slam closed, "Now just get out of my way!"
Harry obediently shrugged and left the kitchen and flopped wearily on the sofa opposite the entrance to the dining room, where he could keep an eye on Francine through the kitchen doorway. He kicked off his shoes and pulled the ottoman in his direction with a kick of his left foot, sorted the afternoon paper from the magazine rack beside the sofa and turned to the sports results.
"That's not the dining room, Harry Bresler!" barked Fran as she stood in the kitchen doorway holding a steaming serving tray loaded with hot food, "And put your shoes back on. For once, you're going to act like a gentleman."
Harry made a face and waved a limp hand in her direction, "Who're you expecting... maybe the Queen of England or somebody? Why the hell can't you let a man relax while he eats? These shoes are killing me!" His face suddenly wrinkled with the strain of day-long anguish.
"Oh, all right," muttered Fran, "You'll never let me hear the end of it if I say no... come on to the table. And don't start eating until I get everything served."
He dragged his chair to the table and sat patiently, with only a quick taste of the asparagus to quench his appetite, while Fran toted in the last of the dinner.
"Hand me your cup and saucer and I'll get you some coffee," offered Fran before she sat down.
She quickly returned from the kitchen with his double cup filled with night-black coffee and placed it at his right elbow, then stepped back as if to admire her handiwork. Everything seemed in order, so she seated herself finally across the table from Harry, who was already filling his plate with boiled beef and a triple helping of horseradish.
"Don't be in such a hurry, for Christ's sake, Harry," chided Fran, "Nobody's gonna' take it away from you."
Harry didn't bother a reply, but instead, scooped another spoonful of Fran's special horseradish sauce onto his pile of simmering beef.
"If I can interrupt your work a second, Harry," continued Fran, "I'd like to hear more about this little business deal you've talked me into. You've got a lot of explaining yet to do before I'll be able to sleep tonight."
He paused in mid stride, his fork poised halfway between the dish of asparagus and his plate, and looked up at her intently. "I told you today, sweetheart, that the details were best left to me. I'm the one who knows this game, and I'm the one who'll be calling all the shots, okay?"
Fran was caught by surprise; she hadn't expected such harshness from Harry, it wasn't like him to talk to her this way. "All right, Harry, but I still think I'm entitled to know at least something about how this plan of yours will operate. I mean... well, surely I can be more help if I know what's going on."
Harry emptied his forkful of vegetables on his plate, scraping aside the mound of beef and horseradish to make room, then turned back to Fran. "That's where you've gone wrong already. Your whole part in this operation is to stay clean and to keep out of the picture unless I need you, understand?" He waited there for Fran to nod affirmatively. "I'll do all the dirty work... all of it. All I want from you is a good cover and the names of girls who're behind in their payments. And that's all you have to do... nothing else. You just do that much for me. baby, and we'll be rolling in the money before you know it."
Fran lowered her eyes from his; she felt a little foolish for even bringing the issue up again after what he'd said in the shop this afternoon. She could see that this wasn't the time to press him for more information; there'd be plenty of time for that later.
* * *
Harry's coat, tie and gray-and-white-striped shirt were draped neatly over the back of the leather recliner chair that sat in the corner of the den. It had once been Marty DeRoan's favorite after-dinner resting place; but that was all in the past now. Francine was nestled against Harry's strong shoulder, basking in the cozy warmth of an unnecessary fire, contentedly dozing off, then catching herself as her head sank with a jerk each time she fell asleep. She wasn't sure how long they'd been sitting quietly like this; she never considered the time when she found herself with unaccustomed moments alone in the company of a man. Since Marty's death those brief instances were few and agonizingly far apart, and she looked forward to Harry's infrequent visits with increasing anticipation each time they planned these meetings.
"You asleep?" whispered Harry, giving the bulging curve of her breast a gentle squeeze through the thin fabric of her dress.
"Uh-uh," answered Fran, squirming even closer against his side as she replied, "Just nodding a little."
Without a word, Harry allowed his fingers to drift along the swell of her breast until his opened palm cupped the full surging mound delicately. He could feel her body stiffen, her breath suddenly coming faster. With one finger his middle one, he caressed the inviting softness of her breast, rubbing the swollen tiny peak of her nipple through her dress and the thin sheerness of her bra. At his touch, it seemed to double in size and harden in a series of quick, throbbing swells.
"Ummmmm, Harry, that feels good... so good," she purred, still nestled under his arm like a youngster.
He tweaked the sensitive nipple with his thumb and index finger, and she shivered involuntarily from the tip of her toes along her spine to her shoulders. Pausing for a moment, he moved his exploring hand around the curve of her breast, across the smoothness of her back, until his fingers found what he was searching for: with practiced deftness he eased the zipper down along the bare satiny plane of her back until he reached the taut elastic band of her panties. He stopped there an instant, slipping his fingers between her flesh and the tight band, far enough down the hollow of her naked back to reach the first few inches of her fleshy buttock crevice. Teasingly, he flicked a finger against the tightly puckered ring of her anus, and felt her quickly shrink away, another helpless shiver racing along her spine as she responded to her vulnerability. He chuckled to himself, and massaged her bare flesh in slow, concentric circles as his hand eased back along her back until he reached the stretched fabric of her dress, pulled taut across her shoulders. Pausing first to unsnap the tiny metal hooks on her bra, he then eased the shoulders of her dress down along her arms until the dress hung limply over her firm, ample breasts.
He stopped his smooth, seductive motions and looked her over thoroughly, amazed as always at the incredible body she still possessed. She was amazingly blessed with the best of two worlds, the ripened perfection of a mature woman, and the succulent voluptuousness of a girl in her twenties. Yes sir, thought Harry Bresler, you're a lucky bastard to have a woman like Fran, yes you are.
Again with his right hand, Harry tumbled the fabric of Fran's dress and the sheer tissue of her bra over the bulging mounds of her breasts, exposing the twin half-dollars of her dark nipples and the throbbing, hardened peaks that capped each. They swelled even more rigid as they felt the coolness of the open air, sending a burst of rippling electricity through her breasts and into her belly. His outstretched fingertip brushed lightly over the soft, warmly beckoning bulge of her tits, first one, then the other; then, finally, clamped tightly over the ripe fleshy mound, squeezing the delicate ivory-white flesh between his clenched fingers.
"Oooooh, God, Harry... don't stop, Harry, don't stop!" Her knees were opening and closing like scissors, and her buttocks were ground tightly against the sofa. Fran could feel the warm, sticky dampness spreading between her thighs as the cheeks of her buttocks clenched like starving lips the fabric beneath her. Even his touch was driving her up the wall, she didn't know how much more she could stand... the tension was welling up inside her like air in a balloon... she felt as if she would scream from the agonizing deliciousness his fingers were bringing her.
She offered no resistance as he shoved her down onto the cushions of the long sofa, stretching himself beside her as he continued to relentlessly caress the soft, white mounds of her full, fleshy breasts; a low, moaning cry escaped from her half-parted lips as he roughly squeezed her tender, pulsing nipples between his fingers.
His hands left the jutting tips and slowly eased along the flat plane of her belly. Her body arched off the sofa as his fingers slipped under the waistband of her panties, brushing over the sparse, fluffy mound of her pubic hair until his hand made a maddening, electric contact with the warm, pink lips of her vagina.
"Oooooooo... that's nice, Harry, sooooooo nice... " Even in the dim light, he could see her flesh was covered with a million tiny goose-bumps as she shivered convulsively at his touch. Clutching the moist flanges of her pussy with his palm, Harry ventured a finger between the soft damp ridges. Fran managed a gasping moan as her crotch suddenly ground tightly against his hand. His middle finger explored the narrow, wet slit slowly, starting with the taut, muscular ring of her forbidden anus, easing over the hard membrane of flesh that separated her two enticing channels, then probed the hot, wet sheath of her hungry pussy. The soft pink walls parted unhesitatingly as his rigid finger slipped into the clasping tunnel, and he could feel the fleshy passage open hungrily as he probed it deeply with his forefinger.
"Feels nice, huh baby?" he taunted, "I'll bet you'd like a little more, right?"
Fran opened her lips as if to reply, but as she did, Harry squirmed a second stiffened finger into her constrictive passage, buried up to the third joint in the warm, juicy depths of her cunt. Only a muffled cry of pain and excitement came from her throat.
"Well, how about it, sweetie?" he repeated.
Fran managed a weak, gasping reply, "Oh, yes... yes!"
Harry's plundering finger slipped from her wet, clutching grip, and he dragged his fingertip along her warm, quivering slit until he found the throbbing bulb of her clitoris. With his thumb and forefinger, Harry squeezed the incredibly sensitive flesh as she squirmed and writhed beside him on the sofa. Back and forth like a pearly marble he rolled the pulsing pleasure-bulb, and Fran gasped and choked for air as rippling waves of undiluted animal passion swept over her shivering body.
As her naked pelvis ground upward tightly against his hand, Harry continued his maddening assault on her loins, twisting and pulling on her hardened clit until she moaned and cried from the agonizing delights of his skillful touch.
"Oh, God yes... yes! Don't stop, Harry! Don't stop!" she screamed.
Sensing she was nearing her orgasm, Harry began to roughly rub her moist vaginal crevice with the tips of his fingers, stroking over the quivering peak of her clitoris and along the wet furrow between the hungrily pursed lips of her vagina.
Suddenly Fran's entire body arched high off the sofa and began to gyrate wildly against his opened palm, her warm moist crotch grinding against his hand as a long pitiful moan slipped from Fran's parched, half-opened lips... and then it was over.
"Oooooohhhhh!... aaaaahhhhh... " Fran quivered from head to foot and jerked convulsively as the shuddering currents of her orgasm raced from her tightened loins; then she collapsed with a thud on the sofa at Harry's side.
"Oh, Harry... that was incredible, just incredible," she gasped hoarsely, still struggling to catch her breath, "You sure know all my secret spots, baby."
Harry laughed, pulling his hand from between her sweat-soaked thighs at last, "That spot was no secret, honey... no secret at all."
Fran finished stripping her dress and panties from her legs and then unfastened her garter belt, still hooked tightly around her hips. In another few seconds, she was completely naked, glistening with tiny beads of perspiration from the excitement. "Fuck me, Harry... fuck me now, please!" she groaned out at him, her hunger blatantly apparent.
But that concealing smirk was still stretched across Harry's face, for this time he had something special in mind... something he'd wanted from Fran for a long time... something she was going to give him tonight, one way or another.
"Not quite yet, baby," he grinned, "I've got a few needs of my own I'd like answered."
At first Fran was confused, unaware of what Harry had in store for her. But as he swung his legs off the side of the sofa and dropped his trousers and undershorts in a pile at his feet, she began to realize unmistakably what he meant.
"Get down here on the carpet," he ordered. "I want you to suck it for me."
Fran wracked her mind for a way out, an excuse that would free her of this awful, despicable act he was about to demand of her. "No, Harry, please no... you know I can't do that!" Her eyes begged with him, pleaded for him to change his mind, "I've tried before, Harry, you know I have... I'd do anything for you, Harry, but I just can't do that... I just can't!"
"Down on your knees, Fran... right now!"
Brushing the near-white blonde hair from her eyes, Fran obediently crawled from the sofa and settled at Harry's feet, kneeling between his wide-spread thighs. She knew he meant business; that this time there would be no excuses. His dangling organ hung on a level with her mouth not more than a foot away. Struggling to hold back the hot lump in her throat, she tried desperately to convince herself she could do it... she had to... there was no other way out!
Harry slid forward on the sofa, gauging carefully the distance from his limply hanging cock and her trembling lips. He adjusted his elevation just slightly, so that the purplish head brushed her lips ever so little.
"Okay, sweetie baby, it's all yours. Let's see you do a real good job for Harry, all right?"
Fran turned her face away from the smooth fleshy head and closed her eyes.
Harry spun her head back so that she was less than an inch from his dangling prick.
"You wanna' play games with me tonight, huh? I know just what you need, baby, to get you going... You wouldn't want ole' Harry to have to get rough, would you?" A broad, leering grin spread slowly across his face. He knew Fran was a broad who appreciated a little knocking around once in a while. He'd had to rough her up once before, back when they'd first started running around together, when she was starting to have guilt pangs from stepping out on her old man.
He grabbed her ears in each stubby hand and twisted upward. The pain was excruciating, Harry knew only too well, he'd had the same hold pulled on him in fights. He turned her face up to his loins easily, then shoved his hips forward, pressing the flaccid organ against her closed lips. And still, Fran couldn't bring herself to open her mouth. Once more the strong hands twisted at her tiny ears and she screamed with pain.
"Open up, baby, before I yank your ears off!"
Her lips parted slightly. One more twist and her agonized lips slowly opened. He gazed at the open mouth in front of him, then very carefully forced the still soft, rubbery head into the warm moist cavern and let it lay there twitching slightly as it began to harden just a little. She didn't move at all, careful not to brush the swelling organ with her tongue.
"Now, sweetie baby, you can go about this thing one of two ways... you can suck me off nice like and then we'll get on to the rest of it, or... " His tone was suddenly convincingly cruel, "I can get as mean and nasty as I have to... but either way, you'll still wind up sucking my dick, understand?"
Fran knew it was hopeless to resist. This was something she had to do, no matter how disgusting it seemed... no matter how much she fought back the churning ball of nausea welling in her tightened belly. She closed her lips over the still-soft organ and teased it reluctantly with her tongue. She felt his hands loosen their painful grip on her ears and for that much, at least, she was grateful. His powerful hands held her firmly, but not painfully.
She knew Harry wouldn't deliberately hurt her badly, unless he didn't get his way.
Sometimes he could be frighteningly brutal when things weren't going the way he wanted.
Fran closed her eyes and tried to keep her mind on this task he had chosen for her.
Harry looked down at the loosely dangling shaft of flesh protruding from his hairy pelvis and resting ever so gently in the woman's half-opened mouth. He was kind of disappointed; he'd rather have had a little more argument. Somehow it was always better when they put up a fight. But he wasn't too concerned about that now; he wanted to concentrate on what was at hand. This was something he always enjoyed; and this time would be even more enjoyable, since Fran had been putting this off as long as he'd known her.
Harry watched her blonde head begin to reluctantly slide back and forth on the saliva-moistened length of his hardening cock.
He allowed his hands to slip from her head and slide down over the smooth velvety skin of her bare shoulders. Fran's flesh was near-perfect, silky and unblemished, and it felt deliciously warm to his caressing touch. She wasn't working terribly hard, he thought regretfully, and brought his hands back up to the sides of her head. With his open palms firmly placed on either side of her bobbing head, he tightened his grip and held her still, beginning a rhythmic pumping motion with his lower body. The half limp penis jutting from his loins rubbed over her lips. He could feel her small white teeth grating against the bottom side of his prick and the rough, sandpapery surface of her tongue as it brushed along his cock. His anticipation of this moment had been so great that his penis had grown incredibly sensitive, finely attuned to the tiniest subtle movement of her tongue and lips, and the very touch of her moist warm tongue sent shivers of savage desire deep into his belly.
"Mmmmmm... that's real good, baby. Just lick it nice like that."
He pumped his loins faster, pressing hard against her soft lips each time, ramming his stubby prick all the way to the coarse thick hair of his pelvis. It was coming awake now, that was damn certain, and growing like mad. Her lips slid over its full length with each forward plunge of his hips. He could feel it touching the back of her throat as it grew increasingly harder and longer. This cock of his was something he was proud of; maybe not much at first, but it always stretched like a rubber band until it was as big around and lengthy as any man's around.
He grinned to himself. He knew it was reaching an admirable length already, for Fran was doing her best to take its length in her mouth, gagging and choking sometimes when he really threw it hard at her. He enjoyed that part especially; it was good for any broad to get hold of a nice thick prick once in a while, one big and hard enough to really ream her out nice.
But what he really liked was for 'em to swallow it, so that he could feel the tight throat muscles contracting real nice like around the end of his dick. Yeah, that was definitely the best part of all. He remembered a girl he'd once known in New York, Cindy was her name, and man, could she ever suck a mean dick. Sometimes she'd have three or four guys over, just so's she could go down on 'em. Goddamn, she was really something; with her, you could stick it right down into her belly, and she never seemed to get enough. He couldn't remember anybody ever getting the best of Cindy. But right now, old Fran her was doing just fine, sucking and pulling at his loins like a newborn calf after milk. He slowed his thrusts and began the long, slow grind home.
* * *
This was all so new to Fran, and she was trying desperately not to choke on the throbbing rod of hardening flesh that had invaded her throat. It was so long! Each time his hairy abdomen slapped against her lips, the terrible thing pushed against the back of her throat and slid down the sensitive passage of her throat. At first, thinking she would surely be choked to death, she had gasped and coughed with each plunge. But gradually she had found a way to relax the throat muscles and now it wasn't so bad. He would pull it almost out of her mouth, out over her ovaled lips until the swollen knob at its tip was between her teeth, then he would begin that awful long journey into her throat. It was achingly hard, but somehow flexible and when its head bumped against the tender back of her gullet, the slick lubricated creature would bend just enough to go down. And every time it did, she would have to swallow or choke; she knew the flexing of her own throat muscles would bring on the inevitable even sooner. He moaned each time she swallowed and she could tell that her tight throat contractions were urging him toward a quick spurting climax. She tried not to swallow and choked. He pulled it almost out, rubbing its throbbing head over her moist lips. She could taste the beginning of the end; small drops of warm white liquid oozed from the tiny slit in the end of his long stiff penis. He took the head between his fingers to keep it steady and rubbed it against the outside of her lips in a circle, the sticky liquid leaving her lips wet and glistening. Fran knew better than to refuse Harry anything now, and she obediently knelt at his knees and let him paint her lips with the viscous discharge of his lust-inflated cock.
* * *
Christ, he didn't know how much more he could take... Harry inched his cock back and forth across her open mouth. He saw its enormous tip painting her lips wet . : . she looked hungrier that way, eager and willing to suck his long hard penis right down into her warm throat... and when he could stand it no longer, he let the bulbous head again slide through the moist nibbling lips and into her soft waiting mouth.
"Don't be hungry, Fran baby, go ahead... eat it! Eat it, baby!"
He began the long slow grinding, holding her head tight and still in his hands and burying his aching cock right up to the hilt.
"And don't stop when I'm cumming, honey, understand? You just keep right on sucking... but suck harder, harder than ever!"
Fran was unable to answer. She tried to nod her head but the long fleshy worm was working its way in and out of her tautly stretched lips now so that she couldn't even shake her head. She almost gagged again. She had to relax her throat muscles or she would suffocate. He jammed his cock from her tightly clamped lips, down over her rough tongue and deep into her throat, again and again and again... she felt his loins twitch beneath the matted clump of pubic hair as he banged against her. It was beginning... Oh God, he was going to empty that thing right down into her throat. But there was nothing she could do... nothing!
Harry felt the telltale beginning twitch of his loins. He could feel the damned-up seething flood of hot semen behind the restraints of his aching balls. He slowed his thrusts, savoring every inch-by-inch stroke as his swollen prick continued to disappear agonizingly down her velvety throat tunnel. He wanted to feel every screaming inch of the delicious run from his distended balls to his prick's throbbing, blood-filled head. His hands squeezed in on her ears, holding her absolutely motionless in his grip, while he pushed down... deeper and deeper down that tight, constrictive throat. Here it comes, he thought, it's coming. He could feel the hot semen rushing out of his testicles and up the bottom of his long hard penis. He stopped dead still, his prick rammed to the brushy hilt down her hungry throat, her head perfectly still, and waited for the agonizing explosion deep in his loins.
"Aaaaaaahhhhh...!" He gasped sharply and emptied his lungs as at the same infinitesimal moment he emptied his sperm-laden balls!
Fran sucked voraciously. Hard. She tried to fight it, but it was no use... suddenly she wanted it. She wanted his degradation and with it, every precious drop of his hot seething flood. She sucked at the long quivering cock and swallowed and gulped its gushing waves of fluid like a starving animal. Her arms wrapped tightly around his hips and she pulled him hard against her, hungrily gulping until every warm, milk-like drop was swallowed safely down her throat.
His cock deflated rapidly, and slipped wetly from between her lips as she fell, exhausted, away from his penis. In its path, a thin glistening trail of semen was strung momentarily from her lips, then broke away and vanished into the carpet at Harry's feet.
Fran fell onto her back before him, her breasts rising and falling rapidly as she struggled to regain her breath. With both hands, she spread open her creamy-white thighs, opening up the moist crevice and the soft hairlined lips of her pussy to his view. With her fingers, she quickly spread the pink fleshy ridges, revealing the glistening pearl of her clitoris and the warmly beckoning opening to her deep, wet vaginal tunnel.
"Oh God, Harry, put it in me... I'll make it hard again, Harry, but please put it in me quickly... now, Harry, now!"
Harry dropped to his knees between her long smooth legs, grabbed her supple thighs from the back, and bent her legs hard back against her breasts, smashing her hardened nipples beneath her knees. Her warm hands clutched for his rubbery penis, found it, then rubbed it tenderly as it began to stiffen anew.
A deep, throaty moan slipped from her lips, still glistening with his semen, as his long pulsating cock eased into the clasping confines of her warm, wet cuntal sheath.
"Oh, yes, baby... that's it! Fuck me, fuck me hard! Good and hard...!"
CHAPTER THREE
At Silvercrest Knoll, one of those hundreds of apartment complexes that dot the once-pleasant countryside on the Virginia side of the Potomac, in the eighteenth two bedroom unit from the main gas-lighted entrance, in an apartment the developers rather deceptively called a townhouse, Eleanor and John Merritt were enjoying the last few minutes of the Tonight Show before turning in. Both were already dressed for bed, John in his undershorts and Eleanor in a thin, gauzy nightie and white panties. The room was dark, except for the gray glare from the television screen, and the young couple were seated at opposite ends of their Mediterranean sofa, Eleanor sprawled comfortably on a pile of throw pillows, and John sitting stiffly erect, both feet firmly on the carpet.
Eleanor sported a few pink curlers on the sides of her head, just enough to give a hint of curl to her shoulder length black hair for tomorrow. But even with the curlers, she was an unusually beautiful young woman. Twenty-two now, but still with the peaches-and-cream loveliness and vibrant magnetism that had attracted John to her when they'd first met at Randolph-Macon College, not so terribly far from this apartment they shared now. That was two years ago, before John finished work on his degree and chose to follow a career with the Department of Housing and Urban Development in Washington. He'd started in on the ground floor, as an administrative trainee in the budget section. But in two years, he hadn't really seen much progress; not that he wasn't qualified or that he wasn't trying, it was just a series of budget cuttings and "belt-tightenings" within the department that had slowed his hoped-for climb to management status. The salary, a fortune at first when they'd been dining on frankfurters and cokes, now had dwindled away to hardly enough to live on. He'd enjoyed only one significant raise in two years, and the twenty-two-dollar balance in their savings account reflected accurately how high their family finances had become.
Sometimes Eleanor wished she'd been more realistic back there at college when she made the decision to leave school and look for work. It had been solely her idea; John would have no part of it. But she knew that secretly he had been hoping she'd make that move. Her meager earnings had squeezed him through graduation, and now he was "paying her back" - his own words - and wouldn't dream of letting her find even a part-time job to help with the mounting bills. She'd offered to, many times in fact, but John had suffered enough damage to his easily-bruised masculine pride when she'd quit school to help him finish. John somehow felt that was a terribly selfish move on his part, and Eleanor sometimes wondered if he'd ever forget about it.
Of course, sometimes she wished she had listened to him and stayed in school; at least now they might not have this rapidly growing pile of past-due bills staring them in the face.
The show had ended, and the announcer was trying futilely to promote the late movie, some C-grade relic from the forties, so Eleanor pulled herself off the sofa and headed for bed, "You coming, honey?" she asked, "You've got that staff meeting at eight tomorrow, haven't you?"
