He lay stiff. Her hand slid expertly along his rampant prick. She could feel his mounting pleasure. His cock throbbed; his face taut, expectant. She quickly squirmed around on the bed, getting down, with her head almost resting on his thighs. She could see it perfectly now. She wanted to open her mouth and suck the gorgeous prick but knew he was determined to have it this way....A handoff! She frowned. How stupid! There were so many ways....He groaned and tensed anew. She tickled his balls as her other hand sped along his hard cock. The purpled head bulged alarmingly as she quickly brought him to a climax. His heels dug into the bed and his hips rose. He was panting loudly. His hands raced through her pubic hair-doing nothing for her own surging needs. She felt his fingers bruise the fleshy thighs and then ... sperm spurted in great blobbing gushes as she brought him off with a final flurry of flying fist. She saw the pearly droplets splatter on his belly, soak her hand as the excess ran from the open tip. Her face twitched and she bent forward-swiftly.
"God ... yes!" he moaned.
She sucked on the still spurting prick, the taste of his semen driving her wild with desire. She gulped greedily, cursing the wasted slime that now trickled down his belly and clung to her hand stickily.
He sweated profusely. Her suctioning mouth was a torment of exquisite delight. He knew that his hard would stay-that he would ejaculate soon again if she continued to blow him. The pink wound of her cunt beckoned him. He could see it close to his face as she writhed to get his prick deep in her mouth. He grabbed her thighs and spread them, urging her to straddle him....
"Hurry," he gasped. "I'll lick you off!"
Vikki couldn't stop. She wanted him to come in her mouth, but she also wanted to have him lick her cunt. She twisted frantically, never once losing his precious cock....
He watched the rounded tautness of her buttocks spread as she wriggled over his head. He could see the hairy darkness surrounding her anus. He could smell the woman scent of her vagina, too. His tongue darted out. Vikki moaned pleasurably. Fingers opened the labia as his tongue raced along her vulva. ... Then she flattened her cunt on his mouth as he slowly started to suck the erectile clitoris. She wanted to scream four-letter words at him-but the solid mass of his cock filled her mouth delightfully. She heard her muffled pleas stifled on the rod. ... He mashed her buttocks and forced her upwards. He couldn't breathe. He sucked air and clitoris and licked the wet, warm cunt. His tongue vanished into her vagina. ... Vikki felt the onrushing tide overpower her.
Ben knew she was coming. Her cunt squashed down on his face-hair and flesh and juice mixed in an exciting combination. She writhed frantically. ... They bucked erratically now.
Ben wanted to hold back. He had tasted her and wanted to ram his cock into the cloying funnel. He couldn't. Her mouth was a cunt sucking him dry. He felt the sperm flood his prick and erupt.
Vikki was close. She needed one final push-and the thrilling spurt of semen sent her over the edge. She yelled round his erupting cock, swallowing hurriedly as his juices flooded her mouth.
Her cunt went wild. He could feel her ecstatic contractions as she squirmed sensuously under his driving tongue. There was no doubt in his mind that she was the hottest bitch he had ever bedded. Her cunt was a living entity. It spewed forth its tribute to his masterful tongue. It rotated on his face, rubbing and pressing and throbbing joyously.
She couldn't stand it another second. He was doing such wonderful things to her vagina-exciting her clitoris to further demanding agonies. She tore from his mouth and rolled on her side. Breathing heavily, moaning and writhing as she felt the terrific orgasm rage through her body, she idly noted his cock dripping sperm still.
He'd mentioned other ways! After this orgasm subsided she would allow him to experiment. Perhaps he was the one....
In the aftermath, in the glow of complete surrender to passion, she felt entitled to ponder her situation. He was lazily toying with her cunt, fingers working the wound apart, delving into the soaked, seared depths of her vagina. She wanted to scream for him to cease this blissful torture-and couldn't. She enjoyed the lingering ache that filled her as he kept the final dregs of the orgasm going....
He watched her lazy gyrations as he slowly recovered his strength. He was drained of sperm, but, with infinite patience and the urgency of her experienced hands, he felt capable already of mastering her again. What a woman! And wealthy, too! If he played his cards right he would have everything a man could ask for-Caddie, suits costing a couple of hundred dollars each, handmade shirts, English shoes, vacations with the jet set on the Riviera and, of course, Vikki every night. He would never tire of her. She was game for anything. Straight, French, buggery! He eyed her speculatively....
She felt the intensity of his gaze and swung to meet his eyes. She shuddered. He was flushed, and his face had tensed. She recognized the look. She had seen others look at her in exactly the same manner.
Not him! Please, not him, too!
She tried to speak and found her throat still clogged. She swallowed and tasted his sperm again. She forced herself to forget the delightful sensation and concentrated on what was uppermost in her mind.
"Ben-don't think about my money."
He chuckled and kneaded her cunt. "What makes you think I'm considering your dough?" he asked.
"You are!" She was positive now. If he hadn't avoided a direct answer she might have figured he'd been simply thinking about more sex. He was. That she also knew. But more. He was seating her cunt next to her wealth. She was no more than a bit of hot money to him. Or so she thought!
"Ben-what would you say to living with me and giving my money away. To a charity, for example. What would you say to that?"
He pouted. " 'Nuts!' That's what I'd goddam say," he replied.
She laughed and firmly removed his hand. She gazed down at it. Fingers glistening with the juices of her sex. A strong, capable hand. A hand to bring joy and administer punishment. She dare not dwell upon that aspect. She hurriedly pushed the thought away-with his hand.
"It's all over, Ben," she said.
He shrugged and casually brought the discarded hand down to his penis. Slowly, sensing rather than actually seeing her eyes fasten on the act, he began to caress and work his penis.
Vikki stiffened. What did he think he could gain...? Her lungs wanted to burst and she whooshed air from them, painfully aware that she'd been holding herself tense. Aware that she feared what he was doing would start her off again.
"You rotten bastard," she flung at him. "You lousy sonofabitch."
He laughed silently and kept on stroking his rising rod. He enjoyed the sensations anyway. Just looking at her nakedness reminded him of the time when he was a mere teen-ager. Those had been wild, adventurous days. He'd been a hellion for girls. He'd fucked anywhere, everywhere. He'd taken them for his own pleasures, and to hell with the consequences.
Then had come the crunch! He'd been trapped doing a job. They'd sent him to prison. He'd had to do without the young bits. He'd had to develop imagination. And, in the solitude of his' barren cell, he'd discovered the thrill of masturbation. They said when he left the prison that his blankets stood upright in the cell. Stiff with sperm!
His hand moved faster along the stiffening shaft.
Vikki couldn't breathe. She felt constricted. She felt an overwhelming urge to. ... She jumped from the bed and strode across the room. She could still hear his labored gasps as the bathroom door shut, separating them. She ran water and washed her face, feeling the urge fade, hearing nothing but the gurgle of waste slurp down the drain.
She stayed in the bathroom for what seemed an eternity. When she emerged, he was gone. And, on the rumpled sheet lay a huge shimmering blob of semen. His present.
She sat down and touched the drying sperm. She tasted it on fingertips and, with a soft moan, began to lick the sheet. Why? Why? Why? she kept asking herself as she gently caressed her cunt.
Time blurred ... time slipped into the wasteland of nothingness as she dallied on the brink of delicious insanity. There was no time-no hope beyond the delicious sensations raging inside her vagina. Nothing except the expert fingers and the soaring moments of exquisite pleasure....
Then, she slept. For a brief half hour. Then, again, it was time to seek and find and linger once more with lust building new fires, with passion kindled, and desire a flame of forgetfulness....
CHAPTER TWO
"Vikki Marsh, you 're a brazen bitch!"
She smiled at the mirror. Water glistened on her soft flesh making her appear lighted by some inner lighting system. There was a healthy tint to her tanned body. She posed seductively.
"Not bad," she muttered to her reflection. "You've got it made, kid." She swung from the mirror and entered the bedroom. The bed was still rumpled. She swore and began to make it afresh. Clean sheets, clean pillowcases, a quick spray of perfume-now it was ready again.
She held the old sheets and gazed at the stains. They reeked of lust. Base, devilish lust. She chuckled and held them to her nostrils. The man odor was strong yet. Her loins burned with the memory of him.
She flung the sheets angrily aside, kicked them into a closet and closed the door with finality. He was past tense. The future would stain the fresh sheets.
She wondered what the next one would be like. What he would want her to do first.
There was another mirror and she posed eagerly. Her critical eye traveled down her naked form. Thrusting breasts ... mischievous pink nipples ... rigid and pouting ... clean, sweeping length of hip ... firm, rounded thighs into slender, shapely legs. She half-turned and examined her curvaceous buttocks. Swinging back to a frontal view she dallied on the crucial area.
Yes, she thought, she had a fine bush. The mound was generous-suitable for a cushioned ride. Below the hair the merest hint of her slit She spread her silken thighs, loving the fine hair trailing wetly between their inner smoothness. Her fingers parted the labia. She pushed her torso forward and studied the open wound. This was the seat of her troubles. This-what should she call it?-this cave of delight? or this haven of refuge for stiff cocks?
She laughed lightly and straightened abruptly. "You'll drive yourself insane thinking of cock so much," she informed the reflection.
Leaving the mirror, she selected her attire with seduction uppermost in mind. Flimsy underwear, cool clinging print to highlight her curves. Somebody, somewhere, would see and notice and proposition. And, she'd accept-gladly.
