Young though this nation is, it has twice been affected by the dour aftermath of Puritanism which traditionally looks upon the pleasures of the flesh as sinful and immoral, conceived by the Devil for the downfall of mankind. It's no accident, then, that the shibboleths which still obsess many of us in the twentieth century originated with this joyless concept of life to the exclusion of carnal joys and "forbidden pleasures."
The Pilgrim Fathers soon turned to the grim precepts of the Puritans after their establishment of the initial American colonies. In the town squares, one saw whipping posts and pillories and stocks as ever-present reminders of the condemnation and punishment awaiting "sinners" who strayed from convention and surrendered to the "evil temptations" with which Satan was accustomed to plague weak mortals. Howard Hanson chose as the theme of one of his finest operas, "Merry Mount", the terrible inner conflict of Preacher Wrestling Bradford against the torments of the flesh; and the famous aria from that opera, " 'Tis an earth defiled" immortalized by the later Lawrence Tibbett, expresses powerfully and unforgettably the entire Puritanical tenet against what we, more sophisticated and philosophical, call hedonism: the enjoyment of pleasure for its own sake and without moribund contemplation of eternal damnation for having yielded to its delights.
In the nineteenth century we were again affected by the wave of mid-Victorianism which spread from the British Empire to our shores. Even though it was an implicitly hypocritical code of morality, it was accepted as gospel in many American homes, and were tinged with its overtones. Ironically, this core, which held that even for a married woman to enjoy sexual congress with her own husband stamped her as little better than a prostitute, was promulgated by chauvinistic males who patronized the expensive brothels with which London was infested while at the same time proclaiming the specious righteousness of domestic concord.
One direct result of this Puritanical doctrine was its bigoted protagonism by Anthony Comstock, who undertook, in his function as a postal inspector, to safeguard the morality of the nation. The unprincipled censorship which followed his allegiance to mid- Victorianism was dangerous and unhealthy, and doubtless laid the foundation for many repressive statutes and much harassment justified under the guise of "censorship".
But, far beyond that immediate effect, this Comstockian repressiveness was reflected in the narrow, reprehensible teaching of sexual education to the young by parents who had accepted this tenet based on guilt and shame, to the extent that incalculable numbers of adolescents suffered the tortures of the damned. Sex was, the tenet held, a necessary evil for the procreation of the species, but it had no other justification. By inference, sex without procreation was adjudged sinful and shameful, linking us with the beasts in the field.
The overreaching harm of such a diagnosis is still being felt in many an American home. Prudery and hypocrisy, twin offspring of such an outlook based on shame and deception, have led many of us to consider even the healthy human body "obscene" and its desires as "inspired straight from hell." The effect has been, accordingly, a tremendous psychological onus upon the natural, spontaneous and joyful participation of consenting adults even in the marriage bed.
Indeed, at the outset of the Industrial Revolution, it was cynically stated that while it was natural for young people to marry, only the very poor and the very rich could do so. The economic structure of our present-day society, with its spotlight on material achievement often to the exclusion of spiritual values, makes it still more difficult for the young to cope with the inevitably mounting physiological demands. Thus convention, abetted by lasting Puritanism, still thwarts many who are conditioned by the seemingly good sexual education of the past.
In this novel, Linda, the heroine, finds herself forced to cope with an almost-insurmountable conflict between the volition of her own healthy though frustrated body and the conditioning through her girlhood and adolescence which has stamped all sexual expression as "indecent" and "sinful." This is further compounded by her having accidentally eavesdropped on her own parents in the act of making love, while at the same time remembering their verbal denunciation of the very act which they are practicing in secret. She's thus beset by the "temptations of the flesh" against which her earlier training powerfully inveighs, and it's only through the moral forces of implicit coercion that she's grudgingly compelled to submit to the most basic urge of all. Gradually, as she discovers the difference between the appeal of the physical and its negation of the psychological, her ardent though suppressed nature breaks through to bring her to the acceptable denouement of both compliance and enjoyment.
Yet, undoubtedly, had there been no previous unhealthy conditioning, the conflict which taxes her so greatly, till it seems that death itself is almost preferable to carnal surrender, wouldn't have been paramount in her experience. Thus we see how powerfully complex are the latent forces of Puritanism and how its customs still loom in the sensitive mind as unshakable truths, when in reality they are based on misguided lack of understanding at the very outset.
-The Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
Linda Willoughby was remembering... she was fifteen and had gone to a picnic with some of her girlfriends out to Amsterdam Park in the suburbs of New York on this particular sultry July day. The mother of her best friend, Betsy Tolson, had picked her up in her car and had driven her out to the picnic area and promised to bring her home about six-thirty. But about three o'clock in the afternoon, Linda began to feel squeamish, and to her horror discovered that the "curse" was starting a day early. Frantically embarrassed, her face scarlet, she approached gray-haired Mrs. Tolson and falteringly asked if she could go home because she didn't feel well. The good-natured woman clucked sympathetically and drove her home at once. When Linda let herself into the house, she heard strange noises coming from the back of the house, where her father's bedroom was. Wanting her mother, she moved down the hallway and the noises grew louder. She could hear a hoarse male voice gasping, "Come on, Cyn honey, don't hold back, you want it as much as I do. Let yourself go!"
And then there was a series of little sobbing giggles and Linda recognized her mother's voice, though strangely taut, "Oh, Harvey, deeper, harder, I'm close, oh, lover. I'm so close. Give it to me good and hard!"
Her eyes wide, stricken by a strange and inexplicable emotion, Linda Willoughby approached the door and discovered that it was partly open. Her mouth gaped as she stared beyond her, seeing the huge double bed.
Her father lay naked but for shorts and socks, and her mother atop him, naked except for a slip which had been rucked up to the middle of her back. The spacious pale-white-skinned globes of her mother's buttocks loomed before her, tightening and contracting, as Cynthia Willoughby raised herself up and down, Her blonde curls were tousled and, as she lifted her face toward the wall, her teeth gleamed in a feverishly amorous smile. Linda could see her mother's plump thighs clenching and shuddering. And then, suddenly, her father caught her mother by the elbows and rolled her over onto her back, adjusting himself above her. For a blinding moment, Linda saw the huge lust-inflated shaft of his penis, the head bulbous like the cap of a big mushroom.
But more than that, Linda saw her mother lay splayed before her, an arm over her contorted face which was turned towards the window, and her big round breasts rising and falling violently against the rumpled slip. She saw, too, the cluster of dark- blonde curls which fringed the pink lips of her mother's cuntal opening... and then she saw her father stretch himself over her mother, introducing the tip of that revolting thing against the feminine pink cleft.
At that moment, Cynthia Willoughby locked her bare legs over her male partner's loins, clutching at his hair with feverish fingers, and arched herself to meet his decimating thrust.
As he sank to the hilt inside her belly, Linda's mother tilted back her head and uttered a long- drawn sobbing groan, "Oh, my God, oh, it's so good, Harvey darling. Oh, fuck me, fuck me now, make me cum. Please, make me cum!" Shaken by the discovery that she had made, Linda Willoughby clapped a hand over her mouth and ran frantically back down the hallway and upstairs to her own room. When she inspected herself in the bathroom, her worst fears were confirmed. Locking herself in, she performed the necessary ablutions, and yet before her the vision of her parents loomed. Before she left the bathroom, she had for the first time tentatively explored her own sex with trembling fingers, learned the forbidden ecstasy of onanistic gratification... a pleasure heightened by the spectacle that she had just witnessed, which drove her both to revulsion and a singular yearning that she herself couldn't explain...
She was remembering that now as she heard her mother's querulous voice call to her, "Is that you, honey?" as she entered the vestibule of the trim little white-frame Colonial house. It was noon of a mid-April day and Linda Willoughby, though only twenty-four, was coming home for lunch from her job as head librarian at the Gorley Public Library.
As she took off her light spring coat and jaunty turban hat to free the glossy dark-brown curls of her upswept hair, her pure white forehead was creased by a momentary frown of annoyance. Then, with a sigh, as she approached the stairway, she called, "Yes, mother, I'm back. Can I get you some hot milk or something?"
"Hot milk would be nice, honey, and maybe some of those tea biscuits you got from the store the other day," her mother called back from the bedroom where she was lounging on the bed in her robe and slip, reading a copy of True Confessions.
"Right away," Linda replied. She walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and took out a carton of milk, poured some into a saucepan, and then, going to the pantry, brought out the round tin of cookies with a wry little smile. She opened it, put about five sugar wafers on a small plate, and then replaced the tin up on the pantry shelf. It was characteristic of her mother to call the rich cookies, of which she was inordinately fond, "teabiscuits", a euphemism whose symbolic meaning had been ramified throughout her mother's life. It was, in a word, Cynthia Willoughby's way of avoiding harsh inalienable facts by glossing them over with an inoffensive term or explanation... just as she had always done when it came to Linda's own initiatory puberty and adolescence.
Harvey Willoughby, Linda's father, had been a stockbroker's assistant in a Wall Street office when his employer had taken him to a society party where he had met lush-blonde Cynthia Amberie. Harvey had then been twenty-six, his destined bride nineteen at the time. A Harvard graduate who had majored in marketing and business administration, Linda's father had been the only child born to an English professor and his Bible-teaching wife. Indeed, young Harvey had been slated for the seminary and then the pulpit, his mother's dearest dream, but some quixotic element had led him to rebel against his mother's wishes and decide to go into the bustling world of business and affairs.
Harvey Willoughby and Cynthia Amberie were married a year after their meeting, and Linda was born exactly nine months later. It was a difficult birth, and the doctors advised Cynthia to have no more children. Harvey's pretty blonde wife was totally in accord with this medical advice, for the ordeal of delivery of her daughter had been anathema to her. Yet at the same time, though she had been brought up by genteel parents to consider sex an unpleasant but necessary duty which a wife must accord her husband, she found Harvey's virile love- making strangely exciting. As a consequence, when she was stricken with appendicitis about a year after Linda's birth, she induced her doctor to remove her ovaries so that she might continue to enjoy conjugal relations with Harvey but with the danger of further conception removed.
The Willoughbys had lived in an old brownstone house on East 87th Street in New York City, and by the time Linda was twelve years old and in the eighth grade, her father had become one of the partners in the brokerage firm where he had begun his business career. He had done very well financially but he was already being tempted by the lure of quick profits, of making a killing in the market so that he and his beloved wife could have a fashionable home in some quiet suburb far from Manhattan's feverish, noisy pace. With the acquisition of wealth and success, he had become distant, even snobbish, and Linda herself found him increasingly diffident as regards paternal affection. Thus she came more and more to rely on her mother for guidance, and the first real crisis of her life had occurred just a week after her thirteenth birthday.
As she climbed the stairway with the tray for her mother, her face turned scarlet as she remembered that first terrifying awareness of a world that was so distressingly, grossly physical...
She had just come home from school that fateful May afternoon, and become aware of an unexpected moisture in her private parts. And when she had fearfully and hesitantly examined herself in the bathroom, into which she had locked herself, she was horrified to find blood on her panties and on her sex itself. Hysterically, she had called to her mother, who hurried to her, hammered on the bathroom door till Linda tearfully unlocked it and let her in, then turned away, whimpering with shame and terror at this unknown horror. She would never forget what Cynthia Willoughby had said or how she had reacted when her mother had discovered what had happened to her. Grimacing with distaste, while she sponged the weeping girl, she had delivered herself of her first oration on the subject of sex and its evils... one which was to influence the impressionable dark-brown-haired girl in the years to come.
"Now, now, Linda, don't carry on like that. This happens to every girl at about your age. Stop crying, I say! If you would read the Bible, Linda dear, you would learn why this has happened to you. You see, the first woman, Eve, sinned against God by eating forbidden fruit. And so God drove her and Adam out of the Garden of Eden and put the curse on all women and her descendants for all time to come."
"The--the c--curse, mother?" the sobbing young girl had uncomprehendingly echoed.
Cynthia Willoughby had frowningly nodded. "That's right, Linda dear. It was because she disobeyed our Lord that He gave all women this punishment. Because that's what it is, you see. It's to remind us all of the wickedness of sex. You're still very young, dear, but you're going to school with boys, and you're already becoming very lovely. One of these days some nasty boy will want to kiss you and fondle you and you must never let that happen. Hold still now. Listen to me carefully, Linda."
And Linda, trembling, ashamed of her nakedness and of the sullying blight on her young body, ashamed perhaps even more of the way that her mother continued to look at her with distaste plainly written over her pretty face, could not hold back the racking sobs which made her slim shoulders shake.
"I know," her mother continued, "that your father and I haven't ever really told you about such things before. But it's high time you knew now, Linda. Some day you will marry, and when that happens, I can only hope that you find a decent man like your father. You see, most men want only one thing from a girl, her body, and they use it selfishly. It's they who should really have to suffer, not us women, the way you're suffering now, Linda. But at least, if you marry a decent man, your having to give yourself to him will at least be justified if you have children that you both want in love, as I had you with your father. But it's wrong to have sex just for the sake of sex, always remember that. Now I'll bring you another pair of panties, and here's a bandage that you will have to wear, I'll have Dr. Anthony talk to you one of these days."
Thus Linda Willoughby's introduction into the mystifying and terrifying world of sexual behavior had begun on a traumatic note. From that day on, taking her mother's advice, she became more aloof in school, particularly where there were boys who wanted her to join in their playground games.
A month before she became seventeen, disaster struck the Willoughby household. Harvey Willoughby had gotten into deep water through his speculations, and when he died unexpectedly of a heart attack, Cynthia Willoughby found that all that was left was a fifty-thousand-dollar insurance policy. She had moved to a little Connecticut town on the invitation of a younger cousin who had just lost her own husband through divorce.
It was in Gorley that Linda finished her high school and won a scholarship to a small girl's college near Hartford. Midway through college, Cynthia's cousin married lecherous old Silas Dowling, president of the Gorley Commercial Bank and Trust Company. It was Dowling who arranged for Cynthia Willoughby to buy the rundown old house a few blocks away, title to which he held and which he sold for an incredibly low sum.
There was an excellent reason for this. Silas Dowling had already noted the ripening beauty of young Linda Willoughby, and he meant one day to make her his mistress. That was why she had become head librarian following the retirement of Mrs. McSweeney, since Silas Dowling was also president of the board of trustees of the library.
But of this, Cynthia Willoughby herself was blissfully unaware, and as the years had gone on, though she had retained her beauty and was still an extremely desirable woman at the age of forty-five, she was content with this life which made her daughter virtually a housekeeper and which removed her from the odious nuisance of having to submit to a man. It was true that she had guiltily enjoyed her union with Harvey Willoughby, but she had never forgotten the degradation and pain of Linda's birth. And thus in this old house, Linda Willoughby had become as much a recluse as her mother, though inwardly the ripeness of her body and its growing needs were to lead her into the most incredible adventure of all!
The lovely young librarian shivered as if the ghosts of the past had come alive and surrounded her even now as she entered her mother's bedroom and composed her face into the docile, habitual smile which she always accorded Cynthia Willoughby... one that hid her deepest remembrances still tinged with the shame of recollection at haphazard times exactly like this...
CHAPTER TWO
"But all I'm asking, Miss Willoughby, is that you let me take you out to dinner. Now what's so wrong about that?" lanky black haired Ben Williams glanced furtively around the main room of the Gorley Public Library. It was a cool April evening and fifteen minutes away from the library's closing time of nine o'clock. Far to his right, seated at a table, was an elderly man intent on looking up his astrological portents, while on the other side of the table fat Mrs. Maxon was busy copying recipes. Apart from these two solid Connecticut citizens, there was no one in the library except Ben Williams and the beautifully voluptuous dark-brown-haired young woman who stood at the counter of the checkout and information desk and whom he had just been annoying for a date.
The object of his ardent attentions was about five feet six inches in height. She had an exquisite cameo-like face, a chiseled oval which emphasized a high-arching forehead, dainty little ears, highset cheekbones and a firm jawline. Her eyes were a luminous and very wide dark-brown, fringed by thick but short lashes which gave them an even more intense and compelling look. Her brows were narrow and daintily penciled, her mouth small and prim, though the lipstick hinted at a temperamental and mercurial disposition. It was a mouth that Ben Williams wanted very much to kiss. For starters.
For the rest of this delectably contoured twenty- four-year-old head librarian was even more tempting to a virile member of the opposite sex such as the twenty-nine-year-old farm equipment salesman very definitely was. He had come into the library forty minutes earlier, ostensibly to return several books on merchandising and sales promotion and to take out several more. Though he made an excellent living selling tractors, harrows, plows as well as fertilizers and rakes and hoes, Ben Williams had always regretted not going beyond the twelfth grade in Gorley's only high school out on McArden Road near the abandoned silo that had once belonged to a wealthy farmer whose young attractive wife had run away with a traveling salesman. And ever since Linda Willoughby, somewhat to the surprise of most of the old maids in this thriving little town of four thousand located some fifty miles from Hartford, had been named librarian, Ben Williams' interest in furthering his education had become rekindled.
After he had turned in the books and walked over to the reference shelves, Ben Williams had slyly glanced over at Linda Willoughby. Once having put the books into the return bin which a teenaged assistant would eventually wheel around to the various shelves on which the books would be replaced, the young librarian had left the enclosure of the counterdesk and walked briskly to the back where the dusty volumes of old bound newspapers were stored. His eyes had blazed at the sight of her sleek, high- set calves sheathed in sheer beige nylons, watching their enchanting flexions and tremorings as she moved. Arriving at the shelf she wished to inspect, she had stooped over, entrancing him with the penis-hardening display of long firm thighs against which her pleated brown rayon skirt clung rapaciously, and, even more alluringly, the resilient and jouncy hemispheres of her upstandingly rounded buttocks. This momentary bent-over pose had made the material of her skirt adhere lasciviously to the narrow but decidedly deep cleft between those buttocks and he could feel the stiffening of his penis as into his mind there leaped the image of his coming up quickly behind her lofting skirt and slip, yanking down her dainty little panties and thrusting his turgid manhood deep into her belly.
It would be, he knew sadly, an irrevocable blunder to attempt to woo and win Linda Willoughby that way, however much all his vigorous male instincts yearned to do so. For Ben Williams, born in Gorley and knowing the foibles and outlook of just about every resident in this pleasant little Connecticut town, knew also that Linda Willoughby was that rare woman, a chaste virgin whose education and background precluded the possibility of so quick and easy a conquest.
To be sure, he hadn't yet tested her chastity, but, on the other hand, from all he had been able to learn, no other eligible male in all of Gorley had done so, either. By reputation alone, Linda Willoughby was untouchable and prim, even though the maddening contrast of her youth and beauty in a public position usually allocated to doting spinsters was already arousing him to furiously frustrated desire.
When his parents had been killed in an automobile accident over a decade before, Ben Williams had been brought up by his father's younger brother, something of a hellion in his own right. It had been he who had taken young Ben to New York and "fixed him up" with a call girl whom uncle Arthur had frequently visited when he was eager to taste the fleshpots of the big city and cast off the drearily conventional monotony of small-town living. His uncle had been a crony of old man Homer Baring, owner of the farm equipment store, and that was how Ben got his first job. Now that Baring was on the verge of retirement, there was every hope that he might be able to buy the old man out and take over the operation entirely. That would make him Gorley's most eligible bachelor.
On occasions, when Ben Williams felt the call of nature to be stronger than he could deny, he would make a pilgrimage to Hartford to see a divorcee whom he had met about three years earlier, or, if she was out of town, visit New York and find temporary sex relief in the paid embraces of one of the many Manhattan hookers who could be found if you knew where to look. But, ever since Linda Willoughby had come to work in the Gorley Public Library two years before, first as assistant librarian and just four months later, with the sudden retirement of elderly Mrs. McSweeney, as the head librarian, the lanky salesman had found that commercial love had entirely palled upon him. It was just because Linda Willoughby was unattainable that he desired her and hoped one day to win her.
For about half an hour he dawdled at the very same table that those two righteously sober citizens were now reading, till the repeated views of Linda walking from one tier of books to another, bending, rising on tiptoes to seek a volume on a high-placed shelf, had driven him in desperation to take the plunge and for the first time overtly to ask her for a date.
She considered him now, the dainty wings of a slightly aquiline nose flickering, her eyebrows raised and her snowy forehead creased with mild annoyance, "Thank you, Mr. Williams, but the answer is no. I don't go out with any man, and certainly not in this town. As you may appreciate, I was considered quite young to take Mrs. McSweeney's place, but now that I have it, I don't intend to let anyone criticize my conduct in a position of trust like this."
The sound of her husky voice, the pure diction of her speech only served to inflame Ben Williams even more. She wasn't only physically beautiful, but she was also maddeningly intellectual--an irresistible combination. And if she could have read his mind at that moment, she would have turned crimson and angrily slapped his face... for Ben Williams, staring doggedly and despairingly at the young woman, was seeing her strip slowly naked before him, wearing at last only a black nylon garterbelt and high-clambering nylons and high- heeled pumps, holding out her arms to him with a coy smile of offertory. It was an image of total wish-fulfillment and it very nearly gave him an erection then and there, which he concealed by pressing himself forward against the counter while he repeated, "But you know where I work and you know what I do, Miss Willoughby. I'm a decent guy, and what's wrong about a fellow and a girl getting to know each other better over a good dinner? Not here, I'd drive you to Hartford."
"I'm sure your intentions are very honorable, Mr. Williams, and I'm flattered by your interest in me. But again I must say no. And now, did you want to take out those other books? I'm going to close the library in a few minutes, you know."
"Oh, all right, then," he said grumpily as he shoved the books onto the desk before her, fumbled in his back trousers pocket for the library card and handed it to her. As she bent dutifully to the books, stamping the cards which she took out of the pockets and put into a wooden tray before her, her dress couldn't hide its snugness over the two closely spaced high-set round globes of her magnificent young bosom. And the elegant sculptuary of her bare white throat with its soft, dimpled pulse-hollow was enough for him to conjecture how she would look if that sudden image of her could only by some miracle come true...
CHAPTER THREE
Stocky brown-haired Joe Cantwell glanced over at the slim honey-haired girl who was busy unpacking his suitcase and putting its contents into the old mahogany chest of drawers, then looked up at his tall black-haired partner. "I still don't get it, Jeff. Why the hell did we have to come all the way from the West Coast to this crummy Connecticut town ? What's so great about Gorley?"
Scarcely half an hour before, the two men and the blonde, who had registered herself as "Mrs. Joseph Kent" on the ledger, had driven past the old red-brick house with its sign "Rooms to Rent" and then and there moved into Widow Hortense Standish's boarding house. Jeff Maxton, who had signed himself "Jefferson Marlowe," had rented the front room and adjoining bath on the second floor, while his partner and the blonde took over the room across the hall. He took out a pack of Pall Malls, lit one, and glanced idly at the blonde who was just straightening and who winked at him with an inviting little smile behind Joe Cantwell's back. "For one thing, because we were not back in California," he said slowly "For another, because we've never operated in this state before. And last but far from least, there's only one bank in a small town like this; it's a prosperous farm community, which means it can be easy pickings and no sweat if you'll just do what you're told."
"All right, all right," Joe Cantwell grumbled. Then, as the slim blonde moved up to the bed on which he lay sprawled and bent over him to stroke his face and let him enjoy the sight of her big round widely spaced breasts which strained against her floral print dress, he grinned and added, "At least I'm glad you let me bring Mavis along. I gather this is going to be a long-range job, not a quick stickup."
"For once you gather right, Joe. Besides, Mavis might come in handy for a front when we're casing the bank. It's just off the main street, and this evening I'm going to take a little walk and see what the layout is." .
"You do that. Mave and me, we'll have some fun while you're gone, won't we, baby?" Joe Cantwell reached up to cup one of the young woman's breasts and gave it a lingering squeeze which made her giggle and pull away, smoothing down her dress and flushing self-consciously as Jeff Maxton's cold blue eyes fixed her with an appraising stare.
"I'll tell you something else," Jeff Maxton said, taking a puff at his cigarette, then crushing it out in a little copper ashtray on the table beside the spacious window that looked out on Widow Stan- dish's garden. "I was born in Boston, and I went to school there as a kid. My dad was an insurance investigator and he took me traveling after mom died. So I got to see a lot of Massachusetts and Connecticut, and I haven't forgotten that a lot of these small Eastern towns are clannish as all hell, but they're also full of well-heeled citizens. And whenever you've got people like that, you've got nice fat little banks which don't expect much trouble, don't have very many guards and usually keep most of the dough in a time vault overnight. We're not going to go in there with guns and drive away, like in the movies. What I've got in mind is going to take a little time and effort, but it'll be worth it. And what you know about safecracking and nitro will come in real handy on a caper like this."
Joe Cantwell grunted, put his hands behind his head and stared up at his partner. He was thirty- five, five years older than Jeff Maxton, and he had spent exactly that number of years in San Quentin for bank robbery. There were a few other black marks on his record, notably assault with a deadly weapon and one rape charge back in his early twenties which had been dropped when his victim had refused to testify against him.
The two men had met about six years before in San Diego, just a year after Joe Cantwell had got out of jail, and they had pulled three successful jobs between Bakersfield and Eureka. The last robbery had been the most dangerous of all, and Joe Cantwell had had to wound almost fatally one of the bank guards. It was at this point that his younger partner, whom Joe grudgingly admitted was the real "brains" of the gang, had made a quick decision to come East. Jeff Maxton had bought a used car for cash, and driven across the country, avoiding the state highways. Indeed, it had taken them three weeks to get to Gorley. Mavis Lorenz was an acquisition whom Joe Cantwell had picked up in a small Ohio town. She had been a waitress at a drive-in where the two men had had dinner one evening in the car, and Joe Cantwell had propositioned her with the promise of plenty of dough and lots of amorous attention. Since Marvis Lorenz had just had a quarrel with her boss that very night over his wanting to get into her panties if she wanted to keep her job, she had been in a devil-may-care mood and blithely accepted that offer. Besides, Joe's rugged virility had appealed to her, since her boss had been a wizened, sour old man in his early sixties with bony fingers and bad breath.
Once Mavis had taken a look at the tall, wiry black-haired man at the wheel, she had told herself that she could do a great deal worse. Because if Joe Cantwell failed to appreciate what she had to offer in bed, she had a hunch that his partner might appreciate her a great deal more and have an even more expert way of showing it.
Between Ohio and Connecticut, indeed, she had managed to flirt with Jeff Maxton, of course making certain that Joe Cantwell wasn't aware of what was going on. But much to her annoyance, Jeff Maxton hadn't so much as made a pass at her. He had been content to eye her up and down once in a while with a sardonic grin on his handsome face, and by now this continued rebuff was beginning to turn Mavis Lorenz sexually on. She was twenty, but she had been wise to the ways of a man with a maid ever since her fifteenth birthday when, on a dare, she had taken on six members of the high-school football team all in the same night. Her parents had died when she was ten, and she had been living with a cantankerous old aunt who was deaf and nearly blind and who had made her a household grudge. She had gone to work as a waitress two years before, hoping to find a Prince Charming who would take her out of the dreary little Ohio town to bigger and better things. Plenty of men had offered a one-night stand, but Joe Cantwell had actually been the first man to proposition her on a long-term basis and that was why she was here now.
As she put the empty suitcase on the chair beside the wall, she smoothed her dress again, wanting to catch Jeff Maxton's eye. She preened herself, arching so that her big firm young breasts exuberantly jutted out against the snug bodice of her dress, and since she was wearing only the sheerest of bra, she was reasonably sure that he could even make out the points of her nipples.
But, maddeningly, he wasn't even looking at her now. He had gone back to the window, drawn the curtain aside and was peering out into the garden.
"What I really don't get, though," Joe Cantwell was musing, "is how a guy like you ever got into bank jobs. I figured with your education and your having a rich old man, you wouldn't have to go in for this kind of life."
Jeff Maxton turned back, his face hard and taut, his mouth thin with anger. "I've told you once before, but apparently it hasn't sunk in. Sure, my old man was an insurance investigator and he made a nice salary. Only he put most of it into a savings and loan, and it went out from under when I was half-way through college, get me? And later on they found that the head of the savings and loan had taken off to South America with all the dough and a cute secretary and ditched even his wife and kids. None of the investors ever got a cent back, and that's what killed my old man. And if you've noticed any, we've hit a couple of savings and loan firms in our capers together. It's a sort of getting even process, if you know what I mean. And that's all I want to say about the past. You don't find me asking questions about how you got into a life of crime, do you? Or how you can't even think about doing a job until you've had a broad."
"Oh, come on, Jeff, can that crap," his partner remonstrated. "You're sure as hell no cherry. The only difference is, I admit up to it, like with Mave here. Isn't that right, baby?"
Mavis Lorenz preened herself, smiling almost triumphantly at the black-haired man by the window as she moved back to the bed and bent over her lover. "That's right, honey," she crooned, her fingers slowly tickling his chest and then his sides as they descended towards the fly of his rumpled gabardine trousers. "You know what I think, Joe honey? I think Jeff's jealous. I've caught him looking at me, don't think I haven't, ever since we left Ohio. He really wants it bad, I just know he does."
"Don't go flattering yourself, Mavis, on my account," Jeff Maxton sneered as he lit another cigarette. "I'll give you a nice shape and an even disposition, but I pick my own broads and I like them harder to get than you are, if you want to know something. No offense meant, of course."
"None taken, either, you big lug," Mavis shot him an unfriendly glance. "Joe honey, want me to do you right now? Maybe just to show him all he's missing? I bet I can get his blood pressure up. I'll bet my share of the haul I can--what do you say, lover?"
"Sure, baby. Have yourself a time," Joe Cantwell grinned, spreading his legs luxuriously and settling himself on the bed, his head still pillowed in his hands. "Stick around Jeff. Mave here has got real talent. Come to think of it, I'm not the jealous kind, and if it works you up, and Mave is willing, why, what the hell, share and share alike, is what I always say."
"Maybe I won't want to, then," Mavis Lorenz primly reproved him, giving Jeff Maxton another vengeful glance as her fingers now took hold of Joe's zipper and drew it down with a soft shirring sound. Then slowly, her slim fingers disappeared inside the vent and Joe Cantwell uttered a choking gasp: "Oh, Jeez, baby, your hand's as cold as ice!"