Until she spoke, John hadn't budged, sitting starched-straight, his eyes fixed on the flickering television tube, but his mind a million miles distant. Suddenly his face burst alive with emotion, "Holy Christ! I forgot all about it! And I've got a good two hours work left to do on my report yet."
Eleanor's smile drooped; she'd hoped that tonight maybe, just maybe, John would be in a mood for something other than urban renewal statistics. It seemed like weeks since they'd last enjoyed the pleasures of a warm, tender union in their big, empty king-size bed. But she quickly chided herself for being so selfish; if John had work to do, maybe she could help. "Can I do some of the typing for you... or something?" she asked.
There was a long silent pause before John answered. "Uh, no... I'm giving an oral presentation. But thanks for the offer. You just go on to bed, and I'll see you in the morning."
"But John, aren't you coming to bed at all?" Eleanor prodded.
But it was no use, his mind was already tallying up long columns of data on housing needs in Cincinnati or St. Louis or wherever it was he was studying this week. "I'll be in maybe in a few hours, but I won't wake you. Just be sure I'm up on time in the morning. I'll be pretty groggy after only a couple of hours sleep."
Eleanor nodded. "Okay, honey... okay. Good night." Without waiting for his usual farewell, she made her way down the darkened hall and into the bedroom. She kept the thin gown on - some nights she liked to be completely naked when John came in to bed, but this time she knew it was pointless - and flopped across the sheet and wriggled between the covers. She could feel a chill coming from way down at the base of her spine, right in the curving hollow of her back, and she pulled her knees up tight against her body, squeezing herself tightly together to get warm.
* * *
She could make out the fast-moving lights of automobiles racing along the Shirley Memorial Highway off in the distance, through the slatted blinds of her bedroom window, as late-night revelers headed back to the rolling Virginia suburbs after an evening in Washington. She wished she were with them; she wished she were anywhere but here - bored and lonely, wide-awake with nothing to do but go to sleep. John might as well not be here, she told herself.
Eleanor remembered when it wasn't like this - when bedtime was something the two of them looked forward to with equal amounts of excitement and enthusiasm. When they first met, back at college, John Merritt was anything but a bore and a bookworm. Sure, he was smart all right, plenty smart. But he didn't spend all his waking moments wrapped around a pile of musty books.
She smiled to herself as she recalled those first few dates with John; how he'd come on like a fast freight, all hands and lips. She wasn't much of a swinger then, nor now for that matter, and somehow she had managed to hold him off through three dates, though she could feel her resistance weakening with every one of his crazy, mad-man kisses that made her shiver and shake like a blast from a blizzard. So it came as no surprise even to her when, on their fourth date, coming back from a football game at Washington & Lee College, she found herself parked beside a deserted highway in the middle of the night, struggling more with herself than with John as he yanked and tugged her panties down over her long legs. She'd often wondered, like most college girls, how it would be the first time; somehow she'd never have guessed it would be in the back seat of a '53 Chevy. It was over almost before she knew what was happening; John wasn't much of an expert at it either, and thinking back now, she could only remember a quick, sharp pain that seemed to jab completely through her belly, a few fevered lunges accompanied by heavy breathing, and a warm glow deep inside her as her first lover emptied himself within her.
It certainly wasn't much of a way to experience one of the greatest thrills of becoming a woman, but Eleanor could only remember it pleasantly now. She'd felt no shame, no remorse for what she did that night, for somehow it all seemed right, like it was only the natural thing to do. But with John, though, everything wasn't quite the way it should have been. He never talked much about that night, and when they did bring it up, he quickly changed the subject, almost as if he was trying to rub the memory of those few frantic moments from his mind. Eleanor never thought much of his little idiosyncrasies at the time, she just marked it up to post-adolescent confusion and the pressures of finishing his studies. Psychology had been her major, and she'd started out to become a clinical psychologist, maybe working with disturbed children, so she rather enjoyed figuring out what made her friends tick; it was almost like practice diagnosis to her.
Now though, she wasn't so sure about John and his seeming indifference toward her. It appeared that every day found him deeper and deeper in his work, and further from her arms. He seemed to deliberately wait almost every night until she was sound asleep before climbing into bed himself, as if he wanted only to avoid intimacy with her. She first thought of another woman; in fact, for weeks she had convinced herself that there had to be someone else in John's life. But now, she had come face to face with the harsh truth - there wasn't anyone else muddying the water; whatever their problems, they involved no one besides the two of them. Eleanor tried everything to find the cause of John's sudden disinterest, new perfume, new lingerie, even an expensive new hair style from an exclusive shop in the city. She'd bought new clothes, too; maybe more than they could afford. She wasn't sure whether she had spent all that money on clothes to please her husband or to get even with him. Sometimes she thought that maybe all those clothes were just her clever way of getting back at him for all the anxiety and hours of frustration he'd caused her. But whatever the reason behind it all, that clothes bill was another of her rapidly mounting worries now. It was nearly two months past due, and she didn't have a cent in her checking account to make even a partial payment. And with their family finances teetering on the brink of collapse, she knew better than to ask John for any money. She could just hear him now, bellowing and screaming about what a spend-thrift she was and how he was walking around with patches on his one suit and she had a clothes closet overflowing with all her new purchases. She knew it was no longer a question of if the boutique would be making trouble for her, but rather when. Every time the telephone rang Eleanor could feel her pulse quicken, wondering if it might be someone from the little store, or worse, an attorney or some collection agency. She didn't know much about those things, about collecting overdue bills. This was the first delinquent account she'd ever had, except for once back in high school, but Dad had taken care of that for her.
Wouldn't it be great if Dad could take care of this, she told herself. But she knew better than to contact her parents about money matters. Her father had made his position on such matters plain right after she and John were married. He had told her point-blank that her difficulties were now between her and her new husband, and that she was to come running back to Daddy only as an absolute last resort, and only then in some horrible emergency. She doubted that Dad would consider an overdue clothing bill an emergency.
He and Mom had never been behind on a bill in their lives; in fact, Eleanor could scarcely remember her parents ever buying anything on credit at all. Her father betrayed all his Scottish ancestry when it came to money matters, always putting savings and investments first, and what few luxuries he allowed himself second. Not that he ever neglected his responsibilities as a provider for his family; he saw that his wife and daughter had everything they needed.
Eleanor felt herself drifting off to sleep as she reminisced about those years back in Ohio, helping her father in his hardware store, remembering the good times and the bad; the boom times of the early fifties, when she was hardly more than a baby. And the killing slump her father had somehow endured at the end of the sixties, when the townspeople began driving an extra ten miles to buy their hardware needs from the big discount store in the city that was open 'til midnight every night and had aisle after aisle of merchandise, far more than her father could hope to offer.
The store was only a memory now, but Dad had managed to keep enough aside to get his daughter into college. It had nearly killed him when she told him she was quitting school to get married. It was like all his life's work had suddenly gone down the drain; but that too was something in the past now, for he'd grown to love John as the son he never had, and the hurt of leaving school was soon healed.
* * *
She was only half aware of someone crawling under the covers with her; it seemed like it should be the middle of the morning, but a wink of one eye told her it was still dark at least. So John's decided to come to bed after all... I guess he ran out of work to do.
As she felt his weight settle beside her, she snuggled her buttocks up against his side, still half-asleep on her side. With the practiced touch acquired from night after night of being coolly rebuffed, she waited for him to jerk away... to grunt some muffled plea to be left alone... something to tell her, as usual, that he preferred his own side of the bed to hers.
But this was different; she was in luck.
"Darling... are you awake?" he whispered. Eleanor answered with an unmistakable seductive wiggle of her behind. She was almost afraid to believe it... he couldn't be thinking of something other than dropping off to sleep.
"I'm all finished with that report, honey," he said softly, "It didn't take as long as I expected." His hand slipped around her waist as he settled in behind her, and he pulled her buttocks tightly against his belly. One hand slipped along the smoothness of her back and pulled her nightie up high above her middle. He could feel the warm soft nakedness of her bare flesh against his abdomen, and he quickly slipped out of his undershorts.
Eleanor felt a shiver of excitement and anticipation course over her as she sensed the prodding nudge of his hardening penis nestled suggestively in the soft furrow of her buttocks. She pushed her soft bottom-cheeks back tightly against his manhood, as if to trap it firmly between the firm delicious mounds of her buttocks.
She was hesitant to open her eyes, even for an instant, lest this all be a dream, and she'd find herself really alone, caught up in some incredibly real fantasy wrought out of countless lonely, agonizingly empty nights. But it was real... and her husband and lover seemed himself once more. She could only pray it would last; that this somehow-ignited spark of passion she had thought long extinguished would flame into the wild, raging fires of desire she had once known.
"Did you take your pill, darling?" Eleanor nearly laughed aloud; does he think I only take them when we are about to make love?
Eleanor murmured a quiet yes and pulled her nightie the rest of the way off her body, shivering a little as her breasts felt the evening chill. She quickly squirmed back under the blanket, tighter against her man's naked firmness. His cock was fully erect now, stiffly poking upward between her legs as she clamped her thighs tightly around the softly throbbing shaft. She could feel the full hard length of the firm pole rubbing against the sensitive folds of her excited pussy, the swollen purplish tips brushing electrically over the nerve-filled bud of her tiny clitoris. Without trying to, she felt the warm moist lips of her vagina spread slightly apart, opening eagerly to receive his rock-hard prick, hungrily nibbling with sex-starved desire at the long rigid shaft of his cock.
John slid down further on the mattress, lowering his body behind hers as they both lay nestled together on their right sides, easing down over the firm ripe globes of her buttocks, bulging like twin white melons positioned perfectly below the smooth unblemished curve of her beautiful back. His aching prick was now perfectly positioned; the throbbing head, distended and blood-colored with lust, was poking between the wet, clasping flanges of her cunt, and her hot, eager pussy-lips were voraciously sucking the long fleshy pole forward, beckoning the hardened shaft into the warm pink sheath of her vagina.
"Now, baby?" he asked needlessly.
Eleanor could barely manage a reply, "Oh, yes, John... yes, please!"
John cocked his hips like the bolt of a rifle, and snapped them forward with a deep, thrusting lunge into the soft moist tunnel of her love-starved channel. Eleanor's mouth opened wide and a deep, soulful moan escaped from far down in her throat.
"Ooooooooo... it feels so good to me... so good darling!" She shuddered from the tips of her toes as his bone-hard love shaft tunneled rapidly in and out of her hungrily clasping velvet sheath, pulling the delicate pink flanges back with each backward grind of John's hips. She could feel his long prick slip wetly from her ravenous pussy-lips, then bore deeply into her belly again, poking and prodding her innermost treasures with pounding thrusts that seemed deeper and harder with every pistoning lunge.
Her eyes were tightly closed, and before them raced a whirling, dizzying kaleidoscope of blues and reds and purples as his maddeningly frantic strokes pumped in and out of her eager pussy. Each long, deep thrust seemed to push all the way up into her belly, and she could feel the electrifying waves of ecstasy that were welling up from her loins in ever-growing waves, sweeping fantastically over her whole body. Her nipples were hard and aching with overwhelming passion, and they throbbed steadily as his delicious ravishment continued. His stiffened cock was now fully lubricated with the beginning flow of her love-juices, and it slithered easily in and out of her possessively clasping vagina. A warm sticky stream of viscous liquid trickled along the hard shaft of his organ as it slammed again and again into her sex-famished orifice.
The colors grew more and more intense, brighter and faster-moving than she could ever remember, and she could feel the warm, glowing flame in her belly growing hotter and hotter with his every deep, punishing stroke.
She tried desperately to stifle the ecstatic moans that were fighting to escape her parched lips, but it was futile to try. Paper thin walls be damned, the raging inferno of her pent-up desires was more than she could stand!
"Oh my God, it's so good... so good! Don't stop, darling, don't stop!" she screamed, shivering involuntarily as his wonderfully painful thrusts grew even faster, pounding frenetically again and again into her womb. "Oh, honey, yes... Yes!"
But John's steadfastly suppressed climax was too near, too impossible to hold back a second longer. His eyes recorded the splendid spectacle before him, the gorgeously supple backside of his young voluptuous wife, her tantalizing buttocks-cheeks clenched tightly as she ground excitedly back onto the impaling shaft of his cock, her soft ivory thighs spread wide apart to accommodate his sex, her legs opening and closing rhythmically in time with the guttural, animal cries that choked from her lips.
"Christ! I'm cumming... I'm cumming!!' he shouted, burrowing his long cock to the brushy hilt in her warm wet tunnel, slamming his sweat-soaked pelvis tightly against her ass as he pulled her hard back against him, holding her firmly on his prick. His balls exploded in a rapid-fire burst of seething hot liquid that filled her belly and oozed back along the narrow, hairless crevice of her buttocks and onto the mattress beneath her. It seemed to John that an endless river of life-giving sperm flowed unceasingly from his shuddering organ, pumping far up into her insides.
Eleanor's whole body tensed at the sudden awareness of what had happened registered on her tormented brain. No, no... this couldn't be happening!
"Oh, John darling, don't stop! Please don't stop yet!" she pleaded, tears streaming from her eyes, "I'm almost there... almost there... " Her voice trailed softly away; she could feel his emptied organ softening inside her, and finally, it slipped with a wet sucking noise from her still-hungry passage, flopping uselessly onto her thigh. "Please John... just a little more... please," she implored.
But John didn't answer; without a word he swung his bare legs off the bed and made his way slowly to the bathroom to clean up without switching on the light. Eleanor's long, lean torso was trembling with the torment of her in-satiated desires, her legs scissoring open and closed in a steady anguished rhythm.
She tried to pretend it wasn't this way at all - that this misery she was suffering was all in her mind. She tried to tell herself that all women felt this way after sex with their lovers, that it was only normal for a woman to still feel an unanswered need like this.
She tried, as she had tried many nights before, far more than she would ever want to count. But it was no use... she knew something was wrong. She knew her passion was no stronger than any other woman's, that there had to be a problem. A problem she alone could never hope to solve... God, it killed her to have to face it; she'd rather die than be forced to admit the truth. But deep inside, where it really counted, she knew what the answer would have to be, that ultimately there would be only one way to fulfill this nagging, tormenting emptiness she felt in her belly, but that was a solution she hoped she'd never have to face.
CHAPTER FOUR
Arnold's was an offbeat little place that some friend of John's had introduced them to right after they moved to the District, and had quickly become Eleanor's favorite place to eat in all of Washington. It was everything she wanted a restaurant to be: well-located, in the very middle of the Georgetown area, with all its quiet, subdued elegance; not too terribly expensive, reasonable enough for an administration trainee's wife; and, last but not least, it offered a constantly changing continental menu that seemed every week to be even better than the week before. It always amazed Eleanor that the place enjoyed so few customers; sometimes when she'd meet her best friend Cheryl for lunch, they'd have only a couple of fellow diners for company. Yet Arnold Michaud continued, day after day, to prepare the very best of food and offer the pinnacle of personal service. Eleanor always felt like some big celebrity when she ate here; Arnold always greeted her by name as she entered and escorted her to a quiet table by the windows, or, if the weather was nice, seated her outside on the canopied patio, where she could watch the midday Georgetown shoppers, tourists, and Beautiful People as they hurried by, unaware that they were missing so much just beyond their elbows.
Cheryl was late today, something that wasn't particularly unusual, if you really knew Cheryl. Eleanor certainly qualified in that category. First in college, where they'd been assigned as roommates because neither had requested anyone in particular, and both of them had no friends at Randolph-Macon. They'd made it, surprisingly, through the first two semesters, though the year had been punctuated often enough with crisis after crisis. Like the time Eleanor went home for the week-end to visit her parents in Ohio and Cheryl vanished from the campus for the two full days, checking out with the dorm Mother by telling her she was visiting Eleanor's parents in Ohio, too. The whole scheme might have worked, if it hadn't been for the unfortunate call to the dorm by Cheryl's mother. The rest was easy; the call was relayed to Eleanor's folks in Ohio, who, of course, knew nothing about anyone by that name, and the truth came slowly into focus. For Cheryl's parents, the dorm Mother, and, it seemed, about half the college administration.
Happenings like that became routine in the two years they spent together as close friends and roommates. Cheryl was the first to leave school, but not to get married. That came later. Her departure was not her own decision; it had something to do with a half-dozen unapproved campus absences, missing the midnight lock-up so many times they'd lost count, and finally, maintaining something less than a D average through three semesters of freshman and sophomore work.
It had been like losing a relative when Cheryl finally packed and caught the bus that drizzly cold day in mid-March, and it would have seemed a lot more miserable if either had had a premonition of what the next year was to bring. By the end of the year, Cheryl was a divorcee, casualty of a "quickie" marriage that had only managed to struggle through three long, harried months. The guy was some serviceman Cheryl had met down in Virginia at Virginia Beach on a Fourth of July weekend. Eleanor had suspected from the start that something big would come of it, since her letters were suddenly filled with line after line of gushy praise of her new-found love. That was something Cheryl had never been known to do before; not that she didn't go through boyfriends like old shoes, just that she never seemed to be serious about any boy; no matter how hard he might try to twist their relationship into something long-lasting and binding, Cheryl was always one step ahead - backing away as fast as she could. She'd become a veritable master at back-pedalling; some of her flames had been maneuvered through the motions of being dumped without even guessing it.
And Eleanor's suspicions had been well founded. Three weeks had slipped by without even a postcard from Cheryl, and then, the one-page, eight line unabashed chronology of a week-long torrid love affair capped by a midnight marriage by a justice of the peace in Dillon, South Carolina, that state's cut-rate version of Reno, Nevada. They'd barely made it under the wire, the poor guy was due back at Norfolk with only twenty-four hours of married life. After the loose ends were worked out, and Cheryl's parents recovered from the initial shock and bewilderment, she'd joined her new spouse in the crowded base housing. That was both the beginning and the end of Cheryl's marriage, by the first day of November, she was back at home with Mom and Dad, sadder, perhaps, but unfortunately, not much wiser. At least that short excursion into the complicated world of the married had sated her taste for a husband; that is, one of her own. Nothing was stopping her from enjoying an occasional fling with someone else's. And that was a privilege Cheryl never hesitated to make the most of.
She had come to Washington about a month after her marriage disintegrated, in search of, as she put it, "one of those uptown diplomats, maybe one with a few dozen oil wells back home," and had found instead, a two bedroom apartment she grudgingly shared with two other girls, and a dreadfully boring secretarial spot with the Department of Agriculture, typing letter after letter to disgruntled farmers complaining about their small subsidy payments and irate urbanites protesting that the subsidies were paid at all. She'd threatened to quit, at least once, maybe twice, but so far she'd stuck it out. Maybe it was because she doubted anything else would suit her more; Cheryl often said her place was on the after-deck of some rich daddy's yacht and heaven help her if she couldn't get there before she'd lost all her bait.
Eleanor spotted her leaving the parking garage a half block away, her long blonde hair trailing in the early autumn breeze behind her as she walked briskly toward the little restaurant. A couple of lawyer-types stopped dead in their tracks as she bounced past, and they turned to follow with their appreciative eyes until she was out of range. Eleanor sometimes envied that certain something Cheryl seemed to possess that made men fall all over themselves whenever she was around. Not that she herself didn't enjoy a wolf whistle or two often enough, it was just that Cheryl had a little extra, some kind of special appeal you couldn't really put your finger on, but every good-looking man on the street seemed to notice a block away.
"Hi! Did you think I'd forgotten you?" she bubbled cheerfully as she swung open the little half-gate that separated Arnold's from the brick sidewalk in front. As usual, Cheryl was dressed like she'd come from an Embassy luncheon, filling nicely an orange pants suit with just a hint of bell-shape in the pants, and an almost transparent chiffon blouse in a bright blue that matched her wide vinyl belt.
"No, I knew you'd make it... sooner or later," replied Eleanor, catching a glimpse of Arnold out of the corner of her eye. He'd been waiting patiently out of sight until the two of them were together, and now he was coming, a smile on his face and an order pad in his hand. "That outfit is gorgeous. Where'd you get it?" she asked.
Cheryl looked down at her suit as if she'd forgotten she had anything on. "Oh, this? I got it at DeRoan's. 'Ya like it?"
"Of course... it really is beautiful. But didn't it set you back a mint? And surely they don't let you wear that sort of thing over at the farm office, do they? Things haven't changed that much in Washington, surely."
"No, no," Cheryl laughed, "I took the day off. I'm having my teeth worked on, in case anybody asks."
Eleanor shook her head, "Fixing your teeth! You don't really think your boss is dumb enough to fall for that old routine, do you?"
"Are you kidding? Why, old Courtley is just like putty in my fingers. Just one little wiggle in the right place and he'd go over Niagara in a barrel for me."
Eleanor wasn't shocked, not even surprised. She'd come to almost expect that kind of talk from Cheryl. She knew better than anyone else what her good points were, and she didn't hesitate to use them if there was something in it for good ol' Number One.
"You still haven't told me about the pants suit," continued Eleanor, determined to keep the conversation out of the gutter, "Is that the one I saw in the window a couple of weeks ago?"
"Right, that's when I saw it too. It was... " She noticed Arnold standing patiently just out of ear-shot, waiting for some kind of signal before he intruded on their privacy. "Arnold! Why all the formality? Just come over and tell us to shut up and order. We're not like customers... we're family now."
A syrupy smile erupted across Arnold's olive countenance as he practically leaped to their table-side. "I am sorry, my friends, but I did not want to interrupt. You seemed to be having a little... how you say, girl-talk, and I thought that food could wait."
Cheryl reached across the table and squeezed the man's arm. "Not your food, Arnold. For a dinner of yours, I would stop anything."
"Anything, Madame?" The Frenchman's smile quickly became a knowing grin.
"Well, maybe not everything," laughed Cheryl, tossing her blonde curls with a quick snap of her head, "But your food would have to rank a close second even there."
"C'mon, you two," injected Eleanor, "Let's decide what we want before I starve to death."
Arnold suddenly stood stiffly erect, as if saluting some color guard passing by on the quiet Georgetown alley. "Ladies... my friends, I mean, today I have something special. A rare treat for my two favorite customers."
"Well, go on. Tell us, you crazy Frenchman," said Cheryl, her curiosity stirred.
A look of devout reverence covered his face, as if he was dreaming of some long-ago banquet in his native France. "Today I have for you... Boeuf a la Bourgiugnon, prepared in my own special way. A feast fit for the kings."
Eleanor's palate watered at the thought; but with Arnold's cooking, even hamburgers would be sensational. "That's perfect for me."
"Oh, me too. Definitely. Anything with wine in it is okay with me," joked Cheryl. But even that failed to get a rise from the Frenchman.
"Your taste is commendable, Ladies, as usual. I shall send your wine out now, and your dinner is about to begin." He even closed his tiny pad with a flourish, and disappeared in the sanctuary of his kitchen to bring together his masterpiece.
"Now... where was I?" asked Cheryl, "Oh, yeah, the pants suit," as if she'd forgotten. "It is nice, isn't it? I told Fran it was one of the nicest creations she'd ever come up with. It's from California, yet. Some new designer in San Francisco dreamed it up. It seemed a little expensive at first, but I figured it was worth the cost. Everybody's had something complimentary to say about it, so I guess I was right."
"How much, Cheryl?" Eleanor wondered if she should have a drink of her wine before Cheryl answered.
"Uh... a hundred... "
"For one suit!" shrieked Eleanor.
"... and seventy five," continued Cheryl, with a hang-dog look that would have done any repentant five-year-old justice.
"Cheryl Anson, are you out of your mind? Didn't you tell me only a week or so ago that you didn't know how you'd pay your bill at DeRoan's? Well, didn't you?"
Cheryl nodded. "I know, I know. But it was so beautiful. And they didn't have any more like it on order. I just couldn't pass up a chance like that."