What if the person was a woman?
She frowned, hand on doorknob. She had tried it that way before with devastating results. She had to admit that, providing the woman was clean, attractive, and intelligent, she was able to switch from cock to cunt quite easily. It was all a matter of acceptance.
Essentially, Vikki wanted gratification. It made no difference if she derived pleasure from a swollen penis ramming into her juicy vagina or from artistic lips pulverizing her clitoris with artful nips and frantic suctioning. It was the end product she wanted. And, be it man or woman, Vikki could depend on finding pleasure-even if she had to resort to digital stimulation after the would-be lover had departed, leaving her alone.
She recalled one young man. He had been afraid of hurting her. She had been his first penetration. He had tried every way possible to reach his climax and failed miserably. His fumbling inexperience had left Vikki cold, too. But, when he hurried from her bedroom, she had reached such ecstatic heights of gratification by using her fingers she had even gone so far as to consider making this a reason for being in future.
Her laughter bubbled as she locked the door behind her. Although she got pleasure from occasional excursions into the fantasy world of working herself off she could never replace the absolute bliss of actually reaching orgasm under a man's driving loins or beneath a woman's feverish mouth. There was a comparison but no factual replacement for the shared mutuality of soaring climax meeting its counterpart in another being.
She winked at the old janitor as she passed his office. Wonder if he ever gets a randy thought, she found herself musing. She hated the idea of his dirty old hands touching her, and hastily let herself out.
The gleaming Buick waited patiently at the curb. Once behind the wheel she could select her rendezvous for the evening. She knew most of the off-beat places. Finding a secluded corner would be no problem, either. Her money made her a welcome guest anywhere in the state. Headwaiters drooled when she entered their dens.
She was conscious of the man's eyes as she swung onto the seat. She deliberately spread her thighs that fraction of an inch more and grinned. He'd probably go home and rape his sexless wife, she thought. It wasn't every day a man got to see wispy panties covering such a lush cunt....
CHAPTER THREE
Pete Connors drifted into town that same hot, sunny afternoon. He wore a thin shirt, Levi's and loafers, and carried a hold all with the rest of his gear carelessly crumpled under a pile of books. He loved books. More than once he'd spent his last few bucks buying a book he'd spotted.
The name was huge. From a hundred yards away he could read the sign.
MARSH SERVICE STATION
He couldn't remember when he'd seen letters so huge above a service station. The owner must be crazy as a loon or a publicity nut.
There was another notice outside the office. It read: Man Wanted. Apply Bill Senior.
Pete grinned and pushed into the small, dirty office. What the hell, he thought, this would do for now. He needed the dough and the town seemed reasonably quiet. Not much work and a golden opportunity to catch up on his reading.
Bill Senior was getting old and inclined to talkativeness. He liked the look of this stranger. "Hiya, son. Want a job?"
"That's what the notice says-man wanted."
Senior smiled. He liked spirit but not insolence. Jamming a cigar stub between cracked lips, the old man laughed. "You'll do, son. We got a bunch of idle rich come here. They want back talk, but refined-if you get me?" Pete nodded.
"Good," Senior remarked. "Want to know the pay and hours?"
"Nope."
"Got a room?"
Pete shook his head in the negative. "I will," he replied dryly.
"Where? With what? You don't appear to carry much loose change, son."
Pete grinned and withdrew his last fifteen dollars. Money, as such, didn't worry him. He could always bum a room until he got paid. He had to eat, however, and that just about would take care of his fifteen.
Senior opened the top drawer of the battered old desk beside him and handed over ten bucks. "Take this, son," he said generously. "You're honest. You'll pay me back. Start tomorrow morning, eight sharp."
Pete accepted the dough, surprised. He would repay the kindness. He wasn't proud any longer. Not since she'd walked out on him. He'd drifted from tank town to harsh cops and irate social workers. He'd hit the bottle first and then, after realizing his error, settled down to seeing the country. On a shoestring. Taking jobs where they existed. Like this one.
"Thanks, boss...."
"Whoa," Senior told him. "I'm not the big boss. Gal name of Vikki Marsh owns the joint. A purty gal, too." The old, wise eyes raced over Pete. "Might even notice you, son."
Pete laughed. "Nix on that. I ain't ripe for the plucking."
"Vikki don't mind if you are ripe or not," Senior remarked around his cigar stub. "That gal has a way with men. One day...." He dropped into contemplative silence.
Pete walked to the door.
Senior jerked his gaze upwards, said, "Try Maw Baker. Corner of Elm and Union. She usually has rooms available."
"Thanks again," Pete smiled.
Senior waved him away and sat watching the young man walk down the street. He was suddenly weary. If he wasn't so goddam old he might have tried to make Vikki himself. Just thinking about her brought back memories of times when he boastfully proclaimed there wasn't a gal in the state hadn't writhed under him.
Pete was unaware of the old man's reverie. He was concerned with finding Maw Baker's. A wash and rest would soon revitalize his ebbing spirits. He'd been verging on depression when he hit town.
He understood why, too. He'd taken a ride from a girl. She'd been dressed to kill-the first man in sight. Short skirts, low-cut blouse, lace-bordered panties. She'd hinted, before eventually stating categorically that she wanted to get screwed.
Pete had been willing until he studied her face. And then-the old feeling burned his guts again.
She looked like Betty! The promiscuous mannerisms were Betty's. He'd forced her to stop and climbed from the car. He'd watched her drive off through the mist of hurt. And the despair and agony returned to torment him anew.
Now-he had himself under tight control. All he needed was a shower and sleep. The new job would complete the healing processes.
The house was clapboard and freshly painted white. Flowers adorned the porch. A woman stood waiting for him. She was about forty, tallish, and pleasant. She gave Pete a friendly smile and cocked her head on one side, studying him speculatively as he mounted the steps.
"I've come for a room," Pete said.
She was silent.
"The service station sent me," Pete concluded.
She stepped aside. "You've got a choice of three. Best take a look," she said.
He selected the one on the top floor. He enjoyed his privacy and figured that no one would want to climb the flights of stairs just for a casual conversation.
"I'll take this one," he told the woman.
"It's the best one," Mrs. Baker enthused, pulling the drapes aside, indicating the view from the window. "I often come up here-" and she hastily explained, "-when the room's empty. I entertain myself looking out at the foothills. There isn't a finer Anew in the entire town. Especially when the snow's lying thick."
From a position behind her, Pete could see the expanse of land rising gently into soaring crags. He understood how she felt. He loved nature and the coldly scenic beauty of winter.
"I'll leave you now."
The suddenness startled Pete. Her face was set-cold as winter's snow. She hurried across the room, each step an effort that transmitted itself to him.
He wanted to ask why-and didn't.
He shrugged off the strange atmosphere that now filled the room and began to unpack his precious few belongings. The room came provided with soap and towels. He had been shown the bathroom and he went there-pushing the woman's weird behavior into the background of his conscious thoughts.
Showered, shaved, feeling cleaner than he had for a week, Pete returned to his room. He stopped just inside the door.
"Please don't ask me to leave-yet."
Pete watched her closely. There was something....
Then he noticed what was different. She'd changed. When he first met her she'd worn a cotton dress. Now she wore a dressing gown. And it sagged open down the front. She was completely naked underneath it as far as Pete could fathom. The room was charged with pregnant, unvoiced thoughts. They were frozen into alertness-watchful, hesitant.
The woman studied Pete's frame unashamedly. He was naked from the waist up. Then, "You've had experience," she husked. "I like men with experience. Never did enjoy showing a man where to put it...." She halted, taking stock of his reactions.
Pete was shocked, but uncaring. It seemed that every woman these days wanted to get laid. He saw her laborious breathing move her breasts excitingly and her face flushed as she slowly came to her feet.
"This is a small town," she said now. "A widow doesn't get a chance to have men-friends in for the night. My husband has been dead six years and I've never...." She stepped nearer to Pete. "I've thought about a man like you," she whispered.
"Why?" Pete asked.
Her fingers plucked nervously at the buttons of her dressing gown. Pete thought, for one worrisome second, that she intended stripping before arrangements had been finalized. He wouldn't want that. He still had a choice. He could take her or tell her to go play with it herself. He didn't want it thrust at him. Not yet!
"You're young," she told him. Her fingers twisted the buttons, but didn't undo them. "You're clean and I like the smell of freshly-washed man. You've had women, but," she peered at him, "I'd say it was some while since the last one."
Pete grinned. "It has been," he allowed.
She took the last step. Now she was pressing against him, her hot mouth sending little quivers down his chest as she lightly kissed a nipple. Her hands raced over his Levi's, touching his genitals. "Don't stop me," she panted. "I just want to get the feel of it before-" She hesitated.
There was no stopping now, Pete knew. The moment her hand had touched him he was lost. He'd already decided to screw her. She was older than he. Taller, too. But it didn't count when they shared the same urge, the same bed.
He brought his hands up and, amid the clatter of falling clothes and shoes, cupped her firm breasts.
"Yes ... yes ... lovely," she gasped.
They fell to the creaking bed. Its old iron frame shook under their combined weight.
"If we're going to do it regularly I've got to get this fixed," she panted against his ear. Her hand was feverish now. She unzipped his Levi's and took his hardening penis out. "God, it's going to be good for me."
"What is?" he whispered teasingly.