"Don't you worry, lover, I'll warm you up right and proper," she said giggling softly. Now, getting onto the bed and kneeling beside him, she diligently unbuttoned his shorts and drew out his stiffening penis. Jeff Maxton, leaning against the wall, arms folded and the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, watched with impassive features. Only the glint of his cold blue eyes told of his mounting interest in what was taking place there on the bed. What amused him was the respectability front all three of them had put up to the Widow Standish. He wondered what the old girl would say if she could watch right now and see what his partner was doing--or, rather, having done to him. He wondered, too, how long it had been since the blowsy, good-natured landlady had had any. There was one thing to be said about Joe Cantwell's animal magnetism, it might just come in handy during their stay in Gorley. Even the widow might become a useful ally. As an old-time resident of Gorley, she was bound to know just about everything about everybody in the small bleak town.
Another gasp from his partner on the bed recoiled his mind to reality, and he saw that by now Mavis Lorenz was cupping Joe Cantwell's penis in both soft palms, letting just the swollen glans emerge, and bowing her head so that she might flick her suave pink tongue against it. He could see his partner's eyes rolling, as Joe Cantwell's face turned up towards the ceiling, a look of rapt expectation on his unshaven face.
Mavis lifted her head, her mouth moist and red and seductive, her gray-green eyes wide and misty with erotic excitement. Then, with an impertinent toss of her lovely head which made the long thick ponytail dance in the air, she knelt up and began to tug off her dress, tossing it carelessly to the floor.
"I won't be a second, lover," she consoled the eagerly expectant Joe Cantwell, who raised his head to see what was going on.
"Atta girl," he enthused with a crooked grin. "Jeff, she's putting this on--or, rather, taking it off!--for your benefit, old son. I hope you appreciate what she's going to show you."
"I don't give a damn if he does or not," Mavis Lorenz flatly and defiantly declared as her white slip joined the dress on the floor. Only a pink nylon bra which lovingly hugged the two ripe swelling breasts and a matching pair of sheer panties, as well as a white satin elastic garterbelt whose tabs clung tenaciously to the tops of her charcoal- brown nylon hose, and her trim black suede pumps garbed her now. Her figure was willowy in its five- feet-seven-inch stature, only her ripe bosom belying the slim sleekness of her appetizing figure. Her calves were high-set and sinuous, her thighs long and nervously muscled, her buttocks tightly spaced, jouncy ovals, and her skin had a pale white pallor unusual to blondes of her species. Now, kicking off her pumps, she again bent to Joe Cantwell, and with the tips of her long fingers delicately grazed the throbbing, bulging shaft of his bared manhood, which signaled his feverish readiness for passion. Her eyes glistened lubriciously as she bowed her head and once again her pert pink tongue lapped up along the glans, making a lingering tour and thence rasping around the deep, narrow circumcisional groove of his virile organ. With a groan of mingled pleasure and sexual torment, Joe Cantwell closed his eyes and spread his thighs even wider than before to grant his acquiescent love-partner complete access to his manhood.
Jeff Maxton's studied indifference had begun to pique the blonde waitress, and she gave him an angry look as she reached back to unhook the snap fasteners of her bra and let it fall onto the bed. With one hand, she contemptuously brushed it off onto the floor to join dress and slip, and then arched herself like a cat. Her slim hands reached up to cup the pale-white cantaloupes of her naked breasts, then lovingly crept upwards towards the dark coral aureolas, large as silver dollars, in whose centers pert, crinkly buds flourished. She drew in her breath and then exhaled it, brushing her nipples to make them stiffen and prickle. A languid look of sensual desire was inscribed on her flushed face as again she glanced at the silent man standing beside the window with his back against the wall, his arms folded, puffing idly at the cigarette which dangled from a corner of his mouth.
But if Jeff Maxton was impervious to her voluptuous half-nakedness, Joe Cantwell was exactly the opposite. With a groan of anticipation, he dug his fingernails into his palms and panted, "Come on, baby, quit teasing and get down on me and do it, my balls are about to burst!"
"I'm going to love you up real good, Joe honey," Mavis airily retorted, "but I want to do it my way. Now you just lie there and take it easy and let little Mavis do all the work, that's a good boy."
His penis stood up violently, the mushroom cap of the glans obscenely brazen. His fingers dug into the rumpled sheets of the bed as his glazed eyes stared greedily at the rhythmic swell of her naked breasts which she continued to fondle in a kind of narcissistic self-indulgence and admiration. A coy little smile on her face, her eyes now half- closed, Mavis Lorenz spread her thighs to the maximum, solidly planted on her knees, so that the sheer thin panties shaped out every convolution of her loins and buttocks, pressing tightly against the plump mound of her Venus, and Joe could see the thick cluster of dark-blonde curls which fleeced her mound of love.
Jeff Maxton abruptly turned his back on this amorous dalliance and stared glumly out of the window out into the garden. Mavis Lorenz caught the gesture out of the corner of her eye and, compressing her lips and narrowing her eyes with a kind of vindictive irritation at this rude rebuff, slipped her fingers inside the waistband of her sheer panties and yanked them down, then lifted one knee after the other to extricate the filmy garment and let it fall onto the growing pile on the floor below. Now she was naked except for her garterbelt and nylons. And yet she was more deliciously desirable than had she been Eve-bare.
Joe Cantwell's eyes bulged with furious desire as he scanned her kneeling body. She remained now with thighs straddled, hands cupping the resilient flesh of her bosom, and the contrast of the clambering nylons along her ripplingly muscled thighs against the white pallor of her satiny naked skin intensified his mounting excitement. Her thighs flexed and quivered and, as Joe's gaze fixed on the very center of her luscious body, he could see the pouting pink petals of her vaginal lips, with the dainty pink bud of the clitoris at the very top of that cuntal opening.
But Joe Cantwell, however much he enjoyed cohesion with an attractive female, wasn't gifted in comprehending all the myriad nuances by which love could be made between the sexes. At the moment all he could feel was the savage impatience of his overloaded testicles which sought bursting release within the tight confines of Mavis' vaginal abyss. The complexes of prolongation and foreplay were lost on him. He knew only the aching need for Mavis' white young flesh, and so again he groaned, "Cut out that damn teasing, baby, I want to sock it into you right now! Come on, honey, give!"
"Don't spoil it, lover," Mavis crooned as she cast another spiteful look at the straight back of the black-haired man turned to her as if she no longer existed. "I don't do this for every guy, I'll have you know. But like I said, I want to do it my own way. Even if there are some people I could mention who don't appreciate what I've got to offer a guy who wants to ball."
Jeff Maxton made no reply to this insultingly direct allusion other than to shrug and light still another cigarette while he continued to stare out into the garden. But Joe Cantwell sat up and clutched at Mavis with avid fingers, again protesting his unwillingness to wait any longer for satisfaction. "Jeez, honey, when I picked you up from that crummy Ohio town, I never figured you for a cockteaser! What's got into you all of a sudden? So what if he doesn't go for you? I do, and you can see what I've got to offer--now take care of it before I lose my wad!"
"Aw, don't be mad at your little girl, Joe honey," Mavis beguiled him with a slurred, husky voice. She bent down towards his upright, swollen organ, and with her hands still cupping the swelling breasts, drew them apart so that she might fit the tip of his cock between them, and then close them with an exquisite vise of warm satiny naked flesh to whet his appetite for more.
He ground his teeth in frantic desperation as he felt the urge to ejaculate, and digging his fingers into the sheets, closed his eyes and summoned all his will power to hold back the lava-eruption of his vital fluids. "Get on me, for God's sake get on me, baby, I want to stick it into that hot little pink slit of yours right now, and no more fooling around!" he said, panting heavily.
Mavis let her fingers trail to the base of his organ, tickling his hairy sperm-laden testicles, rasping with velvety touch along the lust-swollen shaft, examining the dark-veined erection until she reached the narrow groove which separated the spear from its bulging, maddened cockhead. Then, with a sigh, she moved slightly forward, held on to the middle of his organ with left thumb and forefinger and applied her own right thumb and forefinger to her gaping vaginal lips to ready her cunt for insertion.
"That's it, that's it, stick it in all the way, baby, go, Mavis, go, I can't hold back much longer!" he moaned.
Again his hands reached for her, brushed against the sides of her satiny white hips, and Mavis Lorenz acquiesced at last to her lover's frantic importunities.
Slyly, as if to show him that as the eternal female she retained the final say-so on their love-making, she tantalized him almost to frenzy by grazing the slightly moistening pink cuntal fissure against the very tip of his rampant penis, and then at last lowered herself upon the desire-bloated head and finally steered his organ with her left hand into the shadowy recesses that he yearned so passionately to explore.
As he felt himself press forward into the warm depths of her pussy, Joe Cantwell uttered another hoarse cry of pleasure, arching himself impatiently to take over the initiative and hilt himself to the very testicles within the blonde's lovesheath.
Mavis Lorenz sank down slowly, her head tilting back, her eyes closed and a dreamy smile curving her moist red lips. Her breasts swelled exuberantly and with an erratic rhythm as she felt herself impaled, as she felt the throbbing energy of his probing lance.
Then, with a gurgling little cry of satisfaction, she slithered down and forward along her lover's body as he locked his arms around her and his mouth sought hers. His trousered legs scissored her stockinged thighs as he clutched her to him and he panted, "C'mon, Marvis, now let's really fuck!"
By this time, the devious erotic sensations which she herself had aroused through her own flirting and her piqued annoyance at Jeff's continuing to ignore her had roused Mavis Lorenz to wanton passion. As if she were the man, she began to arch herself and then lower herself, her gleaming white hips quivering and quacking, the muscles flexing, the cheeks of her buttocks contracting and then yawning as she guided the rhythm of phallic penetration. His pudgy fingers scored the soft flesh of her white asscheeks as he held her to him, and now his tongue drove deeply into her willingly yielding mouth to emulate the frenzied diggings of his overburdened penis.
Her stiff nipples rasped against his unbuttoned shirt as she ground herself frantically against him. Now her movements became frenetic, and long spasms rippled through her elegantly sculptured stockinged thighs, through the compact globes of her squirming bottom, along the deep hollowway of her spine, till all of her body seemed pervaded by an erotic fever that threatened to consume them both.
The soft suckings and slurpings of their tongue- kissings made a kind of sensual music in the room, as did the raspings of her naked flesh against his clothed body.
With a cry, Joe Cantwell felt himself tortured beyond endurance, and thrust upwards as his fingers ruthlessly dug into her naked hips. "Take it now, baby, all of it!" he cried out. He felt himself explode, his jet lashing the contracting canal of Mavis Lorenz's vaginal chasm. And, at the same moment, herself stricken, the blonde waitress uttered a piercing squeal of ecstasy as her body jounced and jostled frantically over his, merging to him and with him in frenzied exultation and fulfillment.
When at last she raised her head to glance at the window, her eyes widened to find Jeff Maxton gone. "The bastard," she muttered under her breath, too low for Joe Cantwell to hear. "Thinks he's too good for me, does he? I'll make him beg for it, you watch and see!" And then, turning back to her spent lover, she flicked his ear with the tip of her tongue and whispered, "Come on, I'm getting hot, let's really have ourselves a ball, now that that nasty old partner of yours has walked out on us!"
CHAPTER FOUR
Hortense Standish laid down the book she had been reading as she heard the key turn in the lock of the front door, and self-consciously smoothed down her black cotton skirt and primped a hand at the back of her graying curls. As the door opened, she emerged from the open sitting room into the large vestibule just in time to greet her handsome new tenant--a single one whom she had taken a fancy to at the very first meeting. "Oh, it's you, Mr. Marlowe! Did you enjoy your walk?"
Jeff Maxton gave her a cordial smile and used his most hospitable tone as he answered, "Indeed I did, Mrs. Standish. You have a lovely little town here, and I may be staying for quite some time. You see, I'm looking up my family tree and I've found out that some of my ancestors come from this area. So I'll probably be spending quite a little time in the library looking up the old records."
"Why, isn't that fine! And your friend and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Kent, were their folks from Gorley, too?"
"No, Mrs. Standish, they weren't. They're on a honeymoon, shall we say, and I thought a nice quiet little town like this would be ideal for them before they get back to the hustle and bustle of the big city. Oh, by the way, I meant to compliment you on your beef stew this evening. It was really delicious."
"Why, I'm so glad you enjoyed it!" Hortense Standish giggled and blushed like a schoolgirl, and once again her hand surreptitiously rearranged the curls at the back of her head. She hadn't felt this way about a man since dear old Henry, peace to his memory, had made love to her just a week before his fatal heart attack, and that was all of fifteen years before. She was wishing that she was that same age again, just thirty-five--no, make that thirty!--and footloose and fancy-free with a man around like Mr. Marlowe to take notice of her.
"And now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go to my room."
"Oh, of course, Mr. Marlowe!" she gushed. "And if there's any special dishes you and Mr. and Mrs. Kent have a fancy for, all you have to do is tell me. It's a real pleasure to have such nice boarders, I can tell you. Well, good night."
"Sweet dreams to you too, Mrs. Standish," Jeff Maxton chuckled as he gave her another heartwarming smile.
It thawed her usually aloof manner down to bedrock as she found herself confiding in a giggly voice, "If you like, Mr. Marlowe, you may call me Hortense. My closest friends do, you know."
"I'll remember that, dear lady, and again good night." With a courteous, Jeff Maxton swiftly ascended the stairway, while Hortense Standish stared after him, wishing despondently that she could turn time back again in its flight and become, if not beautiful--since she was never that--at least prepossessing to lure him into the privacy of her currently all-too-forlorn bedroom.
When he reached the second-floor landing he glanced quickly down the hallway and then knocked at the door of the room which Joe Cantwell and Mavis Lorenz were occupying. He heard a gasp and then a giggle, and then Joe's hoarsened voice muttering, "Quit that now, baby, this is business, go open the door!" And then a moment later the blonde waitress opened the door and stepped back, her face sulky. She was wearing just a slip and a pair of bedroom slippers, while Joe Cantwell lounged on the bed in his pajamas.
Jeff Maxton was able to see with a quick glance that he had most likely interrupted the beginning of a torrid love scene between the two, since the fly of Joe's pajama pants was unbuttoned and his swollen organ appeared quite visibly. His face reddening under his partner's stare, the older man sat up and pulled a pillow over his lap to conceal the evidence of that interrupted session. "Well, Jeff, did you case the joint?"
"I looked up the whole damn town, Joe. There isn't all that much of it to see, not when you get past the main street. The interesting thing is, the bank is smack up against the library on the next street. I mean, the back of the bank and the back of the library look as if they were made from the same wall, and that's a real break for us."
"Sure is." Joe Cantwell's eyes sparkled with greed instead of lust at the thought of money. "Now if we could get into that library long enough to drill through the wall and on into the bank, wouldn't that be something!"
"That's exactly what I've already figured out," Jeff Maxton assured him. "Now, tomorrow, Mavis, I want you to go into that bank and take out a small savings account. And you might just as well rent a vault while you're at it, understand? That way, you could make yourself useful and earn your keep."
"Well, I like that!" the pretty blonde bristled, glancing back at her lover for moral support. "Are you going to let him boss me around like that, Joe honey? I thought you were the big shot of this operation."
"Have you been opening your mouth out of turn, Joe?" was Jeff Maxton's irritatedly direct question.
"Hell, no, you know I don't do that," Joe Cantwell as angrily assured him. "Only, Mave here isn't any kid, and she figured pretty much that we were operators. All I told her was that I'd cut her in for a share if she helped me on a job, and there wouldn't be any risks going to jail or anything like that."
"That was generous of you. Needless to say, it'll come out of your share, not mine," Jeff Maxton drawled as he lit a cigarette.
"Okay, so it'll come out of mine. Now let's not get sore among ourselves over a broad, Jeff. That's not your style."
"It's not yours, either. I'm not sore at all. Only, I picked the town and I picked the caper. And you and your girlfriend will follow my instructions because I think you know by now that I've never led you in a wrong direction, yet. So as I was saying, Mavis, you'll open a small bank account and you'll rent a box in that vault, and then tomorrow evening after supper you'll tell us the layout of the bank. What I'm hoping and what I expect is that the vault with all the loot will be right at the back of the bank as it ought to be. See what sort of vault it is, and if they have any literature on the vault or anything like that, bring it along, understand?"
"I heard you the first time," Mavis Lorenz sulkily muttered.
"Well, that's about it. I think I'll get an early shut-eye. See you tomorrow at breakfast. By the way, as long as we're staying here, is won't hurt any to tell the landlady what you like for breakfast and lunch and dinner and to give her a few compliments on it. If we keep her feeling happy, she won't be so upset if we have to pull out of here."
"Pull out of here?" Joe Cantwell echoed. "When we just got here?"
"I've got another idea in mind, but I'm going to have to find out if it'll jibe with the plans I've got for taking the bank. We'll talk about it tomorrow, then. See you."
He turned on his heels and left the room, closing the door behind him, and went across the hall and unlocked his own door.
Mavis Lorenz shot a hateful look after him as she turned back to her lover on the bed. Then she pulled off her slip and stood proud of her nakedness, her hands stroking her sides and then down the radiant curves of her satiny white hips. "Now that he's gone, lover, can we have some fun?" she purred suggestively.
Joe Cantwell tossed away the pillow, shucked off his pajama pants and grinned. "You've been reading my mind again, baby. Now get over here and do your stuff."
Nothing loath, the naked blonde waitress moved towards the bed, regaling her lover with her most intimate smile, as if to let him know that he was the only man in the world for her then and there. She seated herself on the edge of the bed and swung her long shapely bare legs beside his, then turned onto her left side and slipped her left arm under his neck, her right hand slyly moving towards his readied penis, her eyes narrowed as she murmured in her most seductive tone, "Are you really going to pull a big job in this town, Joe honey? And are you going to let little Mave make some real dough by helping you? I've never really had any, and I'd do just anything for it. You can trust me, honest you can."
Joe Cantwell turned towards her, his left palm rubbing possessively over the satiny warm contracting cheeks of her behind as his other hand sought one of the full round globe of her naked bosom and began to squeeze it. His mouth inches from hers, he muttered, "Just do as you're told, baby. Didn't you hear me tell Jeff I'd take care of you out of my split of the take? Now you go to the bank tomorrow and don't ask too many questions to draw attention to yourself. You're going to use the name we picked--you're my wife, get it? And just so you'll have something to put in that safety deposit box, I'll give you some stock certificates out of my suitcase. That'll make it look real business-like if any snoopy guy down in the vault takes a look at what you're putting there, see?"
"You're real smart, Joe. I knew I didn't make a mistake when I came along for the ride," Mavis murmured. Her right thumb and forefinger made a circle and playfully ringed the bulging tip of his resolutely erect and swollen organ, narrowing the circle till she could feel her fingers just brush against the sensitized flesh of the glans.
"Hey, you're terrific! You're the best broad I've ever fucked, and that's no lie," he praised her.
"I want you to keep thinking that, honey, just in case that sour partner of yours tries to break us up. I know he's jealous, I can feel it in my bones. He looks down at a girl as if she were dirt, but I'll just bet he doesn't know his way around a bed and wishes he had me to show him. That's why he acts so high and mighty, isn't it?"
But Joe Cantwell had had ample proof over the years of his relationship with his partner in crime to have grave doubts about the accuracy of the blonde's appraisal of Jeff Maxton's amorous abilities. Dubiously, he scowled and muttered, "Do me a favor, baby, don't talk about him when we're screwing. You just concentrate all you've got on Joe Cantwell, and you'll come out right in the end. Now you know what you've gotta do tomorrow morning, so just forget Jeff and get down to brass tacks. I like what you just did. Do it some more!"
"Sure, honey, anything you say, you're the boss," Mavis Lorenz crooned, again rewarding him with her most endearing smile. Snuggling closer, she began to move her circled fingers up and down from the tip of his distended shaft to his testicles, every so often narrowing the circle so as to be able to accord the exquisitely tantalizing friction which would attune him to the fulfillment that she herself desired. Now that she had left her drab life back in the little Ohio town, she looked forward with excitement to this new adventure, squired by a virile if some- what coarse male who nevertheless had ample ability to satisfy her deepest sexual needs, while at the same time the prospect of turning the tables on Jeff Max- ton continued to intrigue her.
Now her fingertips ruffled his hair, while her lips pressed a lingering moist, warm kiss on his avid mouth. With a moan of delighted expectation, Joe Cantwell seized her by the hips and rolled her onto her back, instantly mounting her. Mavis Lorenz, her erotic senses already inflamed by the greedy thoughts of the material reward that she could expect from her rough and ready lover, showed no disappointment in his swift elimination of loveplay. Nimbly, she spread her thighs to admit him, her knees rising up, her toes rubbing against the sheets as she felt the tip of his organ prod against the warm, tingling cuntal opening. Her eyes were closed, her nostrils flaring and shrinking and her lips parted as if in a pensive reverie of what was to follow. He thrust vigorously, almost halting her with the very first insertion of his wildly jerking penis. A stifled gasp of pleasure escaped the naked blonde waitress. She drew her knees up higher and backwards, arching her pelvic basin to the magnitude of his love-thrusts, the overpowering physical sensations for the moment driving away even the mercenary thoughts which had preoccupied her throughout the day.
Nevertheless, even as he settled himself on her, even as his hands clenched the summits of her tightening buttocks to steer himself back and forth within the narrow, exquisitely frictioning vaginal tunnel, she was pretending that it was his partner who had replaced him on this bed. It was Jeff Maxton who was possessing her, gleaning from her even more than she knew she had to give a man. His brooding silence and his almost contemptuous disdain of her hadn't only angered her but had also provided a mounting challenge which the sensual young woman found more and more obsessive with the passage of time.
But Joe Cantwell couldn't read her mind, nor would he have much cared even if he had been able to do so. He was an opportunist; he had impulsively invited the attractive waitress to come along with him on their journey eastward because he felt himself at his best only when, as he put it, he could "get some regular screwing." His own preference had always been towards blondes, and thus far Mavis' immediate acceptance of her apparently unselfish surrender and participation in their numerous love bouts, since she had begun this adventure with the two men, had enormously satisfied his own rather-narrow ego.
Thus it was that, plunged to the very hilt inside her tightening cunt, his fingers compressing the jouncy, satiny resilience of her flexing buttocks, his mouth crushing hers, Joe Cantwell felt himself superbly empowered to accomplish all the feats which could make him wealthy and secure and above the law. And if he enjoyed Mavis now with extra special gusto, it was perhaps because he remembered the stringent denial of the flesh which he had had to undergo in prison. For him, this coupling now was the ultimate pleasure in life, together with ample funds to ensure this complaisant love partner's continued presence in his bed.
He drew himself back to the very brink of her wide-open cleft, and Mavis groaned with pleasure at this--for him--unusual nuance in their erotic union. Then, with a grunt of delight, Joe Cantwell thrust himself back homeward in her quivering and moistening sheath.
Mavis Lorenz uttered an excited squeal and clamped her bare legs over his buttocks, tightening them to pinion him to her. Her fingertips dug into his armpits as she returned his kiss with noisy interest. But her eyes remained closed, for in her innermost psyche, she was still pretending that it was Jeff Maxton who was manfully and totally possessing her.
Joe Cantwell's staying powers were, however, not equal to his vigorous gusto for the act of love. Moreover, he had already been ardently depleted by the blonde waitress earlier that same day. At the feel of her tightened legs over his muscular behind, at the sensation of the twitching of her quaking vaginal depths, he felt himself at bursting point.
"Oh, you sweet bitch, take it, take it all," he panted thickly as he began to thrust in and out, grinding his teeth as he sought to hold himself back still another moment to achieve the sublime release of orgasmic fulfillment.
For Mavis, though not yet fully roused to complete pitch, the words sounded in her inner ear as if Jeff Maxton had just said them, and this sublimated thought provided the volcanic spark needed to bring about her own climax. "Oh, yes, oh, darling, now, now, do it, oh, give it to me now!" she wailed. Her eyes widened, her arms clenched round his shoulders as she thrust back at him to grant him that last access of passion which would burst the dam of amorous release.
His body shook with the tremors of explosive fury, and as he felt himself drive once again to the very end of his stiffened and throbbing lance, he attained climax. Mavis stiffened, her eyes rolling towards the ceiling, and then with a series of whimpering- little sobs herself began to vibrate and writhe beneath him, hastening her own moment to coincide with his.
Thus each achieved amorous victory, but it was Mavis Lorenz, who achieved the greater bliss in her erotic delusion that she had at last made Joe Cantwell's introspective and unfriendly partner succumb to the powers of her quivering, lovely naked body.
CHAPTER FIVE
"So what's the layout of the bank, Mavis?" Jeff Maxton impatiently broke in. "We got here Tuesday and it's Friday now. Did you get all the information Joe and I told you to get?"
The trio were in Joe Cantwell's room, and Mavis was busy heating some coffee for them all on a portable electric unit which Widow Standish had lent the "Kents". She turned to face Jeff Maxton, a sulky, rebellious look on her pretty face. "Of course I got what you wanted. I'm not exactly a dummy, you know, even if you keep treating me like one, Mr. Maxton."
"I thought we agreed that we were going to use our new names," he glared at her. "Another slip like that, and I'll cut you out of this operation, understand?"
"Cool it, partner," Joe Cantwell interposed in a worried tone. "There's no need to fly off the handle. Nobody's listening outside the door."
"That isn't the point at all and you know it. I didn't like the idea of your bringing this broad along--"
"Well, I like that! Broad, is it? The way you talk to women, it's no wonder you don't have one of your own," Mavis Lorenz vindictively declared.
"I said broad and I mean just that," Jeff Maxton said, unruffled. "Now get this straight, both of you. I don't object to romance so long as it doesn't hold up the job we came here to do. Mavis can be useful by being a front. In fact, if we have to change addresses--and I've got an idea in the back of my head we just might after I take a walk tonight-- she can stay on here and keep up the front so that Widow Standish won't get too suspicious. But the point is that if you get into the habit of forgetting the names we're going under, you might just blurt it out at the wrong time to the wrong person and then they'd start wondering and create a lot of trouble where there isn't any need for any. As I see it, this caper is going to take a couple of weeks."
"All right, all right, we'll both be careful," Joe Cantwell grumbled. "But, anyway, Mave, what did you find out?"
"I made a deposit just like you said and then I went downstairs into the vault and took out a box and put the stuff in it that you gave me," Mavis patiently explained. "There wasn't any guard in the vault or anything like that at all, just an old lady who sits behind the counter and even takes you to the vault boxes herself."
"That's good. Go on J" Jeff Maxton lit a cigarette, his face alert.
"It's a small bank, and they only have one guard right at the door. I don't think he's city police or anything like that. Just maybe a private guard they hired. And they've got four cashiers and a couple of girls typing and three or four men officers seated at desks, and that's about it," Mavis concluded.
"You see, Joe, it's going to be a pushover. One thing more, Mavis. How far downstairs is the vault from the main floor of the bank?"
"Let's see now--" the attractive blonde waitress frowned as she tried to remember. "Oh, yeah, I know--there were about six steps down. Big stone steps with a rail in the middle."
"That's good. And there's no alley between the bank and the library?"
"No. When I got finished, I walked around outside and took a good look. The back of the library is right smack up against the wall of the bank. For all I know, it might be just the same wall."
"It's not, but you say they both look so close they're practically together?"
"That's what I said."
"So you see, Joe, if we can get into the library and start drilling through the wall and then right through the bank, we can get down to the vault and clean it out. How long do you think it would take you to get through a wall like that--a double wall, of course?"
Joe Cantwell swung his legs down from the bed and smoothed his rumpled trousers, giving Mavis a sheepish look as she proceeded to pour out coffee for the three of them. "Well, depends on what hours we've got to work. And how the hell are you going to get into the library to begin with?"
"That's my part of the operation. But you haven't answered my question yet, Joe."
"I will, give a guy time, will you? Let's see now--I had a job in Merced six months before they caught up with me and sent me to the pen. I went through a double wall and it took me just about a week. Of course, I was in an old vacant building and it was easy, and I could work most of the afternoon as well as all night. Then, too, I didn't have all the tools I have now."
In one of the suitcases, there was a pneumatic drill and an acetylene torch, the very latest equipment, compact and portable. Joe Cantwell had purchased them on the West Coast after Jeff Maxton had outlined the project that would take them East.
"Well, figure that you're going to have to work nights," Jeff Maxton told him. "If what I've got in mind comes off, we can take over the library at night. They close at nine, and they don't open until nine the next morning. Which means that you could work from after nine at night through till about six or seven in the morning."
"Are they brand new buildings?" Joe Cantwell asked.
"I'd say the bank is about fifty years old and the library building maybe half that age," Jeff Maxton said as he took a puff at his cigarette.
"Well, a good week, anyway. Maybe more, maybe less, depending upon what problems we find out once we start the job. But I still don't figure it how you plan to get our equipment into that library and start going through the walls without anybody knowing what's up."
"I told you, that's my part of the operation and I'm going to handle it. Now then, Mavis, did you go into the library, too, the way I told you to yesterday?"
"Sure I did!" the blonde waitress glared at him as she set down her coffee cup on the night-table beside the bed on whose edge she had seated herself beside her lover. "They've got about four girls working there and then there's the head librarian. Hey, she's real young! I thought people who worked in libraries for a living were old maids and wore glasses and stuff like that. She's a looker."
"Go on. So there aren't any fellows there at all, not even boys out of school to help return the books to the shelves?" Jeff Maxton said.
As ever, when his eyes were on her, Mavis Lorenz arched herself so that her big round firm breasts jutted boldly against the tightening bodice of her black cotton dress. Moreover, shifting herself on the edge of the bed, she allowed her skirt to ruck up to display the delightfully curvaceous contours of her thighs almost to the stocking tops where the tabs of a narrow and clinging white-satin elastic garterbelt hugged the hose without a wrinkle on her elegantly shaped calves and thighs. "I told you, only those five girls counting the head librarian, and that's all I saw. You didn't want me to ask, did you?"