She couldn't help but feel a momentary pang of conscience as she berated Cheryl for her extravagant folly; that bill from the boutique was still lying by the telephone in the kitchen, and still unpaid. "What does that bring your balance up to now? Or have you gotten the nerve to look?"
"Oh, I looked, all right," confessed Cheryl. "I started to just hide the damn thing under the sofa or something, but my curiosity got the best of me."
"How much it is?"
"Four hundred and fifty-six dollars with this suit."
It took a full second for those figures to tally across Eleanor's brain like the read-out on an electronic calculator. "Four hundred and fifty-six dollars! Cheryl, they're going to come after you! Where do you plan to get that kind of money? I've known you to do some crazy things, but this, this takes the prize!"
Cheryl was growing just a little piqued at being scolded like some errant adolescent. "Now just hold it a second, ol' buddy. It seems that I remember a certain someone who told me about her bill at DeRoan's and how it had inched right up until it was over three hundred dollars. What about it? Have you paid up over there yet?"
"No... I haven't," admitted Eleanor meekly. "But that's different," she countered, "I've got a husband who's making fairly decent money, and you don't!"
"Ouch," winced Cheryl, "that's hitting below the belt."
"I'm sorry," Eleanor offered, "I didn't mean it that way. You're right... the bill is overdue.
And I guess I'm a little touchy about it. John knows nothing about it. He'd kill me if he had any idea it was so big. We're worried about even making our regular payments this month. There just isn't any way I can pay it all. Maybe not any of it."
An apron-clad busboy who doubled as dishwasher placed an enormous platter of cold hors d'oeuvres in the middle of the round table and replenished their wine glasses, leaving the red wine behind this time as he returned to the kitchen.
"You know my financial state," said Cheryl, "I haven't got an extra nickel to my name. If they won't let the bill ride until next month, they'll just have to sue me."
"Oh, Cheryl, you don't think they'd do that!" Eleanor's face showed her alarm. "I'd shoot myself if they did! You know what that would mean for John. That supervisor of his would can him in a minute if he got involved in a court action."
"You're right," added Cheryl, "But you wouldn't get a chance to shoot yourself. John would do it for you."
* * *
An hour-and-a-half later, aided by another two rounds of Arnold's best red wine, Eleanor and Cheryl were on their way to DeRoan's in Cheryl's wheezing Healey Sprite. With the top down, it was chilly on the Shirley Highway, but Eleanor was grateful for the cold blast to numb her worries a little. She didn't have the slightest inkling what she'd offer to the proprietress as an excuse for being so far behind in her payments, but she figured that would take care of itself. Anyway, it was Cheryl's idea to come, let her do all the explaining. If anybody could talk her way out of a tight spot, Cheryl was the one.
"It's the next exit, Cheryl!" yelled Eleanor over the high-pitched scream of the Sprite's four valiantly-trying cylinders. The car had been a high school graduation present from Cheryl's parents and was in remarkably good condition considering that the speedometer was on its second trip around.
Foxcroft Center was full of midweek bargain hunters, and they had to park a football-field away, opposite the nursery that was the only establishment in the immense shopping complex not enjoying a banner business.
"I should have brought my hiking shoes," said Eleanor as they both climbed from the small British Racing Green automobile. "I think everybody in the county is here this afternoon. Is there some kind of big sale going on?"
Cheryl shook her head, "I don't know, but I sure hope there's not one on at DeRoan's. I might just have to buy another little something."
"You can just get those ideas out of that crazy head of yours right now, Cheryl," Eleanor puffed, "We're here to get out of debt, not get deeper in it!"
"Oh, come on," insisted Cheryl, grabbing her girl-friend by the arm and yanking her along bodily, "Let's get this idiocy over with."
* * *
"Listen... if you want to be useful, Harry Bresler, you can go over those bills in that stack there and see if anybody's at the 'we're referring your account to our legal department' stage yet. Some of them are bound to be screaming bloody-murder." Fran didn't really want Harry pawing through her bills and correspondence, but then, she didn't want him loafing around the store either. It wasn't good for business to have a man - any man - hanging around the front like that. Some of the customers got terribly self-conscious about looking into mirrors and trying on dresses with a pair of male eyes giving them the once over.
He made no response to her offer, just sat there, his feet propped on the top of an unopened shipment of knit tops from New York.
"Please, Harry," she whispered, "Please find something to do in the office. I can't afford to lose even one customer today."
Harry looked up, slowly, and glared for a full minute before he even moved. "Okay, okay.
Maybe I can find a mistake in the books or something," he said reluctantly, and pulled himself out of the chair.
"Thanks, lover... you understand, don't you?" asked Fran. "I mean, you know why I ask this of you, right?"
Harry waved her away with a sweep of his wrist as he climbed the three carpeted steps that led to the office behind the showroom. "Yeah, yeah. You're right. But I've got to keep an eye on these broads so I can pick the best of the bunch."
Fran glanced furtively around, fearful that someone might have heard. "S-h-h-h-h, Harry, you promised me you wouldn't bring that up around the shop."
Harry didn't answer, but closed the bottom half of the Dutch-doors opening into the tiny office, leaving himself an uninterrupted view of the shop. He'd been sitting around here like this for two days, and still not a single lead. As carefully as a research scholar in the field, Harry had diligently scribbled notes on each of Fran's customers - approximate age, hair, general appearance - and then compared his finding with each girl's account after they'd left. So far, only one showed any promise. Fairly attractive, not a real stunner, though; there might be some chance there.
Harry's plan was simple, so simple it seemed almost implausible. But that was something he prided himself on, taking the most obvious of schemes, one that the uptown operators would walk right over, and shaping it into something perfect, something so obvious that even the cops would look right at it and not see the truth.
Like that time in Atlanta. Atlanta, of all places! Hell, he'd had those vice squad jokers running in circles, but they couldn't outsmart ol' Harry Bresler. No sir, that tight and pretty little organization was working right under their noses and those Bible-belt dicks couldn't find it. They tried everything - hotel bellboys, cab drivers, but they couldn't find the supplier. They knew the call-girls were operating in practically every hotel in the city, but they just simply could not locate the source. Or even figure out how the operation was working. Christ, it might have gone on forever, if it hadn't been for that Goddamn informer they slipped in from Jacksonville. Yeah, Harry had been lucky that time. He shot out of Atlanta like the whole Army of the Confederacy was right on his tail; it damn near was, what with fifteen full-time vice squad boys working 'round the clock. They finally did manage to round up most of the girls, but by then Harry was safely out of sight, way back on the other side of the Mason-Dixon line. Somebody finally got the goods on the inside man, the cop Harry was paying a grand a week to supply the word on everything the department had uncovered, and to steer them exactly 180� the wrong way! Harry didn't mind about that; he figured a stoolie cop was still a cop, and the bum got what he deserved.
But that was a long time ago, and Harry wasn't one to fall behind the times. That plan was all right for the fifties, but in the seventies the man who made it was the man who stayed right on top of things, the man who was just one step ahead of the rest of the pack. And this time, Harry was sure he was the man.
With Fran's set-up already going, and so clean the cops would never in a million years suspect anything was out of line, he didn't have a chance of getting caught.
Sitting in Fran's swivel chair, his feet comfortably back up on the desk, he couldn't help chuckling a little to himself as he ran over the details once more in his mind. Yes sir, Harry, you've got yourself a gold mine this time!
All he had to do was sit back and wait until just the right girls came along - married, they had to be married; and way over their heads in debt. Maybe he'd have Fran give them a little encouragement if they weren't too far behind in the credit department. Just ease 'em along, wait until just the right time, then spring it on them. Pay up now, or go to court... it was that simple. Practically all these broads had husbands working for the Federal government, and nobody gets stickier about garnishing wages than the big shots in Washington. The girls would have to cooperate or pay up, just like that. And if they did come up with the money, so what? It was just another overdue bill that could go in the coffers. But Harry didn't figure it that way; they'd go along, he'd known too many women to guess wrong about this. They'd co-operate - they'd do anything to keep their little men working safely away on the government's side of the Potomac. And besides, all he needed was one date out of them, just one time, and it was all downhill from there. Once Harry had them hooked, there was no letting go.
"Now don't tell me," gushed Francine as the two young women entered the tiny shop, "Your name I know, Mrs. Anson," she nodded toward Cheryl, addressing her by the married name she still used, "And yours... " She studied Eleanor carefully, "... I should know it, but my memory seems to be getting worse every day. No... it's coming to me... Merritt, that's it! Eleanor Merritt, right?"
Eleanor was embarrassed by this routine Fran chose to follow; she'd gone through all the same motions the last time they'd visited DeRoan's together. "Yes, ma'am. How nice of you to remember."
Fran's hand settled lightly on Cheryl's shoulder and she fairly swept them deeper into the boutique. "Of course, I should remember both of you. You're two of my most regular customers."
After that, Eleanor would have rather forgotten the whole thing. How could she bring up the overdue bill after all this!
Cheryl didn't waste any time, "Fran... there's something we came to see you about. You see... uh, we both might need a little time to get our bills paid. You know how these money problems crop up. Oh, we'll get them paid, all right. It just make take a bit longer than usual. Would that be all right? I mean, is it too much to ask?"
Fran was about to answer when she felt a tight grip squeeze her shoulder. "Let me introduce myself, ladies," came the masculine voice from behind her, "I'm Mr. Bresler... the credit manager. Could I be of some assistance to you?"
Cheryl and Eleanor looked at each other, puzzled; they'd never heard anything of a credit manager here. Why, the shop didn't seem large enough to warrant an extra person just to handle the credit accounts. This kind of altered things; Cheryl wasn't so sure of herself any longer. It was one thing buttering up Mrs. DeRoan, she was almost like an old friend. But this man, this was something else altogether. And he didn't look like the kind who took past-due bills too lightly.
"Uh... uh, maybe you can, Mr... Bresler, was it?" asked Eleanor, a faint cracking showing in her voice. She felt terribly embarrassed all of a sudden, as if she were some sort of criminal about to plead for leniency. "We've come about our accounts here. They're a little behind, and we might need more time to get them paid. Would that be all right?" asked Eleanor hopefully. But she wasn't about to get off so easily.
"Well, maybe we can work something out," answered Harry in his most official-credit-manager tone, "Depending, of course, on how long your accounts have been in arrears.
Perhaps we should step into the office and talk this matter over."
Francine stood by numbly through all of this, her mouth hanging open like some kind of idiot. Now the pieces were beginning to fit... now this crazy scheme of Harry's made some sense. But she didn't like it, not one bit. He's had some wild crazy ideas before, she thought, but this one! This one's too much!
"Har... Uh, Mr. Bresler," said Fran softly as the girls followed him obediently into the back office, "Could I see you a moment?"
Harry stopped half-way up the stairs, "Could it wait a few minutes, Fran? These ladies might be in a hurry."
Eleanor was quick to cut in. "Oh, we're in no hurry. No hurry at all. You go ahead and take care of that first."
"It can't wait, Harry." Fran's tone was unmistakable; firm and business-like. The last thing she wanted was a scene now, but she'd throw a winner if she had to.
Harry smiled warmly to the girls and showed them into the office, "Just take a seat anywhere. I have to apologize for the untidiness, but we were going over some new lines for the spring and we just haven't had a chance to clean up. I'll be with you in a few minutes." He closed the door behind him, and his smile vanished like a wisp of smoke.
"Now what the hell is it?" he snarled in Fran's direction, "You got some objections? If you do, spit 'em out now!"
Fran's face turned crimson, she couldn't stand being addressed like this. Her voice faltered as she spoke. "They're two very nice young ladies, Harry. They won't buy it... whatever it is you're planning. I'm telling you, they aren't going to go for it. They're nice girls, Harry, and one of them is married! I won't just stand by and let you do this. I just won't do it!" She was surprised herself that she had summoned enough strength to stand up to Harry, and it surprised him even more.
"Well, well... look who's got religion," sneered Harry, "You been sneaking out to church on me or something? I don't see how you can face those good Christians... or don't they know about you and me? Maybe you told the preacher how you'd been screwing your husband's old friend. How it killed him when he found out. Huh, Fran, did you tell 'em about that?"
Fran clamped her palms over her ears, "Stop it! Stop it! I don't want to hear it!"
"Okay, okay," whispered Harry, "Just calm down. I just wanted to knock some sense into you. For a minute there, you thought you were queen of the country club set. You just needed a little reminding, that's all. Just a little reminding."
Fran couldn't answer; she couldn't fight Harry. She knew it was all true; everything he said was true, every dirty little word. Her eyes were suddenly wet, but she fought back the tears. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction too; she wouldn't let him make her cry!
"That's better, baby," continued Harry. "I'm going in there now and have a little talk with those two ladies. And don't worry. Nothing's gonna' happen today. When I get ready to make my move, you'll know about it. And I'll keep you out of it if it'll make you feel any better. Now straighten yourself out, you look a mess. You don't want one of the customers to see you like that. And see to it that we're not disturbed back there."
Cheryl and Eleanor were talking quietly when he entered, but the conversation quickly ended when he opened the door. Harry laughed to himself; it didn't take much intuition to guess what they'd been discussing. That was good, he thought, the more they talk, the more they'll worry.
"Okay, ladies, let's see about those accounts of yours." His smile was pasted back on, and Eleanor and Cheryl felt more at ease now. Maybe this wouldn't be so painful after all. "I'll be just another moment," he said apologetically, "I have to look up your credit files."
The two of them sat anxiously as Bresler fumbled through three drawers of a battered olive-green metal file cabinet shoved in a corner as if to hide it. Eleanor nervously crossed and uncrossed her legs, but Cheryl showed no outward signs of anxiety. She simply sat quietly and waited for this man who'd suddenly come into the picture so unexpectedly to find their account records.
"Ah yes, here it is," said Harry after what seemed to Eleanor an eternity of searching. He pulled the thick manila folder from the file drawer. Eleanor could see the name; it was hers. He placed it on the paper-strewn desk beside the one he'd located already, then sat back down in the swivel chair. "Now, if you'll allow me a few moments to look these over."
Harry thumbed slowly through the pages of charge tickets and payment receipts, pausing occasionally to manage an apparently meaningful "hm-m-m-m-" as if to himself. When he'd finished scanning one, he paused, pulled a leather glasses case from his inside pocket and put on a pair of aluminum-framed reading glasses. He then slowly and deliberately studied the other file, stopping from time to time to mentally total a column of figures or refer to something on a page already past. The suspense was nerve-wracking for Eleanor, but still, Cheryl seemed unconcerned by the whole affair.
Finally, Harry Bresler put the two folders aside and turned his gaze back to the two girls.
"Ladies, I see no reason for not granting you an extension. Your accounts have been longstanding ones, ones we value here at DeRoan's, and you've always managed to get your bills paid in the past. So as far as we're concerned, your credit is certainly as good as always." Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief "There is one thing, however," he continued, "I would like to update our records here. Just as a matter of formality, you understand."
Cheryl was puzzled, "Update what records? You mean payment records?"
Bresler laughed cheerfully, "No, no. Simply a routine thing. I just want to ask you a few questions, that's all." That seemed to satisfy them, as they both nodded affirmatively. "Are you both at the same addresses now?"
"I am," said Eleanor, "My husband and I have lived there since we came to Washington.
How about you, Cheryl?"
She seemed to be trying to remember. "What address do you have there?" she asked.
"23076 Del Mar, Apartment 1100."
"That's almost right," explained Cheryl, "We changed apartments. Moved into a bigger one when it became available. It's apartment 905 now."
Harry dutifully noted the change. "And you're still working for the U.S. Department of Agriculture, right?" Cheryl said she was and he continued on to Eleanor. "Are you still a housewife, Mrs. Merritt?"
"That's right," said Eleanor, "And my husband's still with the Department of Housing and Urban Development."
Bresler scribbled something on a piece of note paper and slipped it inside one of the file folders, then stood up. "Well, I haven't got any more questions. Anything you girls would like to know?"
They both said no and thanked him for his kindness and understanding.
"Oh, it's only good business. We value our credit customers," he explained sincerely, "Feel free to use your charge privileges here at this shop any time you feel so inclined. I have no doubts about your honesty or your intentions. You both have unlimited credit with me."
Cheryl's eyes lit up like someone had plugged her in. "Wow, you really mean that?" she asked, a look of child-like excitement on her face. Harry repeated his offer.
"C'mon' Cheryl, I've got to get back and fix John's dinner," lied Eleanor, remembering that they were dining with friends that night. She had to practically pull her along to get her out of the store without buying another outfit. When they reached the car, she was still hesitant about leaving empty-handed.
"Why not, Eleanor," she protested, "You heard what Mr. Bresler said. We've got unlimited credit!"
"Yeah, but credit's one thing. Paying it off is another," said Eleanor as she pulled back the tonneau cover on the Sprite. "Now let's get out of here before I start listening to you."
* * *
"Straight from heaven, I tell you. Straight from heaven!" Harry was waving around those two file folders like they were full of hundred-dollar bills. "They're perfect. Absolutely perfect. How the hell I ever missed them when I looked through the accounts, I'll never know. But who cares, they walked right into my arms!"
Fran wasn't as jubilant; her face reflected the disquieting uncertainty she was feeling inside. "Not from heaven, Harry. Nobody up there would contribute to one of your schemes.
They must have come the other way."
"So what? They're here now, and that's all that matters, Fran baby! We're on our way to some big money. Five or six more like that and we can knock down an easy pile of dough."
"I don't know, Harry," said Fran uneasily, "I'm not as sure of all this as you. I'm a worrier, you know that. But you... you don't worry about anything. It all doesn't look so simple to me. What if they won't buy your scheme? What if you try to pressure them and they go to the police? Huh, Harry? What about that?"
Harry made a face, "Christ, Fran, you sound like the typical Jewish Mother. Why don't you stop harping on all the things that could happen and think about all the dough we'll be making. And this is only the beginning! Once we've got a good set-up in operation, I can keep twenty or thirty girls busy. Do you realize what kind of money that'll bring us?!"
Fran's open palm went up, "Enough! I don't want to hear any more about it. You told me to leave all the sordid details to you, and that's what I intend to do. Just do what you have to do and leave me out of it."
"Okay, Fran, honey. Okay," said Harry soothingly. "But stop worrying so much, all right?
I've been in this game too long to make any dumb mistakes. There's not a trick in the book I don't know forward and backwards, so don't trouble your pretty head, everything's going to work just fine."
CHAPTER FIVE
It was another of those incredible Washington parties.
The ones they write about in the Sunday Women's Pages of every small-town daily in the United States. There, spread over five columns of newsprint, they sound so interesting, so richly elegant and exciting, like meeting the President or being presented to some exclusive royal court.
But after two years, Eleanor had come to see these enforced gatherings as what they really were; dull, lifeless occasions with all the regal thrill of a wedding reception in Cleveland, Ohio. And tonight especially, Eleanor would have gladly traded all this for the wedding party.
They might have been a lot more enjoyable if she'd been the wife of some foreign ambassador or even a nameless higher-up in the Administration. But the wife of John Merritt, just another of the countless hordes of up-and-coming young men that populate Washington and its environs like so many fruit-flies, it was an absolute drag.
Not since those dreadful Junior-Senior dances back at Wagner High School had she seen so much social stratification; nobody, but nobody, would think of mixing with someone beneath his station. In fact, the party was really three, even four, parties in one, depending on your G-rating. And administrative trainees, even the ones with pretty young wives, were pretty much relegated to keeping each other company.
She'd rather enjoyed the first two or three of these affairs; it had been sort of nice seeing how the other half of Washington society lived. But after the first couple, she began to feel more and more like the hired help, and less like a guest. It sometimes puzzled her why they were even invited at all; she finally figured it was either because of some inviolate Washington protocol, or because they needed faces to fill the gaps in the catered ballrooms.
Whatever the reason for being here, this one night in particular would have been better spent in their cozy living room, as far as Eleanor was concerned.
Tonight, she had problems of her own - big ones, and keeping her plastic smile on was proving to be more than she could manage. There was a letter lying on the kitchen counter back home that wouldn't leave her thoughts for a second. Even with the black-tie orchestra playing in her ear, all she could think of was that letter - and what it contained.
She'd been a complete fool, that much she knew for sure. Why she ever let herself be talked into anything by that nitwit Cheryl Anson was beyond her comprehension. She knew better... She should have learned something from the past. She could have kicked herself for getting in this mess, but she'd rather have kicked Cheryl. And what made it all so unbearable was being reminded of her own stupidity, everything, she glanced down at the dress she was wearing.
She should have know better than to charge anything else at that shop, no matter what that Mr. Bresler said. But worst of all, she'd fallen for one of Cheryl's lame-brained ideas again.
That was the bitterest pill of all. A hundred and forty-nine dollars! With this outfit, her bill was nearly eight hundred dollars. And she still had no idea how she'd pay it.
John had brought it up at breakfast only this morning; for a minute there it seemed like the whole bombshell was about to go off in her face. She'd had to tell him the dress was only fifty dollars or so, and that there was nothing to worry about - she was making regular payments from her household money. He didn't seem to really buy that story, but at least it had held him off for a while. Maybe it would give her enough time to figure out an answer.
She'd looked at the checking account balance only two nights ago, while John was asleep.
He didn't like her probing around in the checkbook; the bookkeeping was something he reserved for himself. It had looked good at first, enough on hand to at least make a partial payment, but that was before she realized that the first of the month was only short days away, and the rent check would be due before John got paid again.
But the clincher was that letter that came with the statement from DeRoan's... it looked like they meant business, and this was signed by the credit manager, the man she'd met a few short weeks ago with Cheryl, the one who'd been so nice. But he was anything but cordial this time; something had certainly happened to make him change his mind about her credit. This was clearly a demand for payment, no ifs-ands-or-buts, or they'd turn the account over for collection!
The tug at the sleeve of her gown grew more insistent, "Eleanor... Eleanor, are you about ready to go?"
She'd been so far away she hadn't noticed John beside her. She blushed as if he could have known what she was thinking. As if he could see the figures from the damned account written across her face. "Yes, dear. I've been ready since we came in the front door."
John quickly looked around to see if anyone had overhead that blasphemy. This reception was for one of the President's special appointees, and it just wouldn't do for one of his assistants' wife to be heard voicing such sacrilege. "Don't tell the whole party about it, darling," he said through clenched teeth, "You know how important this party is for me."
"I didn't say anything wrong," whispered Eleanor, "I was only telling the truth. And if you ask me, probably half of the people in this room feel the same way."
John was growing rapidly nervous; he had to get out of here before something really terrible happened. "C'mon, let's go thank the McDowell's and get out of here."
Eleanor didn't need a second invitation. She headed for the entry foyer so fast John nearly lost her in the crowd, shook Mrs. McDowell's chubby pink hand, thanked Mr. McDowell, and grabbed her wrap from the Negro woman stationed by the hall coat closet.
The outside air was like the breath of life after two hours trapped in that carpeted, mink-lined torture chamber that passed as a semi-formal reception for another of John's new bosses. It seemed they hired a new one every week; always somebody else to take orders from, but never, it seemed, a boost upward for John.
She was half-way down the long brick stairs before she even realized that John was still in the doorway, talking to someone she didn't recognize who'd cornered him as he tried to get away.
"John, dear... are you coming?" She hoped that would be the wedge he seemed to need to break away from this boor, whoever he was. "I'm cold, John."
It worked, and John came hustling down the steps in quick pursuit, pulling on his light topcoat as he hurried to catch up. "That was Sid Greenfeld, one of the guys over in the computer section. He just can't forget about business for one minute. 'Wanted to talk about some new programming method he's planning for next week. Can you imagine that? A staff meeting coming up Monday, and he has to tell me about it on the front porch of Bill McDowell's house."
"Yeah, honey... " Eleanor's thoughts were already ahead of her; they'd reached the apartment before she could even get to the car. That letter was there, that letter that she just couldn't get out of her head. Maybe she could tell John after all, maybe there was some easy way out of all this.