She groaned and fondled his testicles. "This...."
"What is this?"
She twisted and looked down between them. She shouted, "Your adorable cock!"
He kissed her. His mouth devoured hers. His hands worked inside the dressing gown, popping buttons and pulling the material away from her magnificent breasts.
"Feel them," she crooned, caressing his prick avidly. "Feel me everywhere."
A heavy globe with a turgid nipple strained against his palm. "Do you like talking about it?" he asked.
She shook her head wildly.
"I do."
She drew her closed hand along his penis slowly, savoring the touch.
"Talk about it for me," he said.
She glanced down at his strong, stiff prick. It jutted from her clenched fist like a purpled knob-satin and smooth.
"Will you?" he insisted.
"Yes ... oh, yes! Don't take too long ... I'm wet already."
He rolled her on her back and got off the bed. In a second he had his Levi's off.
She wanted to scream as she stared at his bobbing penis. It stuck from a nest of curling hairs like a huge rod of fleshy delight. It was his lollipop and she wanted to melt it inside her. She wanted to feel its hardness boring into her ... in and out ... in ... and out.
"Like it?"
She writhed with frustration. "Yes...."
"Ask for it now."
Her head rolled as she felt salty tears sting her cheeks. She had never been one to speak when getting it. She found it hard to say the things he wanted to hear.
"Ask for it," he ordered.
"Oh, please! Please ... do it to me," she gasped.
He bent over her. His fingers coiled in the dressing gown and ripped. Now she was naked and exposed in her frontal entirety. He rolled her and whipped the offending garment from her. Her rounded buttocks heaved deliciously. He felt an urge to grab them and spread their cheeks and lick down the deep furrow.
She rolled on her back, arms reaching for him, eyes sad yet wisely showing her mounting desire.
"Ask," he repeated.
"Fuck me!" she yelled, and flung an arm across her eyes.
He grinned and examined her nudity. Her breasts he'd already seen; her cunt was covered with a thick bush of hair. He shivered. He loved hairy pussies. His wife had been exceedingly hairy and he'd spent many hours between her silken thighs worshipping the wetness of hair and flesh.
"These first, ... "she panted, cupping her breasts.
His gaze swung to the flattened orbs. He reached and cupped and molded each. He squeezed the erected nipples through his fingers.
"Rub it on them."
"Rub what on them?"
She yelled, "Rub your cock on my tits!"
He climbed over her, feeling her warm flesh slide against his ass. He straddled her tits and bent forward. Her eyes were swollen with passion and glued on his hard cock.
"Press your tits round my cock and I'll ride them," he told her.
She flattened her breasts into a tunnel. His penis rode down the middle, popping into view at the end of its sensuous travels.
She bent her head, focusing on the tip as it appeared, trying to work her mouth into position; trying to lick the purple knob at every opportunity.
"Tell me how it feels being tit-fucked."
She perspired freely. "Lovely,...." she gasped, managing to lick the tip of his beautifully hard cock as it fleetingly came from the warming valley of flesh. "It feels ... terrific...."
"Do your tits tingle?"
Her mouth closed over his cock as he poised for her adoration. Then-he began the steady rhythm of back and forth ... back and forth.
"It's wonderful ... I can feel its hardness crushing my tits ... oh, yes, that way ... from side to side ... wait, I'll get the nipples in more...."
The erect nipples played havoc with the tender cock. Each time he slipped past them it sent a thrill shooting up into his belly. He felt he could fuck like this until he shot his load.
"Please ... no more ... I want to ... feel it inside me."
He frowned.
Her hands fell away and her tits opened; flattened on her chest. His cock stiffened and arched away from her-pulsatingly angry.
"Put it ... in me...."
He slapped each breast in exasperation, hurting her, bringing instant tears to her eyes. "Squeeze them back on my cock...."
She sobbed wildly. "No ... no ... no! I want it inside me. Put it in me."
He felt her hand encircle his rod and she worked it up and down frantically. She writhed and thrashed as her body moved under his buttocks, getting slowly up where the hairy cunt rubbed against his delicate rectum. He shuddered deliciously and pressed down hard on her. "Move it ... shake your cunt, ... "he gritted.
She gyrated ecstatically. She enjoyed the sensations, and the sight of his rampant prick gave her added incentive to please this quirk of his. Then ... he shifted his weight.
She shot up the bed and, her legs raised, heels scraping his belly, her thighs opened and encircled him with steely bands. His body was poised and her hand brought his glowing cock closer to the scented, heated center of her lust.
"Say ... it," he panted.
She groaned and rubbed the tip along her vulva. She could sense his impatience, his desire to drive his penis home.
"Say it...."
The joyous sensation must not be denied, she thought. Her mouth hung open, her eyes rolled wildly. "Fuck me ... fuck me now!" She held his prick at the entrance, thrusting her hips upwards, taking the strong rod slowly into her suctioning vagina. She was sopping wet. Big and wet. It rode easily into the tunnel....
They were too far gone for delicate lovemaking. The gentleness that was, essentially, part of them vanished under the oppressive weight of the surging lusts enveloping each. For a split second he allowed himself the luxury of teasing her cunt; the luxurious voluptuousness of titillatingly warm wet flesh caressing his knob.
He plunged into her quagmire of passion and rode her fast. The grasping walls of her vagina clung avidly to his shaft. The wet slurping of her cunt sounded obscene yet wonderful as he savagely fondled her raised, rotating buttocks. She lifted to take his hard thrusts.
"Tell me," he panted.
She made little animal noises deep in her throat, forced herself to gasp, "Oh, God ... it's fantastic! I feel the length of it shoving against my womb ... faster ... fuck me harder ... oh yes ... yes ... yes ... now ... I'm commmmmming! "
He felt his cock throbbing as he speared her on the pistoning rod. Her body vibrated erratically. She rolled and bucked and writhed as she kept mouthing over and over again: "I'm ... coming ... I'm coming!...."
She screamed then. Her arms flung outwards and her fingers dug into the bed as her body stiffened and stayed raised. The rhythm was unable to be arrested as she pushed and shoved and rubbed her hairy cunt against his driving cock and loins....
He felt her hot flushing juices bathe his cock and as the noise of each thrust became a squelching delight he plunged into her fiery cunt and let his body shake out its own pleasures. The stream of hot, sticky sperm spurting into her triggered another orgasm. She was being ripped apart...."
She shoved at him, yelling, "No more ... I can't take ... any more!...."
He fucked harder. Her wet, cloying pubic hair brushed against him as he forced her back into the bed. The delightful sensations raged in his cock as her hot, flooded cunt writhed around his driving prick.
"No ... no more...."
His fingers brutally clawed at her buttocks and he slammed his prick deeper into her. "You're terrific,...." he moaned. "I'm going to keep fucking you till I come again...."
She groaned. The torment was unbearable. A series of orgasms racked her. Every thrust of his massive, adorable penis brought its own torture. She tried to push him off her-and failed. She tried to close her legs, but he was between them-working feverishly at her cunt.
She saw the ceiling and the blurring outline of his face....
Then she fainted.
CHAPTER FOUR
Pete walked across the road feeling cleansed. The interlude with Maw Baker had drained away his frustrations, given him a revitalized lease on life. He was proud of one thing-his ability to make a woman scream with delight when he bedded her. Unless there was something seriously or medically wrong with a woman he felt able to guarantee to bring her to her knees after one night's loving.
Watching Pete, Senior felt a tingle of anticipation race through him. Perhaps this one would be hot enough for Vikki. The kid was muscled and carried himself with an inborn assurance. He looked as though he would stay the course and that was what Vikki needed-a staying stallion.
"Hi, son."
Pete smiled a greeting, eyes searching inside the station. He fully expected to find the place crawling with men. His gaze swung back to Senior, quizzing.
"We're on our own," the other chuckled. "Ain't many folk hereabouts get to leaving the sack this early."
Just perfect, Pete thought. He felt alert, but a slow, steady start wouldn't hurt. When the rush began he wanted to know exactly what was expected of him. Beneath the carefree surface lurked an inquiring mind. No matter what he did or tried to do there was always the seeking, the search for further knowledge. Even in this most uncomplicated chore he had to be seen as proficient.
During the morning, Pete discovered there was practically nothing to learn about the job. Once he got the hang of operating the gas pumps and knew the routine for checking oil and tire pressure and wiping the windows he had reached the end of instructions. The only relief from boredom was the occasional interchange of conversation between a new customer and himself.
From the other workers he gathered facts about his boss. Throwing aside comments tinged with jealousy, longing, and greed, he soon formed a mental picture of the girl. She was rich; she owned nearly all the valley and drove herself into greater wealth by undertaking impossible schemes that had a habit of working to her advantage. She was also beautiful, promiscuous, man-hungry and uninhibited. She was detested by women and loved by men for the loving she bestowed upon their bodies. She was also single and, according to one man, searching for a husband.
Pete ignored the last fact. If she was eager for illicit affairs and one hundred percent wild, a husband would be the last thing she'd want.
He had formed an impression of the girl and wondered how he would handle her when-and if-she visited the station. There was only one method for discovering what made a woman tick and that involved personal contact. The more personal and the more contact the better.
It was exactly five after one when Vikki slid the Buick to a halt on the station forecourt. Pete was inside the office glancing through a detective magazine. Bill Senior shifted his cigar across his mouth and grinned. From his vantage point, standing outside the office, Bill could watch the pair. He made no attempt to talk with Vikki nor did he remind Pete that a customer was waiting for service.