"Don't get snotty with me, Mavis. Save it for your boyfriend over there. Well, Joe, it's a perfect setup. Now, if I can get you into that library to work nights, you think maybe you can get into the vault in about a week?"
"Sure I can. But I'd still like to see how you're going to do it."
"After supper tonight, I'm going to take me a walk and look over the library as well as the head librarian," Jeff Maxton declared. He took a sip of coffee and made a grimace. "One thing more, Joe, you better teach Mavis how to make decent coffee. The place where she worked had such lousy brew, it's no wonder she never learned to make a decent cup of coffee. And by the way, Joe, you can get that car and pick me up at the library a little after nine."
He went out of the room and closed the door behind him to go across the hall to his own. Mavis Lorenz lifted her empty coffee cup and flung it after him, shattering it into four large shards. "That sonofabitch!" she vehemently declared. "Are you going to sit there all the time and let that big lug insult me? Every time he looks at me or says something he's downgrading. I thought you were my guy."
"Sure I'm your guy, but this is business, honey. When Jeff gets to thinking about a caper, honey, he hasn't got time for making a girl feel like a queen."
"Humph!" she sniffed as she came over to him and then coquettishly snuggled onto his lap, an arm around his shoulders. "I just wonder what would happen if I went into his room without any clothes on, whether he'd even so much as make a pass at me. Maybe he's gay."
"You better not let him ever hear you say that, honey, or for damn sure I won't be able to keep him from belting you a good one," Joe Cantwell chuckled. "He's not gay. He just picks and chooses, and you don't happen to measure up to his specifications. But you sure as hell measure up to mine, baby. Come on, I wanna show you. I've got something here in my pants that needs taking care of bad."
"That's the way I like to hear a real man talk, honey," Mavis Lorenz crooned. She shifted her provocative buttocks so as to be able to slip her hand down onto his fly and yank down the zipper. "Let's forget all about that nasty partner of yours and have some real fun."
* * *
Linda Willoughby glanced up at the electric clock and emitted a faint sigh. Twenty minutes remained before she would be released, and then a boring evening with her mother awaited her. During the past few days, Cynthia Willoughby seemed to have become more difficult than ever. What was worse, she was even suggesting that Linda stop being so self- sufficient, consider the possibility of making new friends and going out once in a while. But worst of all, she had been bringing up the name of Silas Dowling, remarking what a congenial and discriminating man Mr. Dowling was and how it would do Linda no harm to cultivate him. "After all, dear," she had said only the night before, "you owe your job to Mr. Dowling. I happened to talk to him on the phone this afternoon and he mentioned that he hadn't seen you in several months. Now, the very least you could do, dear, to show your gratitude for the job you have--and you know that everybody in town is surprised that such a young girl should be head librarian and hold such important responsibilities--is to thank him for it."
Linda had flared up, not unexpectedly, since she personally considered Silas Dowling a hypocritical old fool.
She would have been still more indignant if she could have known that the president of the Gorley Commercial Bank and Trust Company had decided that the most sensible way of winning Linda for his bed was to offer to make her his wife and to use her own doting mother as intermediary in his plans.
Tonight, she told herself, it would be a repetition of the same, and her mother would harp at her again. Well, the best way to avoid argument was to take the initiative and tell her mother that perhaps the next morning she would visit the bank and pay her respects to that smirking old fool. He was sixty if he was a day, and on the few occasions when she had to meet with him, first when her mother had purchased the old house and then when she had been interviewed for the job as head librarian, she had somehow derived the unpleasant feeling that old Silas Dowling was actually looking at her in the way that a man does at a woman on whom he has carnal designs. It had made her shudder with a kind of revulsion, and it had also served to remind her of the never-to-be-eradicated image of that afternoon when she had come upon her own father and mother in the act of coitus.
The library had been crowded most of the evening, and young Alice Davis and Ella Benton had been pressed into service. During the day, there were four assistants in the library besides Linda herself, but generally in the evening, and particularly at the beginning of the week, she had found it quite easy to run things all by herself. One thing about that arrangement had been that old Silas Dowling had approved of the monetary savings which the library could make by not requiring full employment during the evening hours.
At about ten minutes of nine, a tall, lanky black-haired man who had been sitting at the other end of the library absorbed in a book on British colonial history shut the book, slowly rose from his chair and made his way to the main desk behind which Linda stood, stamping out three popular love novels for an old spinster.
As soon as the angular, sharp-featured spinster had tucked her books under her arm and left the library, the man sauntered towards the desk, in- dined his head in a greeting of respect and asked in a low voice, "Are you in charge, Miss?"
"Yes, sir, I'm the head librarian, Linda Willoughby. How may I help you?"
Linda was wearing a blue-and-white polkadot cotton dress which did wonders for her voluptuous figure, though both bodice and skirt were modestly cut. Because the weather had turned unseasonably warm, she had given herself an improvised haircut the night before so that her curls were shortened in the chic upsweep which she affected. Her dainty little ears were thus made more provocative than ever, and the soft bewitching nape of her neck was exceptionally prim and neat. The man considered her a moment, and for no reason at all Linda Willoughby couldn't help flushing with self-awareness, lowering her own eyes in front of the steely level of his gaze.
"Is it difficult to take out a library card here, Miss Willoughby?"
"Well, we do require that cardholders be residents of Gorley, Mr. --?" This time she raised her eyes to his and found that his gaze hadn't wavered in the least. Her blush deepened and she suddenly felt extremely embarrassed. It wasn't the kind of dying- calf look that Ben Williams gave her, nor was it the avaricious, lustful and sneaky glance with which old Silas Dowling often regarded her, but there was something about this man which made her feel curiously on the defensive, an attitude which she didn't at all enjoy.
"I see. Is it possible to take out a temporary card? You see, I've come here to do some research on my ancestors, and might need some of your reference books."
"I'm sorry, but reference books may not leave the library, Mr. --" again Linda hesitated.
"Jefferson Marlowe, Miss Willoughby. But what I'm getting at is, if I'm staying here for a few months, would it be possible to get some sort of temporary card so I could take out regularly circulating books?"
"Oh, yes, that could be done. I'd have to have references, driver's license, perhaps a bank account reference and things like that."
"I see. I wonder, Miss Willoughby, if I might talk to you in your private office. It's something I don't like to discuss in public here." He glanced around, noticing that a fat woman with her hair still in curlers was bearing down on them, carrying an armful of books.
"All right. I'll take those books, Mrs. Elliott," Linda raised her voice with a forced smile at the divorced proprietress of Gorley's only beauty salon. Then, to the black-haired man who had moved over to the right of the desk to give the beautician room, "I'll be with you in just a moment, Mr. Marlowe. We're almost at closing time, you see."
He gave her a brief smile and watched her closely as she bent over the counter and began to stamp the cards in the books and make the nominal transfer of records. Once this had been concluded and the beautician had wished her an effusive good night, she reached to a handbell and tapped it with her palm, then called out in a rich contralto voice in which imperceptibly an advanced student of psychology could have detected a shade of disdain, "Closing time, please!"
There was a noise of chairs being shoved back and of people moving from the tables where they had been seated through the evening. For the next five minutes, Linda Willoughby was busy checking out books and answering last-minute questions. Her two young assistants had begun to tidy up the reference room and replace the books left on the table on the shelves where they belonged. "I can give you just a few minutes, I'm afraid. I have to get home to my mother rather quickly this evening," Linda Willoughby said. "Will you come this way, please?" She led the way, once she had quitted the circular compound of counter and desk facing the library entrance, through a small room whose shelves featured children's books and volumes of geography and the sciences, thence to a narrow corridor, and opened the door, switched on the light and moved aside to let the visitor enter.
"Now, what did you have in mind, Mr. Marlowe?" she said with a quizzical little smile.
Jeff Maxton reached behind him to close the door and with his other hand took out a .32 Colt automatic and showed it to her. "First of all, Miss Willoughby, the answers to a few questions."
"Oh, my God--what do you want? There isn't any money here--"
"Not in the library. No, of course not," he chuckled. "Now don't get upset. This is going to be very easy if you behave yourself. Just answer the questions first. You live at four-twenty-one Cypress Street, just with your mother, is that right?" Linda's eyes widened, and she nodded. She stared at him as if hypnotized, trembling at the sight of the black gleaming weapon which still lay in his palm and which he hadn't leveled at her. It was the kind of fascination that a trapped bird accords a serpent. She was numb and afraid, hopeless for the first time in her life. Her usual insolence and poise seemed to have deserted her, for the very simple reason that she had never before in all her young life been confronted by such a situation.
"And you work here every night of the week, I presume?" he went on.
She nodded, tried to speak but the first words refused to emerge. Her voice broke as she finally managed, "Except Sunday, of course. Oh, please, put that dreadful thing away! What do you want of me ? I don't have any money and my mother doesn't, either--"
"I don't mean you any harm at all, Miss Willoughby. All I need is your cooperation. So you and your mother are the only ones living in that house? What about your father?"
"He--he's dead. But I don't see--"
"That's a good girl," he blandly interrupted. "Now what you're going to do right now is close the library as if nothing had happened. And you and I are going to drive back to your house and I'll meet your mother. A friend of mine is waiting outside in the car."
"Are you--do you--are you going to kidnap me?"
"Hardly. I need you here, as you'll discover later. Now don't scream, and when you go back into the library, don't attract any attention. Above all, don't try to make any signals to those two girls who are working with you, or I might just have to use this and I certainly wouldn't want to. Do you understand?"
Mutely, her throat tightened with fear, her lovely flushed color making her even more exciting, and her superb bosom rising and falling erratically, Linda Willoughby could only nod. Drops of sweat began to form in her armpits and trickle down her sides. And it wasn't just the warmth of the room or the atmosphere outside. The man in front of her was tall and muscular, lean and dangerous looking. But what terrified her most of all was the unwavering gaze of his intensely compelling cold blue eyes.
She led the way back to the main desk, and he murmured, "I'll be waiting at the door, and I'll be watching. No tricks, now. Send those two girls on ahead, so that just you come out last when you lock up for the night. Don't forget all that."
In the shadows beside the doorway, he watched, the automatic back in his trousers pocket, as Linda whispered nervously to the two young girls who had come back to the main desk. A moment later, he watched them take their coats from a rack at the back of the room and against the wall, bid the lovely young librarian good night and then move quickly past him chattering about their plans for the weekend and their boyfriends.
Finally Linda Willoughby, her light spring coat on, her turban atop her head, came slowly towards him, and it seemed to him that her legs were wavering with every step. "Please-- please don't hurt me," she quavered. "I don't know what this is all about, but if you don't want money and you--and you aren't going to kidnap me, what can you possibly want of this library?"
"Access, my dear Miss Willoughby. And now, let's go down the stairs quietly and out to the car. I see my friend's already there and waiting for us. Come along."
He touched her arm and she quivered with a faint, stifled gasp, pulling away from him. Never had she been so conscious of a male's presence. A sudden trembling took hold of her, and she unsteadily walked down the steps towards the second-hand Dodge which Joe Cantwell had bought in a used-car lot earlier that afternoon. Jeff Maxton walked quickly beside her, went ahead to open the door of the back seat and to usher her in with the utmost courtesy. Joe Cantwell winked at him and held up thumb and forefinger in a circle to indicate his approval of the head librarian's very evident charms and youthful beauty.
"Where to now, old buddy?" he asked as Jeff Maxton got in beside Linda and closed the door.
"Four-twenty-one Cypress Street, and take it nice and slow and easy, Joe. By the way, Miss Willoughby, this is my partner, Joseph Kent. He's interested in libraries, too. And now let's all go see your mother.
CHAPTER SIX
"Hey, not bad for a hideaway, old buddy," Joe Cantwell commended his partner as he drove the Dodge into the driveway at the side of the old white-frame house. "You fixing to move in here?"
"Oh, G--God--what are you talking about--what are you going to do--oh, please, let my mother and me be, please!" Linda Willoughby, her voice quivering with emotional anxiety, leaned forward, her eyes enormous and misty with tears of anguish.
"We'll discuss that later, Joe. For now, you park the car inside the garage and come on in after I take Miss Willoughby here in to see her mother," Jeff Maxton ordered. Then, reaching towards the handle, he opened the rear door of the car, got out and stared compellingly in at the shrinking young woman. "Come along now, Miss Willoughby. And I don't think I need to tell you that it would be very indiscreet to scream or make a scene. I'll escort you into the house in style, as if we were good friends."
"Oh--d--don't touch me!" she gasped, recoiling as he stretched out his hand towards her.
"Touchy piece you got there, old buddy," Joe sniggered, looking back to admire the captive. The sight of her taut, lovely face, the luminous widened eyes, the trembling red lips, stirred his erotic desires. He was already thinking, My partner's sure a brain, leave it to him! Here he comes up with a bank job easy as pie, and snags himself one of the cutest nieces of cunt I've laid eyes on--yeah, she's niftier than Mave, that's for damn sure!
"Then if you don't want me to drag you out, come on out of your own accord, Miss Willoughby," Jeff Maxton mockingly responded, stepping back and watching the dark-brown-haired young woman intently.
With a stifled groan, Linda grudgingly emerged from the car, and Jeff Maxton, looking quickly up and down the dimly lighted street, grinned his pleasure at having no audience. "No one's watching, so it'll be just fine, Miss Willoughby," he directed.
With another gasp of helplessness, the attractive young librarian gingerly extended her right leg out past the open door, thereby revealing the exquisite flexing, sinuous curve of a very shapely calf, and the hiking up of her tight skirt which showed the appreciative Jeff Maxton the dimpled, suave rondure of her knee and a goodly portion of resilient, nylon-sheathed thigh beyond. Shunning his proffered hand, Linda Willoughby finally managed to emerge, but lost her footing and stumbled, upon which he caught her and righted her, his hands against her waist.
Her face flamed a violent scarlet as she panted, "D--don't--I--I don't want you to touch me!"
"Doesn't seem to like guys, huh, Jeff old buddy?" Joe Cantwell leered, watching with growing interest. "Maybe Mave's right, maybe I do have a better technique with the broads!"
But a venomous look from his younger partner silenced him and he mumbled something inaudible as he put the car into gear and headed along the driveway. It was a two-car garage, something Jeff Maxton had already ascertained before his walk to the Gorley Public Library. Meanwhile, Jeff Maxton followed beside the terrified young woman as she fumbled in her purse for her keys. Glancing upwards, he saw a single light--it was in Cynthia Willoughby's bedroom. More and more the recluse with the passing years, Linda's mother had decided to move upstairs to sleep, so she might be "safe from prowlers," as she had once put it.
At last Linda unlocked the door and then, about to go into the house, glanced feverishly back at her captor, "I--I beg of you--don't h-hurt my mother-- she's not very well--" she began in a voice that broke despite her striving for self-control.
"That will depend strictly on you, Miss Willoughby," Jeff Maxton crisply replied. "Now suppose we go meet her. Joe'll be along in a second--here he comes now."
The stockier, older man came up behind them, grinning at Linda's discomfiture. "Don't be scared, honey, I'm here to help," he jokingly announced, but Linda shrank back against the wall, the crude and unmistakable male desire he had for her being written plainly on his unshaven face.
"Can it, Joe!" Jeff Maxton said warningly. "Now we'll all go meet Miss Willoughby's mother, just like good friends, won't we, Miss Willoughby? Is she upstairs, in that lighted room?"' "Y--yes--but pi--pi--"
"Let's go, then," he urged, taking her by the elbow and moving her towards the stairway.
Linda uttered a strangled cry of revulsion and broke away from him, ran towards the stairway, and cried out, "Mother, mother, for God's sake, phone the police, I--ouff--mff--" Jeff Maxton had bounded after her, caught up with her, and brutally clapped a hand over her mouth, his other hand seizing her slim wrists. Then, his eyes dark and sinister, staring into hers with a gloating mastery, he muttered, "If you try anything like that again, Miss Willoughby, you'll be a very sorry young lady, and that's a promise. Now, are you going to behave yourself, or do I have to tie and gag you?"
"Mff--unggg--n--no--mmmfffff!" she moaned against the relentless pressure of his palm.
"That's better, then. See that you behave yourself. Now keep going!" he ordered as he released her and took his place beside her on the stairs.
Joe Cantwell moved slowly behind them, his eyes feasting on Linda's flexing calves, the outline of her round firm thighs by the cling and shifting of her skirt as she tremblingly ascended the stairs.
"Linda!" Cynthia Willoughby's voice was plaintive and shrill, "What's wrong? Why did you want me to call the police?"
"We don't want you to, Mrs. Willoughby," Jeff Maxton interposed as he pushed open the bedroom door and entered. Linda hesitated, but Joe Cantwell put a hand on her shoulder and muttered, "Go on in, baby, don't cause us any trouble!"
Cynthia Willoughby was in her slip, robe and slippers. She had been reading in the armchair, and now stood, an arm crossed over her spacious breasts, her eyes wide with alarm. At the sight of the two men flanking her daughter, she uttered a tremulous cry, "Linda! What does this mean?"
"Sit down, Mrs. Willoughby, and I'll explain," Jeff Maxton moved forward. He had taken out the Colt automatic and showed it to the frightened, plump matron now. With a cry of fright, Cynthia Willoughby moved backward to the armchair and awkwardly seated herself, trembling fitfully, her sky-blue eyes enormous with consternation.
At his sign, Joe Cantwell closed the door as Jeff seated himself on the edge of the bed and compellingly fixed Linda's mother with a commanding look, "Now I'm going to tell you and your daughter what's what, Mrs. Willoughby, and it shouldn't be necessary for me to repeat if you listen carefully, the both of you."
"W--what do you w--want of us?" Cynthia Willoughby quavered tearfully.
"It's very simple. Your daughter works in the library, and her office happens to be right up against this town's only bank, Mrs. Willoughby."
"Oh--you--you--" He nodded with a sardonic smile. "You've guessed it, dear lady. We're going to rob the bank. But, I hasten to quiet your fears, not by going in with guns and shooting up the town. We've a much more practical method. A drill and torch will cut through both walls. But of course we have to have constant access to the librarian's office--and that's how you and your daughter happen to be involved."
"B--but--" Cynthia Willoughby could hardly articulate.
"But--but--why, that's the most incredible thing I ever heard of!" Linda spluttered. "You mean-- you're going to drill through the wall into the bank? And what do you think the police will be doing all that time?"
Jeff Maxton grinned. "Now, honey, you may have a lot of book learning, which I don't at all doubt, but you don't know how practical things like this get done. It's very simple. Joe here, my partner, is handy with a drill and torch, so he'll work in your office from closing time till dawn."
"Oh, I see!" Linda interrupted sarcastically, "and what will I be doing all that time?"
"Why, honey," Jeff Maxton had dropped his formal nomenclature for the beautiful dark-brown- haired librarian as a symbolic evidence of his gradually increasing interest in her not so much as a valuable ally in this project but as a desirable female, "you're going to be there along with us. Now Joe's wife will spell you as a babysitter--or, rather, I ought to say mother-sitter. That's so your mother won't think of picking up the phone and asking for the police."
"But, Jeff," Joe grumbled, "hell, all we gotta do is tear the phone out--"
"Leave the thinking to me, as I'll leave the drilling to you! Rip it out, hm? And suppose someone calling the Willoughbys finds the line out of order and reports it to the phone company? No, Mrs. Willoughby is going to be on hand--only if there are any phone calls, she's going to be careful what she says because Mavis will be right there to chaperone her, get me?"
"Yeah, I s'pose you're right, old buddy," Joe Cantwell acquiesced.
"Then that's settled. Besides, we've got to time this job so we break into the vault on a Friday night or Saturday night--that gives us a week. Don't forget, Joe, you have to clear the rubble out of the library so nobody during the day who might walk in would get the wind up. That's going to slow your drilling down, get me?"
"Hey, you're right, I forgot about that angle."
"Well, I didn't. That's why I figured a week, so you can time the break-in for next Friday night," Jeff Maxton explained.
Joe Cantwell leered at the shrinking Linda, who had moved beside her mother, and, an arm round her waist, tried to comfort her as best she could. "You know, this job's gonna be fun, Jeff old buddy," he declared, smacking his lips and jerking his thumb at the dark-brown-haired young woman. "We gonna move in here, that your idea?"
For answer, Jeff Maxton turned to Linda, "Do you work tomorrow night at the library?" he asked.
"N--no--it closes at noon, and it's closed all day Sunday."
"Hm," Jeff Maxton stroked his chin, deep in thought. "Well, Linda honey, you're going to work there from nine tomorrow night on, just so we can get the layout and start the project. Now here's the way it's going to stack up and listen carefully. Joe's going to stay here with your mother during the day. Come closing time weekdays, the two of us will join you in your office, while Mavis takes over. That's to make sure you don't get the stupid idea of tipping off the police. If you do--I'm afraid your mother will have to pay for your error in judgment."
"Oh, my God--you--you mean--"
"Yes, honey, I'd kill her as sure as I'm standing here, you can take my word for it," Jeff Maxton stared relentlessly at the terrified young beauty. Then, to his partner, "We're going to keep our rooms. That way, our landlady won't get any notions either. I told her I'd be busy at the library doing research on my family tree and that you and Mavis are on your honeymoon, which'll explain why you go out a lot to see the sights. But for right now, Joe, get back to the place and tell Mavis to be over here a little before eight tomorrow night. And you can pick up our pajamas and shaving stuff. We'll stay here tonight."
"Oh, nooo!" Linda wailed, a hand to her mouth and she stared, overwhelmed, at the two men.
Cynthia Willoughby huddled against her daughter and in a tremulous voice pleaded, "Oh, I beg of you, don't involve us like this, we don't want to have anything to do with an awful thing like robbing the bank--oh, please, there are just the two of us here, we won't tell anyone if you'll go away, honest we won't--isn't that so, Linda dear?"
"You may as well make up your mind to what we have decided, Mrs. Willoughby," the tall black-haired bank robber coldly retorted. "I give you my word that neither you nor Linda here will come to any harm if the two of you just keep your mouths shut and do as you're told. If everything goes well, we should be out of Gorley with what we want by a week from tomorrow, or Sunday at the latest. Get going, Joe. Now then, Linda, show me where your phone is."
"I won't do anything to help you!" the young librarian stamped her foot. Jeff Maxton grinned admiringly. Her defiant gesture had made the superb globes of her firm virginal breasts jiggle in the most enticing way. Instead of answering directly, he stood there for a long moment, savoring her embarrassment and watching her ivory cheeks flame with crimson as she became aware of his scrutiny... a long steadfast look that began with her face and slowly descended towards her trim, nylon- sheathed ankles.
Finally he deigned to speak; "I'm not used to giving orders more than once, Linda, so you better get it straight the first time. Show me where your phone is. Or would you rather have me twist your mother's arm until it really hurts?"
"You--you horrible coward! I hope the police do catch you and throw you in jail for the rest of your rotten life!" the young librarian flashed, her eyes sparkling with tears of anger and frustration.
"You know, Linda, I envy your boyfriend. He's a very lucky man, especially if he catches you in an unguarded moment like right now."
She drew herself up, but she couldn't keep the waves of crimson from spreading to her forehead and even her dainty ears as she replied in a chocking voice, "It's none of your business, but I don't have any boyfriend. And now that I see what men are like, I'm just as glad, if you want to know something!"
Once again he regaled her with a lingering and appraising look, under which she closed her eyes and shivered, furious with herself for letting him get under her skin this way, even more furious to feel the hot flush in her cheeks and ears and now her lovely sculptured throat. To end the humiliating impasse, she finally blurted, "I'll show you where the phone is."
"Oh, please, Linda, be careful," her mother groaned, once again sitting down in the armchair from which she had risen in consternation when Jeff Maxton had so calmly proposed that he and his partner intended to move into the Willoughby house.
"Don't worry, mother. You--you better go to bed and get some sleep," Linda stammered. "I'll be all right."
"That's correct, Linda honey," Jeff Maxton mockingly interposed. "Just so long as both of you do what you're told and don't give us any trouble, you'll find this very cozy. In fact, you might even miss us after we've gone."
"You unspeakable beast!" Linda Willoughby hissed as angrily she opened the door and walked down the hall. He followed her quickly, his hand in his trousers pocket holding the automatic in readiness. He wasn't yet sure of her reactions, but her spirit together with the rather old-fashioned way she spoke had suddenly whetted his imagination. Jeff Maxton hadn't had a woman since leaving the West Coast, and he was beginning to feel the pangs of his self-restraint in sexual activities. More than he would ever let on and especially to Mavis Lorenz, the blonde waitress' shameless and uninhibited display of her body while making love right before him with Joe Cantwell had reminded him all too painfully of his deprivation.
He knew already that Linda Willoughby was a sensitive and intelligent young woman. Also that she was intensely impractical, as witness her conversation with her mother. But what had made the greatest impression on him and entirely changed his mind about the next week in a project whose sole aim had been to glean a very profitable sum of money in an imaginative way that would eliminate the danger of arrest was her declaration that she didn't have a boyfriend and her obvious aloofness and disdain towards men in general. It presented a challenging problem which was already giving him ample food for thought.
Thus if Joe Cantwell had from the very outset crudely admired the voluptuous figure of Linda Willoughby's delectable virgin body upon first meeting, it was Jeff Maxton, much more discriminating and far more the genuine cocksmith than his older partner, who had suddenly conceived a veritable lust for the young woman who walked ahead of him down the hallway to stop at last before a little cubbyhole between two rooms and to show him the table-stand on which the phone was placed.
"Very good. Now, is there an extension downstairs, Linda?"
"In--in the kitchen."
"I'd like to see that, too, if you don't mind."
"I do mind! I suppose now that you and your friend are going to move in here without so much as by your leave, mother and I are going to be subjected to your intrusion into our privacy at any time of day or night," she said to him in a trembling voice which shook with both anger and not a little fear.
"I really don't see how. Of course, we're going to make sure that you don't come out of your room to the kitchen or here to use the phone. And if there are any delivery boys coming to the door, we'll be right there or else Mavis will to tell you what to say and do. Apart from that, I don't see any problems--unless it just galls you to have a man around you so close, Linda."
"Oh--ohh--you--you're just insufferable! I--I ought never to have let you come into my office--"
"I'd have gotten in there by hook or by crook. Now stop all your nonsensical chattering and let's go down to the kitchen. We might as well inspect the refrigerator while we're here. I rather imagine that Joe would like a late-night snack, and so would I, for a fact."
"Oh, I see!" she tried to summon withering sarcasm. "And I suppose you'll want mother and me to wait on hand and foot!"
He grinned at her again, maliciously but good- naturedly. Once again he looked her up and down so slowly that it was almost as if he were mentally disrobing her garment by garment and admiring the charms that came into view after the removal of each such article of clothing. Her mouth opened, ready to speak in furious indignation and shame as she comprehended, virgin though she was, his innermost meaning. But Jeff Maxton anticipated her by adding in a taunting tone, "Well, honey, I hadn't really thought of it quite that way. But now that you suggest it, it might be fun. I've never yet been waited on by a woman hand and foot. I think I'd like that."
"Oh, you--you--ohhhhh!!" Beside herself with fury and knowing that he was mocking her, Linda's face went a furious crimson again as she turned her back and hurried down the stairs, he after her.
Arrived in the kitchen, she turned on the light and then gestured towards the phone on the little table beside the wall across from the counter and the sink. "Now, I hope you're satisfied, Mr. Marlowe."
Jeff Maxton nodded, inspecting the kitchen quickly, then moved over to the refrigerator and swung open the door. "I suppose you do the cooking rather than your mother?"
"Yes, I do, if it's any of your business, which I doubt."
"You're a spunky girl, I can see that. But inside, you're just petrified with fear, aren't you? I'll bet you've never had a man this close to you for a such a length of time, not before in all your sweet young life. Isn't that the truth, Linda?"
His unexpected, almost bantering question made her distraught, because he had come unerringly upon the truth. Once again into her mind there had come the indelible image of her father and mother naked and making love together, and with that the old recollection of all that her mother had told her about the bestiality of men. She had never been able to equate the righteous moralizing of her mother on the subject of sex with the unshakable fact that her mother had, for all of that, participated in that ignoble and animal act with her own father. Even though she knew by now the biological facts of life, even though she had long since admitted that her very existence must have depended upon the erotic coupling of her mother and father, still and all the psychological clash and the conflict between the moralistic tenets which condemned sexual indulgence as animal and obscene and the gradually growing impulses of her mature body made her cringe at the thought that she and her mother were helpless in this house, now denied the use of the phone for their salvation against the possible brutality or sexual unleashing of these two criminals.
She didn't answer. She dared not. Instead, clenching her fists and taking a deep breath, she stared ahead of him, pretending not to see him, while Jeff Maxton, reaching into the refrigerator for a chicken leg, took it out and calmly began to gnaw at it. He had had his answer, and it was beginning to send waves of sexual anticipation through his virile loins.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was well past midnight, and Joe Cantwell had returned with the suitcases containing the pneumatic drill and portable collapsible acetylene torch, as well as pajamas, toothbrush and shaving items, after first telling Mavis Lorenz that she was to come over to the house on Cypress Street the following evening at eight, without fail.
Cynthia Willoughby had locked herself in her bedroom, and Joe Cantwell had taken pillows from the couch in the living room, making himself an improvised bed just outside her door. Jeff Maxton made himself a similar bed in the kitchen near enough to the table on which the phone lay so that if Linda Willoughby should try to call the police, he would be readily wakened.
Linda, too, had locked herself in her bedroom, but had found sleep hard to come by. The terrifying reality of having herself and her mother in the power of two hoodlums who held them captive in their very own house and who would stay here to control their lives until their criminal purpose had been achieved was almost overwhelming to her sensitive though highly intellectual mind. She hadn't yet thought--and because of that very intellectual bent--of the possibility that her beauty could very well inflame both of these men to want to possess her physically and destroy and sully her virginity. The greater terror of knowing herself at the mercy of these men and of being powerless to aid her mother--whom she knew was even more impractical and helpless than herself in such tension-ridden circumstances--had taken first priority in her I thoughts. And yet, subconsciously, the awareness which her flesh had known at the touch of Jeff Maxton when he had commandeered her in her library office and made her close the library and come out to his car and go willingly with him back to her own house so that she and her mother could be held captive had doubtless been responsible for her failure to undress down to the usual filmy I nightie which she always wore when she went to sleep. Instead, after washing her face with cold water and taking what her mother would call a "spit bath," the lovely young woman went to bed in her slip, bra, panties, and garterbelt and nylons. Perhaps if she had been asked why she had done this, she might not have been able to specify. But the childhood trauma which her own mother and father had evoked and which had lingered all these years dormant and yet swift to come alive in her imaginative mind had undeniably conditioned her to the thought that if she clothed her voluptuous body, it would be less likely to incite the ruthless lust of these two predatory males.