* * *
The hundreds of lights that dotted the Virginia hillside were just an arc-blue speeding blur to Eleanor as they whizzed silently along in the night, both quiet as they sat comfortably in the Mustang's bucket seats, relaxed and unwound for the first time in hours. It was as if they'd both just returned from an afternoon on the handball courts; every muscle in Eleanor's body felt tired and cramped; even her forearms hurt from holding an uncounted succession of champagne glasses oh-so-properly.
"John... " He didn't seem to hear; he was driving from memory, making all the right exits and turns as he did every evening of his life, not really driving at all, but sitting quietly while his subconscious did all the work. "John," she repeated.
He snapped around like someone who's just been jarred awake. "Yes, what is it!"
She could tell from his tone this was certainly no time to bring up the bill from DeRoan's.
"Uh, nothing important, I guess," she said, "I was just thinking about something."
"Well, what were you thinking?"
Eleanor stared down at her lap. "Nothing important, it'll keep."
"Darling, you know how that infuriates me. If you have something to say, say it. But don't start a sentence and just leave it hanging."
There was a silent pause as they swung onto the Shirley Memorial Highway, the last stretch of expressway before they reached home. "Well, I was wondering about something, honey. About collection agencies and things like that."
John turned his head away from the road, "Collection agencies! Why do you want to know about them? Is something wrong, Eleanor? You haven't gotten yourself in some kind of credit trouble, have you? You know how I feel about charge accounts!"
Eleanor leaped to her own defense, "Oh, no, nothing like that. Really! It's just that... this friend of Cheryl's. Actually, she's sort of my friend, too, well... she was asking me about it today. She's gotten in some kind of dumb trouble over her account at a department store in D.C. And they've threatened to turn her account over to a collection agency." She waited a moment for all that to sink in. "That's all, John, I was just wondering what they'll do to her. I mean, what does the collection agency do?"
"That all depends," answered John, his eyes back on the thruway, "Does she work for the government? 'Cause if she does, there's no question about what'll happen. They'll garnishee her salary and she'll lose her job. Unless, that is, she's running around with the boss or something."
Eleanor felt her heart sink down into her stomach. "Is it that certain? Does the government always fire people who get involved with collection problems?"
"That's right," explained John, "It's a standard procedure with practically every department.
And being a big shot doesn't help, either. Sometimes they're harder on the, wheels than on the little guys. I guess they expect that sort of thing from clerical help and such... but not from management. There it's strictly a no-no. By the way, what section's this girl with? I might know her."
"Oh, no," answered Eleanor quick, "Uh... she's pretty new. Works in the Agriculture Department somewhere. You wouldn't know her."
"Well, it's probably better I don't know her," said John, making the last exit before the apartment complex entrance, " 'Cause she's in for a pile of trouble. Yes sir, some real trouble."
CHAPTER SIX
This time it was her own idea.
Cheryl was ready and eager to go see Fran before, when she had something to gain. This time, though, it hadn't been so easy. It had been like taking a Doberman to the vet; she thought for a while she'd have to make the trek back to DeRoan's alone, without the benefit of Cheryl's company for moral support.
Of course, Cheryl had even more reason for this visit than she, since Cheryl, in her own inimitable manner, had taken Bresler up on his polite offer of unlimited credit. Her account was bursting at the seams now at nearly a thousand dollars, and she hadn't made even a five-dollar payment in months. Mr. Bresler wasn't in when she called, but Fran had told her to come in any afternoon after five and talk to Mr. Bresler. That had seemed rather odd, since most credit managers were in their offices until five, not after, but she thought it best not to question whatever they asked of her. After all, she was asking a lot; they weren't in business for the fun of it. Sooner or later that bill had to be paid.
There wasn't anyone in the shop when they arrived, not even a customer. Eleanor was afraid to look around the corner into the back office, afraid that Bresler and Mrs. DeRoan would be there waiting.
They waited anxiously, ignoring the racks of just-arrived new fashions from New York; this was no time to even consider another purchase. It was those metal racks of dresses, skirts and blouses that had gotten the two of them in this mess.
For once, Cheryl used her head; she opened the glass door again and let it close, ringing the door chime mounted high on the back office wall. They could hear papers being shuffled and some one about to enter from back there.
"Oh, Mrs. Merritt and Mrs. Anson," purred Bresler, "How are you? Won't you come in?" He waited for them to make their way into the office past the packing crates still piled in the hallway from the afternoon's shipment. "Let me lock up and I'll be right with you." Bresler had been alone in the shop for nearly a half hour, waiting for the two girls to arrive before locking the front door. Fran had left already, leaving this unpleasantry to Harry. By now she was safe at home, shielded from any of the ugliness that Harry would be dishing out, and that was the way she wanted it.
Harry ignored the two pairs of eyes; one blue, the other green, and went purposefully about his work, apparently reviewing their credit files again, just as he had a few weeks before.
After a while, he broke the heavy silence, "Well, girls, it doesn't look too good."
Both Cheryl and Eleanor started to speak at once, "But why? Only a few days ago you told us everything was all right! You even said we could feel free to make more charge purchases and it would be okay with you!"
Harry held up both his hands, "Now, now, ladies. Let's be reasonable about this. Allow me to explain." He seemed to be scanning some remote file in the back of his head. "It's all very simple. A lot has happened since you girls were here last. Most important, we've been bought out by a big syndicate from New York. They're not as casual about charge accounts as we are. In fact, one of the first things they said was for us to get all accounts more than thirty days old paid up immediately."
"But I can't pay it now!" protested Eleanor, "My husband doesn't get paid even for another two weeks!"
"I'm sorry, I really am. But you can see," explained Harry, "My hands are tied. I have no say in this matter. All the orders come from New York now, and I'm afraid there's nothing you can do but pay the bill right away."
"I can't, I tell you!" cried Eleanor, "I explained all that! I don't have the money."
Harry smiled benevolently, "I know, I know. I've had money problems myself... many times. But I'm just telling you the way it is. The credit department at the home office has told me - in confidence, of course - that they plan immediate legal action against all delinquent accounts by the end of next week. They don't mess around up there... I'm afraid they mean business."
Eleanor collapsed, defeated, in the leatherette chair, all the wind knocked out of her. She couldn't believe it! She should have expected it, but until this moment... until she actually heard it in so many words, she had yet to come face-to-face with the inevitable. She and John were going to be sued! That meant court action, their name in court records, lawyers... and worst of all, the end of John's career!
"What if I talk to the home office? Maybe they could give me just a little more time!" said Eleanor hopefully, "How about that? Wouldn't it be worth a try?"
Bresler slowly shook his head, a compassionate half-smile on his lips, "I'm sorry, Mrs.
Merritt. I've already tried that. There just isn't any alternative."
Eleanor was biting her bottom lip so hard it hurt, wracking her brain for some solution, something... anything!
She turned to Cheryl, but it seemed to be all going past her, over her head. "Cheryl! Aren't you going to say anything? You're in worse trouble than I am!"
Cheryl appeared to have been awakened from an idyllic daydream, "Me? Oh, yeah, I know... but what is there to do? I mean, the man said they were going to sue, so I guess that's what they'll do. There's certainly nothing I can do to stop them."
"But your job! You might lose your job!" shouted Eleanor excitedly.
"Yeah... I know. But who knows, maybe I won't after all. I've got a pretty understanding boss."
Harry's lead-lined heart skipped a beat; it looked as though he might be losing one of his pigeons!
He was about to begin Act Two, but Eleanor was still searching for some answer, some way out she hadn't considered yet, "Maybe they won't sue. Maybe by the time it gets to the court stage I'll have enough to pay off the bill."
"Oh I doubt that," offered Harry matter-of-factly, "These things take very little time. I understand they've got their own hot-shot legal department to handle delinquent collections. Why, if the proceedings are begun next week, you might be subpoenaed by the weekend."
"Subpoenaed!" cried Eleanor, "Is that what they do!?"
"You mean you didn't know?" inquired Cheryl. "Sure, they send a nasty old retired sheriff or something around and he hands you a summons to appear in civil court. That no-good old man of mine was always getting 'em... ex-old man, that is."
"He didn't lose his job, did he?" asked Eleanor, spotting a light at the end of the tunnel, "Maybe John won't lose his either!"
"Lose his job!" laughed Cheryl, "Are you crazy? He was in service, remember? What could they do - discharge him?"
Harry had spotted his opening and was about to run with the ball. "How about savings? Or maybe you could earn some money?" he suggested benignly.
"Not me. I've got all the job I can handle," said Cheryl, "And my savings account wouldn't buy a box of Cracker Jacks."
"Same here," added Eleanor, "And John would kill me if I suggested going to work. You know how silly he is about that, Cheryl."
She laughed nervously. "He'll kill you anyway when he finds out about this."
"Oh, stop it! Don't keep reminding me!" cried Eleanor, up on her feet and pacing like a caged animal.
Harry sat patiently, waiting, watching. He was pacing his moves with all the practiced skill of a prizefighter... watching for just the right spot, timing his delivery for the perfect punch.
And this was it.
"There may be a way you girls could solve this whole mess. And painlessly, too."
Eleanor stopped dead still, all her attention riveted on Harry Bresler. "Well... don't leave me hanging here. What is it!?"
Harry glanced down at his lap like a shy schoolboy. "It's rather delicate to talk about. I mean, I don't quite know how to phrase it. You might not understand."
There was a knowing smile on Cheryl's face. "I think I'm beginning to get the picture, Mr.
Bresler. At least part of it. But do go on."
Eleanor was looking back and forth from Cheryl to Bresler, still confused. "Would somebody please tell me what's going on? I may be stupid, but I feel like I missed something."
"Oh, you've missed something, all right," said Cheryl sardonically, "You've missed that whole side of life. But I haven't. I think Mr. Bresler and I understand each other perfectly."
"It would be very simple. No complications and no risks. And you'd wipe out your bills here in no time flat," he continued, "My associate would take care of all the difficult part. He's got dozens of out-of-town clients coming into Washington every week. And they all have one thing in common... they're lonely and need some companionship."
It was finally starting to sink in. "Now I get it! You've got a lot of nerve! Who do you think we are, a couple of... of street tramps!"
"Now don't go getting all excited, Mrs. Merritt," Harry said, "I'm only trying to help. If you'd rather go to court, that's your business. I wouldn't try to interfere for the world."
"Thanks a lot! A fat lot of choice you offer," said Eleanor angrily, her eyes two narrow slits, "C'mon, Cheryl, let's get out of here. I don't need this... this animal's help!" With that she grabbed her purse from the floor beside her chair and stormed through the doorway and into the shop. "Well, are you coming, Cheryl, or not!?" she shouted.
Cheryl sat for a moment, looking Harry in the eye, not saying anything.
"I think you're the more reasonable of the two," said Harry, "Why don't you try to talk a little sense into your friend. It's really the only way out, you know. And there's absolutely no legal hang-up."
"And just what sort of 'service' did you have in mind? A couple of all-night gangbangs, maybe?"
"Why, Mrs. Anson," recoiled Harry, "I'm surprised! You know that sort of thing is illegal. I would never ask you to do anything illegal."
Cheryl smiled knowingly, "Yeah, yeah, I've heard the pitch before. Eleanor's the babe in the woods, Bresler, not me. You want girls for 'dinner and dancing companions,' right?
We'd be just along for good clean fun, right?"
Bresler laughed, "You've got a good head on you, baby. You and me could make some real money. And I ain't talking about a few hundred bucks, either. You catch on fast... real fast. Yes sir, a broad like you could be driving Cadillacs and sporting minks in no time. What'ya say? Can we talk about it?"
Cheryl didn't answer at first, but rose from her seat and slowly picked up her purse and coat from the corner of the desk, not taking her eyes from Bresler's for an instant. "We'll see, Mr. Bresler. We'll see. Why don't you drop by my place later tonight. You've got the address. My roommates are going to be out for the evening. We could talk this over properly, okay?"
Harry nodded, his probing eyes already mentally appraising the young blonde's bountiful curves. Jesus Christ, he thought, I'll bet she's something else in the sack! The hell with the clients, I may save this one for myself!
"See you around nine-thirty, all right?" asked Cheryl softly as she paused at the open doorway.
Harry grinned widely, "You bet, sweetheart. You bet. I wouldn't miss it for the world!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
There could have been a lovely nighttime view from the over-sized picture window - the lighted Jefferson Memorial overlooking the Tidal Basin, George Washington's needle spire behind it, even the dome of the Capitol in the distance. And if you stood close enough to the bronzed glass and craned your neck a little, you could see the quiet hills of Arlington Cemetery with its endless rows of sleeping heroes silent in the autumn night.
But not this night... tonight the shades were tightly drawn. Even the dim glow of Washington's lights was shut out of the apartment. It would have taken the eyes of an alley cat to spot the two entwined figures, their naked flesh reflecting what little light managed to find them beneath the window. But they were there all right.
When the other three occupants of apartment 905 were around, this sort of recreation was strictly verboten, but tonight they were safely off stage, away in Mt. Rainier, Maryland at an engagement party, far over on the opposite side of the District. Cheryl was delighted now with her decision not to go; she'd planned to - that is until Eleanor talked her into going again to Fran's little boutique. The other girls wouldn't be back at all tonight; they'd decided that driving across Washington late at night without any men along might be nothing short of courting disaster. So they were staying over with the girl who was throwing the party. Very convenient for Cheryl, and at this point she didn't care whether they ever came back. Hell, they could stay in Mt. Rainier permanently!
"Mmmmmmm... it's so deep... so deep!" Cheryl's skirt, blouse and undergarments were strewn on the floor beside the sofa, and her long bare legs were cocked back at a forty-five degree angle, flattened hard back against her firm white titties.
Harry Bresler was half on his knees, half arched off the sofa with the support of his feet and palms, his long, hard cock buried deep in the young girl's belly, stretching apart the warm, hungry lips of her vagina as he flexed the huge shaft far down in her womb.
He tightened his loins, giving the bulging head of his cock a little jerk deep inside her, bringing a deep groan from her lips, her teeth tightly clenched. He flexed again... another groan from deep in her throat. She gasped as he began a slow revolving motion with his pelvis and her hot passage grew accustomed to this thick fleshy spear. He ground his prick tightly into her naked crotch, expanding the still cringing walls until it fit like a soft leather glove.
Harry reached past the naked young blonde to the dangling cords of the draperies and gave the shorter one a strong yank. The turquoise drapes parted enough to cast a soft gray glow over the room, outlining the smooth gleaming curves of the incredibly beautiful creature beneath him. Her breasts were two ivory mounds, capped with the warm pinkness of her crinkly nipples, hard and throbbing as he asserted his manhood deep in the greatly clasping sheath down between her widespread legs. Her eyes were closed, her teeth still clenched, her face distorted from the delicious pain his hard, thick organ was bringing to her moist passage.
With unbelieving eyes, Bresler ran his sweating palms over the girl's naked flesh, rubbing lewdly the moon-shaped cheeks of her buttocks, probing delicately at the furry vaginal lips ovaled around his impaling member. His fingertip flicked tentatively at her anus as his hand eased between their sweat-soaked bodies, then suddenly popped through the tight surrounding nether ring and wormed deeply into the soft rubbery flesh inside. It moved around, expanding the tiny hole until the palm of his hand lay flat against her ass cheeks, his whole middle finger sunk far inside the forbidden little channel.
Bresler couldn't believe his luck; he'd been happy with just Fran to mess around with. But this! This was more than one man could ask for. He'd only been here for an hour or so, and a couple of drinks ago he was sitting quietly on the sofa with this beautiful, hot-blooded mink and now... now, it was too fantastic to be real! He'd been around good-looking girls all his life, and he'd balled more than his share, many times more. But not in all those years... all those girls, could he remember one like this. Christ, she'd practically torn his pants off trying to get at his cock. And now, hell, she was hotter than a lit firecracker!
He began a hard rhythmic fucking motion in and out of Cheryl's moist stretched pussy, thrusting forward mercilessly from his backstroke and battering her writhing body back hard against the sofa cushions. Ignoring the cramped muscle in his twisted arm, he continued his relentless plundering of her anus with his rigid finger, slowly pistoning it in rhythm with the long, deep thrusts of his huge cock. The combination of the two brought groans of pain and gasps of pleasure from her open lips in time with the agonizing tempo.
Cheryl was enjoying every second of it - she'd been without a man for weeks and weeks now, and nothing could have felt better to her at this moment than the blood-chilling ecstasy of a long, hard cock shoved deep into her belly. That was the way she liked it, and the harder and bigger it was, the better. Being with a man like this always brought out the hidden masochistic urges she suppressed so well in every day life. Flat on her back like this, naked and helpless, she could let those shameful desires run rampant, pull her knees back tight against her breasts and savor wondrously the deep, burrowing thrusts of a man's penis far up inside her wet, juicy cuntal passage. Harry was well-hung, she liked that in a man, and now, nothing else mattered. Her hips were moving with a savage rhythm of their own, grinding up at his hairy loins with increasing speed as he stepped up the pace of his cock and finger ravaging both the hot, hungry holes down between her legs.
"Oh, yes... Goddamn it, yes... Fuck me like this, fuck me! Oh shit, yes! Fuck me!" she cried, squirming her body lewdly around beneath Harry's pelvis, knocking the cushions askew in her mindless passion.
She opened her eyes - she could see the clear, unmistakable outline of a man hovering over her, but the face was a blank shadow. She raised her neck slightly; she could look down between her upturned thighs and see the long, glistening shaft of his hardened cock sliding easily in and out of her own upturned vagina. A cold chill raced along her spine as he thrust his hips forward, sending the long pole diving down into the hot wetness of her voraciously tight tunnel. It didn't matter that his face was invisible; in fact, it almost seemed right... she needed a man, any man. The face was of no importance. What she needed was buried deep between her smooth bare thighs.
The fevered ecstasy reached a bone-shattering peak, "Oh God, don't stop! Don't stop!
Fuck me like this forever! Oh, yes... fuck me!" She grunted into the chill air, gyrating her naked ass faster and faster, trying to keep up with the monstrous pole of flesh that was pounding its way deeper and deeper up her belly with ever-increasing speed.
It was impossible for Harry to hold back any longer. He took one long, lustful look at the viciously writhing young girl pinned helplessly beneath the weight of his body and began fast, punishing thrusts that buried his long aching prick right up to the hairs on his pelvis with each and every long, deep lunge. Faster and faster he pounded far into her raging hot belly until.
"No, no... wait! Please, just a little more!" screamed Cheryl, but it was too late. Harry's lips parted and a long low sigh of release escaped with a groan as his swollen balls pumped spurt after spurt of sticky hot cum deep into her quivering belly. She ground her naked crotch up tightly against his pelvis to try to stop the warm flow even for an instant but her very eagerness deprived her of his last few gasping thrusts. The nibbling grip of her pussy-lips milked his long cock clean, the last drop of his hot viscous load sloshing deep inside her passion distended womb.
Harry pulled himself off the still squirming girl, his prick slithering wetly from her hungry clutches as the pink furry cunt lips released their prize reluctantly. A thin string of white stickiness hung from the tip of his cock over her bare thigh.
* * *
Cheryl lay quietly, at least as quietly as she could, and Harry stretched out beside her on the carpeted floor, his prick lying uselessly between his widespread thighs. Her breasts rose and fell in a rapid consistency as she gasped for breath to fill her emptied lungs. Still the flames of undiluted passion raged out of control in her loins, a scorching inferno of unfulfilled animal desires that still needed answering. Without any conscious effort, her own hands began to ease slowly along the flat expanse of her belly, over the sweat-soaked mound of her pelvis and down the smooth curve of her supple thighs. The fingertips of both hands brushed lightly over the puffy warm lips of her wet crevice, and a blast of electricity shot through her torso as her fingers touched the incredibly sensitive folds. One finger slipped into the sperm soaked opening as if it had a mind of its own, and she could feel the soft moist walls close involuntarily around the single digit, hungrily grasping at anything to fill the painful void.
She jerked her hand away quickly as she felt the sofa move slightly; Harry was kneeling at the other end, still completely naked, his long prick between the clenched fingers of his left hand. Above her like that in the near-darkness, he looked like a giant. She couldn't take her eyes off his penis, and he watched her eagerly as she kept her attention focused on the fleshy instrument jutting from his brushy loins. As she watched, it swelled... only a little at first, then more, in quick, jerking movements as the momentum of desire grew stronger inside him.
"Turn over," he commanded.
Cheryl obediently rolled over on the sofa, smearing the trail of semen on her thigh over the fabric of the sofa cushions. She lay quietly on her stomach, awaiting his instructions. It didn't bother her this way; sometimes she enjoyed it even more on her knees. Somehow the penetration seemed even deeper that way.
"Now kneel," he ordered. He grabbed impatiently at her hips and helped her to her knees.
She rested panting for a moment on all fours, her firm rounded buttocks shoved high and vulnerable in the air, and her face resting on the arm of the sofa. Her reddened eyes were glazed with the ravishment her body was enduring; her pulse quickened at the prospect of this man's steel-hard prick imbedded deeply inside her pussy again.
Suddenly she felt the insistent probings of Harry's cock against the forbidden tautness of her asshole. She waved the quivering half-moons of her buttocks back at him, feeling the blunt head of his prick pushing firmly against the tiny puckered hole.
"No, Harry... not there. I can't take it there. You're too big, it'll split me open," she uttered without excitement, still assured that her urging plea would be sufficient to protect her soft, delicate back passage from ravishment. Harry didn't answer, but responded instead with a cruel shove forward, burying the long pole deep up in her tiny puckered rectum. He grunted loudly as the tight rubbery walls closed deliciously tight around his throbbing penis.
Cheryl jumped forward with anguished surprise, "Ohhhhh! God, you're killing me! Take it out, you're splitting me in half!"
Harry grabbed the fleshy rims of her hips like a couple of handles, and forced her buttocks back against him with all his strength, gasping as his cock disappeared to the hilt in the tight grip of her tiny hairless anal passage. His balls hung forward and slapped against the dripping wet crevice, brushing ever so gently against the puckered ridges of her pussy.
He gripped her tightly, and she was unable to jerk away from this incredible agony. It was like the big end of a baseball bat had been rammed up inside her, shoved far up into her belly until her stomach tightened with nausea from the dull pain.
"Oh, please... I can't stand any more! God, you're gonna' split me open! Pull it out, please!" she begged.
But Harry was deaf to her pleas; his eyes were wide with astonished disbelief as he watched his thick cock slide back and forth, first back until the swollen tip alone remained between the tightly stretched bands of her anus, then forward again, inch by inch, until all of his long, hard shaft was nestled deep inside her constrictive passage. The feeling was incredible! It was like a warm hand covered in soft pink velvet had grabbed his throbbing dick and was pulling it far up inside the helpless girl's belly.
He was like a man possessed; harder and harder he rammed his rock-hard spear home, pushing aside the fragile pink walls of her anus as he shoved his prick as far as it could go up into her belly.
But for Cheryl, a most definite change was taking place. The pain was subsiding; or rather, it was being replaced with an overwhelming feeling of total subjugation, total ravishment at the hands of this near-stranger. The mental picture of her quivering buttocks being so ruthlessly plundered incited spasms of wicked pleasure in her writhing body. The unanswered hunger in her belly began to rage out of control once again. She began to undulate her buttocks in tiny circles, squeezing with the strong muscles of her rectum at the impaling shaft imbedded inside her, squeezing at the fleshy shaft now boring into her from behind. She wanted to suck it dry, to fill that untried orifice with this man's seething load, to feel his hot sticky flood fill her belly again until it ran in torrents down her sweat-soaked thighs. She had never had it this way before; always she had been able to talk her way out of it whenever a man was so inclined. But tonight she regretted having ever had second thoughts; she was wallowing in the intense pleasure-pain, savoring every second of the delicious agony he was inflicting on her ravaged back passage. She clenched her buttocks tightly, intensifying the masochistic thrill that had taken control of her body.