Pete heard the impatient honk and tossed the magazine at the desk. As he started for the pumps Senior warned, "Pete-remember what I said. If she asks-don't!"
Connors grinned and waved, marching straight for the girl with the flowing golden hair. He knew her name. "Good day, Miss Marsh," he said.
She studied him quickly. Handsome, youngish, strong. His infectious grin stole her breath and she heard herself replying, "Good day. You're ...?"
"Pete Connors. Fill her up?"
She nodded, absently.
Pete bent over the door, laughingly remarked, "I've been warned not to accept any invitations you make."
She stared into his smiling eyes. "Who said ...?"
He winked. "I'm sworn to ..."
"Shit!"
He was taken aback at the uncouth explosive exclamation.
"I could fire every man here," she declared hotly.
"What about the townsfolk?"
She wanted to scream at this cocky bastard. He wasn't worrying about filling her tank. His eyes devoured her breasts where the open print dress revealed considerable cleavage.
"You're fired," she hissed.
"I expected it," he confided. "But, between you and me, Miss Marsh-I don't give a damn."
She felt herself being drawn to him now. His manner suggested he honestly didn't care. She stifled her impulse to swear again, laughed instead. "Fill the tank ... please!"
He moved away with a soft whistle. She watched his every movement, enjoying the ripple of muscle along bared forearms, the nonchalant way he steadfastly ignored her.
"Pete!"
He strolled around the car, unhurried, stood attentively facing her. "Would you take me out tonight?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I do the asking, Miss Marsh."
She surged forward. The harsh ring of hand on face sounded brutal.
"Feel better for that?" he asked without moving.
She felt ashamed. Not for slapping him, but for letting this creature rile her. She was Vikki Marsh. She called the tunes. She owned him outright while he worked for her. Now, she felt vulnerable.
"How about going out with me Friday night?"
She sat stunned. Had she heard him right?
Pete grinned, letting her see his appreciation of her breasts. He had had no definite plan for handling Miss Rich-bitch. Everything had been played by ear. The red outline of her splayed hand showed in a side mirror. He reckoned it worthwhile if she consented now.
"Friday?" he queried again.
She knew what he was doing to her. She'd asked him first. By countering her proposition he had taken the initiative. He was proving his mastery over a mere girl. She found herself wondering if, perhaps, this was the man to tame her. She hoped not. She saw him as a sexually attractive individual, but the idea of spending her allotted span with him was positively revolting.
"Do you have an automobile?" she asked haughtily.
"Nope. This one will be fine."
Her breasts heaved alarmingly inside the thin print as she verged on another explosion. He watched the wondrous movements openly. "You-you-" she stammered.
"Bastard?" he suggested, momentarily allowing his gaze to wander from her tits. "You'd be wrong, but who cares! Let's face it, Miss Marsh-you're sizzling for what I've got and I find you interesting. I'd like to know what kind of fun you're after. Straight sex wouldn't satisfy a gal like Vikki Marsh. I figure you'd want it with perversions." He stopped and waited for her reply then.
Vikki had never met a man quite like Pete before. She knew this instinctively. He was something new and her crotch itched to experiment with his peculiar brand of lovemaking. She felt sure he'd please her.
"Where would we go?" she asked with the formation of a smile showing her surrender.
"I'm being presumptuous but you should have a cabin in the hills!"
She was clammy with excitement. He had a certain way of implying intimacy. "I have," she husked.
He grinned easily. "See you Friday then. Don't make any arrangements for Saturday either." His hand moved and a cloth brushed across the window. It was his method of telling her their conversation had ended. He'd accomplished a lot. He'd confronted the boss and come up smelling of roses. The weekend was guaranteed.
She ground the starter, grabbed the wheel. "I'll think about it," she called as the Buick burned rubber and scooted onto the highway regardless of oncoming traffic. He wondered idly if she'd live until Friday. She seemed hell-bent on suicide.
CHAPTER FIVE
Vikki slammed the Buick through the serpentine curves of the highway at an illegal ninety miles per hour. Peter Connors sat hunched in the seat at her side, blissfully humming a catchy tune, seemingly unaware of the gathering speed.
Vikki was happy. Golden hair flowed in the slipstream, fluffing and curling softly around the slender column of her throat. Strong yet soft hands gripped the steering wheel lightly, feeling the automobile sway with her every command; elated as the Tarmac ripped along under humming wheels.
She left the main highway, conscious of the man at her side as she expertly negotiated the twisting, narrow lane leading into the pine-clad hills. Between head and foot solid muscle moved easily as he shifted on the seat. His ruggedly handsome face broke into a slow grin. Pete was a humorist. That she had discovered during the early part of the evening. His direct method of addressing her, his unconcern for wealth, his knowledge of food and drink, his inborn sense of timing when waiters appeared or she wished to switch topics all combined to make him a remarkable find. The more she saw, the more she liked.
She knew, too, that there was more to him than being a mere grease monkey. He had professional sureness and, away from work, a carriage of authority.
He suddenly sat forward, watching the trees flash past. The air was gradually cooling as they approached the signposted cutoff. FINGER LAKE-Keep Out. She swung through the opening, braking and wheeling at the appropriate moment as another sign came into view. It read: PRIVATE PROPERTY.
Pete leaned from the window with a sigh. There was an ecstatic quality about the deepening forest. Pine and hemlock and spruce mingled with secondary growth. Beds of pale, feathery flowers sprang from the virgin soil.
The road climbed sharply now, reached a crest, dropped abruptly into switch backed descent until it wound along a meandering river. Darkness fingered the horizon and bathed the forest in an eerie glow.
Suddenly, they were head lighting an inky lake bounded by a forest of dark trees that grew bent and folding into the waterline. It seemed they were daring the icy water to erode their roots.
"God, isn't it beautiful?" Pete remarked.
Vikki smiled inwardly. She was more practical than Pete. She could enjoy the beauty of nature, but, right now, her mind was on pure sex. Sex that would feed her; sex that would satisfy a wildly growing craving.
Sluing the Buick between a group of trees she halted before a compact cabin and switched off the motor. "Well?" she asked.
As the headlights faded, a bright moon lighted the scene. Vikki opened her door and stretched, her body outlined against the reflected white of the cabin. Pete felt his own body tense. God, she was beautiful! He felt an urgency fill him. He'd make this a night she'd never forget.
"Let's get inside."
She walked to the door and flung it open. His mounting impatience was vibrating beside her now. She found a light switch and the room was emblazoned with brilliance. Pete noted the furnishings briefly; saw the closed doors leading from the huge, comfortable lounge. His hand closed on Vikki's wrist and he growled, "Where is it?"
She laughed. Her heart was thudding wildly. Excitement filled her loins. The sensation was something from a romance novel. She hadn't felt this way since. ... She frowned then. It had been a long time. But could the strange quality last?
Pete swung her to face him. His eyes burned into her. His mouth worked convulsively as desire flooded him. The smell of her was absolute sex. She must be soaking wet, he thought. Wet enough to take right now.
"Don't hang around," he said. His hand caressed the tight outline of her right breast. The sweater rumpled as it slid easily over the bra beneath. "Let's find the bedroom."
Her hand went to his trousers. She could feel the swelling increase in size even as she handled him.
"Why the speed?" she asked.
He shrugged and forced her across the room, hand on her breast. "We've nothing much in common outside this," he said, giving her a gentle push into the bedroom.
Pete smiled. Little Miss Can't-be-satisfied was about to find herself bedded down by a real man tonight. He had no illusions concerning his virility. Betty had always told him he was more man than she could handle. And then there was that babe in Wisconsin who had cried when he left. She had said, "Where will I ever get another cock like yours, Pete!"
He had the scene set in his mind. Flicking the light on he took a fast glance at the room. His smile widened. The bed was huge and surrounded by bearskin rugs. Logs in an open hearth awaited a match. He ignored Vikki and crossed the room, tossed a lighted flame into the kindling and turned away as fire flickered immediately.
"And now...?"
Golden hair glittered, and the shape of her prominent breasts pushed against the clinging sweater. She wasn't afraid nor was she aware of feeling rushed. She, like Pete, wanted it. She hated the tremulous advances of inexperience. Sex was good. Sex was for pleasures. With a virile man sex was for the taking-whenever and wherever and however.
Pete swung her, propelling her toward the bearskin nearest the now crackling fire. His hands traveled down her-molding breasts and hips and lower, cupping the firm flesh of her buttocks. His hardness pressed against her.
"I told Bill Senior I wouldn't be at work for three days," he announced casually, bending her back ... down ... down onto the rug.
Vikki didn't reply. Her mouth was feverishly working on his, tasting the jabbing tongue that forced its insidious way into her warm, greedy cavity. Damn him, she thought. Damn him. He's got something to give and I'm foolish enough to let him fuck me. I should get the hell out of here before. ... Oh, the lousy bastard. I can't stop him now. Her thoughts were simultaneous with his actions and ran together into her responsive reply in kind. His hard hands pushed up under the sweater, cupping and squeezing her firm tits. His mouth moved down her throat, head lifting back to let him examine her face from below. She couldn't halt the immediate desire to find his growing cock, to hold the rampant prick in curling fingers. Even through his clothes she knew it would be huge.