But Jeff Maxton, who had made a reasonably comfortable bed for himself with assorted pillows from the living-room chairs, and the loveseat, also found himself unable to sleep. He had taken along an ashtray and lay awake for a good hour, smoking cigarette after cigarette and thinking over the plan of attack. Actually, it wouldn't take a full week to go through both walls not so close together and not where the buildings were still reasonably modern. What would take time would be the disposal of the rubble and the necessity for working only at hours when the noise couldn't be heard outside the library. There was a further danger. If Joe should break through the bank wall, he would be unable to clear away any rubble from that side, and if one of the bank employees should discover it the next morning, the jig would of course be up. There were details like this which he had to work out. It would have to be timed so that they could break through by the following Friday night and go right on into the vault, get the money, emerge back into the library and then make their getaway in the Dodge.
But it wasn't only the details of the caper which had begun to foment irritability and sleeplessness. It was something deeper than that. He had expected that the librarian would be a dedicated old maid, one easily cowed and forced to do their bidding, who would obey out of sheer fear for herself and who could be counted on to give absolutely no trouble. Finding Linda Willoughby as head librarian at the main desk on that particular evening had been one of those incalculable factors which sometimes crop up in the best of plans and which, he knew well from his own experience and Joe's, could often make or break the success of a caper. Because Linda Willoughby was the most delicious piece of cunt--and he was using Joe's likely term for her-- that he had ever set eyes on. His own physical needs and, more than that, his discriminatory powers when it came to bedding with a likely female, made him more imperiously aware of Linda's physical charms than he should have been at such a time. Damn the bitch for being young and lovely! If she were just a tramp like Mavis, it might be easy to overlook her obvious physical attractions. But here was a fully grown, mature young woman, exquisitely beautiful, sensitive and well educated, yet one who had cloistered herself from the world for all intents and purposes. Her aversion to men was obvious. He would bet half his share of the bank haul that she had never known what it was to have a man thrust between those firm thighs of hers to find the sweet soft tightness of her womanly cunt. He was sure that she had never allowed herself to be seen naked by any man, or probably even in bra and panties. And she certainly wouldn't display herself obviously the way Mavis did, much less let a man make love to her in full view of himself the way Mavis had at the boarding house.
And that was why, achingly, unreasonably, damning himself for even having to admit his lust for her, Jeff Maxton knew that he was going to have to make love to Linda Willoughby to satisfy his own piqued curiosity about what it would be like to bring an untouched mature virgin down from her aloof pedestal, to hear her gasp and groan as she discovered for the first time in her life what that furry little nest between her legs was really for and what a man's organ could be used for besides urinating.
Just thinking about it made him roll back and forth on the pillows, swearing under his breath and wishing once again that she were an old dried-up prune of a spinster...
Thus it was that Linda Willoughby finally fell into fitful sleep, in which nightmarish visions appeared before her, disjointed and unconnected, and yet in the middle of them and without apparent reason, there sprang to life once again that eavesdropping scene in which she had come upon her own mother and father in the act of love. She woke at a quarter of seven, possibly out of habit because that was her usual waking time in order to have a leisurely breakfast and to prepare one for her mother, dress and then go to the library in time for its opening at nine. Putting on a bathrobe and stepping into her pumps, she carefully unlocked her bedroom door and moved down the hallway. As she did so, Joe Cantwell sprang up from his improvised bed and leered at her, reaching for a pack of cigarettes in his coat pocket and lighting one as he blocked her path. "You're up early, baby!" he greeted her with a coarse grin and wink. "On your way to the john, maybe?"
Linda's cheeks flamed and she lowered her eyes before his lewdly appreciative stare. "I--I was going down to the kitchen to get some breakfast."
"Great. Me, I like bacon and eggs, and the eggs once over lightly, baby. Say, you're a real knockout, you are! Seeing as how we're going to be living here with you for about a week, you and I ought to get to know each other better. You got a boyfriend, baby?"
"Please--let me go--I--I have to do what you and Mr. Marlowe want, but he promised you wouldn't hurt mother or me if we did."
"Who's talking about hurting you, baby?" Joe Cantwell looked righteously innocent, his eyes wide with protest at this unfounded charge. "Why do you get all skittish just because I like to look at a broad like you, baby? Maybe your guy doesn't give you the once-over the way I do, is that it?"
"It's none of your business, Mr. K-Kent!" Linda Willoughby exclaimed in a shaking voice. "I don't happen to have a guy, as you so crudely put it, but if I did, he certainly wouldn't be a person like you. Now, will you please get out of my way and let me go to the kitchen? And don't talk so loud, you'll wake mother!"
"My, aren't you a one to give the orders around here, baby! Well now," he moved closer to her, his smile ingratiating his eyes narrowed and glinting, "if you want to get on the good side of good old Joe, baby, you better try to soften him up. See what I mean? Now, if you haven't got a guy, it's about time you had one. I could make you forget anybody else, no two ways about it. How about a nice little kiss before breakfast just to start things off right between us?"
With this, he slipped an arm around her waist and, pulling her to him, kissed her rudely on the mouth. Linda Willoughby uttered a strangled cry of revulsion, and began to strike at his chest and face with her fists, twisting frantically to get loose of his embrace. "Let me go--you filthy beast--take your hands off me--stop it--oh, please, please, you and Mr. Marlowe promised--stop it--let me go--" Downstairs, Jeff Maxton sprang to his feet with an oath. Hurrying up the stairs, he saw his partner still clinging to Linda's waist, both arms locking her in a bearish embrace, while his unshaven face loomed over hers, his sensual lips moist and quivering with eagerness to taste the soft sweetness of her virgin mouth.
"Let go of her, Joe!" Jeff Maxton called in a sibilant voice. "I mean it, that's an order! You've got Mavis, that ought to be enough."
"Aw, don't get sore, Jeff boy!" Instantly Joe Cantwell released the trembling, sobbing young woman, turned to smile at his partner. "All I wanted was a little kiss, now that's not so much, is it? It's not as if this cute broad here was under age. Hell, it's time she had a guy--just look at the way she's built!"
"I told you, Joe, we're going to stay here until the job is done at the bank and the library. We need these people to help us out. And you're certainly not going to make a friend of Linda here by forcing yourself on her. Now then, Linda, I apologize for Joe. Of course, I must admit he's got good taste in being attracted to you. All the same, of course it doesn't give him any right to treat you like a boor."
"Well, get that character, will you!" Joe Cantwell sneered, lighting a fresh cigarette and glaring at his partner. "What's got into you all of a sudden, Jeff? What's the harm if I have a little fun with Precious, here? She as much as said she has never had a guy, and I could teach her lots of things and make a woman out of her."
"That'll be enough of that, old buddy," Jeff Max- ton growled. "Come on downstairs, Linda. I guess you want to make some breakfast, right? I could use some myself."
"Th--thank you--thank you very much, Mr. Marlowe." Linda Willoughby glanced over towards the landing on which Joe Cantwell stood, gripping the rail and bending over it to watch them both, an angry, spiteful look on his homely face. "I'm so afraid--and with mother here, oh, why, please, why can't you two find somebody else? Why do we have to be involved ? And I've been thinking, too, if I help you, it's as bad as if I were in this with you. I could go to jail for this--"
"No chance, Linda honey," he grunted. "After we've got the loot, I'm going to smash the library lock so it'll look as if we forced it after hours. So nobody will connect you with it. Like I said last night, all you have to do, you and your mother, is just act natural and don't try to get the cops or give us any trouble. I think I can tell you that what happened with Joe just now won't happen again."
"I--I hope not." Linda Willoughby stood at the kitchen sink, gripping it with both hands, her head bowed, as she took several long breaths to steady herself. She was trembling violently from the reactional aftermath. Joe Cantwell had smelled of liquor, of sweat, and of man, and he radiated an aura of violence to her tender, chaste body. Now all the subconscious fears which had been harboring in her all through the long, nightmare-ridden night had come to the surface and she was more terrified than ever of the dangers which threatened not only her mother but, most of all, herself...
"Hey, this is really going to be a leadpipe cinch!" Joe Cantwell exulted as he began to open the two suitcases containing his demolition equipment. "They don't even have a guard in the bank at night. Now, from what I saw before we got in here, you're dealing with two twelve-inch walls, and most likely a steel plate in the bank wall. Figure if we didn't have to worry about the cops, I could get through this business with a good day's work. But giving me a week is just about right, now that I'm going to have to get rid of the old bricks and junk when I drill through."
Linda Willoughby, pale and trembling, had seated herself at the desk of her private office. It was shortly after nine o'clock on Saturday night, and the weather seemed to be on the side of the two bank robbers; the rumbling of thunder in the distance indicated a coming storm.
"We couldn't have picked a better night to start with, either," Joe Cantwell went on. "This is a nice quiet street and nobody is around. Besides, with that storm on the way, it'll cover up the noise of going through the bricks. I call this an electric hammer, not really a drill. If I put a blanket over it, I can muffle the noise just about good enough, because it won't be heard outside the building."
"That's your part of the job and you know it, so go ahead. I've brought along a big Indian blanket I found in the department store this afternoon. We'll use it to cover up the wall here so that if anybody comes in to see Miss Willoughby, they won't find the hole in the bricks," Jeff Maxton remarked. Then, amusedly, he looked over at the captive young virgin, "You're doing just fine, Linda honey. Keep it up, and in a week's time we'll be out of here and no sweat. Why, if the haul is big enough, we might even leave you money for room and board at your house."
"Yeah," Joe Cantwell chimed in, "that's a hot one, that is! Now let's see how this hammer works."
He had marked a spot on the rear wall of the office and now, having plugged into the power outlet, adjusted the implement and gripped the handle. At once the explosive sound reverberated, but since Joe Cantwell had draped his coat over the hammer to hide all but the end which was applied against the wall, the sound was muffled. "Well, it's not too bad," he said a little doubtfully, glancing back at Jeff Maxton for confirmation. "Since nobody's gonna hear us anyhow, I don't suppose it matters too much. Besides which, this is about the best hammer on the market for portable jobs like this one. I won't need the torch till I get to the plate in the bank wall, and that's maybe an hour's work by itself."
"You'll probably have to use it on the vault, too, to get the lock, since we don't have the combination."
"That's right, too. Well, if we get through this next Friday night, we have all the time in the world to open the vault and take the dough and get away before the bank opens or anybody comes to work there," Joe Cantwell said with more cheerful assurance. He winked at the trembling young woman at the desk, and then bent to his work.
Jeff Maxton sauntered over to the desk, took out a pack of cigarettes and offered it to Linda, who shook her head, her lips compressed. "Do I have to be here all the time while you're doing this?" she faintly asked.
"Of course you do, baby. You're the one that lets us in and locks up after us. Besides which, you're a very useful hostage just in case," the tall black-haired bank robber smilingly replied as he lit a cigarette and studied the lovely captive.
They had found an old second-hand trunk abandoned in the alley of one of the residential streets, and Joe Cantwell had brought it along in the car. It would be filled with the shattered bricks and rubble from the drilling, emptied somewhere in the thick woods to the north of Gorley.
Mavis Lorenz was over at the Willoughby house now, and Joe Cantwell had entrusted her with the automatic so that she could make certain that Linda's mother would try no tricks to summon help or to escape. The blonde waitress was beginning to feel her importance, having such a vital responsibility in the success of the caper. It was that which had made her preen herself early that evening in front of Jeff Maxton, as much as to tell him that perhaps he didn't admire her, but there was one man who really did--her lover Joe.
Joe Cantwell stopped now and wiped the sweat away from his forehead with his shirt sleeve. "It's not going to be too bad," he finally declared. "This is good sturdy masonry, and whoever put these bricks in knew his business. I still figure it's going to be about a foot thick in each wall, and then the plate cover over at the bank. I want to make the hole just big enough for both of us to get in there without getting stuck. No need to smash through the whole wall, not if I have to stop to drive out to the woods with all this junk. Boy, it's dusty work, though!"
He laid down the electric hammer and rose to his feet. He moved to the desk, his eyes glittering with covetous desire as they fixed on the shrinking young librarian. "This is nice and cozy, this is," he grinned. "You could have brought along a couple bottles of beer, this is going to be hot work. Maybe we can send Linda over to the liquor store, huh, Jeff boy?"
"Don't be such a clown. I've got a tenth of Old Crow in my hip pocket so you can wet your whistle. You certainly don't expect to send Linda here off to a liquor store--hell, the whole town would hear about it overnight," Jeff Maxton scornfully responded.
"I--I hope they catch you both and throw you in jail for life!" came in a low trembling voice from their lovely captive.
"Now that's not friendly, honey," Joe Cantwell chuckled. He held out his hand, and Jeff Maxton handed him the bottle. Breaking the seal and unscrewing the top, he took a hearty swig, and smacked his lips and belched. "That's more like it! Here, save the rest for me, I'll get back to work. I have to pace myself, seeing as how it's a brand- new job and construction I don't know anything about. From what I can see from the outside, though, I'd damn well bet it's not more than a foot thick through each wall. Well, here goes!"
* * *
"Whew! Well, I think that's a helluva good start. Take a look, Jeff!" Wearily Joe Cantwell straightened, and stepped back away from the circular hole in the wall. He had dumped the loose plaster and shattered brick shards into the metal wastebasket, and emptied it several times into the secondhand trunk.
"Looks great! That's about a third of the wall, thickness-wise, wouldn't you say?" Jeff Maxton inspected the circular opening closely.
"Yeah, just about. Like I said, if I were to stay here all day long, I'd have the whole job done. But that's enough for now. We've got to time this for next Friday night. Now I guess I better take the trunk and drive out to the woods. Want to come along, Linda baby?" the older man leered at Linda Willoughby.
Throughout the ordeal, the frightened young librarian had sat at her desk, eyes closed, silent, alone with her thoughts. The eerie setting of this late- night foray had been made still more spectral by the swivel lamp, which cast the only illumination in the large, high-ceilinged room. Jeff Maxton, from time to time, had directed a flashlight to aid his partner in making the first breakthrough in the library wall.
"I'll walk her home," Jeff Maxton said. "We'll lock up and get out of here after I've put up this blanket."
"You know something?" Joe Cantwell emptied the wastebasket into the trunk and then looked greedily at the shrinking young woman. "I'd like a piece of Linda's action. Damn it if I wouldn't! You don't seem to care about this broad, Jeff, so why not let me give it to her? You can tell she needs it bad. Look at the way she's shaking! And the way she talks about not wanting any boyfriends-- she can't be a dyke. She's just scared because she's never had her cherry busted."
"Ooohhhhh!" Linda Willoughby gasped, shaken with indignation and crimsoning with shame at this obscene allusion to her body. She half-rose from the desk, supporting herself on her palms, her eyes enormous and shadowed with the revulsion that leaped into them.
"We're not going to discuss this here, Joe. Just get going with that junk. Dispose of it and meet us back at Linda's house." Jeff Maxton lit a cigarette and stared coldly at his partner.
Joe Cantwell shrugged. "Well, I'll lay you odds that before we've left Gorley, I'm going to empty my rocks into little Linda here. Like I said, old buddy, since you aren't making a play for her, what's wrong with my taking over?"
"I told you we'll talk about that later. Now get going!"
Joe Cantwell grumbled a profane but inaudible reply, hoisted the trunk onto his broad shoulders, and moved towards the front door of the library. Jeff Maxton took Linda by the wrist. "Not that I don't trust you, baby, but I don't want you near that phone. Come along and see Joe out safely," he directed.
She had uttered a gasp when he first touched her, and now, as he opened the door to let his partner out, she whispered frantically, "For God's sake, don't--don't let him touch me--I'd rather die--I'd kill myself before--oh, please, Mr. Marlowe, you promised!" He was conscious of the smell of her, because when a beautiful woman is afraid, the sweat of her body becomes exquisitely acrid. But he was still more conscious of the impassioned rise and fall of those round firm breasts of hers, of the quickening pulse in her white creamy throat, of the desperate anguish in her dilated eyes and of the flaring and shrinking of her delicate nostril wings.
"I'll see," he said curtly. "Now after Joe's gone, you can walk out first and I'll take the keys and lock up. That way, you won't lock the door from the inside and run to the phone to call the cops. If you want my help, you've got to help, too, don't forget it, baby."
She stared at him for a moment, bit her lips, then lowered her eyes. A wave of shivering took hold of her, for in that single glance, she had read at last the naked knowledge that he too desired her... and perhaps in a way that would be more excruciatingly taxing to her virgin sensitivities than even the uncomplicated but brutish lust which his partner had just now revealed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Sweet stuff--" Mavis Lorenz purred as she idly ran her forefinger up and down Joe Cantwell's belly. It was Sunday afternoon and she had stayed the night at the Willoughby house to guard Linda's mother and also, at Joe's explicit suggestion, to take good care of him when he got back from starting the job at the library.
They had taken over one of the guest rooms on the second floor, across the hall from Linda's, and they were both naked, except that the blonde waitress had kept on garterbelt and nylons to please her lover who found that "fucking uniform just what I need to perk it up for me after a hard night's work like I just had at the library."
"What's on your ever-loving mind, Mave honey?" the stocky brown-haired bank robber chuckled lazily. He had slept until well past noon, and then Mavis had wakened him in her inimitable fashion. On all fours, a teasing look on her saucy, sensual face, she had bent over him after pulling off the sheets and begun to apply quick gusts of breath against his penis until instinctively and inevitably, it attained flowering erection. Then her fingertips had begun to glide with delicate vanishing touches over the insides of his hairy thighs, his groin and belly, up to his nipples which she tweaked playfully, while continuing to send gusts of warm breath against his rigid organ.
When he wakened with a grunt, blinking his eyes, he quickly took in the situation and, with a hoarse shout of delighted surprise at her imaginative wakening, had pulled her down on top of him. His pudgy fingers, gripping the plump cheeks of her resilient buttocks, kneaded the warm satiny flesh while she squirmed and twisted agilely, tantalizing him with a rasp of her dark-blonde pubic curls against his intense penis. At last, realizing that he was getting angry at her teasing, she had readily capitulated with a pouting sigh, "Oh, honey, I was just playing, oh, all right, I'll let you put it in because I want it, too." And then, arching herself up and letting him feast his eyes on the jut of her dangling breasts and the straddled columns of her nylon-sheathed thighs at whose apex he could see the pink twitching cuntal lips, Mavis Lorenz had at last put her left hand to her love-vent and yawned it to accept his turgid weapon, impaling herself and slowly sinking down with a cry of pleasure as she felt him skewer her to his very testicles.
Then, once mounted upon him and over him, she had whispered passionately, "Oh, baby, don't hurry, just let's take it slow and nice and easy, just the way married folks do on Sunday. Do it my way for a change, lover. I'll make it real nice for you, honest I will!"
But Joe Cantwell, despite the eager acquiescence of his inamorata, had already begun to think ardently of the untouched virgin in this house, the young virgin librarian at whom he had stared with mountingly lustful speculation throughout the initial work of drilling through the library wall and on into the bank building up against it. Thus for this moment it wasn't Mavis Lorenz who was straddled over him, not her quaking, clutching vaginal walls which gripped his virilely heated cock so tenaciously, but rather the demure, aloof and haughty beauty who had proved such a paradox. A paradox because she was fashionable when it came to makeup and clothes that really showed off her superb figure, and yet cold as an iceberg when it came to accepting the sincere attentions of a virile male who wanted to give her what that sumptuous shape of hers so obviously called for.
He had had enough instinct not to let Mavis Lorenz know what was really going through his mind as she lay merged with him, quivering and sighing as she gathered her cumulative amorous forces for their fray. His fingers had slowly continued their squeezing and pressing of her jouncy asscheeks, and against his hairy chest he had felt the prickling, sweet rasp of her stiffened dark-coral nipples, felt again the quickened warm, moist breath she exhaled, felt her fingers dig into his shoulder blades as she lay there waiting to summon up the energy that would bring about the gradual attunement which her own insatiable hot cunt demanded now.
But in his mind's eye, it was Linda Willoughby that he was fucking, or rather, it was Linda who, compelled and coerced by his force and magnetism, was obeying him like a harem slave, taking the uppermost position over him while he abandoned himself on the bed of hedonistic pleasure and let her take the initiative for fear of stern chastisement that would punish her ineptitude.
"How'd it go last night, lover?" her voice was husky against his ear, almost suggesting the cool contralto of that haughty untouchable high priestess of the library, the unattainable Linda Willoughby.
"Just great, baby," he forced his wandering thoughts aside to give her the answer she wanted. "We'll make it by next Friday night easy, and we'll be out of here before dawn on Saturday morning, you can take bets on it, Mave baby. How'd it go with you? Did Linda's mama give you a bad time?"
"If that isn't a laugh, honey," the blonde waitress giggled, squirming about lasciviously to settle herself even more tightly against him, glorying in the feeling of being totally impaled by all of his blood- inflated hard shaft, and by beginning to feel the pulsations which emanated from his aching penis lodged tightly inside her vaginal channel. "I thought she was going to wet her pants, honest I did, Joe baby. She was begging me to have a talk with you and Jeff so you wouldn't hurt her little girl any." "She was huh? What else did she say?" Playfully, he slipped a finger against the puckering stricture of her anus, rubbing the rosette ring and pretending to insert between it.
"Oohh, cut that out, I don't want that yet, lover!" Mavis Lorenz squealed, wriggling herself out of danger and having the good grace to blush. But her maneuver had made his penis slip out of its tight confines, and with a gasp, she quickly readjusted herself so that she could take all he had to offer, while the fluttering of her clasping vaginal walls assured him that she had accomplished exactly that to his great satisfaction.
It was a new nuance for the direct and often brutally swift male who usually dispensed with foreplay. Joe Cantwell was discovering that this holding back had much to recommend it. Already he felt the aching, gnawing torment which made him want to ejaculate all his searing hot semen deep into the tight hot channel of her womanly pussy along which his organ was so snuggly housed. And the feel of her warm slithering belly and the big firm rounds of her naked breasts against his twitching flesh were degrees of sexual pleasure which perhaps up to now he hadn't fully appreciated. It was unquestionably his longing for the untouched chastity of Linda Willoughby that allowed him this time of contemplation, of almost nostalgic rumination so that he became aware of the ethos of Mavis Lorenz' flesh-lure and could almost equate it with what he believed the virgin librarian could bring to bed for him.
"There now, honey, that's just fine. Now please wait a little minute before we start doing it, hhhmmm?" Mavis pleaded, flicking his earlobe with the tip of her pink tongue and then darting it against the hole itself.
Joe Cantwell groaned. Up until now sex had been like food, to be consumed when one was hungry, a female to be thoroughly enjoyed whenever she was available. But the piquant nearness of Linda Willoughby through her enforced capture which made such dramatic contrast against her evident distaste for all men had roused him. to a savage, brooding longing that wouldn't long brook denial. Hence now, by way of compensation, there was naked, eager, willing Mavis, and thus she became the instrument of Linda herself... until at last he could meet that denying challenge and force that uppity virgin bitch to give her all!
"Oh, Joe," Mavis continued, "she practically told me all about little Miss Librarian since she wore diapers, Joe. You'd have split a gut laughing at some of the things she told me, honest you would have!"
"Such as, baby?" He gave her naked behind a playful smack, and Mavis squealed and squirmed, deliciously rousing him to a renewed awareness of the aching need his penis had for satisfaction and, at the same time, the immediate awareness of how excitingly it was already prepared for just that kind of appeasement.
"Well, for instance, she was telling me how she was always hoping that Linda would meet the right guy and make a real fine marriage. You know, like all mothers want, Joe--and this'll kill you--would you believe she's hoping that an old geezer by the name of Silas Dowling, the guy who runs the bank you're going to try to bust into, is going to pop the question to her little girl. That's what she's really after, believe it or not!"
Joe Cantwell burst out laughing. "Christ, that's rich, that is!" he at last declared after he had finished. "You say he's an old guy, huh?"
"Oh, yeah, Linda's mama said he's in his sixties or something like that. But she doesn't care, she just thinks that Mr. Dowling would be a terrific hubby because he's rich and respectable. I know what else she's thinking. A guy that age wouldn't want pussy all the time, and so he wouldn't bother her dear little girl too much--get what I mean?"
"Yeah!" Joe Cantwell hissed, his eyes gleaming with lubricious speculation. "You're a smart broad, Mave, and I'm sure glad I met up with you in that crummy town we stopped to have a hamburger in."
"So am I, lover. Now stop talking about that snotnosed little mother's baby and get down to brass tacks. I declare, Joe honey, you could drive a girl to drink!"
"Yeah, I could, couldn't I? Okay, now let's get with it!" Joe Cantwell exulted. He swung his legs over Mavis' thighs, arching himself till he could touch bottom and scrape the sides, feeling the tight soft enclaspment of her vaginal walls, the secret, deeply placed loveflesh which harbored his organ so ardently and lovingly. Mavis caught her breath and closed her eyes, the dreamy expression so characteristic of her in the toils of coitus once again inscribed on her sensual features.
It had been, she raptly declared, one of the best screwings she had ever had. Even Joe Cantwell had had to admit that she had really gone all out this time. But again he hadn't deemed it necessary to tell her that during the end of it, he had just closed his eyes and pretended it was Linda Willoughby on top of him, those creamy-white breasts of hers bouncing all over his chest, his fingers digging hard into her big sweet ass, as she felt her virgin furrow plowed by a real man's cock for the first good time in all her sweet young life. What it had done, more than anything else in the world, was to redouble Joe Cantwell's determination to have it out once and for all with Jeff Maxton when it came to putting in his bid for little Linda...
It was ten o'clock on Sunday night, and Jeff Max- ton had gone outside the library to the Dodge parked across the street and several hundred yards away from the building in order both to get some air and have a cigarette and at the same time to make certain that there were no unexpected strollers on the street. It was even more deserted than it had been the night before, and there was a slight mist falling, the windup of a prolonged rainspell that had descended upon Gorley late that afternoon and until about seven o'clock.
Inside Linda Willoughby's office, with Linda herself seated at the desk, her hands clasped and her face taut, Joe Cantwell was continuing his work with the electric hammer. He had remembered that it would be wiser to make a wider hole in the library wall than in the outer wall of the bank, so as to be able to clear away as much of the rubble as possible and to have room enough to maneuver inside the tunnel that the electric hammer was creating. But being alone with Linda like this had intensified his by now furious desire to enjoy her body just as he had done with that of luscious Mavis Lorenz. He shut off the electric current, got up and emptied the wastebasket into the old trunk, then set the wastebasket down with a clatter and moved over to the desk where Linda sat. "Want a cigarette, baby?" he grinned lewdly as he fished a crumpled pack out of his rear trousers pocket and tendered it towards the shrinking young woman.
Linda's tongue seemed to clove to the roof of her mouth, and beads of sweat glistened on her high- arching forehead as she managed at last to shake her head in denial.
"Aww, don't be so standoffish, Linda honey," he went on as he lit a cigarette for himself and moved along the side of the desk closer to the swivel chair in which she sat. "It's about time you came down off that high horse of yours, baby. Now that Jeff isn't around here to muddle up the action, why don't you and me really get together? I'll bet deep down inside you've got a yen to find out what it would be like to be in bed with a guy who can really ball the way I can. Hell, you've probably heard Mave tell your mama how I can send her. Come on now, honey, you got brains and looks, and you know the score, all right. What say you and I get back to the house and then you come to my room when everybody else is asleep?"
"Oh, my God--you--you filthy, horrible brute! I'd rather die than do that, do you understand? Go away, I'll call Mr. Marlowe!" Linda shoved back the chair and scrambled to her feet, moving back against the wall, her palms pressed against it like a trapped animal who fears the advent of the hunter.
Her superb breasts rose and fell agitatedly, thrusting their firm points against the bodice of her clinging blue cotton dress, and they were immediate targets for the lubricious gaze of Joe Cantwell's narrowing eyes. He licked his lips and moved closer, trying to propitiate her with a crafty smile that was meant to be patronizingly friendly. Then he reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders and moved against her, pinning her to the wall, his leering, unshaven face inches from hers. "Don't be scared, baby, I'm not going to hurt you or nothing like that. All I want from you is to show you what a good fuck would really be like. I'll bet you need it. I'll bet you still play with yourself at night when you get hardup, don't you, baby?"
So saying, and maintaining the grip of his left hand on her soft shoulder, he extended his other hand to cup one of her splendidly firm round, heaving young breasts. Linda Willoughby's face congested with supreme revulsion and terror, and she tried desperately to shriek, to move, to extricate herself from this unwanted, odious embrace. But her knees had turned to water, and she couldn't move. Only the desperate rolling of her hugely dilated shadowed eyes betold her agony of spirit, her utter abhorrence of chaste flesh against the ruthless and villainous rut of her would-be rapist.
Jeff Maxton had satisfied himself that all was well, flung his cigarette into the gutter, and hurried back across the street towards the library. He had left the door unlocked for easy access, and he entered, glancing with satisfaction around the darkened main room, then made his way down the hallway to Linda's office. He was just in time to see his partner in the act of thrusting his right hand down the bodice of Linda's cotton dress, ripping it viciously in his effort to examine the creamy glory of her virgin bosom.
"Joe! Let go of her, you stupid bastard! Do you want to spoil everything?" Jeff Maxton snarled.