Nothing mattered except this; nothing but this long, hard muscle of masculine flesh that was bringing her such wanton ecstasy. She wanted it to shoot its load into her; she wanted to feel its scalding warmth flooding her very bowels with an unending torrent of life-giving sperm until it sloshed deep in her belly. She wanted it to run through every open pore of her naked body in rivers of wicked pleasure.
And an instant later her wishes were fulfilled.
Just as she felt the awesome wave of her orgasm swelling inside her loins, she felt his stiffened prick suddenly inflate even larger and begin spewing its white hot load deep up her tightly clasping asshole. It ricocheted wildly around inside and dripped from the hungrily sucking hole and streamed down the naked blonde's thighs. His balls were slammed tightly in the sopping wet crevice beneath her asshole, and the oozing liquid flowed warmly down over his leathery testicles as they brushed lightly against the puckered pink lips of her pussy, sending a shudder of wicked excitement through her tortured body.
She screwed her buttocks back tightly against the still emptying cock buried deep in her hungrily clasping rectum and with a loud scream from between clenched teeth felt her whole body explode with the pricks of a billion red-hot needles. Her strength was suddenly gone and she collapsed forward on the sofa as his cock slipped with a lewd wet sucking sound from the tight velvet grip of her rectum. She shivered once more as the cool air rushed like a gale wind up her unplugged opening, chilling her very insides.
Harry's body had somehow managed to stay intact through all of this, though every last ounce of energy and strength was drained from his every straining muscle. With a gasping moan that seemed more of relief than of pain, he fell to the floor beside the sofa, his arms and legs spread-eagle, his breath coming in quick, short gasps.
* * *
"The offer still stands, sweetheart," said Harry, now nearly fully clothed, but still minus his shoes and socks. Cheryl was wearing only her panties, pouring enough coffee for a pot full into the electric percolator on the kitchen bar. She looked totally renewed, almost like a new person, her flesh glistened with that special glow that comes to a woman completely satisfied. And satisfied she was; she couldn't remember feeling this way since maybe those first few times back in high school, and then only because it was all so new and exciting. Harry located one shoe beneath a chair opposite the sofa, and was down on all fours scouting for the other one. "Yes sir, baby, we could really knock down some real money together. None of this four hundred a month like you're bringing home now. I'm talking about more in the neighborhood of four grand! Every month!"
Cheryl turned without a word, still standing at the kitchen service bar, but in full view of Harry Bresler. Her breasts stood proudly like two ripe, juicy melons, without the need of any support; her pink nipples were still hard and erect.
"Well, how about it? Can you bring that friend of yours in line? If she'll go along, even for just a little while, we'll be set for months to come. You can make book on that."
A big grin widened across Cheryl's pretty face, "Don't you worry about Eleanor, lover.
For that kind of money, I'd get my own grandmother working for you!"
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Wine Cellar was one of those cocktail-hour bars you find dotting the working districts of Washington, the kind of place all the rising young men go to score a date with some young, attractive secretary or file clerk from one of the hundreds of government offices all over the area. They all do their business between four-thirty and eight or nine. After that, everyone retreats into his high-rise tower, safely away from the high-crime downtown sections, secluded from the muggings and assaults that have become as much a part of Washington as the Cherry Blossom Festival. Most of these clubs double as dinner houses for the regulars, offering a table of hot and cold hors d'oeuvers to fill the empty spaces between martinis; and while they may be deserted and closed by the time most bars are just beginning to swing, they more than make up for it while they're open.
Eleanor Merritt had already fended off two guardedly vague propositions, one outright pass, and more unmistakable stares than she could remember since she came in less than a half hour ago. She felt like one of the hors d'oeuvres, and there was no doubt in the minds of any of the men present that she was fair game. And that meant anyone and everyone, according to the long-standing rules, could try his luck.
But Eleanor wasn't here to be picked up, at least not like the other girls, fresh out of the steno pools and available. Eleanor was here for a reason... eight hundred and twelve dollars worth of them, to be exact. She'd stopped blaming Cheryl now; there was no one but herself to blame for getting in this mess. Cheryl couldn't be condemned for being herself, she was the one who should have known better. That was the whole history of their long friendship - Cheryl had a way with words, her crazy plans and ideas always made sense at the time. That was why she could never talk herself out of listening to another of her crazy notions. But this time, she didn't need all that encouragement. She'd had a lot of time to think this whole awful mess out carefully and with a clear head, and she knew there wasn't any other way. She'd checked with a friend of hers in government personnel, and she'd verified what she knew already to be true: that John would either lose his job or forfeit a chance at promotion, depending on how well he and the boss got along. Either way it meant the end of his career and probably, their marriage.
She'd refused to even listen to Cheryl at first; she was adamant about even being seen with another man, much less going out on a date with one. But Cheryl had persisted, and Eleanor finally consented, knowing all along that there wasn't really any choice. It was like a game she had to play first; giving in easily would have marked her as a loose woman, something she'd never want hanging over her head. But in the end, Bresler's plans for her didn't seem so bad. There seemed very little chance of anything going wrong; John never came on this side of town, much less in one of these pick up bars. And she had Mr.
Bresler's word that nothing was expected of her except a nice, quiet evening with a man from out-of-town who wanted not to be alone while in Washington. It all seemed innocent enough; not something she'd ever do again, of course, but if this was all it took to erase that debt that hung around her neck like a millstone, then why not? John would never know and she'd just be sure in the future never to let bills pile up again... it was certainly the least painful way out, and maybe the only way short of wrecking her marriage. It did seem a bit odd that Bresler would be willing to substitute this one evening for all that money, but Eleanor wasn't going to let that bother her. That was between him and Fran, not something she needed to be concerned about. After all, he had given his word, and in front of Cheryl, too. What harm could possibly come of it?
* * *
She knew he was the one before he even hung up his coat; there was something very noticeable about him that said "out-of-towner." He wasn't just a newcomer to this bar; plenty of others had probably never been here before this night. No, he was definitely the one. Mr. Bresler hadn't felt it necessary to describe him, only to tell her that his name was Albert... something Albert, she couldn't remember.
His description must have been better, for the heavy-set man came straight to Eleanor's tiny booth for two. He looked to be about forty-five, older than she'd expected, But he wasn't bad looking; in fact, he could have been quite handsome in other circumstances.
Tonight, she wasn't concerned with this man's looks; all she wanted was to have his dinner, drink his drinks, and get home before midnight so John wouldn't suspect that her story about having dinner with a couple of old girl friends from college was a phony.
"Eleanor Merritt?" He stood politely, a few feet away, noticeably unsure of his selection.
Eleanor smiled as best she could, "Yes... you must be Mr. Albert. Won't you sit down?"
The man sighed with relief, "Thank heaven! I was afraid I might have to spend half the night in here just going from table to table like some kind of idiot. Harry's description of you was perfect, though. He said just to look for the loveliest girl in the place with pretty, black hair and that would be you."
Eleanor blushed; she knew he was handing her a line, but it didn't matter. It had been so long since a man had said anything like that to her. "Thank you, Mr. Albert. That's nice of you to be so kind... even if it isn't true."
"Oh, but it is! You stand out like an oasis in this desert of brainless stenographers. I knew you had to be the one when I walked through the door. And don't be so formal... my name is Peter, okay?"
Eleanor's smile was real this time; maybe this wouldn't be so hard to endure after all.
"Okay. And my name is Eleanor. I hope you're not disappointed."
"Disappointed! Why should I be?"
"I mean, after that big build-up Harry gave you," explained Eleanor awkwardly. "I hope I live up to all his promises."
Peter had a perfect come-back for that, but he remembered something else Harry Bresler had told him. About how this was Eleanor's first "date" and that he should proceed slowly so as not to frighten her away. That hadn't set well with him at first, and he'd thought of calling the whole thing off, telling Harry to find another girl, one who knew the ropes, even if she wasn't as young and pretty. But he'd changed his mind - after all, there was something particularly alluring about a girl like Eleanor. Something magnetic about that peaches-and-cream innocence she radiated, that smile of hers that hadn't become worn around the edges from a succession of men with all their unique hang-ups. Yeah, he liked her, liked her a lot. So much in fact, that the money he'd forked over to Bresler seemed like a perfect investment.
He realized he'd been staring at the young girl long enough to make her wonder if something was wrong. "I'm sorry," he said, "I guess my mind was a mile away. I've got an important meeting in the morning and I guess I can't get it off my mind."
"Well, would you like to go somewhere else?" asked Eleanor hopefully. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, and now that she wasn't worried any longer, that emptiness was becoming quite noticeable.
"A wonderful idea... How about dinner?" Eleanor didn't need time to think that idea over.
She agreed without a second's hesitation and Peter helped her put on her coat, paid both their tabs, though he hadn't touched the drink the cocktail waitress had brought him.
Eleanor couldn't help it - there was something she couldn't deny about having dinner with this man. Something she wouldn't have guessed she could feel any more; a sort of warm glow like a teen-ager out on a date. It was almost exciting in a strange kind of way; maybe it was just the "wickedness" of it all. She didn't know, but whatever it was, she was beginning to enjoy it.
It had been ages since she'd been to a fancy Washington restaurant for dinner, even with John. And it might very well be the last chance she got for a long, long time. She didn't plan to miss out on her one time at bat.
* * *
Dinner was at Le Club, a place she'd never heard of, but one that rivaled the Jockey Club in rich, plush elegance. She'd been there once, when one of John's friends had taken them at his expense, but that was months ago. This place seemed even posher, if that was possible, and she'd been confident that the Jockey Club was the nicest restaurant in Washington. They were greeted by not one but two distinguished-looking gentlemen in full dress; Eleanor felt suddenly very shabby. She hadn't expected anything like this, but even if she had known, it would have been terribly difficult trying to explain to her husband why she needed such an outfit just for dinner with some old girl friends.
What followed was a seemingly unending procession of impeccably trained professionals, starting with a head-waiter and running the gamut of waiters, various assorted busboys and finally, a liveried sommelier who offered Peter an outstanding choice of fine French wines to highlight their dinner selections. Everything on the menu looked delicious to Eleanor, by now holding her stomach as discreetly as possible and hoping that the entire room couldn't hear its low insistent rumbling.
Graciously, Peter offered her her choice, but she declined, leaving the hard part of deciphering the French entrees for him. With her approval, Peter chose oysters baked in Mornay sauce and grated cheese for the two of them, followed by small veal kidneys in an incredible sauce of red wine, mushrooms and the fresh marrow of a calf. Eleanor would have preferred that he didn't explain it all so vividly, but she was determined to eat whatever they brought out, provided it wasn't still breathing.
After a couple of bites, she forgot the queasy reservations she had felt about the kidneys and finished them off like a starving child, relieving her gold-rimmed plate of every trace of the veal long before Peter was finished.
For dessert, Peter chose the specialty of the house, crepes Roxelane - paper thin buckwheat crepes wrapped around a filling of lemon souffle and topped with a dollop of fresh raspberries.
Eleanor couldn't remember feeling so pleasantly full; she felt like a princess when finally, the staff cleared away the last of the dinner and brought out the coffee. Coffee for her, that is; Peter ordered a snifter of very old brandy, some that he said no other restaurant in the United States served.
"Well, I hope everything was satisfactory. You seemed to be enjoying it all," said Peter with a slight grin.
Eleanor blushed, "Oh, I hope I didn't embarrass you. I guess it showed... I hadn't eaten since early this morning and I was about to starve, to tell you the truth."
Peter took a slow savoring sip of the brandy and put the crystal piece back on the table.
"Don't be silly, there's nothing wrong with enjoying a meal. Why, in some countries your host would be offended if you didn't eat everything on the table... and with your fingers, yet!"
"I guess I wasn't quite that bad," said Eleanor, "But it was really delicious. I can't recall a better meal... ever."
Peter made one quick glance over his left shoulder for the waiter, and like magic, the man suddenly appeared from wherever it is that waiters go when they're not waiting on tables.
Peter assured him that, indeed, the meal was outstanding, and he vanished again for a moment, only to return with a tiny silver tray holding the check. Eleanor tried futilely to sneak a look at the figures; it was killing her not to know how much all this had set him back since her menu had no prices at all. But the finely printed figures were too small.
"I'm about ready to go. How about you? Would you care for any more coffee? Brandy maybe?"
Eleanor shook her head, "No, I'm fine. Ready any time you are."
It never occurred to her to ask where they were going, and not until they were both seated in the back of the taxi did she realize what the next stop was supposed to be.
"Columbian Arms, driver. On Connecticut."
Eleanor knew the name was familiar, but she couldn't place it. One thing for certain, though, it wasn't where she wanted to go. Anything with a name like that could hardly be for dancing or having a couple of after-dinner drinks like Bresler had assured her.
"Columbian Arms?" repeated Eleanor questioningly, "Where is that on Connecticut? I can't seem to place it."
Peter was off his guard; the question seemed innocent enough. "Oh, you know... it's that big hotel that takes up the whole block. The one with the enormous fountains in front that looks like they've been transplanted from Las Vegas.
Hotel! Of course, the Columbian Arms Hotel! It's in the society pages practically every day.
He's gotta' be crazy if he thinks I'm going with him in there!
She started to bring it out in the open right then and there; to make the biggest scene he'd ever witnessed if necessary. Anything it took to turn this cab around and head it back to the garage where her car was parked, but Peter beat her to the punch.
"I can see by your expression that you're experiencing some apprehension about visiting a man's hotel room, right?"
Eleanor nodded, "I didn't know it was so obvious."
"Oh, but it is," said Peter, "And I can't say that I blame you. It just seemed like a logical place to go after dinner. I wouldn't want to run into that husband of yours somewhere. Or any of his friends, for that matter. I've got a gorgeous little suite there with a fantastic view of Washington. I thought maybe we could have a few drinks, maybe catch the Friday Night Movie on the tube. What'ya say?"
Eleanor felt embarrassed. She wished he hadn't felt compelled to make that remark about her husband. She could almost see the cab driver's ear perk up like a spooked terrier's.
"Oh, all right. I don't suppose it would hurt anything. And you're right, there isn't really a lot of choice."
By the time she finished making up her mind, they were there. The driver fairly leaped out of his door and hurried around to open Eleanor's side, something she'd never seen a Washington cabbie do in all the months she'd been living there. He must have smelled a big tip, she thought.
The doorman wasn't far behind, and for a moment, she feared they might come to blows over whose territory was being violated. Peter appeased them both before it passed the cold stare stage with a warm soothing bill, folded neatly in half and Eleanor led the way into the sumptuous lobby. It was small, but richly done. Something about it assured you that anything you'd find beyond that point would be only the best of quality, whether it be a drink at the mahogany bar or a penthouse suite on top.
Peter's room, really a suite, was beyond her wildest expectations. The period was Louis XVI or maybe another of those Louis's; but whatever the vintage, it was masterfully done.
It looked more like a movie set than a hotel room. It was spotlessly perfect, without a sign to hint that a normal human was staying there, with normal human quotas of dirty laundry and assorted unmentionables.
"Wow!" was all Eleanor could manage, her eyes wide as she surveyed the sumptuous accommodations, "What kind of business did you say you were in? You must be a millionaire to afford something like this!"
Peter laughed, "No, nothing like that. I do own my own company though. And since Uncle Sam is paying for most of this anyway, I figure I may as well go first class."
Eleanor was still looking around the spacious suite. One door was closed; it looked like the bath. But she could see the bedroom clearly, well lighted from the bedside lamp Peter had left burning. The bed was king-size, maybe even larger. It was undeniably the biggest bed she'd ever seen. Just looking at it made her nervous; it was so huge, so obvious, it seemed almost vulgar sitting there as if waiting for something she'd rather not think about... It was obviously too much bed for one person.
"How about a drink? I'm completely out of liquor, so I'll have to ring room service anyway. What would you like?"
Eleanor started to politely beg off; she'd deliberately maneuvered around taking a drink since she and Peter had left the Wine Cellar. It wouldn't do to lose her clear head now - it might prove to be her only defense.
I'm being silly, she convinced herself. Peter's been a perfect gentleman, and besides, what harm could one friendly drink do anyway?
Room service was the mark of a really outstanding hotel; it seemed the jacketed bellboy was at the door before Peter could finish giving his order. He'd ordered a bottle of twelve-year-old scotch, not really what she would have chosen for herself. But Peter had suggested it, and it did seem as good a choice as anything else. Scotch was the one liquor she'd never really developed a taste for. It was always around at the parties John drug her off to, but somehow the bite had always seemed a little strong for her tastes.
"Would you care for a little water in yours?" asked Peter, "I can't abide the thought of putting anything alien in good scotch, but a lot of people like it that way I suppose."
"I'll have it however you're having yours," replied Eleanor, "But a little ice might be nice," she added.
It was strong - so strong, in fact, that Eleanor wasn't sure she could even swallow the fiery liquid. She tried not to, but she made a face anyway; it tasted like hot, wet charcoal to her and it seared her throat passage all the way down to her stomach.
"I take it you're not much of a drinker, right?" asked Peter, holding back a laugh at the horrible expression on her face.
"Oh, no, it's not that," explained Eleanor, "It's just that I'm not used to drinking scotch. I usually stick to martinis... and bourbon sometimes if I'm in the mood for it."
"I'll be glad to have the bar send up a bottle of bourbon if you like. Or even a pitcher of chilled martinis."
Eleanor said thanks, but not to bother, the scotch would be fine. On an empty stomach, she might have keeled over right away; but she was pleasantly full, and the potent liquor took its time seeping into her system. She sat down on the sofa by the door, resting her elbow on the carved-wood end table at her side. Peter poured himself another drink, switched on the mahogany color TV and seated himself beside her.
Eleanor was suddenly nervous again, close like this to a man not her husband; she reached for a cigarette in her purse. The small beaded bag was at the end of the cocktail table, opposite Peter, and the reach was a long one. He reached his hand under her to steady her, and accidentally - or perhaps on purpose - brushed lightly the ripe swell of her young breast. He felt the incredible warmth, the firmness of her flesh through the thin dress and bra. Pulling away quickly, he glimpsed the lines of her well-shaped hips and delicious bottom through the fabric of her dress as if she were naked. It seemed all the more exciting because he couldn't help remembering what Harry Bresler had said; this girl was young and innocent, not some hardened pro. He felt a growing urgency in his loins as his body responded to this voluptuous woman by his side.
As she sat back, he slipped his arm around behind her. "Do you mind?" he asked.
"No, I guess not," replied Eleanor as the colored images on the television screen came slowly into focus. Peter's hand eased a little further along the edge of her bare arm, his fingertips only barely brushing the curve of her concealed breast.
She didn't know how to handle this; whether to be terribly offended and defensive. It seemed silly to make such a fuss if his move was only an innocent one. She didn't want to seem an idiot, especially after all the money Peter had spent on her this evening. She fumbled in her purse nervously as his fingers seemed to slide over her nipples; she thought at first it was only her imagination, but she felt the tingling sensation of his touch again. Peter was fast losing his self-control and carefully-planned strategy it didn't seem to matter any more. All he could think of was the fantastically beautiful young body he knew was hidden under that dress.
"I'd offer you a light, but I don't have one in the room," said Peter. "Would you like me to have some matches sent up?"
"That's not necessary," answered Eleanor, carefully avoiding looking him in the eye, "I don't really need a cigarette anyway. I'm trying to quit." She was blushing slightly and Peter could feel her trembling slightly under the palm of his hand.
The second double scotch had given Peter a boost of courage he might have lacked otherwise, but at the same time, it nearly eliminated his capacity for subtlety and he moved his hand firmly over her breast, an agonizing crescendo of maddening desire welling in his hips and loins.
"Please, Peter... don't spoil everything now," Eleanor pleaded, still looking away. Her hand swept his away from her breast.
Peter only smiled and, keeping his hand firmly in place, began kneading her soft yielding flesh between his fingers. His brashness surprised him as much as Eleanor, but there would be no stopping him now.
"You needn't play games with me... We both know what comes next. It's inevitable."
Eleanor looked into his face at last, and what she saw frightened her so badly she could scarcely speak. Her face was suddenly pale and drawn as she pulled stubbornly at his hand.
"You've got to stop; Please!" cried Eleanor, fear clouding her eyes. Watery tears started to trickle down her smooth cheeks as he held her firmly in spite of her struggle to free herself.
Nothing would stop him now. He quickly wrapped his other arm around her, and with strength she couldn't resist, pinioned her tightly in his arms and forced his face against hers. She twisted and kicked valiantly, but it was futile. His mouth closed brutishly on her soft moist lips as he eased the weight of his body over hers and pushed her backwards onto the sofa.
The man couldn't contain a nervous laugh that came out of nowhere as he reached over her narrow shoulders and unzipped her dress. There wasn't a thought in his brain at this moment, except that of uncovering this delectable young woman and giving her pleasure as no one else had ever done. It didn't matter that she was a married woman, that she had a husband, and for all he knew, maybe a couple of kids. That was like something in another world, to Peter she was only an innocent virgin, as fresh and as unspoiled as any girl on earth. Yes, he'd give her pleasure, all right, and perhaps a little pain, but he knew she'd thank him for this... before long she'd be begging him for more of his delicious pleasure.
"No, please... stop please!" She was screaming so loudly he feared someone would call the manager. Her fingers jabbed at his face and tore at his hair as she lost all hope of escaping this terrible fate with only words. He managed to yank her dress down over her shoulders and down, finally, to her young trim waist. He swept her flailing hands away and somehow freed the hooks on her bra, reaching far over her shoulder as she squirmed and kicked like a wildcat. He yanked the thin bra free and tossed it to the floor, exposing the soft pear-shaped mounds of her ivory breasts, bouncing and writhing with the frantic contortions of her body. Holding her arms pinned to her sides, he lowered his lips to her pink, wrinkled nipples and brushed the smooth skin which felt like the peach-soft suppleness of a baby's delicate flesh. She screamed again and her head arched back as he bit into the savory softness of her jiggling tit. His hand shot between her thighs before she could clench them shut and probed hungrily for the moist furrow of her pussy, still protected by the gauze-like sheerness of her panties.
The heat of animal desire rushed like a speeding freight to his penis and with a frantic, hurried jerk he snatched off her dress in one rough, furious movement. Her long smooth legs flailed madly against him, though she seemed nearly spent from the hopeless struggle.
Peter could hear the pulse of blood pounding in his head as he focused on the sheer, flimsy panties creasing on the smooth, full flesh of her hips, the same panties he'd seen so tantalizingly outlined beneath her dress just moments ago. They stretched tightly over her pelvis, failing to conceal entirely the dark triangle of soft young pubic hair at the junction of her milk-white thighs.
He forced another kiss on her as he tried to tug down the panties with one hand. But it was impossible - the head-on clash of two overwhelming desires. Her desperate struggle to protect her innocence, and his maddening passion. The gnawing agony in his loins had become an acute pain and he could withstand the torment no longer - with a powerful jerk of his wrist he simply tore the soft flimsy panties from the hapless girl's writhing body. It ripped down her left side, then across the front, splitting in half and revealing her whole nakedness - softly firm and helpless before him.
His heart pounding like an air jack, Peter moved his hand from her arm down to the jutting mound of his own pelvis and hurriedly unzipped his trousers. Without meaning to, he partially released his grip, and in the brief instant before he recovered, Eleanor jerked away from him, flinging her naked body nearly free of the sofa and out of his reach. But though she was fast, Peter was faster, and with one powerful sweep of his forearm, he grabbed her around the waist and slammed her back onto the cushions beside him. She fell on her face as he jerked her back to the sofa, and he caught a glimpse of her firm rounded buttocks, the smooth halves grinding together like twin ball-bearings covered with nearly transparent skin as she squirmed and struggled savagely. She twisted herself over in an instant, and as he carefully looked her over from top to bottom, he was suddenly aware of her innocent girlishness. For though she was unquestionably a woman, she had that special air about her, a tempting, tantalizing girlish appeal.