"Mmmmm," he murmured, shifting his weight to facilitate her caresses. Both hands seized her sweater now and pulled it over her head. She hated releasing his penis, but it was necessary. She enjoyed having her tits kissed and, as he loosened her bra, she shrugged from it. Their eyes met briefly.
"Anything, Pete," she moaned.
He nodded. His fingers moved over the exposed nakedness. Flicking a nail against the stiffening nipples he brought his mouth down and drew one nipple into the suctioning cavity.
"Nice ... I like having them sucked." She rolled to permit him complete freedom of movement. Her body responded eagerly and lubricated itself in anticipation. Small sucking noises came from her chest as he chewed a stiff nipple. Her hand slid to his trousers and fondled the bulge. Immediately, his head drew back and their eyes locked in silent understanding. Slowly, Firelight dancing eerily on them, they began to rise.
Vikki felt the need to speak. She wanted to yell obscenities as her hands quickly set about undressing. She was compelled to remark on the sudden appearance of his cock as it burst forth from confining trousers and shorts. Her mouth opened. "God-it's huge! I can't wait to get it inside me!"
Pete laughed softly, eyes glued to the exposed intimacies of her as she swiftly kicked aside her clothing. Somehow, the flickering flames gave her flesh an added excitement. Naked now, he pulled her warmth against his and felt the almost frenzied mashing of her mouth on his. His tongue moved inside her mouth, his hands spreading on the fullness of her bottom. Vikki could feel his prick jabbing at her thighs, strong and ready for its moist nest.
"Pete ... Pete "
Her plea rolled round his probing tongue. The heat of her was driving him crazy and, together, they sank back to the rug. She started to moan, wriggling under his crushing weight, trying to bring his lovely cock between her thighs.
"Not yet." His hands went to her tits and squeezed them hard. His mouth crawled deliciously down to each nipple, tasting and chewing as his body lowered, trailing the moist head of his penis along her legs. She shuddered, body quivering with expectation. She knew instinctively that he was about to eat her cunt. Everything pointed to a feast, yet, for just this once, she wished he would screw her first and then dally with the fleshy delights of cooked meat.
"Please, Pete...." Her hands seized his head and tried to pull him up over her again.
"I'll tell you when," he growled, shaking off her hands, pulling her legs apart as he quickly knelt between them. His eyes fixed on the golden glory of her cunt.
Vikki squirmed, her whole body vibrating with the urgency of her desires. It felt as though his gaze was searing her cunt. She dug her heels into the rug and raised herself, the gleaming nest of pubic hair now the central span of a human bridge curving from feet to shoulders. Her hand moved over the rounded stomach and lay on her mound. Impatient fingers coiled into the nest and pressed on its moist little knob.
With a sudden moan, Pete bent and dived between her thighs. Neck strained, he brushed against the damp curls, tongue parting the exquisite growth to lick the hot, parting flesh. His hands fastened on her quivering buttocks, holding her up to his probing tongue as she held his head against her cunt.
"Oh! Pete! Suck it ... up and down ... eat me, Pete! Eat me!"
The damp scent of her was overpowering as he pressed his face against the wetness that spread and covered and flowered to His licking tongue. She rocked from side to side, straining every fiber of her being to quell the pulsating pleasures threatening to blow her apart. She was on fire. She needed spurting sperm to flood the furnace of her cunt. Nothing else would do. She couldn't take any more of this delicious agony. Her fingers clawed at his face, pulling him away from her nest.
"Fuck me, Pete," she begged. "Don't tease me any longer. Shove your lovely cock into me and fuck me-hard!"
Her voice sliced through his fantasy. He had been lost in awareness of her cunt. He had existed in a sensuous world of hair and slick flesh. He had been wallowing in a quagmire of smell and taste and suffocating excitement. Even the bursting pressure of his swollen lust had seemed unimportant in the quivering heat of her thighs.
"Pete!" Her urgent scream shattered the heady dream. The taste of her juices thrilled his tongue. The sight of her angry slit waiting for his cock brought him to a new awareness.
He moved up and covered her body with his. She pushed up in an arc, trying to impale herself on his rampant prick, but he held her off, quickly reaching down between them, rubbing the tip of his pulsing cock along her wet, aching lips. She didn't think she could stand it much longer. She tingled, urging and coaxing him with commanding undulations-striving to drive her cunt forward around his rigid member. Bending his head, Pete kissed her breasts with renewed passion, mashing her flattened buttocks in hard, demanding hands. His penis, released now, sprang upwards, hotly knocking at the entrance of her cunt. Yet, he held back-unwilling to relinquish the teasing, tantalizing power he had over this woman. It was almost impossible for him to comprehend, but somehow he felt there was a subconscious desire to prove that wealth could not obtain everything it wanted.
She was groaning, forcing her hand between their glued bodies. Fingers coiled about his staff and tried to guide its ugly head to the target. "Plunge it in Pete," she gasped, thrusting hips at him.
His mind exploded. The subtle heat of her cunt on his swollen penis dissolved all ability to linger. Her wet suctioning lips pulled voraciously on his knob. The fevered gyrations of her belly working on his was a rhythm older than religion. This was the temptation.
His mouth covered hers as he rose to take her. She wanted to scream her thanks as she brought his glorious penis into position. For a split second her hand was trapped when he drove down on her and filled her with his hardness. Her belly hurt and indented as his weight crushed the imprisoned arm between them. She felt impaled. Wonderfully impaled. Totally filled with steel-like flesh that now throbbed and jerked with a life-force of its own deep inside her. Then he began to withdraw, slowly, until she thought he would pop out altogether, but before he was completely out, he pushed back into her cunt, giving time for her arm to pull away. Her body reacted fast. As she felt his cock plunge to the depths of her cunt her body automatically began its own rhythm. Round and up, side and down, shaking and quivering excitedly as the slow stroke sent shuddering pleasures shooting into her womb. This was what she had wanted. The full measure of his penis pulsating inside her as convulsive trembles took it and brought her infinite joys.
Pete was in no hurry now. The sensations increased with on each carefully timid stroke. He sensed her frenzy and knew she was close to climaxing. He had to stop her and his hands shifted, sliding over the resilient buttocks to her hips, forcing her to accept his maddeningly slow speed. He was panting, chest heaving with every calculated stroke. His testicles hurt from a desire to explode, from wishing their seed spurtingly removed. Yet, he held back ... slow ... slow ... in and out ... up and down ... right to the end of her slick, hot, wet funnel and back down the fleshy avenue with its gratifying walls brushing his rigid cock. Oh, it felt so good. He never wanted to stop the steady rhythm.
Vikki sobbed, frustration making her ache. Every inch of her was yearning for release. There was a continuous gnawing pain in her vagina. Why didn't he finish her off? she thought. Can't he tell I'm in a terrible state?
Pete sighed as another wave of sensation flowed swiftly along his cock. She was doing everything to make it go off quickly. The glove of her was tighter now, rubbing his flesh with exquisite torture. Perspiration rolled from him and dripped onto her tits. Each time he rose and fell on her there was a squelching plop. Each time he plunged deep into her she surged up at him, straining to revolve on his buried prick; trying desperately to rub her clitoris into completion. Then, unable to contain his own bursting need to release the pent-up lusts that burned his lance, Pete began to rise and fall with a newfound fury.
Vikki could feel him drive hard and deep now and the sensation became a torture of pleasure. Fast, faster they moved in unison ... she straining to get more of him inside her; he seeming to find that extra part of an inch so vital to their combined delight. He was plunging and humping away, grunting as the throbbing pulsations reached their climax. Suddenly, with a great convulsive lunge, he sank into her writhing body and, to the accompaniment of great shudders, poured out his sperm in an unending flood. Her fingernails tore at his skin, drawing blood, raking down his spine. Her legs clamped around his hips and squeezed him toward her. In terrific spasms she held him, released, held, released, and held again ... enveloping him totally within her snatching cunt.
Pete felt drained, exhausted. He had never before experienced so wonderful a response to shooting his load. Vikki was still quivering, moaning all the while, her cunt doing fantastic things to his hard-held cock and making little wet noises as she ground her mound against his harsher pubic hair. The girl was suffering spectacularly. Suffering untold pleasures that could not seem to stop. Even when Pete finally started to withdraw from her cloying, flooded vagina she attempted to hold him inside, tried to rub herself on him.
"Not yet,...." she gasped. "Let me keep it going."
Sweat rolled down his sides and their love fluids spilled from her cunt to trickle over her wonderful buttocks and drain eventually onto the rug. She was content to feel the sensuous wetness under her, loving the last few thrills that pulsed deeply inside her saturated cunt.
Shifting his weight slightly, Pete inserted a hand between their damp bodies. His finger probed through her matted curls to find the jumping clitoris. Rolling his fingertip across the slippery nub he felt her breath quicken, felt her cunt grab eagerly on his softening prick.
"Yes ... yes ... yes," she crooned, body again commencing its natural rhythm.
"Vikki ... tell me," he panted.
"I love it, Pete," she replied, biting his neck, rearranging her legs to provide easier manipulation of her clitoris.
"Keep doing it. It feels good."
"God, you're a fantastic fuck."
"I'm glad ... no, don't stop yet," she added quickly when his finger momentarily paused.
"You're ready to climax."
"You bet." She moved so that, now, her hand could join his between them. A finger probed and united and took up the precise action. "It's better than masturbating alone and still gives the sensation of doing it when there's no big cock to bring an orgasm."