Joe Cantwell, panting hard, his face dark with the congestion of his rut, reluctantly released the terrified, shuddering young woman. As he moved back, Jeff Maxton could see that his groping for her bosom had not only torn the blue cotton dress at the neck and down almost to the waist but had also ripped one of the straps of her white bra, exposing the magnificent tits nearly down to the soft coral bud of the nipple. Stunned as she was, Linda Willoughby didn't at first think of covering herself before these two vile creatures; she tilted her head back against the wall, her eyes closing, as she drew breath quickly and feverishly in the tumultuous excitement of this near-rape. It seemed to her that her entire body was paralyzed, that she was numb with her loathing and fear, and that her body refused to obey the dictates of her mind.
"You're going to spoil everything that way," Jeff Maxton lectured his surly older partner. "What if she'd run out screaming into the street? Even if this is Sunday night in a dead little town, you'd have the neighbors out here in a hurry and next would be the cops! I thought you had brains. Try a stunt like that again, and you can go into business for yourself and I'll go my own way. You've had a taste of the pen once, and I should think that would be enough."
"Oh, can it, goddamn it, anyhow," the stocky bank robber growled, giving Jeff Maxton a vicious look. "We might as well get this straight right here and x now, it's as good a time as any. Look, I'm doing the real leg work of this team, even if you did pick the score. You wouldn't get into the bank if it weren't for Joe Cantwell, and don't you forget it for a minute, old buddy. I happen to want a little action with this sweet bitch here, and we're going to be here through Friday in the same house with her, and she's giving me a case of hot nuts, get me? It's all right for you to talk about being careful, but the way she swings that sweet twitch of hers and gives a guy a look as if he were dirt under her feet, well, Mrs. Cantwell's boy doesn't go for that line of crap."
"What are you trying to say, Joe? Get it off your chest for once and all."
"That's what I'm trying to do, old buddy." Joe Cantwell leered at the shrinking, petrified young woman still leaning back against the wall, her palms pressing hard against it as if to sustain herself. "It's going to be a showdown right now, since you want it that way. I'll even let loose of a little of my split on this heist, but I want Linda here. I just want to slip her the rocks once for sure--and I'll bet she goes for it after that. You got any objections, old buddy?"
Jeff Maxton glanced at the young woman, at the creamy skin which her torn bra so exquisitely exposed. She was more desirable now than she had ever been before at this moment of supreme peril. Nor was it any nobility of spirit or heroics which led him swiftly to reply: "As it happens, she's going to be my girl. Now you don't want a broad that would rather spread for another guy, do you, Joe? That little tramp of a Mavis has been trying to get me to get into her pants ever since you picked her up back in Ohio. You know yourself how she put on a stag party right in front of me, hoping that I'd fall for her. Well, I don't go for tramps, but I go for Linda here. So I'm staking my claim. How does that sound to you?"
"You're kidding! But don't stall me, Jeff boy, or we're not going to see eye to eye on anything around here, get me? You mean, you're going to fuck her, is that it?"
Jeff Maxton glanced over at Linda Willoughby, whose lips had parted and whose right hand had risen at last to cover the rip in her dress and to conceal the breathtaking sight of the upper curve of young firm round white breast. "That's right. I'm going to fuck her, and she's going back to the house with me right now and we're going into her room and have ourselves a time."
He moved towards the terrified young woman, and, slipping his arm around her waist, quickly whispered into her ear, "You'd better choose and choose fast, baby. Otherwise Joe is going to take you over and he's going to give you a bad time. At least I'll be gentle with you. Well, what do you say?"
"What the hell are you telling her there?" Joe Cantwell glowered suspiciously.
"Love talk, old buddy. All right, Linda, go ahead and tell him. Tell him that you're going to go to bed with me and that you don't want any part of him. Let's hear you say it," Jeff Maxton was staking all on his psychological knowledge of the female, and particularly of Linda Willoughby. He could understand how the coarse, unshaven and brutally direct Joe Cantwell would revolt her esthetic senses, and make the thought of physical union between them both unthinkable. He was counting on that, and he watched her with bated breath as he waited for her answer.
Her face was flooded with a wave of scarlet, and then, shivering violently, and in a voice that could scarcely be heard, Linda Willoughby faltered, "Yes --I--I'm going to be his girl. I--I can't stand someone like you, J--Joe."
"Well, you heard it, old buddy," Jeff Maxton's eyes glittered with triumph as he pulled the shrinking young woman to him. "Now let's get the blanket back over the wall and the trunk into the car so we ban dump all the bricks, and then Linda and I are going back home and have ourselves a nice little party."
"Well, I'll be a sonofabitch," Joe Cantwell said angrily, scratching his head and squinting at the trembling young woman. "I heard it, but I still don't believe it. Okay, then." His expression changed to one of gloating anticipation. "But I better see you two love birds safe and sound in her room before I believe it. Otherwise, she gets it tonight, and if you don't give it to her, so help me, I will. Okay, there's the last pile of crap into the trunk. And now let's be on our way!"
CHAPTER NINE
Mavis Lorenz, wearing just a slip, garterbelt, nylons and pumps, stood in the doorway of the room that she and Joe Cantwell shared at the Willoughby house. Cynthia Willoughby had been locked in her room and Mavis was brandishing the automatic with a look of vast self-importance on her vapidly pretty face. Her eyes widened and her mouth gaped as she saw her lover ascend the stairs, followed by Jeff Maxton who, an arm around Linda's waist, his right hand gripping both of her wrists, led the young librarian up to the landing.
"Well, for cry-eye!" she gasped incredulously, "will you get a look at those two lovebirds there! Hey, Joe lover, am I seeing right? The Princess there with old Jeffie boy, cuddling up like a bug in a rug!"
"Can the chatter, Mave," Joe Cantwell growled, "or I'll give you a fat lip! Get back in the room and peel down and get ready. You're going to get a real workout tonight, baby. Now get, I told you!" He raised his fist in a threatening gesture, and Mavis Lorenz, with a squeal of fright, scampered back into the room, hastily pulled off her slip, and flung herself down on the bed, propping herself up on both elbows as curiosity overcame fright as she tried to see what was happening out there in the hall.
Joe Cantwell was blocking the view, for he, hands on hips, was smirking down at the scarlet-faced young librarian. "Okay now, Jeff old buddy," he chuckled nastily, "I don't go in for Peeping Tom stuff, but fair's fair. After all, Mave put on a show for you, so at least I want to see you two get ready for action before you close the door on me. Now that's not asking too much, is it?"
Linda Willoughby uttered a strangled cry, her face again flooding with furious scarlet, and yet she seemed to shrink back against her protector's body, as she stared wordlessly at the stocky brown-haired bank robber.
"No, I don't suppose you're asking too much, Joe," Jeff Maxton drawled. "All right, Linda baby, I guess we have to prove to my partner that you meant what you said back there in the library." With this, he opened the door of Linda's bedroom, and released her, watching her stumble in, drawing in her breath in great feverish gulps, burying her crimson face in her hands, and giving vent to her abject despair with choking, shaking sobs that racked her entire, voluptuous young body.
Slowly he took off his coat, then unbuttoned his shirt and yanked it off and flung both garments onto a chair near the door. Next, peeling off his undershirt, he revealed a vigorous chest, not so hairy as Joe's, and a slim lean waist; but the muscularity of his arms and shoulders and the play of his back muscles indicated that he had at least as much animal vigor as did his partner.
Linda Willoughby sank down on the edge of the bed, her back to the door, still hiding her face from both men. Her shoulders continued to shake as she tried to control her sobs. A frightful despair had taken hold of her, and she could feel her flesh shrinking in abhorrence at what was now inexorably to follow. For the first time in her life, her body wouldn't be hers to command, but would be the plaything of a ruthless male stranger. And yet the savage ferocity of Joe Cantwell's advances in the library, on top of his many salacious references to his lust for her, had already evoked in the sensitive, mature and beautiful virgin a cringing disgust which was akin to passionate loathing. Indeed, had she been confronted with a dire alternative, and had Jeff Maxton not offered her a way out, she would have willingly chosen a firing squad on the moment rather than succumb to the brutal lust of his partner.
"I'm waiting, so let's us have some action, hm?" Joe Cantwell repeated. "Now, maybe I got it all wrong. Maybe she's just shy of you, Jeff old buddy. Seeing as which, I'd just as soon send Mave over here to you and Linda can come into my room and really give."
"Oh, no, oh, my God, never, never, I'd rather die!" Linda Willoughby cried out hysterically, twisting around to regard the stocky man, a desperate anguish twisting her exquisite, sensitive features.
"In that case, Linda honey, since Joe here is a kind of doubting Thomas, the kind of guy who would want to see the spear and put his finger on the wounds in the Lord's side, you better oblige him," Jeff Maxton directed. "Stand up like a good girl, and take off that dress. It's torn, anyway, and besides you won't be needing it."
Now her gaze fixed on him, imploring, tears welling up in her dark-brown eyes. Her lips tried to speak but couldn't, but the sudden surging of her round young breasts depicted even more dramatically than words could have done the atrocious torment of the dilemma in which she now found herself... a dilemma that must be resolved, and in either case to her own supreme chagrin and virginal shame. For her, it was a question of the frying pan into the fire, and it remained only for her to choose the pathway to degradation. For degradation it would be, whether it were by Jeff Maxton or Joe Cantwell. This alone was her choice and gradually, as her lips trembled and her nostrils flared and shrank, she was compelled to realize it to the very nadir of abject and abysmal despair.
"Quit stalling, you uppity cunt, you!" Joe Cantwell, savagely envious of his partner's unexpected success with the hitherto unattainable beauty, lashed her with the venom of his loss. "Let's see you get that dress off and go give Jeff boy here a great big hug and a kiss! If you don't, so help me, I'll know that you're both lying, and you'll come over to my room and give, and Jeff can fuck all night with Mave for all I care!"
With a cry of despondent fear, Linda Willoughby rose to her feet. Biting her lips to the very blood, as the tears ran slowly down her cheeks, as her thick lashes fluttered erratically, she stooped, caught up the hems of the blue cotton dress and slowly began to loft it above the roundness of her beautifully sculptured thighs and the promontories of her lusciously curvaceous young hips. Then she turned halfway, wanting to shield herself from the avid stare of both men, as, with a choking sob, she finished pulling off the dress and letting it fall from nerveless fingers to the floor. Bowing her head, clenching her fists, she stood a long moment, her body shaken by the tremors of her unwilling surrender... and yet it was only the tiniest, the first, of all surrenders that would be required of her this momentous night!
Joe Cantwell whistled in lecherous admiration, his hands thrust deep into his trousers pockets, his penis already manifesting itself by bulging against the tight fly as the result of observing Linda Willoughby's initial capitulation to the forces of degradation. His eyes sparkled with a malicious, lustful anticipation, and he licked his lips from time to time as he enviously devoured her with his gaze. Indeed, he was regretting not having put up more of a fight with his partner to win Linda for himself.
Distraught with the momentous knowledge of her imminent and irrevocable downfall, the lovely darkhaired young woman bowed her head, her hands clasped with a fierce tightness that made her knuckles whiten, and, her eyes closed, tried, ostrichlike, to obliterate Joe Cantwell's disturbing, obscene presence. Jeff Maxton waited, a bland smile on his face, inwardly grateful to his partner for having precipitated a crisis which was about to grant him the fabulous prize of Linda Willoughby's vaunted maidenhead. Under normal circumstances, since he wasn't an exhibitionist like Joe Cantwell, he would have kept these precious moments of her first virginal distress, of her first tentative attempts to disrobe herself, solely for his own carnal pleasure. Yet he shrewdly perceived that if it hadn't been for Joe Cantwell's impatient, overweening lust for the young librarian, he wouldn't this night be about to enjoy, as no man ever had before him, the delicious, savory treat of her sexual favors.
"Well, that's a good start, baby," Joe Cantwell called from the doorway. "Now keep going. You don't expect a man to ball you with all you've still got on, now do you, Linda baby?"
Linda Willoughby raised tear-filled, dilated eyes towards Jeff Maxton. In a dying voice, she stammered, "Oh, please--for G--God's s--sake, don't let him w--watch. Oh, I beg of you, I beseech you-- please--please close the door--I--I can't stand this. Have a little pity on me. Oh, for God's sake have a little pity!"
"Now that's real touching, Linda honey," Joe Cantwell guffawed. "If I was a gentleman, I'd go back and ball little Mave right now and pretend it was you. Only, I still don't think you're really going to turn over that sweet, prissy cunt of yours to my old buddy here. So you better start peeling some more or maybe I'll take you over myself, seeing as how he still hasn't made a single pass at you. Hell, if you were with me now, baby, I'd be tearing your duds off and getting your ready for balling, damned if I wouldn't!"
A shocked gasp was heard as the lovely, agonized young woman recoiled, a hand to her throat, her forehead tinged by the blush of an atrocious maiden shame. Once again she stared piteously at Jeff Max- ton, and her trembling red lips tried to form words of appeal and supplication.
Crisply, he intervened, "Take your slip off, honey. I guess you better try to convince old Joe or we'll be all night getting to it. Go ahead now, that's a good girl."
"Oh, G--God help me, oh, my God!" Linda moaned feverishly. Again turning halfway to symbolize her innate revulsion, she forced her trembling fingers to do her bidding, to shove aside the narrow shoulder straps of the white slip which limned the sculptural treasures of her voluptuous body, let the garment slither down to her ankles and festoon them, and then stepped out of it and stood forlorn and woebegone, her face covered by her hands as once again her shoulders shook from an access of agonized, despondent sobs.
Joe Cantwell sucked in his breath at the vision in front of him, his greedy eyes laving Linda Willoughby. Uncouth though he was, he could all the same dimly sense that, exactly because it was the first time in her life that the virginal young woman had been compelled to disrobe in the presence of a male, she was even more intensely arousing in the intimate undress of white nylon bra and matching nylon-elastic pantygirdle whose narrow tabs hugged the beige nylons which delineated the lovely, nervously flexing contours of her high-set calves and the sweet, generous yet beautifully proportioned columns of her quivering thighs. Through the white sheath of the bra, the faint outlines of her aurolae could be seen and in their centers the crinkly buds of her virgin nipples. And yet the bare glory of her arms and shoulders and chest, of her midriff and sides, of the even more temptingly provocative expanse of satiny thigh between the stockingtop and the hem of the panty-girdle proclaimed the marvelous smooth-sheened delicacy and femininity of her naked flesh... left the beholder almost savagely impatient to see all the rest and particularly those erogenous treasures which until this moment no man had ever seen.
Shattered by the brutal compulsion of having to disrobe for her own maiden sacrifice before these two marauders, Linda Willoughby could no longer suppress the agony of her attenuated nerves. She burst into hysterical tears, hunching over and turning away from them, her lovely body quivering and shaking with this psychic crisis. In so doing, she revealed the delicious hollowway of her nape, that kissable depository which begins the amorous indentation of the spinal column and leads ultimately to the majestic and sensual beauty of the buttocks and the loins, the true citadel of sexual gratification for the male.
Jeff Maxton's fingernails dug into his palms and, in a voice hoarsened by fierce desire, turned on his partner and said, "That ought to satisfy you now, Joe. Why don't you go back to Mave? I'll handle it from now on. And close the door behind you."
"Well, if I have to," Joe Cantwell grudgingly muttered, reluctantly contemplating the virgin librarian and again licking his lips with heated envy. "But all the same, Jeff old buddy, when you're all done, come on across the way and tell me how it all came out. I want to know what sort of a lay little Linda is, get me?"
"Go on, get out. You'll know soon enough. Beat it!" Jeff Maxton moved towards his partner and gave him a good-natured shove.
Joe Cantwell shrugged and winked. "You lucky bastard! You know I thought the bitch was really bluffing. Slip her a couple of good ones for me, would you, old buddy? Well, I guess Mave's going to have to do me for the time being, huh?" And with a raucous burst of laughter, he nudged Jeff Maxton in the ribs and then ambled across the hall where Mavis Lorenz lay waiting naked on the bed.
* * *
He slammed the door shut in his spleen and frustrated envy, and then yanked down the zipper of his fly to bare the lust-incited, angrily reddened shaft of his cock. "Spread those legs of yours, Mave, and get ready, I'm going to fuck you till you faint!" he brutally mouthed.
Then, flinging himself down on the bed, his hands squeezing the blonde waitress' swelling breasts, he crushed his mouth on hers as he dug viciously and ruthlessly against the furry plump nest of her cunt.
"Mmmff--ohh--take it easy, for God's sake, Joe. Please take it easy!" Mavis wrenched her mouth away and panted, her fingernails punishing him as they dug into his shoulders. She winced and squirmed as she felt the brutal perforation of his blood-inflated prick rudely delving between the not- yet-prepared petals of her vaginal entry. Then she groaned, as he dug to his very testicles, impaling her, and then, without a moment's pause, began quickly and fiercely to thrust in and out of her...
* * *
Jeff Maxton stepped to the door again, and turned the key in the lock. "Now he's gone, Linda, so you're doing it for me now," he reminded her.
The young woman shuddered, her hands still clenched into tight, white-knuckled fists, and, without daring to raise her eyes to his, stammered faintly, "Oh, Mr. Marlowe, don't make me do this. I never have--this is so dreadful--so shameful-- please. I--I thought you had some compassion in you--"
"I have a good deal, Linda honey. That's why I didn't turn you over to him just now. Make up your mind to it, you've got to give one way or another. If I don't have you, he's certainly going to before we make our getaway by next Saturday morning, understand me? But is it true, then, that you've never gone to bed with a man before?"
A furious wave of blushes suffused the lovely virgin from her hair roots to her beautifully curved creamy throat, and she bit her lips as she fought for self-control. "How--how can you ask such a thing--can't you see--I'm just dying of shame--oh, this is so awful--I beg of you, have pity on me-- if--if I could love a man, that would be different-- but I've never--oh, please!" Her courage faltered, and the last words ended in a rising sobbing little cry.
Hearing this ultimatum, lovely Linda Willoughby stiffened, crossed her arms over her heaving breasts, and stammered, while again her face flamed, "Oh, G--God--how--how can you want a woman who doesn't--who can't--who never has--oh, this is just terrible--please, Mr. Marlowe, I--I swear I won't tell anybody about what you're doing, I mean, the bank robbery--anything--but, oh, please, don't make me do this--I--I'll hate you the rest of my life--I can't bear it, I know I'll die. Oh, please, have mercy!"
Where Joe Cantwell would have only been inflamed to seize her and strip her naked and fling her down upon the bed and ruthlessly ravage her, the tall black-haired wiry younger man who contemplated her now was of a far different ilk. If anything, her protestations, her knowledge of the terrible crisis which confronted her and from which there was no escape, only served to whet his sexual appetites the more. It was in a way as if all his life had led but to this moment, to face this exquisite, voluptuous young woman in her own bedroom with the door locked behind them, for the purpose of making her cross the barrier from frigid and fearful virginity into fulfilled womanhood. And the knowledge that she dreaded the experience, even though theoretically she understood what it entailed, was a potent kind of aphrodisiac calculated to inflame his erotic senses to supreme pitch.
And so he shook his head and said curtly, "Make up your mind to it, Linda baby. There's no way out. It's either Joe or me, and you've already made your choice. As to whether I could want a woman who doesn't want me, the answer is a very definite yes, because you're the woman. If you want to know something, I've wanted you ever since I walked into the library Friday night and found you there instead of some old prune of an old maid the way I expected. Now then, are you going to take off that bra, or do you want me to help you with it?" He took a step towards her.
"Oh, God, don't come any closer. Oh, please, I-- I'll do it--only--only give me time--I don't know what--I don't know what you want-what I--am supposed to do--please, be merciful--help me--oh, God, if only I could wake up from this frightful dream--oh, God!" she panted hysterically, stepping backwards until the backs of her knees bumped up against the edge of her wide low bed. And that unexpected physical shock made her cry out and glance back, then again touch her hand to her face and bow her head in a new crisis of agonized tears. For the knowledge that she had been forced back up against her own bed, her virgin bed whom no man had shared, led her to the stark realization of what her destiny was now to be.
Jeff Maxton could now already feel his penis swelling and aching with a dull, throbbing longing that was in itself a prodigious tribute to the provocative beauty of Linda Willoughby. Her forlorn and intellectual pleas, far from angering him, fanned the flames of his carnal passion for her tasty body. And now the fortified and confirmed knowledge that she was truly virgin to man made him tremble with an exultant anticipation of enjoying the forbidden treasure which lay between those round, supple, creamy thighs, trembling now with their virginal owner's despair of spirit and shrinking fear of the crass and odious cohesion that was now to be demanded of it by this steely-eyed man who had commandeered her and forced her to be a co-conspirator in this criminal plot against the town.
He moved slowly, meaningfully, towards her, and put his fingers lightly on her bare shoulders. Linda jerked as if an electric current had galvanized her, uttering a stifled gasp, raising her crimsoned tear- stained face to his, and read his intent in the darkening, narrowed orbs of his intently staring eyes. "Oh, no!" she whimpered. "I--I'll do it--oh, please --please don't come--don't come so close--give me --give me time--I've never--oh, please--don't f-- f--force me, I beg of you!"
"The bra, baby," he repeated with a mocking little smile. He stood now straddle-legged, hands on hips, surveying her from about a foot away. Having recoiled to his touch, she had suddenly sat down, and now, leaning back just to put further distance between them, reached back with trembling hands to find the hooks and eyes of the white nylon bra. As she touched them, the disgraceful knowledge of what she was doing was borne in upon her, and a new series of sobs and groans escaped her. With desolate tear-brimming eyes, she stared silently and imploringly up at him, as if at the last moment through some miraculous change of heart, she hoped that he would stay her trembling fingers.
But he didn't. His eyes continued to pierce her like hot gimlets, and his lips were tight and sinister as he waited for her compliance. With a dull groan, closing her eyes, she unfastened the bra and let it drop into her lap and thence flutter to the floor. But then, almost instantly in reaction, she swept her arms across the creamy globes of her bare breasts, but not before his eyes had feasted on the proud, beautifully separated, firm, velvety- smooth turrets. The aureolas had a kind of blend of amber and coral that was devastatingly exquisite as it marked the pure iridescent satin of her bare smooth skin, and the quick glimpse that he had had of her nipples had entranced him: they were firm and well developed, crinkly, almost suggesting how readily they could become tumescent once they had gleaned their first experience of amorous palpitation through knowing fingers or lips or tongue!
"That's very good, Linda. Now get out of that damn panty-girdle. Leave your stockings on, but kick off your shoes--do that right now," he commanded with a stern voice.
"Oh, no!" she breathed, aghast at what this portended to her maiden modesty.
"I'm being very patient with you, Linda baby. If you were over there with Joe, he'd have had it ripped off by now and he'd be in you and breaking through that cherry of yours--because you are a virgin, aren't you, Linda?"
"Oh, God. Of course I am. Oh, please, have you no mercy--how can you do this to a decent girl-- how can you--"
"Decency!" he snorted contemptuously. "In my books, even a tramp like Mavis over there is a hell of a lot more decent than a girl who has such lordly airs and know all the time that she's driving a guy to jack off at night because she won't give him a tumble. There are lots of girls, Linda, who get their only kicks out of playing the teaser with a normal, healthy guy until he can't stand it anymore. You're one of them. You think yours is mink-lined, and I'll bet that even if this were your wedding night and you had the licence and the ring right there to tell you it was legal, you'd still put on this holier-than-thou act! Now stand up and start getting that panty-girdle off, or I will help you after all!" With this, he pretended to reach for her, and once again Linda Willoughby cried out frantically, "Oh, no, for God's sake don't t--touch me--all right I'll do it--oh, this is--oh, God, won't anyone help me--mother, mother, I'm going to die--I know I am--"
"Die? No girl ever died from having her cherry busted, Linda. But I tell you what I'll do, because if you don't start taking it off now, I'll take you over my knee and warm that big bottom of yours until you think you are going to die after all! Would you rather have me do that?"
"Oh, noooo!!" Shame and indignation and terror struggled for supremacy on Linda's scarlet, tear- stained face, and then at last her fingers flutteringly and hesitantly moved to the fasteners of the satin-elastic sheath. Now she began to sob convulsively, her naked breasts jiggling as she leaned for- ward to effect the loosening of the garment's fasteners.
"Stand up and pull it down, let it fall all the way down and step out of it. You've forgotten to unhook the stocking tabs, baby. I guess maybe you haven't done this before for a guy," he maliciously twitted her.
"Ohh, d--dear!" she wailed in a new access of anguished shame. Hastily she unfastened the dainty little supporters which clung to the top of her beige nylons, and then falteringly stood up. Her hands gripped the hems of the snug white sheath and she yanked. The indignity was almost comical, but it made her weep aloud in her despair as she felt it leave the tops of her lusciously rounded hips and begin the fatal descent that would unveil her loins and her maiden nook not only to his eyes, alas, but to his importunate lust and conquest!
She halted the descent of the sheath just as she felt the waistband scrape against her lower abdomen, for she was conscious, agonizedly and shamefully conscious, of its pressure against the thick fleece of her pubic hair. All this while Jeff Maxton stood waiting, legs planted apart, hands on hips, shaming her with his unwavering gaze, his lips compressed and a glint in his eyes ferociously telling her what he intended... and yet not all, even though she knew the biological process by which man mates with woman, she couldn't yet relate it to her own sacrosanct, sheltered and cloistered nakedness.
"Let me help you!" he said suddenly.
"Don't--oh, for God's sake, please don't!" she moaned. With a desperate yank, she made the panty- girdle rasp harshly against the sides of her buttocks and her lower belly, till at last it was free of her loins and moving down midway along her quaking, instinctively clenching stockinged thighs.
At the same moment, she clasped both hands over the thick bush of her pubis, and burst into wild, distraught sobs, unable to go further, overthrown by the enormity and immensity of what she had forced herself to do in the presence of the man who intended to possess her.
Once again Jeff Maxton shuddered with desire. Before she had concealed herself by that instinctive charming if archaic movement, he had seen the surprisingly abundant, thick, extremely dark-brown curls of her pubic mound, so thick as to hide the soft pink cuntal lips of that virginal mouth of love towards which all his manhood now ferociously yearned. The sight alone had made his desire-inflated penis leap forward with a tremendous projectory against the restraining fly of his trousers, and it was bulging now with an obscene declaration that, had she caught sight of it, would have documented her all too graphically on what would befall her.
CHAPTER TEN
Jeff Maxton unbuckled the belt of his trousers, yanked them down and disengaged his feet, then flung them into the corner and stood naked except for jockey shorts, shoes and socks. Already the savage bulge of his bloated penis strained violently against the single shield which separated it from its longed-for haven, sequestered deep into the soft matrix of lovely Linda Willoughby. The young woman, nearly fainting in her shame and anguish, continued to stand, in that ludicrous yet infinitely pathetic pose which suggested Marcel Duchamp's "September Morn," her hands clamped tightly over the thick, verdant bush of her pubis, the panty- girdle clinging from the middle of her thighs down her stockinged calves, and expression of pathos and anguished incredulity on her lovely sensitive oval-shaped face. Her very wide, dark- brown eyes were dilated to extreme, and her lips were parted and trembling. Her throat seemed congested by an invisible force too great to overcome, as she strove desperately to put into plaintive words some last-minute formula that would grant her a so obviously awaited her. "N--n--noooooooooo-- --ohhhh, my God, oh, please don't!" she finally breathed, her voice choked with a flurry of despairing sobs.
"You might as well get that panty-girdle all the way off, Linda baby, it'll only get in the way, you know," he said matter-of-factly. "I could help you, if you like--"
"Oh, no. For God's sake, please don't touch me!" she almost screamed, and stooped to shove the gathered sheath all the way down to her ankles, at last stepping out of it, and then with a groan, turned and flung herself down on the bed on her face to hide the vistas of bosom and loins from his avid gaze.
For a long moment he said nothing, quite content to drink in the memorable, exciting display of femininity which she thus presented to him. Her back was as deeply hollowed as that sweet nape had suggested. He could see the linear sloping of the spinal column moving in a fluid delta down to the pelvic bone at which point the upstandingly rounded cheeks of her behind made mouth-watering termination. The globes were tightly spaced, and now they contracted violently as all her muscles were in revolt in this instinctive hiding-away from her destiny. She had squeezed her thighs together, and yet all the same he could see the shadowy, mysterious groove between the twitching cheeks of her creamy buttocks, follow it till it was lost from view in that elusive mystery which connected the temple of her virgin Venus with the perverse temple of Sodom. The beige nylons, no longer held tightly up without a wrinkle on the long, yet beautifully curved thighs, had begun to sag down past the midway point, allowing him to glimpse even more of the white, palpitating satin which was her naked flesh. And the high-set contours of her beautifully sculptured calves rippled and flexed with uncontrollable tremors as she lay, her hands covering her face, her shoulders shaking from the faintly audible sobs which coursed through her in her misery and abject woe and shame.
He could no longer bear the constraint or the chafing of the jockey shorts. Impatiently he wrenched them off, kicked off his shoes and was naked in socks. His lean, wiry body quivered with the feverish tension that had steadily grown ever since she had agreed back in the library to choose him instead of Joe Cantwell. He glanced down at his manhood, a smile of gloating pride and satisfaction curving his thin lips for an instant. His penis seemed longer than Joe's, the veins were darker and gnarled along the tightly drawn skin of the shaft which thrust from a bush of black hair at the root of the scrotum adamantly out in all its virile glory. The circumcisional groove was shallow but deep, setting off the spear-point of the glans like a living thing, an entity to itself and complete within its own life-power of conquest and pillage and usurpation of the tender virginity that it was to garner. His testicles were heavy, burdened with the pent-up vital juices that her grudging surrender and gradual disrobing had summoned forth to bubbling and bursting point. His organ stood out and upwards, convulsing with waves of passion as his eyes devoured her prostrate, abandoned, yet huddled naked form.
Then he moved to the bed and sat down beside her, ran his hand lingeringly over the cheeks of her bottom. At the first touch, Linda Willoughby uttered a strangled cry, and quickly rolled over onto her side so that her back was still to him. One hand clamped protectively over the core of her virginity, the other arm pressing like a shield over her panting naked breasts, her eyes mad with anguish, tears revuleting her crimsoned cheeks, she stared at the window beyond. "Oh, please--" he had to lean closer to make out her faltered, faint, trembling f words--"turn out the light, for God's sake--oh, I'm so ashamed--please don't hurt me--please!"