Again she was struggling for her life and Peter had his throbbing cock pressed against the flesh of her thighs as he kicked off his pants. He could stand it no longer; his penis was a pulsing firebrand, filled, it seemed, with a raging-hot pain that ached to be eased. He forced her thighs apart with an effort strengthened by the immense lustful passion he felt in his loins. She strained away from him, even put her hands to his now-bare pelvis in a vain attempt to shield her naked loins from this wanton ravishment, but the feel of her tiny fingers down there only served to magnify his insane desires. He felt her fingertips brush accidentally over the blood-filled head of his anxiously throbbing cock and there was no way left of retaining control. In another moment, he was pushing up hard, driving his rock-hard shaft home between the helpless girl's quivering thighs. He felt the warm clasping lips of her pussy close involuntarily but tightly around the tip of his hardened penis.
Eleanor screamed, even louder than before.
"Oh, God, no! Please, no! Please, don't... I beg you!" Her eyes were flooded with tears as she pleaded to be spared this horrible degradation. But with a brutal thrust, he rammed his lust-hardened cock into her open cunt as she screamed hysterically with pain and terror.
He felt a welcome surge of relief sweep from his loins as the tight walls of her warm, wet pussy closed hotly around his cock. The passage was tight, but not painfully so, and grew more lubricated with every lunge forward that sank his immense rod of excited flesh another inch deeper in her pink, wet passage. He held her securely by her upper arms as she sobbed and jerked her body in an effort to escape him and the thick, stretching pain he brought. Her legs continued to flail, though she was nearly exhausted and gasping for breath to fill her tired lungs, and her vagina was left wide-open and unguarded. He thrust powerfully deep into her, throwing all his weight behind his ramming cudgel as it seared like a hot torch into her belly. In deeper and deeper and deeper while strangled hoarse cries escaped dry, parched lips. He kissed her tear streaked cheeks as his loins ground into hers and she twisted her head wildly from side to side, tossing her thick, luxuriant hair behind her as she still fought wildly though her strength was waning.
Ignoring her feeble blows, he reached his hands down under her soft buttocks-cheeks, and grasping a warm, firm mound with each, he raised her loins toward his grinding pelvis, thrusting with fresh vigor so that his straining groans nearly drowned out her sobs. Sweat drained from the man's forehead as he buried his swollen penis deeper and deeper into the naked young housewife's ravaged pussy. It seemed to him that his whole body was numb, except for the long, hard shaft of his penis, the whole of his very being concentrated into a single pulsing, devouring, devastating sensation that seemed to grow with every strong thrust and jerk of his loins. Her wet passage, now freely lubricated with her own juices, clamped sweetly around his organ, offering the perfect complement to his own rigid manhood.
She continued to writhe helplessly like an impaled insect as he leaned up enough to reach the crinkly, sweat-soaked tips of her hardened nipples. As he began to feel the tell-tale surging begin deep in his loins, she began to cry even louder, as if she knew the end was near. As if she knew that in only a few seconds this near-stranger would empty his swollen testicles deep into her helpless belly in an unstoppable torrent of hot sticky sperm. Her face was contorted with the agonizing humiliation and degradation she could not escape.
The man could feel his aching rod grow longer and thicker until it seemed he would burst through her body and come out the other side. His whole body was drenched in sweat and he panted, gasping and choking for breath, thrusting deeply and savagely. He could feel the scalding flood beginning to sweep along the full length of his wildly throbbing organ until it reached the sweetly bursting head, buried deep in the warm clasping sheath of her tender young cuntal passage. She screamed frantically as he rammed her thighs back against her ribs, forcing her ravished pussy mouth upward to give him the perfect angle, positioning her helpless body so that his exploding manhood was sunk deep in the very heart of her.
He closed his eyes... it was coming, coming... then like a flood-tide of hot, seething liquid, the viscous flow surged from his loins, paused for an instant like a wave cresting at the tip of his thick, hard penis. He cried out and gave one last vicious thrust with a great, powerful movement as inside her, far up in her tortured belly, there was an explosion of his penis and she cried out in chorus as the hot liquid blasted from his body like hot, steaming cream and shot into her very insides, shattering painfully deep in her soft, clasping vaginal passage.
He continued to jerk spasmodically until every last drop of his load was emptied deep into the young girl's helplessly contracting belly, then fell forward on her warm, trembling body.
Her tears all gone, crying quietly now, Eleanor pulled away and half-rolled, half-crawled from the sofa. Gasping for breath, but crying so hard it just wouldn't come, she pulled her clothes together and made her way, wobbling uneasily, to the bathroom. A thin, sticky stream of male semen was drying on the inside of her thighs.
Peter closed his eyes for a moment, not to sleep, just to recover his composure and, hopefully, to bring his pounding pulse back to a normal rhythm and when he opened them again, she was gone.
CHAPTER NINE
Cheryl almost always called before coming over; Eleanor suspected something was wrong when she saw her Austin-Healey pull up to the curb outside. She had finished her cleaning, a chore she couldn't shirk even if she still felt the painful, searing agony of last night's savagery. Her sides were sore from struggling to escape Peter's relentless assault, and her thighs were bruised yellow and blue from just above her knees all the way to her crotch. And that part of her wasn't faring too well, either. When she walked, it still felt as if some foreign object were lodged in her bruised and battered vagina.
She tried hard to forget all that, at least for the moment, and forced a smile as she heard Cheryl's knock at the door. "C'mon, it's not locked!" she yelled, not bothering to get out of her chair.
She knew something was wrong when she saw Cheryl's face; it had the unmistakable look of disaster painted on it.
"Cheryl, what is it? What is it?" Eleanor asked excitedly.
Cheryl looked at her for what seemed an eternity, as if searching for the right words, but still no reply.
"Did you call Mr. Bresler like you said you would?" asked Eleanor. "Oh, Cheryl, did something go wrong? Tell me! Did something happen?" Eleanor was nearing hysteria from the agonizing suspense.
"You'd better sit down," suggested Cheryl, "And I'll do the same. This isn't going to be easy to tell you."
Eleanor's heart was in her throat, "Tell me, Cheryl! Don't keep me in the dark like this. I've got to know what he told you!"
Cheryl silenced her with a wave of her hand, "Just hold on, will you? I'll start at the top if you'll give me half a chance. This hasn't been easy for me either, you know."
"What do you mean? You said nothing happened on your date last night... It was nothing, you said on the phone," prodded Eleanor.
"I'm not talking about the date," explained Cheryl, "What I said was true... The date Harry... uh, Mr. Bresler fixed up for me was a snap. Just some assistant to a lobbyist with the forest industry, here for a business visit." She paused there again, Eleanor hanging on every word like her life depended on it. "That isn't the part I'm worried about. I saw Bresler... "
"You saw him! I thought you were going to call him at the shop. You didn't say anything about seeing him!" exclaimed Eleanor.
"Christ, will you calm down and let me tell you what happened? You're like some kind of nut," said Cheryl.
"I'm sorry... I won't interrupt again."
"All right. To make this short and to the point, we've got a problem... a big one."
Eleanor sank back into the chair; she could feel it coming - something awful.
"It looks like we're not off the hook yet with Bresler. He's running something a lot bigger and more complicated than we'd counted on. He's got no intentions of letting us off the hook yet."
Eleanor forgot her pledge not to butt m. "How can that be, Cheryl? He promised us... he promised!"
"Yeah, I know. But we shouldn't have trusted him, I guess, 'cause new he's got us right where he wants us. It's not bad debts any longer, Eleanor. It's something a lot worse... it's blackmail!"
Blackmail! Even the very word sounded sinister and frightening.
"But how? Why?" asked Eleanor, more confused than ever now.
"It's simple," said Cheryl, "So simple it's perfect. I know all about your date last night. The one you said was just a quiet dinner and dancing. That man you were with - Peter - is a friend of Bresler's."
"I know that. He told me he'd known Harry Bresler for years. But what's that got to do with blackmail?"
"He's got a tape, Eleanor," she continued to explain, "Peter's hotel room had one of those voice-actuated tape recorders hidden in it. It picked up every sound... everything."
Eleanor felt the blood rush to her cheeks. Now Cheryl knew the awful truth! She'd even heard it all on tape! How could she face her ?
"He'll tell John all about your date with Peter, pretending to be just an interested bystander, of course. And he's got the tape to back up his claim."
"That's ridiculous!" exclaimed Eleanor, "John would never believe such a story!"
Cheryl shook her head disgustedly, "Eleanor, honey, it's all there. Anybody who knows you can tell it's your voice. And when John hears those moans and groans he'll... "
"Please! Must you talk like that? It's unpleasant enough without you rubbing it in."
"I apologize. But it's still true," Cheryl said, "He's got us right where he wants us."
"Us? What do you mean by that?" asked Eleanor, "What's he got on you?"
Cheryl was suddenly fumbling for the right answer, "Uh... well, it's a little more complicated there. You see, my date wasn't quite the way I depicted it either."
"But who's he going to tell? You're not married any more."
Cheryl continued, "Yes, but I'm in this with you. He knows he's got to have both of us on the string or it won't work... If I don't cooperate, he blows the whistle on you. Bresler knows I wouldn't do that to my best friend."
"Oh, Cheryl, you're just fantastic," said Eleanor, "I don't know what I've ever done to deserve a friend like you."
"Oh, you'd do the same for me," Cheryl managed to reply with a straight-face, "I couldn't run out on you now. You're in too deep to be left without a friend."
"What am I going to do, Cheryl? What'll I do?" Eleanor's voice was starting to crack.
"You haven't got a choice, honey. I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is. You do whatever Bresler tells you... or lose your husband. It's as simple as that."
"I can't, Cheryl! I just can't do it! I mean, what happened last night was one thing - I didn't know about it until it was too late. But this... " She shook her head from side to side. "This is cold-blooded adultery! I'm no prude, Cheryl, you know that. But I can't do something like this! I couldn't go out with another man knowing what was expected of me! I'd be just another... another whore!"
Cheryl smiled weakly for the first time since she'd arrived. "Don't put it like that. You're only making it rougher on yourself. Why don't you play along with Mr. Bresler for now.
That'll give us time to think of another way out. Otherwise, you won't have any choice to make. Bresler will make it for you."
Eleanor was crying; she'd tried to hold it back, she felt foolish crying like a kid at her age.
"I couldn't do it, Cheryl. I just could not make myself do something like that. Not again... not like last night."
"But Eleanor, it won't be like last night," said Cheryl, "You got roughed up a little because you fought it. If you hadn't struggled so much, it would all have been so easy. No bruises, no scars... nothing."
"Well, maybe you can do something like that without flinching, but not me. I've got a little self-respect left."
"And I haven't, I suppose?"
"No, no. I'm sorry," Eleanor apologized, "I didn't mean that. Oh, I don't know what I mean anymore. This is all so confusing... it's like a bad dream that just won't end. Oh, why, why won't it end!" Tears were streaming like water down her cheeks now and Cheryl hurriedly scouted around for something to dry her eyes.
"Here, wipe your eyes," insisted Cheryl, handing her a wad of Kleenex from a box on the kitchen bar, "You don't want John to know you've been crying."
She sniffed a few times to clear her nose and managed to regain her composure.
"We won't talk any more about this now, but don't you worry about a thing. This'll all seem more logical to you with a clear head."
"A clear head won't help, Cheryl. I just could not go out with another man, no matter what."
Cheryl held up her index finger to her girlfriend's lips, "Sh-h-h... no more talk, I said. I'll be right beside you, right there with you. You won't have to face this alone. Not as long as I'm around to help."
CHAPTER TEN
There wasn't any make-believe this time; and without the thin veneer that had covered the real truth before, what was left was nothing more than dirt and filth. At least Peter had iced over his rotten intentions with saccharine frosting of fine food, wine and witty conversation.
Eleanor would have been grateful for even that now.
Harry Bresler had insisted the two girls come separately; he said it looked suspicious for a couple of attractive girls to be checking into the hotel together. It hadn't made any sense to Eleanor then, but the pieces were starting to fit now. The hotel he meant was a far cry from the Columbian Arms; it was hardly more than a flop-house, hidden on a side street called Bravere Place on the North Side of Washington. Cheryl had left from Eleanor's apartment an hour earlier, as Bresler had ordered, and now it was Eleanor's turn to find the run-down transient hotel without getting attacked or robbed first. In this neighborhood, that was always a distinct possibility. She spotted the chipped, faded sign that ran the length of the old brick building and began looking for a place to park; it didn't seen likely that this place offered any parking facilities of its own.
She'd worked on her story for two days to make it convincing; she and Cheryl were spending the night away because they didn't want to drive through the rougher side of Washington so late, and they couldn't miss Jean Marie's bridal shower. There actually was a Jean Marie, in case John suddenly felt it necessary to check and she'd been carefully coached by Cheryl to tell anyone who called that the two of them had accepted an invitation to stay over at another girl's house and, no, she didn't happen to know the number. That put them safely out of reach of the telephone, and there wasn't any way of disproving Jean Marie's story. It seemed plausible enough; she only hoped John felt the same way.
Eleanor still didn't have a ready-made solution for this mess; she'd finally agreed that Cheryl's suggestion was really the only choice open at the moment. She had to make some time for herself, find enough precious time to think this through. There had to be a way out of Bresler's clutches without John finding out.
The lobby wasn't much more than a stretched corridor, offering a row of vinyl-covered sofas and chairs that looked like furniture from the waiting section of a barbershop, and a high, glass topped counter at the opposite end. There was no one in the lobby; she was thankful for that at least. The antique Motorola, resting on a stack of unused Coca-Cola crates, was still blaring, though the picture was only a faint, snowy outline of moving figures.
The desk clerk was sitting, his feet propped on a convenient radiator. He climbed slowly to his feet, dog-earing his place in a battered copy of Mickey Spillane, and turned to see who dared to interrupt his solitude. He grinned knowingly as he spotted Eleanor, a bright sparkle gleaming from a double row of gold-capped teeth.
"Yes, ma'am, could I help you?" he asked sarcastically.
"Uh, yes... I'm Lucy Stroud and I think my friend has a room already signed for." The name was Bresler's idea, just in case. She didn't feel for an instant that the desk man believed a word of her story. He just kept on grinning and handed her a key to 322. "I don't suppose there's any luggage to be brought up, huh?"
Eleanor turned crimson; she'd forgotten the overnight bag Cheryl had asked her to bring.
Not that she really needed it; it was just for appearance's sake. But it didn't matter now; the man's tone left no doubt that he saw through the whole facade. Eleanor turned without another word and pushed the button for the rickety wrought iron-caged elevator that was nearly hidden behind the staircase. It had obviously been installed after the building was built; it seemed to take forever to make its way back to the ground floor and Eleanor could feel the desk clerk's stare right in the middle of her back, his cold gaze chilling her blood as he looked her over wishfully, taking in the smooth, inviting curves of her lush young figure.
The car finally arrived, and after much pulling and yanking, she managed to get the inside gate closed and urge the squeaking anachronism on its way. For the first time since this rendezvous had been planned, Eleanor was scared. Really scared; not just a little apprehensive, but scared enough she thought she'd lose her dinner before the creeping elevator finally reached the third floor. Her stomach was tied in knots and an intense nervous pain was shooting through her abdomen as she walked. Her hands were trembling so, she was afraid she wouldn't be able to get the key in the lock.
It didn't matter, for Cheryl was there to open the door before she was half-way down the dingy hallway. She came out into the corridor, shutting the door behind her. She didn't look too happy.
"Eleanor... there's something you ought to know," she began. "You might want to back out of this before it's too late."
Eleanor was flabbergasted, "Back out? But... but all along, you've been telling me there was no other way. You said it was this or lose John. I'm only here because you talked me into it!"
"Sh-h-h... they'll hear you," said Cheryl. "I know all that, but there's a little something I didn't count on. Harry didn't say anything about this, that's for sure. I mean, it doesn't make any difference to me. I've got no prejudice hang-ups. I'd kinda like to find out if all the stories I've heard are true."
Eleanor was wound like a tight rubber band; one more minute of this and she'd explode!
"Cheryl, what the hell are you trying to tell me? Get to the point! Get to the point!"
"All right, all right... they're black, Eleanor. Both our dates are Negroes."
Eleanor's mouth was slack, her jaw hung limply. Her eyes were wide with disbelief. This couldn't be happening! It had to be some awful joke! It had to be!
She was about to speak, or rather, try to, when the door behind Cheryl opened and a tall well-dressed black man was suddenly standing in the doorway. He looked solemn at first, but then he smiled warmly.
"Oh, there you are," he said, "I thought you'd split or something."
Cheryl turned her back on Eleanor, "No, no, nothing like that... Uh, this is Lucy, the friend I told you about." Eleanor started to correct her, then remembered that was her name for the evening.
"How do you do?" she said rather weakly.
There was a booming voice from inside the dimly-lit room. "Hey! I thought the party was supposed to be in here! What's everybody doing in the hall?"
The man in the doorway laughed. "That's Raymond you hear bellowing in there. And Lucy, I'm Champion Johnston, but my friends call me Champ."
He held out his hand and Eleanor shook it instinctively. She was taking this all in, but somehow, it wasn't really registering. It was like she'd been in an accident and was wandering around in shock. She offered no resistance as the man guided her into the small, cluttered room. The one called Raymond stood up as the girls entered. He looked enormous, like one of those professional football players she'd seen on Sunday when John watched the NFL games. But he wasn't particularly bad looking. For that matter, neither was Champ; though at the moment it wouldn't have mattered if he'd looked like Sidney Poitier. This was something she hadn't counted on, something she just wasn't equipped to deal with. She'd spent days getting prepared for this, rationalizing it all out neatly in her own head. Telling herself that no matter how vile and disgusting it seemed, it was the only way to save her marriage. It hadn't been easy, but finally, she'd managed to convince herself that there was no alternative. She thought she was ready for the worst, but not for this!
"Take your coats off and make yourself at home," offered Raymond. Champ seemed to have said all he intended to say, for now he was standing off to one side, busily eyeing the girls from head to foot. Eleanor felt uncomfortable, like a piece of meat in a cooler, but she wasn't to be left in the dark for long.
Raymond reached in the pocket of a jacket hanging over the end of the room's one double bed and sat back down in his chair. He had three or four hand-rolled cigarettes in the palm of his hand, Eleanor wasn't sure exactly how many. She was beginning to suspect what he had in mind, but she wasn't ready to admit it yet.
"Here you go, Champ baby, pass this one around that way, I'll start mine the other way," he said, then took a long, slow pull on the brightly flaring cigarette, passing it afterwards to Eleanor.
"Cheryl?" She looked to her more worldly friend for advice, holding the burning cigarette between two fingers.
"Go ahead... it's just a little grass. It won't hurt you," she said.
"Cheryl, you never told me you smoked this stuff. Isn't it dangerous?" she asked.
Raymond tried to muffle a laugh, but it slipped out. Eleanor's expression was quickly one of intense annoyance. "I'm sorry, miss... it's just that I didn't think a girl in your line of work would be so... so, well naive."
"This isn't my line of work, I'll have you know;" she retorted angrily.
"Hold on there, honey. I didn't mean anything by it," apologized Raymond. He sounded genuinely sincere, she had to admit.
"Don't be so sensitive, Eleanor," Cheryl said, "Go ahead... take a couple of puffs at least.
It'll make you relax."
"I don't want to relax!" shouted Eleanor.
Cheryl only smiled loosely, her facial muscles already showing the first subtle effects of the marijuana! She pointed to the "joint" in her friend's hand. "Please, Eleanor. Just a couple of drags?"
Eleanor looked at the slowly burning cigarette, hand-rolled in a couple of yellow cigarette papers. It looked innocent enough.
She took one tentative puff, more like a taste. It seemed sweeter than cigarette smoke, though a little hotter. She tried again, this time taking enough to fill her lungs.
"You're inhaling right," said Cheryl. "But you've got to hold it in longer. Try to keep it down in your lungs as long as you can. If it's too hot, breathe in a little more air to cool it down."
Eleanor did as she was told, inhaling another strong, acid puff and holding it until her head seemed about to explode. So far, she could feel nothing out of the ordinary. Cheryl, though seemed to be changing right before her eyes; already she was laughing and giggling like a schoolgirl, something she seldom did. She had been sitting beside Champ on the edge of the bed, and she seemed delighted as he moved closed and put his black arm around her shoulders.
I must be insane... what am I doing here in this hotel with these men? And smoking this stuff! What's wrong with me? Have I lost my mind completely?
Cheryl was wearing a yellow coulotte jumper that showed off the bronze tan of her golden legs to best advantage. She had risen to her feet, a little unsteadily at first, and was weaving slowly and gently to the sound of the radio Raymond had turned on. Another "joint" had made its way around the smoke-filled room, followed by another, and still another. Eleanor felt light-headed, as if she would float off the edge of her chair if she didn't hold on. The enormous neon sign outside passed vertically right outside the room's one window and she was becoming fascinated with the constantly changing colors - reds, blues, then a brilliant explosion of yellows and oranges as the letters of the sign flashed on and off.
Swaying smoothly from side to side, Cheryl reached for the zipper that ran down the front of her garment. She pulled slowly on the zipper of her jumper, one arm swaying drunkenly above her head, beginning ever-so-slowly to remove her clothes before these strangers.
Eleanor like the two blacks, was entranced, mesmerized by what Cheryl was about to do.
The anticipation charged the atmosphere like a million volts of electric current. Her hips moved slowly at first, then began to bump and grind with a growing lustful intensity as the two men and Eleanor looked on excitedly. She tossed her long blonde hair from side to side, letting it drape freely and loosely over her shoulders as she moved with the beat of the music.
She eased the zipper down to her navel, exposing enough of her ample cleavage to start the two Negroes breathing fast and heavy. Her breasts seemed to be straining to escape the concealment of her dress, peeking from beneath the fabric in two soft, inviting mounds. One last tug, and they were free, swaying heavily as she gently rocked from side to side. The two men's eyes were wide with excited disbelief as they watched this incredibly lascivious display, this beautiful young white girl stripping to her ripe, full nakedness right before their eyes. But best of all, she belonged to them! She was theirs for the night! Raymond could feel his cock already aching painfully inside his pants, straining, yearning to be set free and allowed to penetrate this lovely creature. He tried to imagine what her pussy would be like - wet, soft and pink, exposed and vulnerable.
Waiting for his long, hard black cock to fill her like she'd never been filled before.
With one hand, she lifted a breast, just enough to feel their full voluptuousness. They stood taut and high, quivering at the touch of her own fingers flowing caressingly over the warm, smooth flesh. They seemed to be dancing a swirling dance of their own, shivering with the African rhythm of the music, inviting the two men forward, urging them to take her hard, throbbing nipples in their mouths. Begging them to answer the gnawing, churning need in her belly.
Balancing on one foot, she tugged the jumper down to her ankles and yanked it off, then removed the other side, leaving nothing but her tiny, baby-blue panties between the eyes of the men and Eleanor and her own delicious nakedness. The tiny panties were not nearly enough to cover her buttocks completely; as she spun slowly around, they could all see where the long, flowing curve of her smooth, unblemished back soared inward, then swept out again and joined the arching curves of her buttocks. Half of each firm, ivory-white cheek was revealed beneath that taut sheerness of her panties. Above, in the deep arch of her back, her two dimples peered back at them like cold, blank eyes.
Except for the sound of the music there wasn't a sound to be heard in the stuffy room as she ground her hips back and forth at her hypnotized audience, daring them to yank the thin, filmy panties down over the bulge of her sides, over the sparse triangle of pubic hair at the junction of her thighs, and down along the long, smooth length of her bronzed legs.
Her eyes closed, her mind whirling as she floated through space, she ran her hands down the full length of her body, brushing her palms over the tender sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. Her fingers hooked in the tight band of her panties and she began to slowly, teasingly, roll them over the full, ripe swell of her buttocks, her back demurely turned to Raymond and Champ.