He knew it wouldn't be long before his cock got its own strength back. When he managed a complete hard again he intended to fuck her for the second time. Plunging in and out of her sperm-filled cunt would serve to heighten his pleasure. Not having withdrawn was having its effect and the mutual digital caresses were being transferred directly to him. He was her; she was him. The thrills building inside her sticky cunt seemed to be his own onrushing climax.
"Now! "
he commanded.
She nodded quickly, eyes closed, finger working faster. He matched her haste and together they worked her off. When she came it was one tremendous shudder that almost tore her cunt from around his slightly embedded cock. Only his other hand under her stopped a complete withdrawal.
She lay still and quiet, breath slow and labored, finger unmoving but pressed down on her clitoris beside his. The fire was burning fiercely and the flames cast their shadows onto the bed. From the corner of an eye Pete watched the entwined shapes perform ghostly gyrations on the hanging bedclothes.
Funny, he thought, how this woman has changed me. And she had! He knew that, somehow, someway, she had worked a definite change in him. Betty was past tense at last. Not once during their lovemaking had he given even a fleeting thought to his former wife. Not once, and that was unusual. No comparisons. No quick reflections nor wondering if she, too, were enjoying an illicit piece of ass.
"Make me ready," he whispered into Vikki's ear.
"You want to fuck me like this again?" She appeared surprised. Not shocked. Not unwilling. Just surprised.
"Don't you want it?" His hand moved over her sperm-slick buttock into the furrow and a finger probed for her anus. She was soaking wet there and the seed lubricated his finger so that it slipped into her easily. Vikki moaned and slapped his shoulder. "You like it being fingered and don't kid me you don't," he said.
"No ... it hurts ... fuck me if you want." She writhed, trying to force him to withdraw the hurting digit.
He worked the knuckle past the tight, wet opening and pried a second finger into the furrow. She was frightened now and began to fight him off, both hands battering the unyielding girth of his chest.
"Pete ... don't! Not two fingers ... I'll let you play with one in me ... not two."
"Let me get my cock into your ass?"
She stiffened. Her eyes examined his face, saw only a heightening flush and the contortions of passion alter his expression as he continued to insert his finger deeper into her anus. His cock hardened alarmingly inside her vagina, too.
"No ... go ahead and fuck me the way we did it before." She was afraid he would reach a point where shoving it up her ass would become an uncontrollable impulse. Not that she objected to being reamed. It just wasn't the right moment. She wanted it straight. No other position would do, especially when Pete seemed so damned intent on ramming his lovely cock up her ass.
Pete was not particular. His instrument throbbed with yearning. His whole body pulsed and perspired and the closeness of Vikki's soft, tender flesh fired his imagination. The finger still probing inside her anus transmitted delicate sensations to his mind and, with the wet heat of her cunt tightly clutching his iron-hard penis, combined to fan the flames into a mighty conflagration.
His finger pulled from her ass with a softly moist plop. Grabbing both her legs he spread and raised them, crawling up until he was resting her lifted buttocks on the tops of his thighs. Her damp curls were parted around the mass of his cock buried inside the pink folds. Squatting there he could watch everything; see her face take on the heaviness of passion as she realized the moment was fast approaching when he would start fucking her; see her flattened tits with their stiff nipples begging for attention; see his slick, glistening tool slide in and out of her exciting cunt.
"Yes ... yes ... yes, Pete." She commenced her rhythm, small circular motions around his frictioning penis. Her thighs ached deliciously as he held them wide apart. "Shove it all the way in now," she moaned, trying to hold her head up and gaze down at the union of their sexual parts.
Aiming his ramrod cock at the delightful lips of her cunt, Pete shoved it completely in with a sudden lunge. Vikki moaned, mingling the erotic sound with the wet sighing of her cunt. Pushing down, she mashed her pubic hair against his, rubbing wildly and crying, "Slowly, lover ... long strokes, long strokes!"
From his position overlooking her cunt Pete could examine every response she made to his shafting. Withdrawing almost totally he saw the angry, swollen head slightly embedded within the loose, wet folds. He heard her frustrated yell when he dallied. "Push it in ... God, don't keep me waiting!" He rammed home, slamming it to the depths of her until every hard, throbbing inch was buried in the clinging, soft hole.
Now he began to stroke steadily, Vikki's eyes glazing as the measured length plumbed her sopping cunt. The small animal noises of gratification coming from her only served to heighten his pleasure; the heady sounds of contact between testicles and buttocks a growing tribute to his prowess.
"Yes! Yes! Yes! Faster ... shove it in faster!"
Her body stiffened and strained, her cunt lips vibrating wildly as he plunged in and out erratically now. The onrushing thrill of ejaculation surged along his ramrod cock. Only just in time he released her legs and fell forward, his spurting penis stuffed up her to the hilt.
"Pete!" she screamed once, arms clasped round him tightly. Her thighs gripped like twin bands of steel and she rocked into a tumultuous orgasm; shattered, gratified, exhausted.
Slowly, her pulsating pussy playfully rubbing against his coarse hair, she relaxed. Her face was beautiful in the firelight-soft and bright and tenderly girlish. "It was great, Pete," she sighed. "You're a wonderful lover. I'm glad we've got three days of this." She smiled and caressed his back with surprising gentleness. "I'm sore. This damned rug is rough on a girl's back. Let's get into bed."
Withdrawing his limp, dripping penis with a small pop, he looked down at her slimed thighs, at the damp matting of hair surrounding her delicate, greedy cunt. Pearly drops fell on the bearskin rug and, chuckling, he squeezed his cock and wiped the final tribute on her belly. "When you're ready for another go I'll lick you clean," he told her, patting her hip and helping her to rubbery legs.
Leaning against him she smiled up into his face and fondled his cock. "When I'm ready? Believe me, it's your cock needs something to get it ready again. Such a tiny little thing now." She toyed with the foreskin, rolling it back from the glistening purpled knob. "To think that filled me a short while ago." Her gaze shifted to his face again. "It was terrific, Pete."
The feeling of rightness seeped through Connors. Again, his mind dwelled on the fact that during their lovemaking he had been wholly involved with the woman underneath him. There had been no flashes of Betty, no comparisons between her ability and Vikki's. It had been Vikki and Pete fucking on the rug. Just them. And the way Vikki spoke now was natural-married natural.
Thrusting the thoughts back into his subconscious he went to the bed and, weary from the strenuous performance, lay down with Vikki at his side.
CHAPTER SIX
Tomorrow morning, Pete thought, would see him back at the service station. Vikki would then be another memory unless....
Dawn was a brilliant splash of color over the mountains. Oranges and subtle reds mingled and seeped through the open windows and washed across the bed. Somewhere, down in the valley, birds wheeled and screamed as they fished the placid surfaces of lake and river. Chattering squirrels rustled leafy branches and snuffling creatures nosed through the undergrowth. All could be heard by Pete as he stretched Beside Vikki. Yet, his mind wrestled with the problem of this sensual girl. He had grown to like her-not just from the sex angle. There was no doubt she was an accomplished mistress under a man. Two days had given him many opportunities for experimentation. Nothing had been taboo. When his imagination grew stale Vikki had been quite capable of inventing new thrills for their mutual gratification.
"Pete-you awake?" Her golden hair tickled his nostrils as she came up on an elbow and bent over him.
He moved sleepily, not certain that he wanted her so early. "Yeah!" He rolled over and looked at her intently. "What shall we do today?"
"Stay in bed and sleep."
She jabbed him with a finger. He grunted and, throwing the bedclothes back, slapped her protruding rump. "Brute!" she exclaimed with a devious twinkle.
"Honey, climb out and make coffee."
"To hell with that," she snorted derisively. "I'm not a servant."
"No, true," he allowed, fondling the taut curves of her buttocks. "But get me a coffee. I need revitalizing."
"I've got a better plan," she whispered and, bending, kissed him slowly. Her mouth opened teasingly and a darting tongue pried his teeth apart. He bit gently on the snake, drawing a gasp from her. "Pete, feel my cunt."
"Vikki, do you find that mental stimulation is vital to satisfactory sex?" he asked suddenly.
She studied him. His hands rested easily on her ass and he made no overt moves to manhandle her. "Why ask that?"
He stared at the ceiling, explained: "I've got a theory. According to some experts, men, generally, find themselves aroused by talking about fucking. Women, on the other hand, are supposed to be cool customers who resent advance word-play. Now I disagree. I believe the experts are nuts. Women may appear resentful when a man starts word-fucking her but inside, where the germs of passion reside, they react as though taking a mental aphrodisiac. Combined with good old foreplay a good dose of fuck-talk works wonders."
A searching hand slipped down his belly and came to rest on the limp projectile of his penis. Her mouth worked over his ear and the string of loosely connected words brought a smile to his lips even while stimulating his tool.
"You're right, Pete. Talking about getting fucked is half the pleasure. I love your big cock-make it stiff, Pete. If it was gigantically hard now I'd work it off in my hand. You know, women who can't talk about it never enjoy a piece of ass-It's starting to erect-and a girl I knew told me she always wanted to be fucked in complete darkness and silence. She let sensations take her on technicolor journeys-God, I'm starting to get wet myself! Imagine not saying a goddamned word and straying away from the real thing ... a big cock shoving in and out of your cunt! Ha! You're going to have a wonderful hard when I've finished ... like having your cock rolled in my hand? Don't answer that yet! I wish you'd move your hands and make me hot. I'm not about to masturbate this early in the morning ... yes, it is morning, Pete. Pete! Such a wrong name for a bastard! The only gates you'll command are the gates of some woman's cunt. Talking of cunt ... and I am, continuously ... it's nice having your finger playing at my asshole ... keep working in toward my furry little hole ... ah! that's so much better ... nice and wet, eh?"