"The light stays on. You have a very beautiful body, and I mean to enjoy it in every possible way. Seeing it is part of the fun. Now roll over and let's have a good look at you."
"Oh, I can't--I can't, I just can't--oh, have mercy, don't do it to me, please d--don't do--do it to me, I beg of you--"
"Linda, you're going to be fucked tonight whether you like it or not. And if you keep fending me off this way I might just get tired enough of your little games to turn you over to Joe first to break you in for me. Think about that before you go on doing this childish, silly begging off. In the first place, it's not going to do you any good at all, and if you try it with Joe, you'll probably start off with a good beating until you have to give in and wish you had done so a long time before he started, understand me?" His hand once again caressed the shrinking hillocks of her creamy buttocks, and Linda Willoughby groaned and squirmed restlessly, closing her eyes and trembling fitfully.
"Shall I get Joe in there?" he ruthlessly pursued, pressing his palm demandingly over the narrow, shadowy crease between her clenched buttocks.
"Oh, no, oh, don't, I'd kill myself before I'd let that awful brute have me--oh, don't--have a little pity on me, please, Mr. M--Marlowe--I haven't--I don't know what to do--oh, please, please be kind to me--I want to die of shame--"
"Then roll over onto your back and look at me, Linda!" he commanded, and applied a sly pinch to the base of one of her creamy bottom globes.
With a frantic little squeal, the petrified young librarian scrambled onto her back, and this time pressed both palms over the bush which fleeced her virgin cunt. At the same moment, her tear- .filled eyes made out through their blur the fearsome structure of his lance of lust and her mouth gaped and her eyes bulged in horrified surprise. For the first time in her life Linda Willoughby was face to face with the stark reality which she had tried so long to suppress, and yet which had insisted upon manifesting itself in her dreams and chance through unwanted recollections throughout the past decade... the sight of his lust-crazed penis recalled instantly the series of images which had flashed before her while she watched, stricken with mingled revulsion and fascination, as her mother and father mated. She saw it... the organ which her own father had put between her mother's legs, which he had pressed into her, and then she saw herself now as her mother, having to endure that back-and- forth thrusting of that animal appendage into the innermost part of her. She put a hand to her mouth to hold back the cry of mingled revolt and terror which leaped to her stricken throat.
Jeff Maxton knelt beside her, his eyes drinking in the white symmetry of her palpitating naked body. The nuance of the now-wrinkling beige nylons which were her only veil added an indefinable erotic goad to his already-boiling passion. But, unlike his partner, he could saver the sweet joys of prolongation by leading this sensitive, mature virgin step by gradual infinitesimal step along the road to her own ravagement and degradation. And precisely because the mere thought of congress with him, or with any other man, for that matter, so revolted her, it made his victory the more exultant and delicious.
Now her eyes couldn't help but rest on the thrusting scepter of his phallus, couldn't but observe the swollen dark-blue veins which marked the shaft, couldn't but discern the tightness of the fine skin all along the weapon that was to be used to blade her to the very quick. She began to whimper uncontrollably and another flood of scarlet tinted her tear-stained, contorted face, her creased forehead, her pulsing throat and even the dainty little ears set so close against her head. She had closed her thighs like a vise, but she couldn't suppress the intermittent quivering flexions that ran up and down those lithe yet mouth-watering round columns. And the very tension of her muscles could only serve to bring upon not only her psyche but also her shrinking maiden flesh the sensation of the quaking, palpitating nook framed and almost covered by the dark-brown love curls which her palm now vainly tried to hide from his intense stare as well as from the final consummation of the passion which she could read in his unwavering gaze.
The electric light bulb in the center of the white ceiling blazed down upon this chaste bed. To her right there was the wide window, the shade pulled only halfway down. A chest of drawers, a chair and writing desk near the window, and a little night table beside the bed comprised the furnishings of this room in which Linda Willoughby was to meet her destiny and come to grips with the atrocious dilemma into which the sudden advent of these two stranger-males had plunged her.
As her eyes took in the long, hard, angrily swollen weapon which loomed in front of her, she twisted her face towards the window and closed her eyes, presenting him with a provocative, exciting scene of a naked and young woman whose one hand still remained clamped protectively against the soft white skin, the shuddering tumult which now began to overwhelm all that voluptuous virginal nakedness which was now to be his without reprieve, heedless to her most frantic and agonized appeals.
He could see, too, the emphasized glory of her naked breasts, rising and falling with a violent rhythm as she endured the throes of her revulsion against the very thought of this ignoble, obscene, demeaning and sullying act. If once the images from her girlhood had leaped back into her mind, she was reminded that at least the man that she had seen possessing her mother so vehemently there in front of her naive and startled eyes had been her own father, he who had loved her mother and thus bound her by the ties of flesh with that love. Whereas now there was only a brooding, hysterical and terror-stricken despair, devoid of all love and tenderness, sullying the very concept of hymeneal mating which the union of her parents had at least solemnified--even though that in itself didn't and couldn't make the act any less repugnant to her because of those lingering precepts which her own mother had instilled so ineradicably into her impressionable young mind.
But now his very flesh itched for cohesion with hers, and that was why Jeff Maxton stooped now and put both hands on the high-set, narrowly spaced round globes of her creamy breasts, his thumbs splayed along the inner curves, capturing them like sweet lovebirds fluttering in the net of the hunter. For at the moment that his fingers brushed her bare skin, Linda Willoughby uttered a plaintive, prolonged, "Ohh, noooo, oh, please, oh, for God's sake, don't, don't. I'm begging you, have mercy on me!" And so much forgetting her wish to hide her most intimate parts from his gaze and presence, she seized his wrist with both trembling hands and sought distractedly to wrest them away from the sweet, heaving, satiny stanchions of her naked breasts.
"The answer is no, Linda baby," he said huskily as he agilely moved onto his right side and, still clutching her bare breasts, forcibly turned her onto her left to face him. Even as her fingers frenziedly sought to tear his hands away, he put his mouth to hers and silenced her anguished outcry. Her eyes rolled to the whites, her nostrils flared and shrank, as she tried desperately to twist away, while at the same time tightening the vise of her palpitating thighs to prevent the supreme disaster. For at that moment she had felt the sullying, hot prod of the tip of his achingly turgid cock pressing into the flesh of her right thigh just above the sagging top of the beige nylon stocking.
At last, bursting again into tears, she twisted her face away, tilting back her head to be as far away from his as possible, while her hands still struggled to remove the clutch of his odious fingers on the tumultuously heaving turrets of her naked bosom. "Oh, God--oh, I don't want it--I don't want you--I'd rather die--oh, mother, help, please help me!"
"You mean your mother didn't tell you the facts of life yet, baby?" he sadistically jested as he stared down into her dilated, tear-misted eyes. "Then it's high time I started giving you the education that every little girl should have. It's overdue, if you ask me, Linda baby. Besides, if you keep yelling like that, Joe's going to want to know what's going on and for sure he'll want to come in--now you wouldn't want that, would you?"
Her teeth were chattering as she forced herself to shake her head, but the poignant, agonizedly supplicating look she gave him would have moved even a stone statue to pity. But by now Jeff Maxton had crossed the point of no return of his carefully calculated self-control with this seemingly frigid, man- hating young beauty. The very feel of his tormented prick against the soft quivering flesh of her bare thigh, the taste of her mouth, the smell of her, of her hair and of her breath and of her moistening skin, the feel of her struggling, heaving naked breasts in his hands, had determined him to take full measure of her charms even if she must be forced to every tiny surrender until she had no more to give.
"Then try to cooperate a little, baby," he told her. "I'll hold back long enough to let you get settled and know what it's all about, that much I'll do for you. But as I told you before, make up your mind to it, tonight's your night for getting fucked --yes, thoroughly, royally and completely fucked, Linda honey." He mouthed the salacious word with savory enjoyment, knowing exactly how it must blight her psyche and shock her sensitive mind into a pitiful awareness of her helplessness.
Now his left arm pinioned a round and smooth velvety back just above the waist, his hand clutching her naked side to imprison her. Linda uttered a sobbing groan, her face still twisted away, panting and trembling as the nearness of him was imprinted on her shrinking virgin flesh--for once again his adamant spear had rubbed against her inner thigh, this time perilously near the thickly fleeced plump mound of her love-core. "Oh--oh, my God--please don't--oh, don't--don't do it to me-- please Mr. M--Marlowe!" she whimpered.
Her hands were now supplicant fists pressing against his chest, but Jeff Maxton would have no more gain-saying from his lovely victim. With his right hand, he seized her left and forced her slim fingers to open. "Now, then, Linda, we're going to start your lesson," he rasped. And with this he dragged her hand down till the tips of her trembling fingers brushed over the wildly jerking shaft of his blood-engorged prick. "This is my cock, Linda, my cock which is going into that soft sweet little cunt of yours. Look at it! And that's an order, baby!" his voice imposed his mastery upon her sensate, shuddering mind.
With a cry of abhorrence, Linda Willoughby stared down between their bodies and her lips curled back to bare the small dainty white perfect teeth which still chattered in this wave of revulsion which had overtaken her. And for the first time she beheld a man's rampant cock--but with the essential difference that this time, unlike that traumatic moment in her girlhood, it was directed at her own tender, virginal channel!
She tried to jerk away her hand, but Jeff Max- ton's left arm was a cruel vise that forced her up against him, while his other hand had hold of her fingers now so that she couldn't close them into a fist of refusal. "I told you, feel it, get acquainted with it, baby," he repeated hoarsely. "You've been shying away from it all these years, it's high time you found out what it's like before it goes inside of you. Go ahead, I said, or I'll make you!"
"Oh, please--you're hurting my hand--please--"
"Then touch it, touch it all over, and look at it while you do!" he commanded.
Linda Willoughby writhed and moaned, blinking her eyes to clear them of new tears that threatened to blind her. Her breath came in quick, erratic gasps, and her body flinched, all her muscles in revolt as she tried futilely to move away from him. For now that he had drawn her to him with his left arm, with the fingers of that hand biting into her tender, satiny, perspiring flesh, she couldn't escape the odious friction of his angrily lust-incited penis which continued its meanderings all up and down the soft warm velvety-smooth creamy inside of her thigh.
"No--no, I don't want to--oh, don't make me, oh, God, if you--if you have to--do it to me, do it quickly and end it, but don't make me watch--or help!" her voice was a tragic, shuddering whisper now, and she gazed at him with all the supplication of her agonized eyes, seeking at the last moment some kind of pardon from this heinous brutality about to be visited upon the tenderest, most mysterious part of her femininity.
"Would you rather that I take you over next door to Joe, baby?" he demanded, glaring at her, his lips curled and cruel.
Feebly she shook her head, fighting the torrent of sobs that threatened to burst out, her body quaking with the feel of man, aware now as never before of the lewd, obscene, bloated lance that lay along the shapely curve of her bare thigh above the rucked-down stocking-top.
"Then do what I tell you to do, because the next time you try to beg off or twist away, Linda, so help me, over to Joe you go and that's a promise!" he rendered his lustful ultimatum. "Touch it, I said, all over, and don't jerk your hand away as if you burned it on a hot stove! That's right--take hold of the tip at first--that's the part that goes into you first!"
Her eyes tightly screwed shut, her nostrils flaring and shrinking convulsively, almost at the point of hysteria in the face of these mounting and conflicting emotions which engulfed her, the naked never-before-touched young librarian forced herself to obey. Yet her other hand clawed at the sheets restlessly, scrabbling at them in a way that dramatically told all the horrified shock and loathing and despair which flooded her virginal body and mind at this dramatic moment of her maidenhead's disastrous defeat. Still keeping her eyes shut so that she might not have to see what she was being forced to do against her will, she allowed the trembling fingers of her right hand to touch the soft delicate flesh of his virilely heated prick, brushing over the puckering lips from which his vital juices would soon spurt deep into her never-penetrated womb. She began to whimper a little, shivering and trembling as from a paroxysm, as his thumb and forefinger pinched her wrist to compel obedience. "Down now a little ways. And didn't I tell you to look? Open your eyes now, Linda, see what you're doing! Remember what I told you about taking you over to Joe if you do any more acting up!" he exhorted her.
Dying of shame, her face crimson down to the throat and to the ears, Linda Willoughby compelled herself to open her eyes. Her lips parted, a look of consternation, dismay and loathing inscribed on her exquisite cameolike features as she saw her own fingers touch the bulging structure of the shaft below the pointed head that so menacingly pressed against the cringing white skin of her thigh. "Yes, Linda," he mouthed with sensual relish, "so now you're actually playing with a man's cock or prick. Call it whatever you like, but that's what it is."
"Ooohhh--oh, G--God--do you have to--must you s--shame me this awful way?" she moaned feebly, trying again to draw back her hand. But Jeff Max- ton's fingers punished her wrist as he hissed, "Not yet, baby! Just keep doing what I tell you to, or I'll call Joe back in here and watch while he gives it to you in my place. I mean it, Linda!"
Again she blinked her eyes rapidly to clear them of the tears that wouldn't stop. The woebegone anguish of her gaze at him was exquisitely exciting, intensifying his ferocious lust to possess her. There would be no turning back now, and yet for all his excitement, he proposed to lead her down the pathway to an ultimate and complete degradation in which she would be made to participate so that she couldn't escape the knowledge that she had aided and abetted her own virginal doom.
"Now feel my balls, go ahead, feel them, Linda honey!" he pursued relentlessly, and when the naked degraded captive hesitated with a little whimpering sigh, Jeff Maxton forced her hand down between their bodies till at last her fingertips brushed over the gnarled, hairy sacks of his sperm-laden testicles. "That's where all the love juice is kept in a man, baby," he confided, muttering into her ear, then flicking out his tongue and delving the tip against the dainty little hole.
Linda squealed and writhed, trying to move away from him, but his left arm crooked more tightly about her waist and forced her up against him, while his prick rasped against the shuddering cord that stood out along the edge of the inner column of her thigh, connecting with the tender, sensitive groin.
"Don't pull away like that, or over you go to Joe!" he warned hoarsely. "And now that you know what I'm made of, let's find out about you, Linda honey." With this, he forced her onto her back, and with a quick movement, sprang to his knees between her straddled thighs, having forced his way between them before she could close the gates to her now- all-too-vulnerable maidenhead. "What do you call this hairy little hole of yours, honey ? Come on now, I want to know your own name for it, your pet name!"
His left hand had gripped her right wrist and pinned it down against the bed, and with his right forefinger he was playfully tickling the plump fig of her cuntal slit. It was indeed like a fig, soft and pulpy, framed and thicketed by the dark-brown grossy curls so abundantly growing which began at her lower abdomen and flourished with surprising hirsuteness over the love-temple of her Venus. The outer lips were pink, a soft bewitching coral; and then one saw the inner petals, secretive and tightened, a true gateway to paradise, hiding the way down her vaginal canal to the very nether- most depths of her womanhood. As his finger probed rapaciously, he stared greedily at the soft pearl of her clitoris, nestling at the top of the orifice .
As for Linda Willoughby, her face twisted far to one side, her free hand desperately trying to fend away his finger, she was once again flooded with wave upon wave of crimson blushes which betold her agony and shame: "Oh, don't--oh, my God--do it and finish it, I can't stand this any longer. Oh, have pity on me, Mr. Marlowe, oh, have pity, it's inhuman of you to torture me like this, to shame a decent girl so!"
"I asked you a question and I want an answer, baby. What do you call this plump little nest of yours?" Rudely, he prodded the outer lips with the tip of his forefinger and then flattened the button, the exquisite nodule, of her virgin clitoris.
An electric shock, unexpected, flowed through Linda Willoughby. With a cry, she raised first one knee and then the other, and then tried to clench them together, but he swiftly knelt between her and blocked this instinctive defense. Her eyes opened, staring imploringly at him, and then tears trickled down her crimsoned cheeks as, twisting her face to the other side, she panted, "My sp--spot--oh, my God, now won't you please get it over with, I wish I were dead, oh, do it and finish with it. I can't stand this any longer, I tell you!"
He chuckled thickly. "No girl ever died from being fucked, baby. But I'm going to be a gentleman and oblige you--at least by starting out. You'll learn as we go along--every girl does the first time." And before she could divine his intent, he had moved backward on his knees slightly, then seized the backs of her knees with his hands and steered them rudely and swiftly back up against her panting resilient breasts, flattening the sweet ripe narrowly spaced globes in a pose that uparched the lascivious and ambery-rosy groove between her creamy ass- cheeks and at the same yawned wide the soft pink vaginal lips of her love-slit!
"Oooohhhh--let me go--what are you doing--oh, this is dreadful--oh, this is shameful--stop it--oh, no--ahhh--oh, God--what are you doing to me?" she wailed, lifting her head and stretching out her trembling hands as if to break off his hold and thus right herself away from this abandoned posture to which he had enforced her voluptuous naked body.
But already, his fingers digging into the soft hollows which only the stockings kept veiled of all her loveliness, Jeff Maxton had bowed his head and, thrusting out his tongue, had begun to lap at the soft hair-fringed lips of her quim. "I'm getting your spot ready to be fucked by my prick, baby," he lifted his congested face to utter, glorying in the mouthing of such exquisite salacious words which acted like an emotional and psychic whiplash to the tender sensitivities of this naked mature virgin. "I'm going to oil you up a little so that sweet tight cunt of yours will be all ready to take my cock. It's usually tight the first time when a girl hasn't fucked before, Linda baby. Now shut up and watch what I'm doing and maybe you'll start to feel something for a change!"
With this, he began to lave his tongue all over the outer lips, not forgetting the clitoris in its hiding place of sweet soft sensitive pussyflesh. Linda, her eyes rolling almost to the whites, began to utter shrill cry upon cry and to claw at the sheets with her scrabbling fingers, then clenched them to make fists and to strike out uselessly at him. She tried to twist and to swivel her bare hips to wriggle away from him, but it was manifestly impossible. As he continued to press her knees back up against her flattening bare breasts, her strenuous efforts to get loose only emphasized the lewd offering of her bottom, the anal cleft and the vaginal orifice against which his tongue so voraciously licked. Her stockinged feet waved in the air above his head, and the muscles of her calves and thighs raced and flexed and jerked convulsively as now, beginning to feel the tantalizing friction of his lingual caresses Linda Willoughby was shaken by spasm upon spasm of sensations that she had never known before.
When at last he lifted his face from the yawning maw of her soft moistening pussy, he could see that the pearl of her clit had become somewhat rigid, lifting up from its hiding place. He could see that the wet inner cuntal lips were twitching and palpitating with a life all their own, engendered by the slithering of his tongue, by this surprising foreplay which never in the world had virginal, aloof Linda Willoughby expected and certainly not from the ravisher whose brutality she had almost anticipated and prayed against!
Then, again startling her with his unpredictable tactics, Jeff Maxton, still gripping the backs of her knees with his sinewy fingers, moved closer and laid the blood-engorged head of his distended cock right into the soft pink lips of her moistened and glistening cunthole. Linda Willoughby stared convulsively, and she tried to put a hand over the threatened inlet, but it was too late. He had already engaged the outer lips with the tip of his virilely heated prick, and now, continuing to move forward while he tightened his grip on her lovely legs, he pressed the lust-crazed shaft into the tight inner channel.
Linda Willoughby's stockinged feet began to kick in the air, and her hips to arch and wriggle as she tried to disengage herself from this fatal harpooning.
Jeff Maxton trembled with the agitated ecstasy of knowing himself to be the first at the very portals of this naked virgin's secret love-temple. The shadowy depths were exquisitely tight, presaging an even tighter channeling when at last he should reach past the hymen to invade the sacrosanct confines of her tender cunt. And the way she squirmed and twisted only added to the fires of his rut, while at the same time testing his self-control to the very utmost. Her moans and whimpers increased, as now her hands sought to grip his and wrench them away from her knees so that she could twist herself free of his probing spear. Now, with a tiny thrust forward, he felt himself at last up against her maiden seal! And now it was the moment for her conquest.
Linda winced at the first stab of pain which announced the cohesion of a man in her sacred parts. Her eyes bulged, for she hadn't dreamed that it would be this way. The crude, crass merger of their bodies, remembered from her girlhood when she had seen her parents copulating filled her with revulsion; but now the first twinge of maiden- loss pain heralded an experience that was even beyond her own conjecture. "Oh, don't--it hurts. Please, t--take it out!" she panted.
"It's too late, Linda, this is it, get that sweet tight cunt of yours ready and kiss your cherry good-bye now!" he panted, Then, forcing her knees back until they mashed her heaving naked breasts, tilting up her pelvic basin for total access, Jeff Maxton drove forward, rending the thin but resistant membrane of her hymen. Linda's face contorted, her eyes glassy and wide with recognition of the fierce hot pangs which stabbed her tender virgin cunt for the very first time, but now it was too late. He felt the membrane give way, felt his thick hard long shaft prove without obstacle now until it was hilted, till their pubic hairs merged in the ultimate cohesion of total fucking.
Her toes wriggled and squirmed in the stockings, her calf muscles writhed and flexed, and she tried to kick and twist, while at the same time she struck at him with her fists, half-sobbing, half-groaning under this exorbitant despair and pain. For it was the pain that told her that now the irrevocable had happened, that she was no longer a pure virgin, but the victim and the pawn of a rapist. "Oh, it hurts so--you dirty pig--take it out of me, you're hurting me, don't you understand? I don't want it anymore--that's enough--you've done enough--now stop, for God's dear sake stop it!"
But Jeff Maxton was beyond words now. She couldn't reach him with her hands, and doubled in two as she was, the sweet tightness of her narrow cuntal channel furnished an even greater frictional joy than he had conjectured when he had first seen her behind that desk at the library. Waiting a long moment while he thrilled to the convulsive clasp of her cunt walls, he drew back slowly, only to force himself back to the very hilt again. The maneuver was not without some sensation that wasn't entirely painful for Linda Willoughby; after the momentary heat and shock of rending, the tight packing of his hard hot cock into her narrow love canal and its subsequent frictioning of her nether depths never before plumbed had brought about a titillation of her most subtle feminine nerves.
Now his hands moved to grip her shoulders, as he leaned forward over her, devouring her tear-stained contorted face as an erotic, visual stimulus. Even more exciting were the spasmodic twitchings of her cuntwalls against his impaling monster. "Now you know what it's like to be fucked, baby," he panted. "Now you've got my prick in that sweet tight hot pussy of yours, and I'm going to give it to you until I shoot my wad. Get yourself ready, because you're going to get screwed good and proper to make the first one really count!"
So saying, he leaned forward over her, his chest mashing down her struggling naked breasts, his mouth silencing her outcry, and his hands moving under to take possession of the squirming, palpitating satiny hillocks of her naked bottomcheeks. Digging to the very hilt, he lingered gloriously, savoring the fluttering enclaspment of her vaginal walls, and the sweet moisture which was both the lubricatory fluids of her woman-essence and of the brief hymeneal blood eased his frictional passage as he now began to thrust vigorously but with calculated timing to and fro, each time to the hilt and back, withdrawing almost to the very brink of her quaking, pillaged orifice.
Her legs flung out, splayed hugely, her heels rubbing against the rumpled sheets, her toes curling and twisting in the beige nylon hose. Her fingers now tore at the sheets as her face tried to twist away from under his kiss. But he maintained it, and now as her lips parted to utter a plaintive cry of appeal, his tongue delved deeply. Rising and falling over her, he felt himself master of her, felt the tight hold which her vaginal took even against its own sweet will of his turgid cock.
For Linda Willoughby, the excruciating pain had been modified by a singularly different series of sensations. Foremost, woe and grief that now her virtue and purity were gone forever. But as his thrusting, resolutely and seemingly interminably, continued, she began to feel the prurient itching and titillation of those sensitive tissues which until this moment had never known such goading, such rasping, such attunement.
Her stricken eyes reflected this discovery of herself. Her face flamed crimson at the knowledge that her own body had begun unwittingly to betray her.
And now, as he quickened his tempo, delving deep, making her body shake and quake beneath his, he felt himself at the pitch of passion. With a cry, crushing his mouth on hers, he deluged her womb with his bubbling jet.
He felt her body leap under his, as if in response, for all her loathing and revulsion. And he knew triumph as no man had ever known before with beautiful, virtuous, prudish Linda Willoughby as he sprawled over her, cradling his face on one of her wildly heaving naked breasts.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
After Jeff Maxton had finished with her and gone back to his room after mockingly bidding her to get a good night's sleep so that she could be on time for work at the library on Monday, Linda Willoughby abandoned herself to a fit of tears and agonized soul-searching. Somewhat to her surprise, after Jeff Maxton had burst his torrential lust-lava into her deflowered love-chasm, he had shown himself to be strangely solicitous for her welfare. Withdrawing himself, with his organ still astonishingly turgid despite the bounty to Venus which it had just paid by way of tribute to her tight, warm, conquered cuntal channel, he had jestingly muttered, "Now then, Linda baby, you'd better go to the john and wash yourself out good because I wouldn't want you coming down with a little bastard after I've left town."
She had stumbled to the bathroom, sobbing, her face furious with the blushes of her indelible shame, one that she knew could never be eradicated.
But of course, since this atrocious dilemma had never before come up in her young life, she had been utterly without any means of hygienic aids; she had been obliged to use a rubber spray-hose fitted to the bathtub faucet and then, squatting in the tub, heedless of the fact that her wrinkled beige nylons still clung about her shapely calves, had turned on the water full force and directed it against her ravaged love-orifice. Never before had she felt so used and sullied, so abysmally degraded and contaminated. Almost against her will, with a grimace of repugnance on her lovely tear-stained face, she had peered down at herself. The vulva lips were reddened and chafed, and the stinging spray of cold water made her gasp and squirm in a way that would assuredly have incited Jeff's coarse partner to drag her back to that same bed of hers which she had just now quitted and ruthlessly enjoy the glories of her naked charms.
And yet even she was surprised at her own commonplace reactions; after the improvised douche, she showered, put on her pajamas, methodically set the alarm for seven-thirty--her usual waking time to get to work and open the library a little before nine--and then lay down in the bed, the very bed in which she had been defiled. For a long moment, her mind lingered on what had taken place, and the extreme sensitivity between her thighs made her weep in remembrance of the loss of her maiden virtue. But then her healthy young body claimed its own, and soon she fell asleep, to be wakened by the alarm with a start after dreamless slumber.
Once again she showered, rubbing energetically with soap, and inevitably she was reminded of Lady Macbeth who had sought ineffectually to wipe out the stains of blood of her murders to aid her ambitious husband. In the bathroom, naked, she stared lingeringly at herself. And yet she was no different, except that the lips of her sexual orifice were still visibly reddened and chafed. Her furious blush indicated her awareness of what this meant, and then it was that she remembered in detail the way Jeff Maxton had taken possession of her and, forcing her to undress first for the self-sacrifice of her naked creamy body, exercised his male rights over her shrinking flesh.
She dressed in a yellow cotton print which magnificently became her, setting off the luster of her dark-brown hair and the whiteness of her finely grained skin. She threw away the wrinkled beige nylons, and put on a pair of flesh-tinted, very sheer stockings, hooking the tabs of the panty-girdle to them with another vivid blush and gasp as she recalled how Jeff Maxton had ordered her to unfasten her stockings so as to take off the final sheath which had hidden her loins from his devouring gaze and his profaning pillaging of the soft twitching sensitive cleft which that sheath had safeguarded.
She found her door locked, and knocked, a little alarmed, but almost instantly it was opened and Jeff Maxton stood there grinning at her. "Good morning, Linda baby. Did you sleep well?" he asked, his eyes crinkling with amusement.
Linda Willoughby turned crimson to her hair roots. A thousand things rushed into her throat to say, invectives, threats, imprecations. But she could formulate none of them, and at last managed to stammer, "I--I want to get breakfast for mother and myself and then get to work, if you don't mind."
"Of course not, honey. I'll even help you take a tray to your mother. She's fine, you don't have to worry about her. I knocked at the door and went in just a minute or so ago, and she's dressed and she wants her breakfast, too. I told her you were just fine."
"Oh, God--you--you didn't--" He shook his head and chuckled. "If you're wondering if I told her about the fun we had last night, no, I didn't. I'm leaving that for you, baby. You can tell her that you learned a lot more than she ever taught you. By the way, we'll work again tonight--every night this week, of course. So we'll be around a few minutes after nine. Get everybody out, lock the library, and then I'll knock three times quick and once after a pause, and you'll let us in. Got it?"
She nodded, and he stepped aside to make way for her. His eyes followed the shapely undulations of her buttocks, for the skirt was tight and clinging to her lovely rounded hips and thighs. His eyes narrowed and he speculated that it would be a long time until Saturday morning when they would leave Gorley forever with their haul...
Linda Willoughby found it necessary to tell her staff this Monday morning that she was doing a paper for the next librarians' convention in Chicago, to be held in July, and hence would be working nights all through that week. She hastily added that she wouldn't need any volunteers, no more than on those nights when the library would normally close at six, much to the relief of her young assistants. So at six that evening, the young librarian closed the library and bade the other girls goodnight, and then walked back to the house on Cypress Street. Half a dozen times she had been tempted to pick up the phone in the library and call the sheriff's office.
But she had had to weigh each time against that understandable impulse, the knowledge that her mother was still being guarded by the two men and that cheap blonde creature.
Linda Willoughby had been cheerful that morning when she had gone in with breakfast, escorted by Jeff Maxton himself. Her mother had wanted to know if she was all right, had sobbingly begged her to do everything those awful men wanted so that she wouldn't be hurt, and had plaintively remarked, "My poor little girl, it's just dreadful that we have to go through something like this. Do whatever they want, Linda, so they'll get out of here and we can be at peace again, please promise me you will!"
Joe Cantwell, lounging in the doorway and taking it all in, had chuckled lecherously, but Jeff Maxton had turned and given him a withering look and put a finger to his lips. Meanwhile, poor Linda had felt as if she wanted to sink through the very floor, and of course her mother's plea to her to obey them in all ways had already been carried out... in a way that even her mother hadn't conjectured. Indeed, Linda had wondered with a certain irony and blushing shame exactly what her mother would have done if she had blurted out that already she had obeyed that urgent request and given her virginity to Jeff Maxton!