They both gasped aloud as they caught their first real glimpse of the gorgeous young white woman's naked buttocks, the brightly flashing multi-colored glow from outside reflecting like a mirror in the smooth, gleaming flesh of the full rounded mounds. Slowly, she rolled the panties up and over the firm jutting orbs, stretching them as they tightened in the crevice beneath the smooth curve of her bottom-cheeks where the soft curves joined her milky thighs. She leaned forward, pushing out her exposed buttocks at the two men, rotating them lustily in an unmistakable lewd sexual invitation. She reached back with her bare arms and spread the twin mounds apart, displaying obscenely the tightly puckered brown ring of her anus. The taut nether ring opened and closed slightly as she tensed the strong muscles in her ass, and you could hear the two blacks breathing heavily even over the rhythmic pounding of the radio. Nothing was in their minds expect the pertly beckoning little hole of her anus, puckered open, just waiting for the long stiff lengths of their aching black cocks to bore deep into her back passage.
Cheryl's luscious ass rotated in its own axis as she alternately relaxed and tightened the muscles of her buttocks. She turned back around, facing the two men, seemingly mindless of Eleanor sitting dumbfounded to her right, stoned now for the first time from the grass and watching Cheryl with glazed eyes. With both hands, Cheryl lifted the white, pink-capped tips of her full breasts, offering them temptingly to the two Negroes as she held the soft, tender mounds up and pointed the crinkly-hard nipples in their direction.
She tantalizingly eased her opened palms down over the trim curve of her waist, over the smooth expanse of suntanned flesh, gleaming like a bronzed statuette in the light of the flickering sign outside. With her thumbs, she caught the elastic band of her panties, now covering only the soft thicket of pubic hair at the bottom of her pelvis and the moist pink lips beneath. Her thighs parted as she lowered the gauze-like fabric like a flag of unconditional surrender, exposing the delicate V at the top of her supple thighs. She continued to teasingly peel the tight-fitting panties down over her hips and along her bare legs; then she stepped out of them and tossed them casually onto the bed beside Champ.
The air in the room was suddenly charged as if by lightning; she was now completely nude before the two blacks and her best friend, there was nothing left to the imagination.
Eleanor tried to look away, to hide her face from this wanton spectacle. But the marijuana was asserting its powerful grip on her; she couldn't look away! She was drawn like a moth to a flickering flame to the wickedly exciting vision of her best girl friend stripped naked like this before these strangers of a different race. She wondered if she would have felt the same way if both these men were white, but now it really didn't matter.
Cheryl opened her legs wide, giving the two Negroes an unobstructed view of her unguarded cuntal passage, her puckered pussylips moist with her own love-juices. She leaned back, touching her long luxuriant hair to the floor as she tossed her head wildly from side to side. The tempo of the music from the radio had suddenly picked up and with it, Cheryl's savage dance grew more and more frenetic. The flickering colors from outside cast a thousand different multi-colored shadows along the backs of her long naked legs.
With a teasing, tormenting grin, she brought her hands from behind and slipped them down over her body, over the double fullness of her hips and down, into the warm crevice between her thighs. Her fingers spread the wet pliant lips of her pussy as she leaned back, opening the hot moist passage to the hungry stares of the two men.
Raymond had stood it as long as he could; not that her maddening dance had excited the other black any less. It was just that Champ was far more stoned from the pot than he; Champ just sat there mesmerized by the young white girl's writhing passion, unable to move. But not Raymond... He leaped to his feet, unbuttoned his trousers as he stood up and lowering his zipper. In less than a second, his pants had dropped to the floor, and he stepped clear of them. Oh baby, I'm gonna' put this peter of mine so deep in you it'll be pokin' around in your sweet little titties.
"Honey, I'm not waiting a second longer for some of you... come here!" As he spoke, he pulled his undershorts down and yanked them off. His enormous cock sprang up like a frightened stallion, black and gleaming along its full, thick length. Cheryl looked only at his huge, frightening penis, jutting out from the kinky black hair of his loins like a flagpole. She was suddenly afraid, frightened for the only time since she'd arrived.
He'll kill me with that thing! It'll split me right down the middle!
He circled her like a lion stalking its prey, sizing up her youthful nakedness, exploring with his eyes every inch, every crevice of her delicious, ripe young body. She trembled as she anticipated what was next, fearful literally for her life as she gazed steadily at the awesome sign of his manhood rising from his sweating pelvis. His jet black muscles rippled as he walked; he was obviously an athlete, or at least he'd been one. There didn't seem to be an ounce of flab on his entire massive frame, his legs and arms were thick and full, with hard curves tracing the lines of his well-developed muscles. He could feel his balls aching with desire as he looked over the naked young white girl; he'd never had one and he suspected she'd never sampled a black man either.
I'm gonna fuck you, sweet white bitch, like you've never been fucked before! I'm gonna make you wish you'd been born black so's you could enjoy a black man every night! Biting his lower lip, he imagined her naked white ass impaled on his long ebony cock; he could see her there, struggling to get free, screaming from the searing pain as he pumped his prick into her again and again, every long, hard thrust burying his black stallion deeper and deeper in her quivering white belly.
He knew the other girl would be wetting her pants with envious desire as she watched his huge shaft disappear wetly into the naked girl's hungrily clasping pussy-lips.
"Down on your knees, bitch! I want to see you squirm a little first!"
She obeyed without daring to question his order, dropping instantly down on all fours at the huge naked black man's feet, her bare thighs and shivering buttocks turned away from him.
"Not like that... turn around! Point that hot little ass right back at me!" he growled, and Cheryl again complied unhesitatingly with his instructions.
He lowered his enormous frame to the floor, resting on his knees behind the frightened white girl. He grasped each side of her vulnerable, naked ass with one strong black hand and spread the two soft round cheeks apart, uncovering her tightly puckered anus and the soft moist flanges guarding the entrance to her pussy. Raymond grinned a grin that stretched clear across his ebony face, and he licked his dry lips in breathless anticipation.
White girl, baby, you're gonna' remember this night the rest of your life!
Cheryl was suddenly extremely conscious of the others in the room; though she couldn't see them facing this way, she could feel their eyes burning on her naked flesh. She knew the other black man was only a few feet away, watching with wide eyes as this Negro prepared to do whatever he wished with her helpless young body! Eleanor was there, too - her best friend seeing her in this humiliating position, about to descend to the deepest depths of degradation. But she wasn't sure she cared - maybe she only felt this way because she knew it was the way she was supposed to feel. Her real feelings, those that were brought to the surface now that the marijuana had unleashed her secret desires, those were the ones that really counted. And right now, she wasn't sure she would stop this black man if she had the power. She knew what he was going to do, she knew Eleanor would be there watching through the whole act, but it didn't really bother her. Not like she would have guessed.
"Stop wiggling so much, sweetheart! How am I going to find that sweet little hole of yours if you keep hopping around?"
He located the moist lips of her vagina hidden under the sparse light fluff of her pussy-hair and gently spread the soft pink ridges with his thumbs, exposing the damp rose-colored slit to the hungry, greedy stares of the two men. He paused for a moment, savoring the agony of this long pause, then, lowering his grinning head, buried his face in the moist flesh of her pussy, his long tongue snaking into the soft channel of her cunt with a quick slurping movement.
She tried to jerk away, snapping reflexively from his touch on this moist sensitive of regions, but he had her securely in his grip, his muscular black forearms locked around her thighs. Her hips ground savagely as she squirmed to escape the ravishing touch of his hungry lips and tongue. His probing tongue wormed deep into her throbbing pussy, causing her to shiver involuntarily again and again from this wicked, forbidden contact. It was like nothing she'd ever felt before; Raymond was right, she'd never had a black man.
Just the sheer savage wantonness of it all was enough to drive her up the wall, but with the extra boost of the grass, she was nearly out of her mind with shuddering uncontrollable desire!
One arm released its grip as Raymond grew confident she wouldn't try to escape his pleasure-giving touch, and he slid his black hand along her smooth white belly, reaching far under her kneeling body until he reached a dangling breast hanging beneath her, its fleshy weight stretching that taut skin as it nearly touched the floor under her torso. He found her rough, crinkly nipple and squeezed the hard, fleshy bud tightly between his fingers, causing her to cry out in surprise and pain and jerk back hard against his face, forcing his tongue even deeper in her moist pink cunt.
Eleanor managed to speak, "Won't you stop this, please! Oh, please! Oh, please stop!"
Champ looked up fiercely as if he was about to silence her for good, and she thought better of voicing any more objections.
Her body tremored convulsively as he nibbled hungrily on her sensitive clitoris, each contact sending fresh searing waves of savage excitement rippling through her body.
"Oh, yes... Ooooohhhh," she moaned as his teeth nipped the tender bud of her clit, chewing on it ravenously as he rolled it between his lips. Her own mouth opened and a long, low soulful moan escaped from deep in her throat, a sort of husky whimper that seemed more a purr of contentment than a cry of agony.
She closed her eyes; it was impossible anyway to see this enormous black that was licking and sucking hungrily on her quivering pussy. It was incredible - she couldn't remember a stronger sensation. It was like she was being ravished by some virile African native, some muscle-bound thing, more animal than anything else. Never in her entire life had she experienced anything so totally wicked, so totally forbidden and exciting at the same time.
She sank away, her muscles falling limp, as he eased his hungry ravishment of her clitoris, but his tongue quickly snaked into her anal orifice, torturing her inhumanly as his rough tongue probed the tightly puckered nether ring of her rectum. She involuntarily contracted her buttocks, shielding her vulnerable anus from the wet burning touch of his darting lizardlike tongue.
Shivering, millions of goose bumps popped up on her tingling lust-heightened flesh, rippling like waves across her abdomen and full dangling breasts. She could feel her nipples grow painfully hard, throbbing and pulsing as his lips explored the firm full mounds of her buttocks, kissing her along the smooth flowing curve of each bottom-cheek, then along the sensitive flesh of her white thighs. She was rapidly losing control of her body - Eleanor and the other Negro could see the end was nearing for the naked young blonde - she was ramming her buttocks back hard against the black man's face, grinding her ass against his probing lashing tongue, her body jerking spasmodically as tingling floods blasted through her raw, ragged nerves.
Raymond's grin was wider than ever; he could feel her total, animal surrender nearing. He knew it was only a matter of seconds before she'd be totally his - a whimpering, pleading love-slave helpless at his feet, a young white captive begging for his black virility to quell the flames of savage lust that raged out of control in her naked body. He shoved her over on her back on the floor, roughly ramming his middle finger far up into her wet cuntal sheath. She was his... !
Cheryl was a shivering, moaning mass of ravaged nerve endings, gasping for breath as she reached for the incredibly long shaft of his glistening black cock, now fully hard and erect, standing like the boom of a sailing ship as it shot from his brushy loins, a miniscule seeping of seminal fluid poised on the blood-engorged tip. She was half way up, her head and shoulders off the cold floor, but he pushed her back, flattening her against the hard wooden floor.
He kneeled over her, pinning her between his knees, relishing the thrill of watching this helpless, sex-crazed young white girl, writhing so voluptuously between his legs. He inched forward until her breasts were flattened under his naked black buttocks; he could feel the quivering hard tips of her nipples rubbing against his ass as she wriggled nervously.
"Baby, I'm gonna' give you some real sweet meat. Yes sir, some real meat. Some like you never tasted before!" he hissed at her. "You'd better wet those pretty red lips of yours, 'cause Daddy's coming in!"
Cheryl knew better than to resist now; she could read that frightened look in the Negro's eyes - the look that told her this was going to be a long, long night.
With one hand he lifted her head, gripping thick blonde hair and pulling her up toward his long hard prick. With the other, he forced the lengthy black shaft of his cock downward so that it brushed the girl's ovaled lips. He circled her mouth with the swollen head, brushing a thin smear of his sticky seminal juices as he prepared to throttle her with his awesome shaft.
"Open your mouth... wide!" Cheryl reluctantly obeyed and the huge black slipped the thick hard knob along her pink tongue and deep into her mouth, filling it completely as it snaked slowly down her throat. She clamped her lips tightly around the hard black organ, licking wildly and wetly at the swollen, throbbing tip. She knew that was the only way; she had to do her best to please him. She shuddered as she imagined what those enormous ham-hock hands of his could do to her if she displeased him, even for a moment.
She couldn't see Eleanor and Champ, but she could tell they were watching as she hungrily licked and swirled her tongue along the full coal-black length of his love-shaft. It glistened and sparkled in the flickering light as it slithered wetly from her stretched, ovaled lips; every thrust forward of his kinky-haired pelvis shoved the huge throbbing cock further down her bruised throat passage. She explored every single pore of the enormous prick, holding her fingers securely around the thick, hairy base of his long spear, licking teasingly at the tiny slit in the throbbing tip, feeling the shivers of wild, savage desire that rippled through his belly as her tongue licked the distended knob clean of its sticky emissions. She could taste the pungent sweetness of his semen mingling with the warm flood of saliva in her mouth as she swirled her tongue around and around the thick, blood-filled head of his cock.
Raymond couldn't take his eyes off the squirming, totally naked body of the young girl so helpless beneath him; he could feel her breasts heaving, her nipples poking into the flesh of his ass, her pale-pink lips stretched grotesquely as they strained to fit around the thick bulk of his black prick buried to the hilt in her throat. Her hair fanned out behind her in a halo of golden blonde; she looked like a white love goddess... and she was his! All his!
He was rocking his hips back and forth in a slow rhythm, unconsciously keeping time with the music still blaring from the bedside radio; pulling back until nothing but the hardened throbbing tip was left between her ovaled lips, then easing it forward again, worming the great, black shaft back down into the soft passage of her throat, making her gag each time he pushed his hair-covered pelvis tight against her face. He was now nearly directly over her, ramming his huge prick nearly straight down, face fucking into her hungrily sucking and nibbling lips. She was nibbling like a fish after bait, her lips puckered tightly around the thick shaft of his cock, oblivious of Eleanor and Champ only a few feet away. Both of them were on the edge of their seats, fascinated by the thrill of this wickedly perverse display taking place right before them. Raymond's huge leathery testicles rested on her chin, and the wispy hairs brushed lightly against her cheek as he pumped his pulsating black organ in and out of her throat.
She'd never had a black cock, especially not in her mouth, and she was excited by the wickedness, the sheer lasciviousness of what this huge black stranger was doing to her.
She was totally his love-prisoner, totally subjugated and helpless at his feet, his to fondle, to explore, to ravish as he desired. She was gagging now on every inward thrust of the huge fleshy shaft, her cheeks painfully hollowed to accommodate its enormous thickness in her small mouth.
It was nearly impossible to swallow, for the thick, pulsing head of his prick filled her tender throat passage to capacity. She waited until there was a chance, when his prick was nearly out of her mouth on his long, smooth back-thrust, and gulped down a mouthful of saliva and seminal juices that was almost choking her. It felt better now, her throat muscles relaxed and the thick shaft bored even deeper down her soft, fragile passage. His hands were on his hips, unnecessary now as she offered no resistance, and he was grinning broadly as he watched the naked white girl beneath his heavy sperm-laden testicles gulping and swallowing to take in every hardened inch of his long cock. He suddenly stepped up the pace, ramming the full length far down her throat as his sweaty pelvis pushed hard against her face. His pubic hairs tickled her nose as he leaned forward to get the best angle for entering the young girl's gagging throat. As he pumped up and down, his balls rose and fell from their resting place on her chin, slapping against her and dangling down along her smooth neck as he savagely lifted himself up, then sank to the hilt in her soft, clasping throat. She choked and gasped for what little breath she could manage, gulped in a mouthful through her nose as he pumped down faster and harder.
Champ had moved; Cheryl caught a glimpse of him out of one eye, standing off to one side, his eyes gleaming-white in the near-darkness, savoring every magic second of this incredible tableau, fighting the rising urgency in his loins as he watched his friend viciously ravish the helpless girl's throat passage.
Raymond suddenly jerked back as if in intense pain, his head thrown back, his mouth open as if about to scream, sinking his thick cock as far as it would go down the ravaged throat of the girl, his balls dangling over her chin, his loins pressed tight against her face.
She couldn't breath... The huge shaft blocked her throat, and his wet, matted hair covered her nostrils... and then it happened. The enormous black hose imbedded in her throat suddenly began to spurt its sticky load deep down into her belly, spurt after spurt of the sticky, hot fluid that cascaded down her bruised throat passage in wet, oozing waves, draining salaciously down into her waiting belly. Her cheeks hollowed to contain the flooding sperm, and a trickle escaped her lips and streamed down her cheek to the floor below. She sucked and swallowed again and again as each pistoning jerk of his loins filled her mouth and throat anew with a fresh flood of the viscous fluid.
"Oh, Christ, suck it baby... suck every last drop!" he gasped, his eyes tightly clenched shut, his head back as he rammed his thick spear straight down into the voraciously sucking throat of the naked blonde.
The pungent liquid filled her mouth one last time, and she quickly gulped it down to join the rest filling her quivering belly. He jerked a final time, smashing his loins against her face, smearing the oozing flow over her nose and cheeks. The huge shaft began to soften, turning rubbery between her ovaled lips. He pulled it free with a lewd sucking sound, and it trailed a stream of his white sperm over her breasts as he rocked back on his heels.
Cheryl could breath freely again for the first time since he'd mounted her, and her bulging breasts rose and fell as she gasped to fill her emptied lungs.
She opened her eyes, almost afraid of what she'd find. Eleanor sat immobile - she hadn't budged an inch since it all began. Her eyes were still gaping as she struggled to take all of this incredible wantonness in; her mind was reeling from the marijuana and it all seemed unreal, like a painting on glass. It was there, but she could see through it all, as if Cheryl and Raymond were just figures drawn on something transparent and the drawing was being moved around before her eyes. Champ was standing only a couple of feet away - looking hungrily and eagerly at the young brunette he'd picked for himself.
"Okay, sweetheart... it looks like now it's you and me!"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Like a razor-sharp saber, the black man's ugly words cut through the drugged stupor surrounding Eleanor, and she leapt to her feet, backing away from the man cautiously, intent only on making it to the closed door a dozen feet away.
"Oh, no you don't, bitch... You ain't running out on us now. We've got a lot of fun coming yet! I didn't pay all that hard-earned money to just sit back and watch!"
His hand lashed out at her shoulder; she snapped away and his fingers snared the thin fabric of her blouse, ripping it down the middle as if it were newsprint. The garment fell away in two tattered halves, exposing the white softness of her tits, her firm breasts resting in the sheer cups of her bra.
"No, please... you can't do this! I... I... " Both his powerful arms suddenly snaked around her, and with one quick, deft move, he unhooked the three tiny hooks of her bra and yanked it away, throwing it half-way across the room in his frantic excitement. His eyes widened as he stared at the frightened brunette's large, ripe breasts, two bulging, pink-tipped mounds just waiting for his lips.
"Come here!" he growled, and this time Eleanor knew there was no choice but to obey.
Raymond was watching eagerly, and he had moved between her and the door, still stark naked, his arms folded across his huge chest. Eleanor took one half-step forward, but it was enough to place her in the frenzied, sex-hungry Negro's clutches. His fleshy lips locked on hers, his rough tongue darted between her teeth, hotly exploring the moist recesses of her mouth. She tried to pull away, to break away from his grip, but he held her tightly with his hands clamped like vises on her forearms, pinching the muscles so painfully she could feel the circulation slowing in her hands and wrists. His wet lips left her mouth and traced a line along the curve of her upturned chin, passionately nibbling at the soft flesh of her neck; then along the smooth expanse of her chest. Her blood ran cold as his hungrily sucking and nibbling lips neared the swell of her breasts; another instant, and they were clamped around the pink circles capping her breasts. His tongue swirled around the hardening points of her rigid nipples; sharp teeth nipped painfully at the swelling tips of her breasts. She knew Cheryl was watching; she knew her best friend was there somewhere in the darkness, watching as she was dragged into the lowest, vilest depths of humiliation and depravity. She was nothing more than a common street-walking whore now, just a plaything for these vicious men, theirs to fondle, to caress. Theirs to empty their seething, loads of sperm into, just a lust-receptacle for these... these savages!
Eleanor was only slightly aware of being maneuvered toward the empty bed. Now that she was standing, the effects of the marijuana seemed doubled; the room seemed to be spinning around a central axis, whirling in a dizzying kaleidoscope heightened by the flickering lights from the window. Her thighs backed against the edge of the mattress, and with a rough push from Champ, she fell flat on her back across the bed, her mini-skirt bunching up around her waist. Her eyes had been closed; she opened them, wide with fear as she lost her balance and tumbled across the mattress. Champ seemed to tower over her like a black giant - his chest a solid, ebony wall of muscle now that he had removed his shirt.
"Please don't... please," she whimpered futilely. She herself knew her pleas would be unheeded; she could tell that nothing would stop this muscular black now.
He leaned forward and nibbled the soft, tender flesh of her inner thigh, pinching the skin painfully in sharp, nipping bites, all along the smooth nakedness of her upper leg. He started just above her dimpled knee and worked his way up, stopping just short of the soft flimsy crotchband at the intersection of her thighs. Eleanor tried to fight it - she wouldn't give this vicious animal the satisfaction of seeing her respond to his lustful advances.
But she'd downed too much of the potent hemp to remain totally in control of her body; she began a low, quiet moan as he nibbled steadily in one spot, just inches from the almost unguarded furrow of her vagina. His hands slid easily over her smooth, flat belly and fastened on the jutting mounds of her young breasts, squeezing the delicious ripe peaks with his open palms, pinching the tender flesh in ridges between his black fingers, which contrasted sharply with the ivory whiteness of her bulging tits.
Her mind was reeling! She'd prepared herself for the worst... for agonizing pain, for abject humiliation and sordid degradation... but not this! His warm, sensuous seduction was something she had not anticipated! If only he weren't so gentle, so skilled in his passionate probings of her naked body.
Without trying to, Eleanor's legs slowly parted, opening up the moist pink slit of her pussy, easily visible beneath the gauze-like material of her panties, to the black man's view. It looked like a long-sought treasure to him, a sparkling, gleaming pearl concealed beneath the soft, fluffy down of her young resilient pussy-hair. He nibbled closer to the forbidden orifice, his nose brushing the fragrant curls teasing out from under the leg bands of her panties as he neared his goal, the moist, throbbing crevice between her snow-white thighs.
She jerked harshly as she felt another pair of hands touch her face and shoulders. Her eyes popped open... it was Cheryl!
"Here, Eleanor, take another deep drag... It'll make you think you're floating in space."
She held a brightly glowing "joint" between her fingers and before she could answer, touched the cigarette to her lips. Eleanor filled her lungs quickly with a slow, powerful puff, then held it until her chest seemed about to explode. Cheryl then disappeared again in the darkness around the bed, but it didn't matter. Eleanor could feel the potent psychedelic rush straight to her brain; the flashing colors from outside suddenly intensified, burning brightly now like tinted floodlights shining into the smoky room. Her hands had been by her side, but now they were moving of their own accord to the flat plane of her belly, just above the gentle mound of her pelvis with its thin dark pubic triangle. She was pulling the crotch band of her panties aside and rubbing herself tenderly, caressingly, her body responding now fully to the black man's carnal probings between her long slender legs.
With both his hands, Champ brushed apart the soft curls of pubic hair guarding her exposed vagina, gently spreading the soft, moist flanges of pink flesh. He leaned forward at the same moment and, without warning, clamped his hungry lips on the pearl-like bud of her exposed clitoris. Her whole body suddenly arched off the bed, shattered with a searing blast of animal desire that shot out of her loins as his lips made their first contact with her naked young pussy, his fingers at the same time ripping the soft flimsy crotchband of her panties open.