They were completely naked now and the cool morning breeze brought goose-bumps to her uncovered skin. Vikki's hand worked slowly between their bellies, rolling and squeezing his cock as it grew swollen and immense against her navel. Pete's hand was stretched from anus to clitoris, thumb probing the tightness of her rectum while the middle finger caressed her slick nub. He played in slippery circles over and around it, occasionally sliding the finger into her vagina. Her moans of arousal muffled against his shoulder and her hand began to pump his penis with long, steady strokes.
"How?" Vikki panted.
"Climb on my cock," Pete grunted, never once releasing his grip on anus and cunt.
"You've asked for this," she gasped. "You're going to get fucked, boy!"
His finger moved away and she straddled his knees, her hand keeping his penis stiff with those so-sure, exciting pumps. She bent and saw the glistening pearl of lubrication ooze from his tip. Her mouth opened and closed over the penis-head, suctioning it deep into her avid cavity, using various tongue techniques ... aware of his urgent coital thrusts and tense muscles. When she had satisfied the urge she brought her head away and slid along his thighs. His fingers played with her slippery cunt, keeping her primed, spreading the nest for the supreme moment of entry.
"Not like that," she gasped. His hands left her and fell to the bed. She grasped his penis and nosed it over her damp hair, pressing down on its strong head and feeling her clitoris respond to the wonderful contact. She was moaning continuously now, eyes glazed, head swaying from side to side, rubbing herself on his hardness without ever letting him gain an entrance. Finally, when the noises from her had reached a shrill pitch of pleasure, she aimed his cock and sank her moist vagina onto it. Down ... down ... his hard heat solid inside her ... deeper and deeper ... bending over his tensed body until their mouths touched, opened ... the hardness sliding up into her until it reached her womb. Then, tongues playing furiously, she rotated slowly on his imprisoned staff, tight against him, dilating inside.
Pete wanted to shout. Something way inside her was opening and closing, stroking with sheer galvanizing velvet along his cock. Weird sensations permeated his loins and he wanted to grab her hips and force her to pump up and down his lance. Stiff little points brushed his chest where her breasts swung back and forth over him.
"It's lovely,...." she panted, tearing her mouth from his. She straightened, sitting back on his cock now. Her hands searched for his arms and she clung, leaning back ... back ... grinding her clitoris against his pubic bone with tight, erratic circular motions.
"Start fucking," he panted, jerking his hips upwards, driving his penis even deeper into her tunnel.
"God!" she screamed, greedy now for the thrill of having him touch bottom. She began slow, deep moves to make the exciting contact with each heavy thrust. Unable to control the strokes, she suddenly started pumping furiously, rising and falling on his cock with piston-like precision. Her cunt was going crazy, flooded with tear-apart convulsions. She was syrupy hot, jetting juices soaking his rock-hard penis. Faster and faster she whirled on his rigid tool, up and down, twist and rub then, feeling the explosive spasms rip into her, slamming hard against his loins in a frenzied series of small, tight rotations.
Shoving his body firmly against her sluicing cunt, Pete grabbed her buttocks and helped her hump into the final spasm. His body ached for release and the electrifying charges of her orgasm brought his gushing to fruition. Powerful streams of sperm spurted against her womb, sensitizing it even more, bringing loud moans from her. There seemed no end to the clenching-unclenching spasms that rocked her vagina. One after the other they caressed his throbbing cock until he could stand it no longer. Perspiration rolled from his face and wild-staring eyes bulged as he backed away from her voracious cunt. His hands pushed her up, off his dripping, slimy member.
"Let me lick it clean," she called, bending and taking the glistening lance in her hot, sweating hands. Her mouth bore down on it, sliding partway down its length, licking the salty sperm from the rigid flesh.
Pete stiffened under her. Their juices splattered from her open cunt, falling on the bed. His hand curled over the hairy mound, blocking the gaping hole, fingering into the rubbery-fleshed, slippery vagina. She gasped and licked him faster, hips beginning the rhythm anew to the delightful stimulation of his probing finger.
"Don't stop ... I'll make it again," he panted, lifting his body to push more cock into her mouth.
Vikki thought of her mouth as a large vagina. The back of her throat was the uterus, softly fluctuating and enveloping the intruding penis, clasping it until the moment its seed would rip into the womb. She wanted to contain the marvelous instrument and scream her protests when the spurting slime finally tore down her throat. She wanted to tremble and quake when the tremor of lust opened his tip and belched forth its sticky heat. She mouthed him expertly, her mouth-vagina greedy for sperm, sensing his approaching climax as the livid lance swelled and swelled in her hand.
Groans of unadulterated pleasure tore from Pete's mouth. Her cunt was a vibrant creature under his frictioning fingers. Soft and slippery, hot and wet, velvet and rubber, opening and closing with agonizing suction drawing his finger deep into the cavity. He could tell-she was coming. The gyrations of her hips increased in fury and the muffled gasps from around his cock spoke of tensions about to be released.
Vikki was in a delirium of bliss. His cock spurted its shooting seed against the back of her throat, forcing her to swallow hurriedly. Sliding down it was hot, slimy, thickly pleasant. The mouth-vagina was wildly enthusiastic, gulping greedily on the pleasure-bath of semen. The cunt-vagina was spasming crazily-flowing hotly to the wonderful convulsions brought to fullness by his frantic fingers. Pleasure rippled through her body in paralyzing waves. The act of love had been stupendous. Not one muscle, not one nerve end was left unpleasured. Every part of her vibrated to the voluptuous torment of totality.
When she finally brought her mouth away from his penis, Pete smiled and drew her hard against his perspiration-soaked body. His hands wandered idly over the softness that curved deliciously from shoulder to ankle. "Take it easy for a few minutes," he said. "When you feel like climbing out of bed I'd welcome a coffee." She grunted. "Make it yourself."
"You're my woman. You attend to my wants."
She drew away. "Shit! "
He slapped her ass playfully. "None of that, Vikki Marsh." He reached up, brought her head down. He kissed her lightly, kneading her back. "Please?"
She laughed and leaped from the bed, hurried across the room and stopped, half in, half out the door. "For no one else," she said, and vanished.
Pete lay thinking. What they had shared had been wonderful. She was an extremely passionate woman searching for sexual gratification. She had mentioned that during a break between sessions. That he had lasted and electrified her with the just-completed act proved they shared more than a desire for sex. It had to be so, Pete concluded. He could only have stayed the course under those conditions. He got off the bed and lazily padded toward the kitchen. The smell of percolating coffee was a temptation he could not ignore.
Vikki was naked, her body glowing from the aftermath of satisfactory lovemaking. Light from the windows flickered across the sleek muscles as she moved, giving her a cat-like grace. She was exceedingly beautiful and her uncombed hair tumbled around her beaming face. She detested household chores, and making coffee for a man did not appeal to her sense of independence. It was an apron string and she had no intention of ever settling into enforced domesticity. Not for Pete Connors. Not for any man born of woman.
Why do they say "born of woman"? she thought.
Firm, generous buttocks flared when she bent to examine a tiny, crawling creature near the cooker. From behind, the crease was an invitation faintly furry and deep with a hint of pleasure where the tight opening of anus beckoned. Pete studied the sight, aware that she was unconscious of his presence. Perhaps it was the sudden spectacle of adorable flesh curved for the taking that shot his penis into erection. Perhaps it was just the desire to penetrate the delightful anus so conveniently placed that brought his cock to throbbing attention. Whatever it was, Pete didn't stop to ponder the mystery of his stiffness. He stepped quickly forward, seized her hips, and lunged.
Vikki screamed. His assault had come when least expected. Her rectum was split asunder and a searing agony burned a trail of hardness into the tight hole. She felt brutalized and shocked and every muscle in her anus contracted to force the intruding rod out. She straightened, impaled on that rock-like cock. Her hands sought a weapon and closed on the percolator handle. With a speed to defy his swift effort of containment, she lashed back ... feeling a jarring thud as the pot connected.
Pete saw the percolator coming and couldn't avoid it. He was trapped in her anus, his rigid cock arrested by contracted muscles. Searing heat burned his face and liquid fire cascaded down his nudity. He roared ... in anguish!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Finger Lake was remote, a safe retreat from civilization. Vikki had often wondered why she had paid an exorbitant price for having a phone installed; an instrument that seldom was used. Now she understood. It was a vital necessity.
Her frantic call took an interminably long time getting answered and when the ambulance arrived there was much grave head-shaking and muttered condolences.
Pete was badly burned. He would live, but his face would forever carry the scars. His chest didn't matter. That could be covered, but his face. ... She didn't give a damn about the minor burns dotting her shoulder and backside. They wouldn't show much and she had been lucky, she'd wiped them off fast enough.
She dressed in a daze and followed the ambulance down the winding road to town. Once in the hospital, she faced the terrible conclusion that, perhaps, Pete would blame her for his disfiguration. The antiseptic odor didn't help her mental outlook either. It served to increase her concern.