During the late afternoon, Mavis Lorenz had driven the secondhand Dodge and parked near the library, sitting there as a kind of lookout to make certain that Linda Willoughby didn't yield to the temptation of calling in the law. She had nothing unfavorable to report when, seeing the lovely young woman emerge from the library door, she turned the key in the ignition and drove back to the house.
Jeff Maxton way lying on the living-room couch, his head pillowed in his arms, smoking a cigarette and contemplating the ceiling as he thought about what would be done after they had gotten the money out of the bank vault and left Gorley far behind them. He was thinking that it might not be a bad idea to take Linda with him. She would be an invaluable hostage in case they encountered any trouble with the authorities once they got out of town, and besides he knew that he wouldn't be satisfied with just one piece of her delicious tail. The mere thought of her slowly and tearfully undressing while he watched the night before, the remembrance of what it had been like to push her knees back up against her panting round bare breasts and survey the exquisite lubricity of her gaping pink love- canal and the secretive, puckering and contracting ambery-rosy fissure of her anus, sufficed to give him a violent erection. And so when he heard Linda's key turn in the lock, he sprang to his feet, his face reddening, and glanced down at himself to see that the erection still prevailed and that Linda couldn't help seeing it as she entered her own house.
She came in, gulped and stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of him. Then, almost unconsciously, her gaze shifted downwards and she beheld the projection of his stiff phallus prodding out against the fly of his trousers. "Ohh--I--I--" her voice trailed off.
"Come on in, honey. How was your day at the library? I hope you've got something good on the menu for supper tonight, I'm starved. And I guess your mother will want to eat hearty after being locked up in her room all day long."
"I--I'll get supper right away. I--I have some hamburger in the refrigerator, and I'll bake some potatoes and make a salad. There's some cake left over from what I bought at the store Saturday, and some ice cream, too," she stammered, averting her eyes from his and hating herself for knowing that she was furiously blushing. Tall and lean and wiry, his face hard and angular, she couldn't bear to look at him because it reminded her only too well of what liberties he had taken with her shrinking flesh the night before.
"Sounds great! I'll help you," he volunteered.
"Oh, no--I--I can manage by myself, th--thank you, Mr. Marlowe," she quickly exclaimed, her blushes deepening.
"Suit yourself, baby. We've got lots of time. You can go back to the library around eight, kill some time there, and then get everybody out--"
"There--there won't be anybody else. As a rule, we don't stay open Monday nights. I told the girls I was going to do some work for some research for the library convention in July. There won't be anybody there tonight," she faltered.
"Great! That's using your head, baby. All right, lots of time to kill. You can go there a little before nine, get yourself settled down and then let us in. That way there won't be any attention attracted in case anybody sees you walking in with the two of us. I'm glad you're taking it this way, Linda," he moved towards her, with a patronizing grin on his rugged virile face...
At about ten minutes of nine, Linda Willoughby walked across the street from the parked Dodge, nervously glancing around, and hurried up the steps to the door of the library. Opening her purse, she took out the keys and unlocked the door, and then went inside and turned on the main light directly to her left on a panel wall switch. Meanwhile, Jeff and Joe waited in the car, smoking cigarettes. Joe Cantwell was still in an envious mood. "Hey, old buddy, how did you and little Linda make out last night? I got so damn busy with that hot-pussied little blonde that I didn't have much time to think about the two of you together. So you finally made her give? How was it?" he gave his partner a lascivious wink.
"She was great, if you have to know. You just stick with Mave, I'm taking Linda over while we're here, Joe boy," Jeff Maxton growled.
"All right, all right, don't get so goddamn huffy! I was just asking." The stocky bank robber leaned forward from the back seat, licking his lips with a greedy leer: "But just between us guys, old buddy, how did it feel to get a prick inside that cherry of hers? Good and tight and hot, I'll bet, huh?"
"All of that and more. And that's enough talk about Linda. She picked me, not you, but if she'd picked you, I wouldn't be asking how it was."
"I know," Joe Cantwell sneered. "You always did think you were better than I am, 'cause you got a college education and all that sort of crap. Hell, if I'd banged Linda, she wouldn't be able to come to work today, her twat would be so damn sore from all the poking I'd have given her! Hey, look--somebody's going up to the library--some guy--now what the fuck is all that about?"
* * *
Ben Williams had worked late at the equipment store going over the accounts that were past due, making up his itinerary for the next day. He had had a lonely supper in the only restaurant in Gorley, and then decided to take a walk to be alone with his thoughts. He had been thinking a lot about Linda Willoughby. He was still burning over her refusal to date him. Hell, he was the most eligible bachelor in town, and Linda didn't seem to have any other guy on the string, so what was wrong with him? But what he hadn't to see was a light in the main library window so late that Monday night, and it was with high hopes that he quickened his footsteps, then fairly ran up the steps to try the knob of the door. Linda hadn't yet unlocked the door from the inside, so he used his fists, calling out, "Linda--Linda Willoughby, are you in there?"
"The sonofabitch is going to ruin everything-- what if the bitch tips him off about us?" Joe Cantwell snarled. "I wish to hell I hadn't given Mave the automatic--"
"Can it! You certainly wouldn't shoot him down and leave him there on the street for all the neighbors to see, you dope!" Jeff Maxton scornfully interrupted. "Linda knows what'll happen to her mother if she blabs. Maybe it's a guy who just wants to borrow a book. She'll get rid of him."
"She sure as hell better," Joe Cantwell grumbled, leaning towards the window and staring at the library across the street.
Linda Willoughby had been startled by the noise outside, had hurried to the door and hesitantly opened it just a crack. "Who--who is it?" she quavered.
"It's Ben--Ben Williams! Can I talk to you, please, Linda--I mean, Miss Willoughby?"
"N--no, Mr. Williams. Honestly, I'm very busy. I--I came here to do some private work on a paper I have to give at a convention this summer. I really don't have time--"
"All I want to do is get you to have supper with me some night. Now that's not too much to ask!
I'm a decent guy, I've got a good job and I earn a good living, I don't go out with any other girl, so why shouldn't I ask you for a date?" he defiantly protested.
Linda Willoughby was in a quandary in which terror and shame were intermingled. She knew that the two robbers across the street were in the car watching every move, but she didn't dare tell Ben Williams about them, or they would hurt her mother. All she could think of was getting rid of him, and yet, in the midst of this anguish of soul, she suddenly thought of something, so fantastic and improbable that perhaps Ben Williams would take his cue from what was left unsaid. So, in a low voice, she murmured, "Well, I'll be busy till very late Friday night, Ben. I mean, Mr. Williams. If-- if you want to come after midnight, I'll be working here, but you ought not come by yourself. It's too dangerous being alone at night. Now, please, I really have a lot of work to do. Friday, if you still want to date me. Do you understand?"
"After midnight?" he echoed. "I don't get it--but hell, Linda--I mean Miss Willoughby, if that's the way you want it, I'll be here with bells on! Well, goodnight!"
Briefly he sauntered off down the street, whistling a happy tune, while the two bank robbers bale- fully watched him till his figure was lost in the darkness.
"Well, I guess she got rid of him. Let's go. We've got work to do," Jeff Maxton said tersely...
* * *
While Jeff Maxton locked the door to Linda Willoughby's private office, Joe Cantwell began to take his tools out of the suitcases. This done, he moved over to the young woman and suddenly, without warning, slapped her viciously across the cheek. "Who the fuck was that you were talking to, you tricky bitch?" he glowered.
"What's got into you, Joe? Try that again, and I'll break your jaw for you," the tall, black-haired bank robber snarled as he moved forward in defense of the frightened young librarian. Linda, rubbing her flaming cheek, her eyes filling with tears, backed against the wall beside her desk and stammered, "It--it was someone who works in town and comes here all the time--he--he thought the library was open tonight--I told him it wasn't, honestly, that's the truth!"
"It just better be, bitch, or I might just have Mave fill you full of lead, yeah, and your mama, too!" Joe Cantwell threatened. "Well, I'd better get to work. Only don't forget, Jeff old buddy, you're the one who's trusting little Linda here, and it'll be your ass more than mine if she's turned us over to the cops."
"I swear I didn't! It's--it's somebody who wanted to date me before--before you came to town," Linda Willoughby stammered, taking the plunge by telling the truth in the hope that it would convince her captors of her sincerity.
"Yeah? That's a hot one," Joe Cantwell sneered as he adjusted the electric hammer, plugged in the power line into the wall socket, and adjusted the end of the implement against the brick that showed well within the already-pierced library wall. The blanket had been taken down to bare a wide circular opening, more than large enough for both men to crawl through if need be. "I thought you didn't have any dates with guys, baby."
"I--I didn't--I--I still won't--but--but I had to get rid of him, didn't I?" Linda quavered, flashing Jeff Maxton an appealing look.
He grinned consolingly. "Sure you did, baby. She knows better than to try any tricks with her mother back in the house and Mave with a gun, Joe. Now let's get to work. Think we'll make the timing we're planning on?"
"Sure. By tomorrow night I ought to start on the bank wall, and I'll probably hit the plate after an inch or two of brick, the way I figure it," the stocky bank robber explained. "After that, it's just a question of clearing all this junk and making the hole big enough on the other end so we can get in there late Friday night. Then I'll have the acetylene torch to take care of the vault, which ought not be over an hour, and away we go! Well, here goes."
* * *
"Think your mother will still be up, Linda?" Jeff Maxton took the young woman's elbow as he escorted her up the stairway.
"Oh, no, Mr. M--Marlowe, she'll have gone to sleep now for sure. It's past midnight. Is--is it all right if I go to bed?"
Joe Cantwell, who had gone ahead of them, turned back on the landing to grin down at them both. "Sure it's all right to go to bed, bitch. Only how'd you like to change your luck this time and try me out tonight?"
"Can it, Joe! I told you she was my girl and she still is. Linda's going to bed, all right, but with me --aren't you, baby?" he halted her a step before they had reached the landing, squeezing her elbow and staring intently into her widened, frightened eyes. "Aren't you, Linda?"
She bit her lip and her face turned red. She saw Joe Cantwell's eyes narrow and a suspicious look creep on his surly face. Hastily, she faltered, "Oh-- y--yes, yes I am."
"You see, Joe? Go on, you've got a big enough job on your hands taking care of Mave. She can't ever get enough. Now Linda here, she's just being broken in and getting to the point where she wants to know what it's all about. I'm going to continue her lessons tonight. See you for breakfast." With this, Jeff Maxton steered the trembling young woman towards the door of her bedroom and nodded to her to open it and go on inside.
Joe Cantwell shrugged. "Well, maybe before we go, you'll let me have just one crack at that sweet twat of Linda's, huh, old buddy? For old times' sake, you might say."
"We'll talk about it when Friday comes. And you've got the heist out of the vault to think about more than pussy, so go take care of Mave and haul your ashes right now," Jeff Maxton concluded. Then, following Linda Willoughby into her room, he closed and locked the door behind him and stood with his back to it, smiling at her while she stood fearfully watching him, her eyes big and imploring.
"Please--please, Mr. Marlowe--it--it was good of you to keep him from bothering me--but please --I--I really would rather go to bed and sleep tonight--please--you've had what you wanted-- won't you let me alone now during the time you have to be here?" she suddenly pleaded.
He shook his head and calmly lit a cigarette. "It won't work, baby. And don't give me the old yarn about wanting to protect your virtue, because you're not a virgin, anymore. I popped your cherry last night, and by now your sweet little pussy ought to be ready for some serious fucking. Now I'll tell you what you do, Linda honey. Just pretend I'm not here, and go on undressing and do what you would when you go to bed by yourself. Pajamas, nightie, or in the raw, whatever you usually do, get me? I'll just smoke a cigarette and rest up a little and get ready for you."
"Oh, no--oh, please--but--but--"
"You're not going to talk your way out of it, Linda. It'll be better this time, you'll see. Now that your cherry isn't in the way, my cock can slip nice and snug into that soft little hole of yours and tickle you deep down in that tender little cunt and give you some fun. Go ahead, get undressed, I won't wait too long," he ordered.
Linda's lips began to tremble, her face turning a fiery red. "Please--oh, Mr. Marlowe, won't you have a little pity on me? You--you had what you wanted--isn't that enough?"
"Apparently you didn't hear me very well, Linda honey. You're behaving just like a naughty little girl, and naughty little girls get a spanking. Maybe that's exactly what you need to teach you how to mind," he mocked the sensitive young woman. Then, striding briskly over to her, he seized her by the waist, dragged her over to the edge of the bed even while she struggled and cried out, aghast at what he had threatened, and flung her down over his lap. With his left hand gripping the scruff of her creamy neck, he raised his right hand and applied several vigorous swats on the upstandingly rounded, plump, firm cheeks of her voluptuous behind, snugly sheathed by the yellow cotton print dress, the thin slip and the tight panty-girdle beneath.
Linda's legs waved frantically in the air as she desperately tried to disengage herself from this disgraceful, juvenile, humiliating posture. Never had she been so mortified; it seemed to her that this childish spanking was actually more demeaning than his conquest of her virginity had been the night before.
"Oh, stop--you've no right to treat me this way --ouch--that hurts--you horrible brute--I hate you --oh, stop it, you're hurting me--please--Mr. Marlowe, for God's sake, let me up--oh, this is shameful, despicable of you--owwwohh--please, I beg of you--ohh, ahhhh, stop it, stop it, you're hurting me dreadfully!" she wailed.
He had continued with vehement openhanded blows of his right palm, alternating them on the jouncy hillocks of her bounding, wriggling posterior. The resilient, elastic spring of her young healthy flesh against his palm excited him, and even as she struggled uselessly over his lap, she could suddenly feel the rigid structure of his penis rising angrily against the fly of his trousers and prodding her belly and loins in her agitated squirmings to get free.
Finally she flung both hands over her bottom to protect it, dissolved in tears, turning her scarlet face back to him in piteous appeal. "Oh, stop it, stop it, it hurts, you're a horrible brute, I hate you, I despise you, stop it!"
"That's hardly the way to talk to the man who gave you your first good fucking, Linda honey," he jested. Expertly, releasing her neck, he gripped both her wrists with his left hand and swung them away from the condemned area. Then, nimbly flinging his right leg over her nylon-sheathed calves, he applied half a dozen more hard spanks all over her upturned bottom, each of which drew a strident wail of protest and anguish from the beautiful captive victim.
"Now do you think you can behave and follow instructions, baby?" he asked, his voice rough with impatient lust, for he could feel her still squirming and writhing over his lap, her belly and loins increasing with torment by rasping against his organ which by now demanded immediate release and appeasement.
"Oh, let me go, yes, yes, you horrid brute, I don't have any choice, you'll just beat me to death unless I do," she plaintively sobbed. He couldn't suppress a smile of derision at her woebegone, childish reaction, and unceremoniously he shoved her off his lap. With a frantic cry, Linda Willoughby found herself sprawled in the most undignified way imaginable, on her belly, her legs and arms spread out, and a flurry of despairing sobs emerged as in her overwrought emotional state, she burst helplessly into hysterical tears.
"Get up and start undressing for bed, baby, unless you want some more, and on the bare," he warned, leaning over to look down at her. At the same time, he yanked down the zipper of his fly, tugged the jockey shorts away to liberate his desire-swollen, distended lance of lust, and then stood up, with a groan of anticipatory pleasure as he felt the air of the room lave the throbbing glans and dark-vein-coursed shaft.
Slowly, still sobbing, Linda Willoughby got to her feet, and the first thing she saw was the obscene spear thrust out at her, a kind of phallic designation that its owner had chosen her for his vile, carnal enjoyment. "Ooooohhhh--oh, my G--God!" she sobbingly ejaculated as she backed away.
"I mean it, Linda! Either you start peeling down, or back over my lap you'll go with your panties down and your big bare butt ready for swats from this belt." He pretended to unbuckle it, drew it partway out of the cloth loops around his waist.
It sufficed. "Oh, don't, oh no, I--I will! Don't-- don't hit me, anymore!" she pleaded, and hastily yanked off the cotton yellow print dress, and then the slip. Standing there, her arms crossing over her heaving breasts, her face drowned in tears, she awaited his orders with a miserable, despairing awareness that no matter what she did or said, she would inexorably be compelled to obey his every whim. The knowledge filled her with an agony of soul as well as a disgust for her own physical weakness.
"That's more like it. Like I said, go on as if I wasn't here. Get undressed for bed, and do it fast!" he commanded.
Linda Willoughby, managing to control her sobs now down to an intermittent sniffle, reached slowly behind her to unfasten her bra and, after a moment's hesitation, let it fall. Then, quickly turning to one side so as to hide her heaving naked breasts from his unwavering and partly amused look, the lovely young librarian began to fumble with the fasteners of the pantygirdle.
"Turn around and face me while you do that, Linda," was his next order.
"Oooohhh, dear! Oh, please, please don't shame me like this!" she groaned, but nonetheless obeyed him. Her head bowed, her beautiful creamy breasts with their wide aureolas and their pouting coral- tinted nipple buds, rose and fell with a vehement rhythm as, stooping slightly, she disengaged the stocking tabs from her flesh-colored nylons and then began to loosen the sheath itself. Once again she hesitated, choking back a deep sob of the utmost woe and despair, realizing that once again she was contributing to her own downfall before this compelling, fiercely hostile male's unflinching stare. But her bottom throbbed and prickled from the heat of the rude spanking that he had just inflicted, and his threat of additional reprisal with the black leather belt hastened her to a trembling and feverish compliance.
Slowly the white-satin elastic slithered down from the estuaries of her beautifully rounded hips, disclosing the lower abdomen with just the hint of the growth of dark-brown hair; then the basin of the pubis itself, the thick and almost shaggy curls of love-fronds hiding the dainty pink vaginal lips whose sweet warm enclaspment he had excitedly enjoyed only the night before.
She shoved the pantygirdle down to her knees, then let it fall to her ankles and stepped out of it. At once, one hand clapped over her mount, the other arm protectively over her panting white breasts.
"Do you usually go to bed with your shoes and stockings on, Linda honey?" he sarcastically questioned.
"Oooohhh! Oh, dear!" the harassed, almost-naked beauty groaned. Moving over to the edge of the bed and seating herself gingerly--a maneuver which made him chuckle softly because of its highly ludicrous and yet salacious implications--she crossed one lovely leg over the other, clenching them as much as she could to shield the vista of her love- temple from his eyes. Slowly she rolled down one stocking, after kicking off the pump with a thud onto the floor, then drew it off, leaning forward to let those magnificent luscious breasts dance and sway in the most tempting way imaginable. Then, hastily crossing the other leg over its lovely bare twin, she managed the removal of the other stocking. And now, naked Linda Willoughby rose, her face reddening violently as she moved to the chest of drawers to open one and to take out a pair of blue pajamas.
Jeff Maxton had lit a cigarette and was enjoying the scene which Linda Willoughby was putting on for his special and private benefit. Quite casually, he stood in the center of the room, his swollen penis protruding at a ferocious angle, while he watched the ivory-skinned naked young woman hastily drag on the pajama pants and then carefully button the coat.
"Very good. You see, that wasn't half so hard as you thought it was. One day you won't even care who's watching you strip down for bed, baby, because you'll be so hot to trot and to get fucked that you won't be half so neat about your clothes," he slyly predicted.
This drew still another gasp of humiliated anguish from the crimsoning young woman, who stood now with head bowed and hands clasped as if in prayer, her heart pounding wildly an she waited for his next command.
"Now," he said softly, "you have to ask me to go to bed with you, Linda baby. In other words, I want you to come over here and give me a nice big hug and kiss and tell me that you want to be fucked. Do you understand me, Linda?"
"Ohh! Oh, my God, my God, is there no end to this shameful horror?" she groaned.
"Your big bottom's just itching for a taste of my belt, I know it is," he chuckled. Coming slowly toward her, he began once again to unloosen the black leather band. The sight of it again decided Linda Willoughby.
She stumbled forward, her head still bowed and her gaze averted. Arriving before him, drawing breath after sobbing breath, she forced herself to murmur, "Please--please--c--come to bed with me, Mr. Marlowe."
"That's not too bad for a beginner, baby, only you forgot what else I told you to do and say. You have to give me a hug and a kiss, you know, and then you have to tell me you want to be fucked. Go ahead, I'm waiting!"
Once again she groaned in her despair. But as she slowly lifted her tear-filled eyes to his, she saw his fingers pluck the black leather belt partway out of the loops of his trousers, and this again hastened her to a feverish desire to obey. "Oh, don't do that! --I--I'll do what you want--oh, please, this is so hard for me. I've never done this before, it's just awful how you're shaming me."
She moved now to him, her arms went round his shoulders and she hesitantly kissed him on the side of the jaw.
"You call that a kiss? Hell, a pro would give me a lot more attention," he jeered. "Now put some life into it, baby, or I swear, you'll get taken over to Joe before the night's over and don't you forget it. Come here, put your arms around my waist now, stand up on tiptoe and give me a nice hot kiss on the mouth and then tell me what you want me to do to you!"
She was trembling violently now, and the blushes had spread to her forehead, her ears and her throat as she hesitantly capitulated. Her beautifully creamy arms clinched round his waist, and she tilted up her face as she arched up on her bare toes to reach his mouth, pressing her feverish and trembling lips surrenderingly against his mouth.
His hands immediately leaped to the ripe, jouncy ivory cheeks of her behind, squeezing them with a liberty that dazed her, as he pulled her up tight so that the bent-back turgid weapon of his penis pressed between them. She could feel the hot throbbing life of that weapon which was again to be her doom and which had already profaned her virtuous womanhood.
"Say what you have to say and be quick," he husked, squeezing the base of her buttocks, pressing the cheeks together, then yawning them obscenely.
Restlessly squirming on her bare feet, Linda faltered, "Please, Mr. Marlowe, I--I want you to come to bed with me and--and make love to me!"
"And that isn't what I told you to say at all, Linda. I really think you need a dose of the belt after all."
"Oh, no, please don't, I couldn't stand it! Oh, my God, then--then--please--please take me to bed and h--have me--"
"Why does that word trouble you so, baby? After all, you've already been fucked, so why should it disturb you. I want to hear you say it. It's a simple four-letter word beginning with 'f'. Go on, say it! Tell me that's what you want me to do to you in bed right now!"
His left hand still clutching the base of her buttocks, he raised his right and applied two or three crisp slaps over the quivering, already-inflamed contours of her voluptuous young ass. With a squeal of anguish and supplication, Linda Willoughby again resolved the agonized dilemma which his very presence in her bedroom caused: she once again yielded to superior force.
"Ouch--that hurts--oh, please don't--I--I'll say it--I want you--I want you, Mr. Marlowe--to--to take me to b--bed and f--f--fuck me."
Her voice trailed off after she had brought herself to the audacity of uttering that obscene, perverted word. Now, releasing him from the embrace, she stepped back and put her hands over her face and began to cry fitfully.
"There now, that wasn't so hard, after all," he chuckled. "And that's just what I'm going to do. Come along, baby. This time, I'm going to show you a new way of doing it. You've got to make up for all this lost time, and we'll be pulling out of here early Saturday morning, you know."
Taking her by the wrists, he led the trembling, crestfallen young woman towards her own bed. Then stopping her as she reached the edge, he added, "You won't need these," and unfastened her pajama pants and rudely yanked them down to her ankles. "Step out of them and get into bed and do what I tell you to," he commanded.
Her face was purple with shame, and great tears welled in her dilated eyes. The pajama tops came down only as far as her lower belly, exposing the thick fleece that covered her cunt, her creamy thighs and also her bare bottom. As he put his hands to her shoulders and turned her to face her bed, his eyes scanned her luscious behind, admiring the bright red patches of hot flaming imprint which his own palm had applied during the spanking. It was proof again that her skin was wonderfully sensitive, marvelously smooth and perceptive.
"All right now, get on the bed on your hands and knees. If you want, you can put your face into that pillow there, but stick your cute red bottom well up and out," he directed.
"Oh, this is dreadful! Don't make me do such an awful thing! Oh, why can't you simply--simply do it to me and finish with it?" she sobbed, turning to him and holding out her clasped hands in prayerful appeal.
He began to take off his shirt and undershirt and remarked at last, "If you aren't in position by the time I'm ready for you, baby, I'm going to give you a thrashing with my belt that'll really leave marks on that sweet ass of yours. Now do it!"
And to quicken her, he applied a light slap over the already-inflamed summit of her right buttock.
With a little squeal of pain and shame, Linda Willoughby planted her palms on the bed, put up one knee and scrambled onto it. Weeping bitterly now, she moved desolately forward, and planted her palms and knees in the all-fours posture, then pressed her tear-wet, reddened face into the accommodating pillow, perhaps only too happy to hide her face from her ravisher.
In a few moments, Jeff Maxton was naked, and mounted the bed behind her. Feeling his weight making the bed sink and creak, she groaned aloud in her dying mortification, and the cheeks of her buttocks twitched and contracted spasmodically as instinctively she closed her thighs together.
"Who told you to put your legs together like that, baby? Spread them as far as you can, I mean it!" he rebuked her. Another generous slap punctuated his order, and with a sobbing cry, Linda Willoughby forced herself to take part in the sacrifice of her own trembling naked flesh.
In this straddled, all-fours pose, she revealed all of her treasures in the most libidinous way. The gaping pink lips of her cunt, a shadowy groove which separated the huddling, reddened hemispheres of her naked buttocks, the lovely pendant rounds of her heaving bare breasts, all these delights, were granted to him for his visual as well as tactual enjoyment.
Calmly, Jeff Maxton spat on his right forefinger and then, to Linda's consternation, began to rub very lightly over the poutingly open lips of her cleft. She winced and gasped, squirming her hips uncontrollably, as he prolonged this lascivious preparation. Finally he began to touch and to rub and to press back into its protective cowl the dainty nodule, the threshold of her innermost emotions. The sensations that began to pervade her loins were shocking to her in its intensity and power. She felt warm, cloying waves of sensualities stir dimly in the very depths of her beings.
Jeff Maxton had concealed something in his clenched left fist, and put it atop the small of her back while he continued to tickle the soft fleshy palpitating lips of her pussy. "Does that hurt, baby?" he wanted to know.
Linda was unable to speak; she could only shake her head, and a faint sob was muffled by the pillow in which she had pressed her scarlet tear-stained face. Her knees wavered, and her buttocks jerked convulsively as his fingertips now moved back up to the dainty hidden pearl of her clit which was the center of her secret, erotic life. And once again it was as if a galvanic current had been suddenly turned on within her chaste, prudish flesh; it cast aside the moral and intellectual awareness of her degradation, and it left room only for the sensory immediacy of this calculated attunement. She lifted her face from the pillow, her eyes bulging, her forehead creased with a kind of questioning wonder, and she gasped out, "Oh, please don't--don't touch me there--oh, please!"
"You stupid little bitch, I'm getting that sweet cunt of yours ready for the fucking you just asked for, remember?" he mocked her, digging the dagger of spiritual degradation into the wound already made in her sensitive psyche. "This time, I promise, you're going to feel it deep down inside of you, baby, and now you're really going to know what it's like to be fucked by a guy with a capable prick! Spread those legs a little better than that so I can get at your button!" he gruffly ordered.
"Oh, don't--oh, this is awful--ahhh--"
"I swear I'll use my belt on that big ass of yours yet, Linda! Now stop whining and do what I tell you to--spread those legs as far as you can--that's a little better--now don't lower yourself or try to squench down, or I'll really fan your tail!"
Her knees were trembling pitiably, and long tremors rippled up and down her beautiful, creamy, lithe, rounded thighs. She could feel the pressure of his hard fists, and it was an effort for her to remain kneeling up, with her shoulders bowed and her face back against the tear-wet pillow. She could also feel the almost-shameful pendancy of her resilient breasts, and every breath she took reminded her of their wanton proffering in this humiliating, lascivious pose which left no secret of hers unveiled.
His finger moved back and forth over the twitching inner lips which led to her vaginal sheath. Then back it maneuvered to the clitoris, and he began to roll and press and rub, the touchstone of her most intense and vibrant life, till sighs and gasps began to escape her as she was no longer able to control the spasmodic jerkings of her naked hips, back and forth, up and down, her thighs bending, shifting.
An intense tickling sensation pervaded her loins, and she felt to her dismay and horror a kind of seeping moisture, little realizing that it was the cuntal juices which proclaimed the sweet readiness, the ardent tumescence of her womancore, and announced at the same time to the sage male that the time had come for her fucking.
Jeff Maxton knew this, and withdrew his finger. Swiftly then, opening his left hand, he took hold of the white scabbard of the prophylactic, expertly fitted it along the turgid lance of his organ, and then moved back to her, crouching forward over her, his hands reaching for her splendid round panting naked breasts. "Now hold still and don't budge, whatever you do, Linda baby," he commanded, his voice thick with anticipation.
She closed her eyes and ground her teeth together, her fingernails digging into the sheets, her body stricken by wave upon wave of these furious, intense sensations which his expert titillations had evoked. The soreness which had been caused by the rending of her maidenhead had by now completely vanished. In its place was a pronounced and augmented sensitivity which had made his digital caressing of her most intimate part all the more potent in unleashing the sensual forces which she didn't even know were dormant within her.
And then suddenly she felt the tip of his penis prod against the gaping slit of her vaginal opening. "Ohh--oh, my--oh, please--be gentle--don't hurt me --please--please--" she begged, panting heavily.
"I'm not going to, baby. And there's no danger of your getting a little bastard from this fucking, either. I'm using a safe. So you can let yourself go without any worries, Linda. Now hold yourself still for just another minute till I find the hole--that's a good little bitch--now then, I'm in you, baby, and now you're going to get fucked as you've never been before!" he said, triumphantly.
She uttered a cry because he had just thrust himself nearly all the way to the hilt inside of her quaking vaginal depths. At the same moment, his fingers had tightened on the sides of her panting, dangling bare round breasts. She tried to lift her face up from the pillow, but he was leaning over her and crouched to fit over her back, and she couldn't move. By this time, the prolonged humiliating pose on her knees had rendered her muscles weak and without defense; she felt herself unable to do anything except to accept what was about to befall her.