"Oooooohhh... please... pppllleeeaasssee... " But her cry was more of anguished helplessness than of pain or terror and, as she felt her panties as only a thin elastic band around her waist, her hips began a response of their own, grinding upward against his face as he chewed ravenously on her cunt-lips. She was trapped in a swirling, soaring surge of drug-heightened rapture and wanton delight.
Champ's tongue snaked into the moist tunnel between her widespread legs, worming between the soft pink walls, then licking along the furrow of her pussy until his tongue brushed electrically over her throbbing clitoris. His hand was far up between the cleft of her buttocks, his fingers caressing the tight puckered little ring of her anus, then climbing up to the damp slit of her vagina. They slid easily into the warm shelter of her pussy, pushing back the tight fleshy walls that clamped around his probing fingers.
"Christ, she's got the tightest little pussy I've ever seen! Man, it's gonna' be something else pumping my meat in this hot little bitch.
He pulled his finger momentarily from her wet constrictive tunnel and spread even wider the pink, ragged lips of her pussy, burying his face tightly in the vulnerable furrow of her loins, his lips clenched tight around the pulsing nipple of her clitoris. His tongue licked hungrily at her moist slit, lapping at her sweet young vaginal juices and gulping them down eagerly, relishing the tangy taste of her naked pussy against his lips.
She opened her mouth as if to cry out, but only a mournful hoarse moan escaped her lips, a soulful whine from deep in her throat. She was writhing frenetically now, quivering at his every agonizing touch, slamming the whole of her lust-heated crotch against the black man's face, grinding her pink, fleshy pussy-lips hard against his full ebony lips.
Oh God, what's happening to me? Have I turned into some kind of animal? Why can't I make this all go away I Oh my God, I can't stop myself... I can't stop myself!
Her empty vagina was now aching with wild, insatiable passion... aching for the one thing that would answer the torturing, lustful desires that were raging hotly in her naked belly... aching for the hard, soothing thrust of this black man's cock... aching for his long, throbbing manhood buried deep in her burning passage. She had to have it, she had to have its rock-hard firmness rammed deep inside her - there was no other way to quell this frenzied riot of savage passion raging out of control in her quivering belly.
Champ's two strong hands suddenly gripped her ankles as he pulled away from her, and with one twisting snap, he rolled her over on her belly. "Get up on your knees!" he commanded, and Eleanor obeyed. She would have done anything now to curb this frenzied spasm of wanton desire rippling incessantly from her enflamed loins. The mattress was soft, and it gave with her weight, but she gripped the headboard securely, bracing herself as she rose to her hands and knees, her naked white buttocks waving like a red flag before the rabid black man on his knees behind her.
Cheryl had dropped into the chair by the door, her naked legs draped over the arm, and Raymond was preparing to fuck into her hungry waiting cuntal orifice, holding his huge cock with both hands as he guided it toward the waiting white girl's wet, juicy sheath.
Neither of them would take their eyes off the action on the bed for an instant, but they had withstood the torturing flames of naked lust as long as they could stand it... there was no holding back. She cried out as the long, glistening shaft eased between the pink flanges of her pussy, stretching the tender lips wide as the blood-filled head quickly sank out of sight in the young blonde's vagina. Fighting the intense pain, she gripped the arm of the chair and shoved her ravenous pussy back against the huge Negro's hard lunge; she gasped aloud as the thick black battering-ram sank six inches in her constrictive passage, pushing aside the soft moist walls like rippling waves as he burrowed deep into her open vaginal sheath. He paused, then sank the enormous fleshy rod to the hilt in her belly, ramming into her so hard that tears filled her eyes from the painful agony. He'd waited too long already for this - there was no time for slow, rhythmic thrusts. With all the strength of his powerful hips, he began pistoning into the naked blonde like a stallion at stud, shoving every long, gleaming inch of his incredible weapon deep into Cheryl's raging belly. She could feel its throbbing, swollen head far up in her insides, pulsing with the flow of hot, scalding blood that filled the organ's distended tip. The delicious thrill of watching the blonde girl sucking hungrily on his aching cock... the wicked spectacle of his friend nibbling eagerly at the other white girl's naked crotch; there could be no holding back now - he'd come too far to be restrained any longer. The giant black's head went back and a surprised, anguished shout came from his lungs... his black, fleshy hose again, spewed its seething load in the blonde's belly, this time pumped in a staccato burst into her hungry, receptive cunt, filling it completely and oozing out onto the arm of the chair.
Cheryl's pussy-lips milked every drop of his sticky sperm from the huge shaft, sucking the warm viscous liquid down into her belly.
* * *
Champ had now crawled up behind the nakedly quivering brunette, and with his hands, grabbed the soft flesh of her buttocks, turning her wet, glistening crotch back up at an even more acute angle. She felt one hand slip away from her ass for an instant, followed by a hurried zipping sound as the black's cock was pulled out into the air. It was now poised just an inch from her puffy pink lips, and with one hand he spread the soft pliable flanges of her pussy and eased his aching cock into the moist opening. Cheryl, only partially recovered, had swung her long legs around and was sitting, enraptured, on the edge of the chair. Raymond was standing behind her, unconsciously resting his mammoth cock on the girl's bare white shoulder. An insistent oozing of semen dripped down onto her flesh, trickling in a lurid stream down to the swell of her naked breast.
Champ eased forward, his long thin prick slithering into the naked brunette's tight young pussy, parting the soft pubic fluff with the shaft of his organ. He could feel the warm, resilient folds of her pussy close tightly over the bulbous head of his cock as he held it there, immobile, in her clasping vagina, rocking it in and out, teasing her and intensifying the uncontrollable lustful desire in her writhing body.
My God, what a tight pussy! He couldn't believe how good it felt as the strong wet walls gripped his aching prick like a clenched fist, sucking him in deeper and deeper into her hungrily sucking pussy-lips.
He kept his long powerful cock there for several minutes, only an inch or two nestled in the tightness of her vaginal passage, rocking it in and out, driving the naked white girl insane with his rhythmic, insistent strokes. The walls of her pussy had come alive! they were throbbing, pulsing, grabbing at this invading maleness, desperately trying to pull its long, satisfying length into her ravenously hungry passage. The wet, soft lips were reaching out as if to grab his long dick and suck it madly into her tortured hole.
"Oh God, I can't stand it! I can't stand it! Fuck me, oh, please fuck me! Fuck me with your black cock! Fuck me hard!" she suddenly groaned, her head spinning wildly from the combined effects of the marijuana and his torturing probes of sensuous sexuality.
Suddenly nothing counted except his pleasure-giving prick rammed inside her starving passage, and with a quick, vicious snap of his hips, Champ sank his long cock to the hilt in her vagina, slamming his loins forward until his balls slapped between her thighs. Eleanor cried out with pleasure, a long, low moan of anguished relief. He began to thrust in a pounding, savage rhythm, each instroke seemingly deeper and deeper in her belly. Her whole body jerked and squirmed, a constant cry escaping her half-open lips, her face contorted with primitive, savage lust as wildly raging desires took over her body. Beads of perspiration ran down her naked thighs and mingled with the rivulets of sweat the black man was beginning to shed where their legs ground together.
"Oh yes! Harder! Harder!" she yelled loudly, "Stick it in me hard and deep!" She was mindless of Raymond and Cheryl watching, mesmerized at her sudden change just a few feet away, both of them standing now, close by the wildly pumping figures of the muscular Negro and the naked brunette. He grabbed the fleshy curve of her pelvis and yanked her back toward his loins, causing her to cry out shrilly as she was deeply impaled on his long, hard spear. He could feel the raw smooth flesh of her pussy clenching and unclenching in time with his plundering thrusts, sucking tightly on the long black length of his cock.
Eleanor's breasts were mashed against the bed, her buttocks waving wildly in the air behind her, her eyes and nostrils wide like those of a crazed animal.
Champ reached under her and lifted her bodily off the mattress as she pushed back hard against him, bracing herself still against the headboard, forcing every steel-hard millimeter of his ebony shaft deeper and deeper into her womb. Cheryl and Raymond drew closer - they were only a couple of feet away now, eyes wide with astonishment as they both watched the long, wet shaft of the black man's prick slither in and out of the naked brunette's tightly clenching pussy-lips, slipping out on the backstroke until only the bulbous tip remained encased in the hot, moist sheath, then ramming home again, crashing hard into her belly as his sweat-matted pelvis ground tightly against the cleft of her naked squirming buttocks.
"Atta' boy, Champ... let her have it!" bellowed Raymond, caught up in the lascivious perversity of the moment, fighting the painful hardness swelling in his loins as he stood, naked by the bed. His powerful black arm was around Cheryl's waist, and she, too seemed hypnotized by the wicked thrill of watching the man's hardened cock ripple in and out of her best friend's hungry vagina. "Fuck her good, Champ! Stick it all the way up in her hot little belly!" she cried.
Eleanor was nearing her orgasm, and she wanted more, more! It was incredible... she'd never experienced anything like this in all her life! She was dazed by the flashing colors that seemed to explode across her brain, by the high-voltage blasts of electric passion that shot through her body like blasts from a shotgun. Suddenly, this was the way she wanted it... wicked and perverted, the filthier and more lurid the better! Oh! Oh! OH! That's it! That's it! Oh yes... yes... YES!"
Her shivering ass was wildly gyrating from side to side in uncontrollable savage passion as he rammed her ass back harder and harder against his nearly-bursting, lust-inflamed prick.
"Oh my God! I'm cumming! I'M CUMMING!" Champ didn't slow his powerful, deep strokes even for a second; instead, he rammed each long probe to the hilt, straining his loins forward so that not even a millimeter was left outside the naked white girl's hungrily sucking cunt. Her body arched high, her naked ass high in the air as she pushed up and back against her black lover, and she quivered all over as her orgasmic juices flooded his cock and testicles, flowing wetly out of her tight slit and down her thighs, soaking her pubic hair and oozing down onto her belly as his balls slapped hard down against her pulsating clitoris.
Champ knew this was almost the end; he couldn't hold back the painful tide in his loins much longer. His fingers bit into the soft fleshy cheeks of her ass as he felt the pain intensify in his balls. His strokes grew more vicious, faster and faster... deeper and deeper.
"Oooh... oooh... oooh!" Eleanor punctuated his every thrust with a soulful cry, grinding her upturned crotch back against his black loins. Then... with a loud, relieved grunt, the naked black exploded inside the impaled hips of the white girl, filling her insides with his hot torrents of sperm, shooting it far, far up into her open and receptive womb. Again and again and again his long rubbery shaft emptied itself with spasmodic jerks up into her savagely clashing and sucking passage and then after a seeming eternity... with a pained grunt, his flaccid penis slipped from her tightly clenching cuntal grip and she fell forward on her face, still shivering and squirming from his ravished assault on her crotch... the only sound in the room was the gasping wheeze of the half naked girl as she fought to regain her breath.
* * *
Eleanor didn't know how long she had lain there, it seemed like hours, though it was only a hazy blue of lights and colors, sounds and voices around her. She tried to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. Perhaps it was too late for that, she told herself. She would have liked to hide from the awful truth, but it kept hounding her, nagging her with the humiliating degradation of what she had done. She would have liked to pretend it had been awful - a painful, unpleasant nightmare - a brutal, unfeeling attack that she couldn't have avoided. But she knew that wasn't the truth at all - she knew she'd let this man, this black stranger, drive her to do and say and feel things she would have never dreamed possible.
She'd never known sex like that - she'd never experienced the all-consuming joyous agonies of a real climax, she'd never known her body to leap wildly out of control, to respond of its own apparent will.
She didn't know how she would ever face John again; she was afraid even of turning her head now, of having to look that man in the face, of having to see that knowing look in his eyes, of having to feel that laughing stare. She knew Cheryl was there, too, and she knew there was no ultimate choice but to face them all, but for now, she wanted no more than to be left alone.
She jerked instinctively as she felt a strong man's hand suddenly grasp her buttocks. Oh no, it can't be! He doesn't want more from me... he couldn't'!
She turned her head to protest... it was Raymond the other Negro! His eyes mirrored the lustful urge the huge man had no intentions of suppressing. His teeth gleamed through his wicked, mocking grin. Grabbing both ankles, he spun her over onto her back, shoving her legs back tight against her shoulders, smashing her tender breasts beneath her upturned thighs. Her ravaged cunt, still moist and sensitive, was opened to him like a dinner plate before a starving man.
"No, no... please don't! Haven't you done enough to me? I can't stand any more I can't!"
But there was no stopping the immense black hulk now. Without any hesitation, he probed savagely at her upturned crotch, ramming her tender vaginal slit with the blunt head of his lust-engorged prick. He found the pink puckered flanges of her pussy and slipped it in a couple of inches. But suddenly... he pulled the swollen, bulbous head from her already sperm moistened tunnel and lowered his aim, shoving her legs back hard so that she was nearly standing on her head, doubled in half from the pressure of his arm against the back of her thighs.
A cold, frightening chill suddenly raced along her spine, the pressure of his hardened penis pressed against the tiny puckered mouth of her rectum, relaying the horrible truth about what the huge black was about to do to Eleanor's numbed brain. It shattered into her head like a rifle blast. "Oh my God, no! NO! NO! PLEASE!" Her eyes were wide and white with fear, "Cheryl! Somebody! Don't let him do it! Don't... AAAAGGGGHHHHHH!"
She tried to pull away, but it was too late. Like a pile-driver, the enormous man sank his thick swollen cock stiffly into the helpless girl's rectum, splitting apart the tight muscular bands and ramming deep in her asshole. She screamed loudly, again and again. It felt as if she was being split in half as he drove mercilessly into the depths of her smooth rubbery tunnel. She could feel his mammoth hardness burrowing far up into her intestines, spreading the delicate pink walls of her rectum wide apart as he plowed into her. Through tear-flooded eyes she saw the outline of another girl, naked as herself, and felt the girl shoving a lumpy pillow beneath her upturned ass, forcing her anal crevice even higher toward the black man's humping, sweat-matted pelvis.
He looked down at her with a sneering leer on his lips, beads of perspiration rolling down his dark cheeks. Her face twisted horribly with each painful jab, her teeth tightly clenched as her lips parted in a half-cry of soul-rending anguish. She tried to lift her arms, to fight back, anything to force this devastating assault on her anus to stop. But it was hopeless, her feeble blows only glanced off the giant Negro's thick hide. She was impaled helplessly beneath him, and he wasn't about to pull his huge rod out of her now; he was savoring every magic second of this wanton ravishment of this naked young beauty.
Eleanor tried to tighten the strong muscles of her rectum, hoping upon hope that she could force the painful intruder from her forbidden orifice, but her on-and-off clenching only seemed to add fuel to the raging savage lust the big man was feeling; as the muscular walls of her anal passage squeezed against the impaling length of his dark cock, he slammed into her with renewed excitement, burying himself deeper and deeper in the wretched brunette housewife's asshole. The taut bands of muscle around the normally tiny opening were stretched beyond endurance to accommodate the ravaging log-like pole of his cock, clasping like over-stretched elastic the hard thick shaft of his manhood, tightly massaging every long hard inch of its fantastic length.
Her nostrils unconsciously flared at the salacious scent of their sweating bodies grinding together in the hot, stuffy room, the sweat of her own body running freely with the musky wetness of this man; a whiff of pungent sharpness caught her attention - the smell of her own vaginal secretions was mingling with the tangy, acid scent of the black man's wildly pistoning cock. This incredibly lurid scene... the overpowering numbness from the grass... the indescribable salaciousness of being ravished like this, being used and manhandled by a complete stranger, right before the eyes of her best friend and another man, these things all coupled together, slowly bringing on a change deep in her body.
Almost indiscernible at first; it was nearly impossible to feel anything except the constant intense pain. But something was happening to her, something was changing.
"She's starting to dig it now, Ray boy! Let her have it good! Really throw it to her!" screamed Cheryl, up on the bed on her knees now, her eyes glistening hypnotically just a foot from the painfully stretched nether ring of Eleanor's ravaged anal hole, her eyes wide and glazed as she puffed another joint and watched this fantastic performance right in front of her face.
Eleanor felt an involuntary movement beginning that was not of her own doing; her hips began to arch upward toward the giant black. The bruised, battered walls of her rectal passage began to contract involuntarily as the sheer perverted wickedness of what she was doing began to rattle through her drugged mind. Her naked torso was coming to life, rolling and squirming from side to side, starting a slow deliberate rhythm as she slowly ground back up against his loins, impaled painfully with the whole long shaft of his black cock rammed up her quivering asshole. Slowly, undetectably at first, the pain of this brutal, vicious attack was gradually subsiding and in its place... unfamiliar waves of wanton pleasure began to fan out from her battered rectum, rippling up through her belly, coming to rest in the bulging peaks of her young titties, smashed beneath her upturned legs. Her toes curled tightly against the bottoms of her feet, opening and closing in perfect harmony with his long, slow thrusts that seemed to be coming out her mouth. His cock slipped easily in and out of her tight, constrictive tunnel now, lubricated with the oozing seminal flow from the enormous, throbbing head of his savage rod of steel-hard flesh.
"Ooooooohhhh... Aaaawwwwww! Oh God! Oh God!" Her hands were on his mammoth black shoulders, her nails raking his tough flesh and leaving long, wakes of red as she dug in viciously through his skin.
A whirling melange of thought-pictures raced across the screen of her mind, jumbled and confusing images of familiar faces in slow-motion, like a movie running on the wrong speed, slowed by the stupefying powers of the marijuana she had consumed. She thought of her husband John... of what it would be like to be with him now, away from this frightening nightmare. Oh how much she wanted him to come and save her from this horrible degradation.
But other thoughts, other feelings, other sensations were bouncing around in her head, too. She recalled the many long empty nights with John, those endless, agonizing nights when only a few moments of unbridled passion would have fulfilled the gnawing pain in her loins. Those nights, those countless nights, when she'd cried herself quietly to sleep, clutching her belly to keep from screaming in anguish. Holding her stomach to quench the insistent pain in her loins, the recurring, all-consuming pain that John could have eliminated so easily... but didn't.
Suddenly, something snapped deep inside her. The pain was gone, completely kicked aside by the growing, savage animal passion that had stealthily slipped from her loins and taken control of her naked body.
"Oh God... it's so good! It's so good! Oh shit, fuck me! Fuck my ass so hard!"
A long, deep moan growled from her lips, her body arched hard against his pelvis, his long, thick cock rammed deep inside her asshole. She screamed again, wordless, gasping cries as a torrent of her own juices flooded from her ravenously hungry pussy and drained down the narrow furrows of her buttocks, streaming in a white, warm wave over the huge black shaft imbedded deep in her rectum. Spurred on by the sight of her orgasm, the Negro pumped into her anew, spreading the buttocks-cheeks of her naked, unprotected ass with his fingers to allow his giant prick even deeper entry to her forbidden, tightly-clasping tunnel. He pulled the immense shaft all the way out, leaving just the distended, pulsing tip to keep the tiny hole open, then rammed straight down, sinking deeper and deeper until his kinky-haired pelvis smashed against her naked upturned ass. He could feel her struggling to open her legs wider, to suck his gigantic cudgel deeper into her belly, to swallow him up in the immense, raging inferno of her loins.
Eleanor was now aware of nothing around her; the room could have been filled with all her friends, all her relatives, and it wouldn't have mattered now. Suddenly she was lost in the animal raptures of pure, undiluted savage passion, simple and primitive. She imagined herself a helpless love-captive of this towering African above her, his to own and ravish, his to do anything with that he desired. Every muscle, every nerve in her trembling body was attuned to his rhythmic, plundering thrusts that seemed deeper and deeper with every powerful lunge. She had become just an extension of his strong black loins, just another instrument of the burning savage lust now about to explode from his sperm-swollen balls.
He reached between the fleshy cheeks of her buttocks and the cushioning pillow, lifting her even higher, tilting her up painfully so that his rapid, potent thrusts were straight down into her asshole.
She was insane with salacious desires! She had no control at all over her body... it was responding on its own, humping and writhing as the Negro bored mercilessly down into the tight hairless tunnel of her rectum.
And then it began to spurt... the heated lavalike flow shooting like liquid flames deep up into her bowels, blasting up into her belly, ripping through her hungry, receptive body in never-ending spurts. Over and over again the white flow erupted from the throbbing, blood-swollen head of the huge black shaft, filling the cavernous hollow of her insides and draining over the tightly-sucking muscular ring of her anus, streaming in a warm flood down both sides of her creviced bottom, trickling in twin streams down her upturned back and down over the hungry lips of her vagina, soothing the lust-inflamed passage with an oozing viscous balm.
When every precious drop had been milked from his thick pumping penis, when every hot spurt had been sucked deep down into her belly where it mingled luridly with the sperm of the other man, he gave one gasping lunge, and pulled his now soft, pliable cock from her still tightly clenching anal grip, collapsing, exhausted, on the bed beside her.
She knew she should feel worse than ever before in her life... that she should be crying pitifully from this horrible, filthy act of perversion she'd been forced to endure... that she should feel abused and humiliated, lying prostrate at this bottom-most pit of wanton depravity. But she didn't.
She felt nothing except the fullness of her sperm-laden belly, the warm glow of satisfaction that had eluded her all these years. She couldn't help it; she'd have been lying to pretend otherwise.
She glanced through the slits of her blood-veined eyes and caught a glimpse of Cheryl, laughing and giggling like a teenager, pulling the other Negro down onto her squirming, tempting nakedness, her tiny fingers gripped around the hardening shaft of his black prick.
She closed her eyes and drifted away... drifted as if in space, floating languidly through the hazy shadows of the long night.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Eleanor Merritt slowly, carefully, climbed from the driver's seat of her car, squinting in the blindingly-bright glow of the early morning sun. She'd been without sleep for twenty-four hours now, and the strain was beginning to make itself felt. She noticed a dull hardness in her chest and all her muscles felt as if they were coming unhooked from her bones.
John was away - he'd been out of town now for four days straight, off on some low-income housing project in South Carolina. She didn't even know where exactly. Not that it really mattered any more... She'd found her life now and it didn't include him. Two weeks had passed since that night with Raymond and Champ, and a lot had happened that would shape her life permanently. She was still going out on Bresler's "dates," in fact, she'd just returned from one. But there was one major difference now, something that changed the picture considerably. She took her purse from the front seat and closed the car door; instinctively, she checked the thick, growing wad clipped with a paperclip inside her billfold. She shielded her eyes with her hand and squinted to see if anyone was in DeRoan's yet. There was someone moving just inside the door, though she didn't see Harry's car anywhere around. She hoped he'd be there soon - he owed her fifty dollars for last night and she had plans made for that money.
She pushed open the glass door - Francine was talking to an elderly customer in back.
Standing near the first dress rack was a wide-eyed, innocent-looking young girl, hardly out of her teens. She seemed nervous and distraught, glancing around the shop and back outside as if she half expected someone to be following her. She noticed Eleanor looking at her and came over.
"Do you work here?" she asked hopefully, 'I'm supposed to see someone about my account. It's... well, it's fallen a little behind."
Eleanor smiled. Yes, this one would do nicely. Her thin sweater bulged in all the right places, and she could see under her short mini-skirt that her legs were perfectly tapered, full and smooth beneath her chocolate-brown panty hose. Yeah, Harry had snared himself another one, she thought. Wonder who'll go with her when they break her in?
It would be fun to be there when this obviously snooty little society broad got it good for the first time, she told herself. Maybe I'll talk to Harry about it.
"I wouldn't worry about a thing, honey. Mr. Bresler will be here in a few minutes and he'll straighten it all out for you. He's a real doll to work with."
The girl seemed reassured; Eleanor could see her face sag a little as she relaxed.
Yeah, little lady, I wish I was in your shoes... you've got a helluva lot to look forward to in the next few weeks... you don't know it yet, but you're about to find out there's a whole world out there waiting that you didn't even know existed... yes sir, I sure wish I could make that trip again for you!