With a grunt of pleasure, Jeff Maxton shoved home a little more and found himself hilted inside Linda Willoughby's tight, quaking, contracting pussy. His fingers tweaked her pert pink nipples, and she whimpered and sobbed, squirming uneasily, feeling his weight bear down on her and fearful that her knees could no longer continue to support her under such duress.
But now he moved his right hand back along her belly, caressing and patting, till be had reached her inner thigh, and then slyly his forefinger returned to the friction of her dainty clitoris.
She uttered a frantic squeal, lifting her scarlet face, her eyes rolling, her mouth gaping, as she felt the dynamic surging of all her energies deep and concentrated into that one mysterious part of her which she had been taught since childhood wasn't to be thought of or reckoned with. At the same moment, Jeff Maxton drew slowly back, about halfway, not wanting to risk the danger of pulling out of her tight, clenching love-canal.
The friction and the tickling began to evoke furious waves of hot, lascivious awareness within her virtuous loins. Her eyes stared now, unseeingly, while her fingers clawed and ripped at the sheets.
The tumultuous panting of her pendulous round luscious breasts was increased and so, too, were the spasmodic squirmings of her bare hips, the flexions and rippling tremors all along her naked calves and thighs.
"That's just fine, Linda. Now I'm going to do most of the work. When you feel squirmy, you sweet bitch, wriggle that beautiful ass of yours back so you can gobble up every inch of cock I've got to give that hot tight little quim of yours," he panted.
His left hand was squeezing her bare right breast, as if milking it, while his right forefinger continued to tickle and rub and roll the hardening love bud of her clitoris. Deliberately, holding himself back all he could, he pressed up to the hilt inside her narrow, clamping cuntal passage, waited a moment there while he thrilled to the sensation of her soft vagina nibbling kisses and convulsive flutterings against the desire-distended shaft of his throbbing cock. Then he drew back slowly, not at all close to the brink of her entry, but enough to gain the momentum and the space in which to return with a vigorous thrust so that they were merged and tightly housed together.
"This is what you call doing it dog-fashion, Linda baby," he informed the panting, squirming, bent- over naked young woman. "It gets its name from the way a male dog gets over a bitch--you must have seen them doing it on the streets even in a dead little town like this, baby. Well, now you know what it's like. How does it feel for you?"
"Oh, please--oh, I want to die of shame--oh, this is awful--I--I feel--I feel like a wh--whore--oh, God--what are you doing to me--Oh, Mr. Marlowe --ah--aaaaaahhhhoohoooohhhh--oh, please--you're going to crush me--oh, you're going to crush me down--I'm so weak--oh, God--oh, Mr. Marlowe."
For he had increased the tempo of his diggings inside of her, and in shorter range, with quicker withdrawals and even quicker lunges back into the narrow, quaking confines of her womb, Jeff Maxton fucked the naked young victim without ceasing the constant rubbing and prodding and tickling of her now-palpitating, erected love bud.
For Linda Willoughby, it was now a time of total awareness. Unlike the night before, when fear and shame and the momentary pain of virginal loss had driven out all of the thoughts, she now found all of her life concentrated into the tender spot between her gaping thighs, feeling the repeated frictions, and, what was most alarming and bewildering of all, the warm hot furious waves of lascivious excitement that his finger was stirring at the very depths of her cunt. In a word, her life had become concentrated in her vagina and into the nucleus of subtle feminine nerves with which the dainty pink nodule of her clitoris connected. This amorous communications system sent ramifying waves of torrid passion all through her naked, crouching body, driving out all else, save pure and total physical sensations.
Indeed, so intense had become these sensations that she almost was unconscious of his presence; she was so absorbed and engrossed by the tumultuous and dynamic quiverings and surgings taking place within her loins that it was as if an unseen presence was responsible and not this ruthless male who had taken such domineering charge of her.
Her face lifted again, twisted, stricken by the immensity of her awareness. Her nostrils widened and clenched convulsively, her teeth had begun to chatter, and now her fingers frenziedly scrabbled and tore at the rumpled sheets of her own no-longer-virgin bed. Her knees buckled, threatened to give way, but suddenly his left arm crept under her belly and lifted her up to maintain her while it seemed that he had speeded up the tempo of his in-and-out lascivious lunges.
But even more accelerated was the working of his fingertip, delving and prodding, pressing and rolling, tweaking and tickling, until her mouth at last gaped and faltering, almost incoherent words and groans and sobs and cries emerged. "AHHH-- OH, G--GOD--OH, WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME--OOOOHHHH--PLEASE--OH, STOP--I'M GOING TO FAINT--I KNOW I AM--AHHRRR-- AIIII--AAAAHHHHOOOHHHH--I BEG OF YOU --IT'S TOO MUCH--I'M GOING TO DIE--EVERYTHING IS GOING BLACK--OH, WHAT IS IT--AAAHHHH--OOOHHHH!!!!"
For suddenly, out of the void and the timeless space into which her body seemed to be hurdling, she was suddenly wrenched back into the enormous reality of the bed and of the room and of herself crouching before him like the humblest of naked concubines. With a last series of violent thrusts, Jeff Maxton had attained his climax. She could feel the bursting jet of his lust-lava splash against the gossamer skin which sheathed his organ, almost as if all that drench were being shot deep into her womb yet without attaining it.
Linda Willoughby uttered a last frantic, strident and piercing cry. Even as he pulled his deflating cock out of her, her body strained and quaked, and then she sprawled flat, moaning, her face turned to one side, her eyes closed, as the earthquake of climax hurtled her once more back into timeless space...
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was well after midnight on Thursday, and the two bank robbers had just returned from the library. Joe Cantwell was exultant over their success thus far. He had encountered the steel plate about three inches into the bank wall, once having made a sufficiently wide tunnel through the library wall to connect and allow for the clearance of the shattered shards and fragments which the electric hammer had produced. After ten minutes with the acetylene torch, he had excitedly called out to Jeff Maxton, "Hey, old buddy, I can see through and the rest is all brick. This is really going to be a cinch! Tomorrow night, we'll be into the vault with about two hours' work, and then give me another hour with the torch to the vault lock, and we'll be rich!"
Indeed, he was in such good humor over the expected haul that for once he failed to insist that his younger partner turn Linda Willoughby over to him so that at least he could have one experience of her amatory prowess. He had, however, salaciously insisted on the details of Jeff Maxton's affair with the young librarian, and when he had accompanied Linda into her private office shortly after nine o'clock that night, he had nudged her in the ribs with his elbow and guffawed, "For a broad that never had any, baby, I gotta hand it to you. Little old Jeffie tells me he's been putting the rocks to you every night since you lost it the first time on Sunday. Guess you're going to miss him when we pull out of here come Saturday morning bright and early, huh?"
Linda had blushed and lowered her eyes, but the younger man had taken her by the elbow and chuckled softly, "Don't mind Joe, Linda baby. He's just envious, that's all. But, he's right, you know. I'll give you this, for a girl that kept it as long as you did, you're certainly getting the habit for it. Last night was super, wasn't it?"
"Oh, please--not--not in front of him, please, J--Jeff!" she had blushingly and faintly protested, giving Joe Cantwell a fearful glance.
On Wednesday night, indeed, she had gone docilely enough with him to her bedroom, and while he had flung himself down in the chair and watched, smoking a cigarette and enjoying the prelude to another night of furious passion, she had meekly but obediently undressed until she was naked as the day she was born. Then, while he had made her stand and watch, he had opened the zipper of his fly and brought out his stiffened cock, and then commanded her to come and sit astraddle, facing him. He had made her take her own soft trembling fingers and draw aside the palpitating lips of her cunt while he aimed himself into the soft tight vaginal passage. And then Linda had had to sink down and impale herself, putting her hands on his shoulders while he played with her swelling naked creamy breasts. Her eyes tightly closed, her head tilted back, she had tried her best to pretend that it wasn't happening.
But, just as it had happened on previous encounters, for all her frantic attempts to drive from her mind what was taking place with her subjugated body, she had been unable to control the sudden furious onslaught which his lovemaking had made against her sensitive and shamefully responding flesh. Of her own accord, without being told, she had arched herself up and then sunk down, quickening the pace of her own copulatory friction, feeling his fingers quickly knead and squeeze and caress the panting satiny white turrets of her luscious round breasts. Then, just as he had done before in a way that frightened her because it showed what a masterful domination this stranger-male could take upon the proud and virtuous entity of her naked womanflesh, he had lowered one of his hands down to her mount and begun to tickle the lips of her pussy with his fingertip, till she had found herself squirming and arching herself libidinously, as if asking him to put his fingertip on the most sensitive threshold of all... her clitoris!
The enormity of how her body had reacted to his slightest touch and to his lewdest commands had horrified her, but she hadn't been able to help herself. The night before, he had made her cum to climax till she had almost flung herself off the chair, her body quaking and convulsing in the throes of furious and feverish orgasmic fulfillment.
Then, after she had tidied herself up in the bathroom at his order, after she had returned blushing in her nakedness to share a cigarette with him while he had ordered to cuddle on his lap with her arm around his neck, he had ordered her to bed for a renewed bout of lovemaking.
"Seeing as how we're going to be saying goodbye Saturday morning, baby," he had smilingly murmured, "I guess I'll have to step up this little refresher course in fucking for you. I hope you'll remember after I've gone. Unless, of course, you'd like to take along after us. I wouldn't mind if you did, you know."
She had gasped and shaken her head, "I--I couldn't do a thing like that, J--Jeff!"
They were lying on their sides facing each other, one of his hands idly stroking her quivering bare bottom. He grinned at her. "Just look at you now, Princess," he chuckled. "Couple of nights ago, you were ready to jump out of the window, death before dishonor. Now just look at you, naked as a jaybird and loving every minute of it--" Her face had flamed furiously and she had hidden it against his chest as she panted, "That's not so--you know it isn't so--I--I'm not that kind of a girl--I just can't help myself with you--I don't want anything to happen to my mother and that's why--"
"Sure, sure, Princess," he had patted her shoulder. "Keep telling yourself that. That's the old standard, that when rape is inevitable, you might as well relax and enjoy it. Only the difference is, Linda baby, that you've been wanting to get fucked since practically the day you were born, except you didn't know it. It took a guy like me to show you what a good stiff prick can do to make you happy."
"Ooooohhhh! Don't--don't talk like that, please-- you make me feel--"
"I know, like a whore," he had finished with another grin. "But considering all the books you've read, Princess, it's funny you never ran into one basic fact. Every woman is a whore when the right guy comes around. Trouble is, for lots of women he never does come around and so they get married and have kids and go to their graves never knowing what bed can be like. That's what was going to happen to you. Give you another ten years in that library and no guy to give it to you, baby, you'd be a dried-up old maid who'd faint dead away if you saw a guy unbutton his fly to take a piss--"
"Oh, don't--" she had said, breathing heavily, and pushing against his chest with both hands, trying to get away, blushes sweeping through her face and forehead and ears and even her throat.
"Well, let's get with it again, baby. I want to be able to hand you your diploma Saturday morning when I take off. Of course, you've still got time until then, and if you change your mind and want to come along with us, I'll keep Joe away from you, and that's a promise. Now let's get with it. I want you this way, baby!"
And then he had rolled over onto his back, spread his knees apart and pointed to his stiff ramrod. "Now then, baby, crawl in and get with it. Do what you did in the chair just now, except once you feel me inside of you, just snuggle on down. After all, they're talking about Women's Lib, so you're taking the man's position this way. It's good if you get married to a guy who's not feeling up to par or if you feel especially horny yourself. Come on, put that cute little quim of yours over daddy's prick!"
His unthinking use of the word "daddy" made Linda Willoughby gasp and stare at him with incredulous eyes. That word had swiftly summoned back from the ghosts of the past the vibrant and still-living tableau of her own father mounted over her mother a good decade before. And at the same time, which terrified her still more, she had felt a sudden avid yearning to do exactly what he had bidden her do.
What she didn't dare confess to him was that his proposal to have her join him when they left Gorley had almost made her say she would...
Joe Cantwell opened the door of the room he had appropriated in the Willoughby house, where Mavis Lorenz waited impatiently for him, wearing just her slip and pumps. Linda's mother had already gone to sleep, was locked in for the night, and hadn't been putting up any fuss at all. Linda had talked to her a few times since the trio had taken over, and Cynthia Willoughby seemed to be less nervous and concerned about her daughter's welfare. That was a plus, and Joe had gone so far as to compliment Mavis on the way that she had handled things. The blonde companion was ecstatic, already counting her cut of the haul in advance of Saturday morning.
"Well, old buddy, tomorrow's the next to last morning, so I guess you and little Linda there are going to get in as much fucking as you can, right?" he leered.
Jeff Maxton turned towards the blushing young woman who had turned away to hide her face from Joe Cantwell's lecherous stare. "You wouldn't have had a chance with her, Joe," he told his older partner, "we get along just fine. Matter of fact, although you don't know it, I'm probably grateful to you. See you in the morning at breakfast."
"Lucky bastard!" the stocky bank robber muttered under his breath as he swung open the door, then slammed it shut and locked it, and began to strip naked, while Mavis Lorenz, with a coo of anticipation, hastily tugged off her slip, sat down on the edge of the bed and crossed her plump thighs, leaning back on both palms to entice her lover with a coy smile and the vision of her big full swelling breasts...
"Tonight, Princess," Jeff Maxton drawled as he locked the door from the inside, "I'm going to teach you how to fuck without using the bed. If you do get married, it's a trick you and your hubby will want to know all about. Suppose, let's say, your hubby suddenly gets a hard-on and can't wait. This is what he'll do. Come here now, pull up your dress and slip!"
He moved to stand by the side of the door, leaning back against the wall, yanking down his zipper and exposing his already-rigid organ.
Linda Willoughby turned scarlet and lowered her eyes, but all the same her fingers caught hold of dress and slip and drew the garments up to her waist as she slowly approached him.
"I'll take over from here, you just do what I tell you too," he commanded. Then briskly his fingers sought the fastenings of the pantygirdle, rucked the sheath down to mid-thigh, to expose the hair-fringed lips of her young cunt.
"Now then, baby, spread your legs just a little-- that's it!" With this, delving a hand into the pocket of his trousers, he drew out a safe and adjusted it while Linda Willoughby pretended not to look. Her skirt and slip wavered in her hands as she held them up above the creamy basin of her loins, marked by the dramatic, thick dark-brown forest of tangled curls which concealed the palpitating entryway to bliss.
"Now, get with it," he hissed, reaching for her. His fingers sank into the resilient satiny cheeks of her bottom, drawing her to him. "Don't let your clothes fall back down, baby," he warned. "Feel for me, gobble it up, did it the first time! See what a that's great, you did it the first time! See what a little practice will do for a girl? Now let's fuck!"
Linda Willoughby groaned, blushed, and leaned her chin on his right shoulder, sinking against him as she felt his organ penetrate her vaginal cavern. His fingers manipulated her buttocks, forcing her up against him till she felt him in her to the hilt. "Now, shake that sweet ass of yours a little, but don't dare pull it out or I'll spank it good and hard," he muttered into her ear.
And then, controlling her by the pressures of his fingers, Jeff Maxton began to impale her on his hotly pulsating cock, while the squirming, gasping young woman found herself inexorably drawn, once again, to the entire betrayal not only of her body but of her chaste and unprofaned mind...
* * *
"Hi, there, Ben. How're things going these days?" Ben Williams, startled, looked up from the desk in the back office of the farm equipment shop and found himself looking into the watery blue eyes of Sheriff Homer Braxton. For the past twenty years, the weather-beaten sheriff had held the office and furnished the little town of Gorley its only police protection. But then, in all that time, there had been nothing more serious than a drunken shootout between two swapping couples a year before in which no one had been hurt and all four had been jailed to sober up and think things over, the theft of a few bicycles and, as the only really major crime on Gorley's escutcheon, the apparent abduction of an eighteen-year-old girl and a traveling salesman from Hartford who had wound up marrying the girl and who really hadn't abducted her after all, since she had only wanted to escape from her cranky old aunt and uncle.
"Oh, hi yourself, Sheriff Braxton. Things are fine. Everything quiet in your bailiwick?"
The lean, sparsely gray-haired law officer grunted assent. "Nothing ever happens in Gorley, you know that, Ben. Say, I've been wondering why a bright smart fellow like you doesn't pick up and go to a big city like Boston or New York and really make himself a pile? It's about time you got yourself a nice girl and settled down, you know."
"Are you trying for justice of the peace, too, Sheriff?" Ben Williams chuckled as he rose and followed the law officer out onto the sidewalk where a bright warm sun blazed down.
"No, but I'll admit there are plenty of pretty girls in Gorley who probably are setting their cap for you, Ben."
"I suppose. But me, there's just one girl in this town I want. That's why I'm staying around. It's our new head librarian, Sheriff."
"You've got good taste, Ben boy, I'll give you that," Sheriff Braxton winked. "Come to think about it, I was going over to the library last night and get me a murder mystery. Don't figure I'll ever run into one in a place like this, but I ought to keep in practice, so I figured maybe reading about it would give me some ideas just in case. Only it wasn't open, and it was Thursday night and it's supposed to be, isn't it?"
"Sure it is," Ben Williams said wonderingly. Then he suddenly clapped his hand to his forehead. "You just reminded me of something, Sheriff."
"What's that?"
"You know, I told you I was crazy about Linda Willoughby. Well, I went by the other night to ask her for a date, and she said the funniest thing to me. That and the fact that you now tell me the library wasn't open last night has started me wondering if anything could be wrong with her."
"What did she say, boy?"
"She told me she'd be working tonight till round midnight, and that if I wanted to see her then, I should come alone. Only it would be too dangerous to come alone. She said if I wanted to date her, I wasn't to forget to come late. Now what do you make of that, Sheriff? The fact is, I've been trying for the last couple of months and more to date that cutie, and she hasn't so much as given me a tumble. Then all of a sudden she hands me a line like that."
"After midnight, eh? And not alone. That does seem funny. Say, you know what, Ben?"
"What's on your mind, Sheriff?"
"Why don't I keep that date with you tonight just in case something is wrong with your little girlfriend?"
"You know, Sheriff, I've been thinking about that the last day or so. I'd look upon it as a sort of favor if you would come along."
* * *
"That does it!" Joe Cantwell panted as he drew' back the electric hammer. "I can see right into the vault now. Hand me that flashlight, Jeff old buddy. Now get me that torch again and I'll go to work on the lock."
"Here you are. Are you sure you're all the way through?"
"Hell, yes--yeah, I can see inside plain as day with this flashlight ! There's the vault over to the right, and beyond there's the grilled door and a little stairway off the rest of the bank. We did it, old buddy, we did it! Now I'll just get down inside, it's not much of a drop, a couple of feet, and then you can crawl in and hand me the torch."
Linda Willoughby sat at her desk, her hands folded, her head bowed. Her mind was awhirl with the events of the past week. Once again, just after she had let Jeff Maxton into the library after nine o'clock, he had asked her to come along with them, promised that Joe wouldn't even bother her. They would have plenty of money, and if things went off well, the two of them might even take off for Mexico or South America.
Linda couldn't leave her mother, of course. Maybe if she were an orphan and there weren't anything left for her in that town, she might have thought twice about it. She couldn't understand what had happened to her. She had never been so conscious of her body before, never so conscious of the sensations which it had been experiencing in so many ways that she had been taught were shameful and obscene and sinful and wicked and evil. Her flesh crawled at the thought of what Mr. Marlowe had made her do the night before, standing up against the wall and pushing herself back and forth against him, his hands squeezing and pinching her bare bottom, his tongue digging into her mouth and sending electrical currents up and down her spine every time it brushed her own quivering tongue. Why, when she had been almost ready to faint away from the thrilling friction that what they were doing was causing, he had suddenly put his finger between the cheeks of her ass and pressed... into the little hole... and she had almost shrieked and clawed at him, it had released such a savage, volcanic surge of physical sensations from her ears down to her straining toes.
And of course she had told him no. So he had said to her, "Well, it's your own choice, Linda baby. I'm going to miss you, I'll tell you that honestly. But I tell you what, so you won't get in any trouble, I'm going to leave you here bound and gagged, and then when Joe and me, and Mavis get to the next town in our car, we'll call somebody and tell them where to get you. Then everybody will think that you were overpowered and didn't have anything to do with it."
She knew that life would never be the same again, even if that lie did work. She knew that somehow she was going to have to tell someone that they had forced her, of course, but that after that, she hadn't been able to account for her reactions. How else could she explain not only yielding herself to him, but also undressing and helping him do all those perverted and vile things to her naked body?
Jeff Maxton winked at the young woman seated at the desk, "You know, baby, we're not going to stay at your house long once we go back for Mave. There won't be time for another little fucking party. How'd you like a last one, a quickie, for old times' sake while Joe is working on the vault?"
"Oh, no! Oh, my gracious!" Linda blushed to her dainty ears and lowered her eyes.
"Well, suit yourself. You're sure you don't want to come along with us? Just think, baby, life in Rio or Guadalajara, nothing to worry about, just having a good time and good food and wine and plenty of fucking whenever we feel like it? It's a lot more than Gorley will ever be able to offer you."
"I suppose so. But--but I can't just leave mother."
He shrugged. "I suppose not, baby. Anyhow, I won't forget you, you can depend on it," he grinned and winked at her again as he prepared to climb into the tunnel that connected into the bank, with the acetylene torch in his right hand. "Probably for a long time, every time I screw a girl, I'll be pretending it's you, Linda honey. And for one thing, I'm not likely to find a tighter little pussy than you've got, or a cuter, more excitable little button."
"Oh, please stop. You're making me just die of shame talking that way!" she gasped, turning in her swivel chair so as to escape the mockery of his gaze.
He sighed, then crawled into the tunnel. Just then there was a hammering at the front door of the library. Linda sprang from her chair with a cry of alarm, hand to her mouth.
"What the hell is that?" Jeff Maxton had heard the noise, and was crawling back into the office. "Go see who it is, and get rid of them!"
"Right away, Jeff." She had begun to tremble violently, as she hurried from the office into the main room of the library and carefully, finding her way in the dark, unbolted the door.
"Let us in, Linda." It was Ben Williams, and there was a tall man behind him with a gun in his hand. "Quick, don't talk, just let us in!"
"Oh, thank God you understood me, Ben darling!"
Linda sighed, and leaned against him, suddenly limp with nervous reaction.
"Did you say darling?" Ben Williams chuckled. "We'll take that up later. Go ahead, Sheriff. Linda, you stay right here and keep out of the way."
Jeff Maxton had heard voices and had suddenly emerged with the acetylene torch still in his hand. When he saw the two shadowy figures move towards him, he uttered an oath and raised the torch to use it as a club.
"I wouldn't do that, son. I'm a pretty good marksman even if I don't get much chance to use it around here," Sheriff Braxton drawled.
The acetylene torch clattered to the floor and Jeff Maxton slowly put up his hands. Outside, in the main room, leaning over the counter, Linda Willoughby covered her face with her hands and began to sob very quietly...
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was exactly a week later, and again it was nearly midnight. It was in Ben Williams' bedroom in the little house he had rented from old Silas Dowling, who owned most of the real estate in town in addition to his other holdings.
In the big old fashioned four-poster bed, Linda Willoughby lay, turned on her side towards the lanky, black-haired young salesman. All she had on were garterbelt and stockings, and he was naked except for socks.
The soft diffused light of the little table lamp beside the bed illumined the ivory warmth of Linda's voluptuous body, and made Ben Williams' wiry body seem all the more virile. He had a thick mat of black hair on his chest and along his arms, and there were even black hairs on the backs of his hands. She put out a hand and gently stroked his lean jaw. Then she giggled shamelessly. She knew why she had been drawn towards Ben Williams. He was very much like Jeff Maxton--for now she knew Jeff's real name.
Sheriff Braxton had put both bank robbers into the town jail, then gone to the Willoughby house to disarm Mavis Lorenz and free Linda's mother. Mavis had frantically pleaded that she had come along with them out of fear, all the way from Ohio, that all she had done was to stay at the house and make sure that Linda's mother hadn't been able to get to a phone.
Sheriff Braxton, after obtaining a full confession from both of the bank robbers, had done some long-distance telephoning and discovered that there were warrants out for the arrest of Joe Cantwell and Jeff Maxton in several California cities. They had waived extradition, and by now were on their way back to the West Coast.
* * *
"I can't get over it, honey," Ben Williams murmured, his hands cupping Linda's swelling resilient young breasts, his palms nuzzling the crinkly, rosy nipples till she squirmed and gasped with pleasure and moved closer against him. "You know, the only thing that was keeping me in this dead town was the hope of getting a date with you. And this is only our second date since it all happened last Friday night, and here we are together like this. I just can't believe it."
"Can you believe--this, lover?" Linda Willoughby tenderly murmured in a very husky, seductive voice, as she put her left hand out to take hold of his stiff, virilely heated shaft of his big cock while she arched her body lasciviously forward till he could feel the soft tangled dark-brown curls covering her cuntal lips rasp exquisitely against his tormented prick.
"Linda darling, oh, you sweet darling!" he breathed, his right hand moving over the rich curve of her satiny warm hip, squeezing one of her asscheeks as he pressed against her.
"I--I'm not a virgin anymore, Ben. I think I ought to tell you," she confessed blushingly.
"But--it doesn't matter, oh, my God, it doesn't matter, Linda. I'm so crazy about you I wouldn't care what you were, not ever!" he gasped hoarsely as he pressed the blood-engorged mushroom cap of his desire-crazed manhood against the soft pink palpitating lips of her exquisitely young cunt, and their mouths met in a moist, avid, draining kiss that left her trembling and wild with yearning.
"He--just one of them--he made me--I had to, to save mother," she whispered, closing her eyes and holding tightly to him.
"I understand. Those lousy bastards, you poor little darling! But we'll get married and then--"
"Don't let's talk, darling. Marriage can wait. But I've waited so long for the right guy, and at last' it's you. Just love me, Ben."
"You don't have to ask twice, honey. I've sort of been saving myself for you. I'll be real gentle, you'll see--"
"You--you don't have to be too gentle. I--I'm flesh and blood. I'm a woman, Ben. Anyway, after --after he f--forced me, I knew it was silly thinking about having my life ruined just because I had to do something I didn't want to do with another man I didn't love at all. And if you don't mind--"
"I told you I don't. Anyway, it's--well," Ben Williams fumbled and blushed, self-consciously, "it's better when a girl isn't a virgin, because there isn't any--you know what I mean--oh, Linda honey, I'm so crazy about you I just can't see straight!"
"I just want to be your girl now, just your girl. But, Ben--before we start--what happened to that blonde girl they had in the house keeping guard over mother?"
Ben Williams could hardly contain himself, for the lust-maddened tip of his hotly palpitating cock had just pressed against the warm moist yielding lips of Linda's eager cuntal slit. With supreme self- control, in a voice that nonetheless choked with frantic passion, he managed to explain. "Seems as how Sheriff Braxton kept her in jail because she kept saying they forced her to come along. The two guys were pretty decent about it, and they both said she didn't have anything to do with the plan. But, anyhow, old Silas Dowling went over to the jail and talked to her, and I guess yesterday the sheriff's released her in his custody. Old Silas said something about trying to rehabilitate her. And, anyhow, he says he needs a housekeeper."
Linda Willoughby giggled. She and her mother had had a heart-to-heart talk some nights before, and Cynthia Willoughby had Confessed that Mr. Dowling had picked Linda for the librarian job, hoping to get on her good side and maybe marry her. She was glad that Mavis Lorenz would occupy old Mr. Dowling's attentions from now on.
* * *
As a matter of fact, at this very moment, Silas Dowling was seated in an overstuffed armchair in his bedroom, wearing an old-fashioned long white nightshirt and nothing else. Mavis Lorenz, kneeling before him, was sniffling, for he had just taken her over his lap and given her a sound spanking with the hairbrush. She was now trying to "redeem herself," and, clad in only garterbelt and nylons, was about to comply with his excited order to use her mouth and tongue on him, or else. Mavis Lorenz was destined for a rather arduous "rehabilitation"!
* * *
"Oh, I see," Linda murmured throatily, snuggling closer to her lover. Her soft thumb and forefinger were delicately pinching all along his swollen distended shaft, all the way down to the scrotum, then began to tickle his hairy testicles, while their lips met again in a long thrilling kiss. "Then I don't have to worry about old Mr. Dowling, anymore. I don't even know if I want to go on being librarian. I'd much rather be here waiting for you to want me, Ben darling. Like right now. And now, show me how much you want me, so I know you were sincere all these months when you kept asking me for dates. I just thought you were fresh. I DIDN'T KNOW YOU REALLY WANTED ME, NOT LIKE THIS, OH, DARLING--OH, YES--MMMMMM, OH, THAT'S WONDERFUL, BEN HONEY, OH, IT'S SO GOOD, OH, MY, WHY DID I WAIT SO LONG TO FIND OUT HOW MUCH YOU REALLY LOVE ME?"
With a groan of pent-up, agonized yearning, Ben Williams had forced himself into the eagerly yielding, wonderfully tight woman flesh of Linda Willoughby's cunt. His hands were now gripping her asscheeks at the base, steering her as he plowed deeply to the balls inside of her. Her arms locked round his shoulders, and then, with a throaty little gasp, she pulled him along with her till she rested on her back and he on top of her.
There was no need for Linda Willoughby to worry about Women's Lib. There would be ample time to try all the positions, including the one Jeff Maxton had shown her about taking the initiative and being on top like the man. But for now, it was quite enough that she was liberated, free of the trauma and the terrifying images of the scene between her mother and father on which she had eavesdropped so many years before. A lifetime.
Now there was time only to think of now and of the future and of the many exquisite ways in which she could assert her newly and treasured womanhood.
Her thighs clamped round his, locking him tightly to her saddle. Her tongue flicked deep between his lips, and her fingernails rasped his shoulder blades as she thrilled and arched to the way his sinewy fingers were digging into her palpitating naked buttocks. "TAKE IT SLOW AND EASY AND MAKE IT LAST, LOVER," she entreated.