The waiting room was small, intimate, comfortable. It was empty and she sat reviewing the past. Vikki had always been capable of self-analysis. She knew, for instance, that her outlook was more manly than womanly. She was the predator; the chaser. Her entire life had been a pursuit of pleasures without the slightest urge to marry. She had no known desire to end the wildness that raged through her metabolism. Always, deep in the subconscious, she had yearned for a masterful male to come along and put an end to her rampaging, but her own mannerisms dictated, to an extent, the type of man she met. She-forceful, aggressive, uninhibited Vikki-attracted weak-minded simpletons willing to share, if even for a night, her love.
She thought then about Pete Connors. In him she had found, too late, a man to tame her almost impossible nature. Pete had ordered and taken her along the deliriously happy journey to satisfaction according to his pattern-not hers. He had shown, in his stubborn determination not to be commanded, that he was a man to warrant respect.
Yes, Vikki wanted Pete. Wanted him, not just physically, but as a companion, lover, and, possibly, lifetime partner.
Her thoughts were shattered with the appearance of a doctor. He was of medium height, balding, with skilled hands clasped before his white chest. He neither smiled nor showed the slightest sign of sorrow which, Vikki concluded after a hurried appraisal, was as negative as one could get.
"Miss Marsh," the doctor intoned, "he will see you now."
Vikki couldn't understand the nervousness that held her glued to the floor. She faltered, tried again, managed to say, "How serious...?"
"The skin tissue is damaged, but, with plastic surgery, he should show very little trace of the accident."
She shivered in spite of the cloying heat in the hospital. "Does he know the full extent...?"
The medic nodded and his eyes grew infinitely sad. "Yes. Your Mr. Connors is most emphatic-he will not condone a skin graft. You see," and he paused dramatically before adding softly, "he blames you for his misfortune."
Hands rubbing down her sleek thighs, Vikki heard the doctor through a distorting screen. Nothing was real now. She had half-expected Pete to blame her; half-hoped he would realize he himself had been instrumental in bringing about the calamity. She also heard her muffled voice asking: "Does he want to see me?"
"Yes. Follow me "
She followed down a sterile corridor with white-garbed nurses shadowy flitting by, hands holding trays containing a nightmarish collection of glasses, medicines, and needles. She shuddered. Needles! She hated them!
"In here, Miss Marsh." She was ushered into a compact room with slatted blinds throwing light across the bed in a sickening series of curving, hysterical lines.
"Oh, Pete," she moaned, and rushed toward the swathed envelope sitting upright against high pillows. Bandaged hands brusquely motioned her away and a muffled, agony-packed voice said: "That's close enough, Vikki."
She stopped, hands reaching out toward him, breasts heaving in agitation under her dress.
"You've been told...?" Pete asked.
She nodded mutely.
"Well, this is the end of the line for us, sweetheart! "
He used the word blasphemously, snarling its syllables. "I'm going to be one helluva mess when they cut these damned bandages off....
She advanced a few quick nervous steps. "Pete ... Pete ... don't dare say that. It isn't the end...."
His voice was stronger, more determined now. His eyes-through the narrow slits provided-gleamed demoniacally. "Yes it is, Vikki. Play around all you want with your male prostitutes, but leave me alone. Go get yourself another stud and fuck till you die!"
The quick cough behind Vikki was apologetic. She knew the doctor was trying to convey his sympathies for the verbal beating she had just taken. She swung, asked, "Can I speak to him alone?" The silent shake of head made her angry. Did this medic think she would rape his patient? She turned back and glared at Pete. She was trembling, containing a retort with difficulty. She had never been so ashamed in her life. "I'll arrange for your bill," she snapped.
"Don't bother! When I'm discharged I'll pay it off week by week."
"I'm paying, Pete!" She was definite.
And so was Connors. "You are not! It's my life; my face; my responsibility." He paused, tension growing in the confining room until, with a sudden snort, he said, "You'd better know, Vikki-when I repay my obligations I'm returning to my profession. Oh, yes! I was once a professional man. A crackerjack criminal lawyer! Until another bitch saw fit to give me an uppercut. I acted foolishly then. I drowned my sorrow in bottles and took to the road, but no more, Vikki. No more! I know where I'm heading and I'll get there best alone! "
A lump formed in her throat. Without another sound she wheeled, slammed through the door. There wasn't anything else to do except notify the reception that his bills be sent to her-direct. She owed him that much.
Seated in her car, watching people hurry in and out of the hospital, she tried pushing his name and memory from her agitated mind. She was determined to lose herself in a whirl of madness. She had to forget the hurt in his voice, the pleasures they had so briefly shared, the wonderful thoughts she had dreamed when snuggled against his hard, male body.
She was Vikki Marsh-wealthy, attractive, simmering for physical love. Life was lying waiting for her to grab and use. She would make the fullest use possible....
CHAPTER EIGHT
His room was empty-more empty than it had ever seemed. Specific articles of his littered the shelves and chest of drawers and served to remind her that, without him, they were impersonal and useless. She went to the bed and for the umpteenth time raced her gentle hand across its surface. A sob racked her and she fell to the bed, rolling from side to side, tears staining her lightly powdered cheeks.
She missed him. He had brought hope into her existence. Hope, and good, honest physical contact. No man had ever before given her the kind of loving she deep-down wanted. He had forced her to say four-letter words, to beg for satisfaction with obscenities souring her tongue.
She got off the bed and walked directly to the window. The foothills beckoned, but it was not yet winter and the snows had still to coat the ground with their glistening cloak. He had mentioned how beautiful nature could be. She swung from the window and gazed at the bed. The indentations of her warm body were visible. She imagined where his indentations should be....
"Why? Why? Why?" she heard herself ask. She rocked, hugging arms to her breasts. She started violently. The fleeting contact had sent an electrifying quiver through her being. Her crotch ached. She heard the rasp of breathing fill the room and realized it was her own. Every pore of her seeped perspiration; every nerve tightened into a hard knot of awareness.
Slowly, mesmerized by the immensity of her building desires, she began removing her clothes. Item by item dropped to the floor until, finally, she stood nakedly surveying her image in the far mirror. She turned, conscious of an insidious coldness in the room, seeing the stiffening nubs of her nipples rise provocatively. Down ... across the gentle flare of pale-pink hips to the fullness of buttocks and, around, where the pelt covered a deliciously padded mound. Gasping, she flung herself across the bed. Her hand cupped the curling pubic hair and sought solace between firm, fleshy thighs. Her thighs closed tightly, trapping the warming palm. The other hand rose, fondled each breast, speeding then from stiff nipple to stiff nipple,, arousing sensations so exquisite she could not stop the frightening thought from flashing into her mind that self-gratification was more enjoyable than sexual union. Her hand momentarily paused ... started again ... her mind automatically blotting out all other thoughts ... concentrating instead on finding a full measure of pleasure from the purely physical vibrations pulsing on and in her flesh.
Her breasts tingled; her thighs began to open slowly; her fingers worked gently into the nest and traced an agonizing line along the velvety labia-already moist and pouting prettily.
She shuddered, stifling an emotional bender that threatened to inebriate her. This is wrong, she thought.
I've got to stop it immediately. Got to remember he is not that important. Just a young man staying temporarily in my home. A fancy in the night of my age. A streak of lightning splitting my body with his magnificent bolt.
Slipping and sliding over the erotically sensitive little button ... fingers now soaked with love-juices ... thighs rising and falling ... spreading and tightening in convulsive utterly divine bliss ... sensations building ... building ... soaring free of the flesh into realms of supercharged, superheated superb glory ... mounting to a glorious crescendo of voluptuousness ... flaming rockets exploding with fantastic regularity and ebbing to glorious spasms that absolved guilt while complicating life itself. Gasping, writhing, she rolled upon the crumpled bed-hand digging deeper within the tight compound of thighs and belly. Fingers working their magic feverishly, she began to speak....
"Pete ... Pete ... fuck me, son ... shove your lovely big cock deeper into my hot little cunt ... oh! darling ... give me a good fucking ... faster, Pete ... faster now ... I can feel it coming ... yes, darling ... screw me all you want ... I can feel your cock bringing me off...."
She was humping wildly, face against pillow, hand held hard to her crotch, fingers masturbating with the abandon of a moronic teen-age girl just after seeing her mother and father tear off a piece. She was beyond the verge of sanity. She cried for release from the terrible hunger driving her to frenzy....
And when it came, she collapsed, sobbing, cleansing her sins with the pleasures of flesh....
CHAPTER NINE
Waiting for Mrs. Baker to open her door, Vikki had an attack of nerves. What am I doing here? she asked herself. It was enough to pay Pete's medical bills without burdening herself with room rents. Yet, she knew, there would always be a guilt-complex if she departed without making arrangements with Mrs. Baker.
What was keeping the woman? It was Sunday and past church time. Mrs. Baker was noted for her regularity. Every Sunday-like clockwork-she went to church, returned to her neat home, and cooked a huge meal for her menfolk. Without fail. It was common knowledge and an accepted part of Sunday in town.
Vikki swung from the door. To hell with common knowledge. Like everything else in this rotten world that, too, could be wrong.
The door opened. Vikki slowly turned.
"Miss Marsh ... I'm sorry ... I was cleaning upstairs...."
Bright-eyed and flushed, Maw Baker stood just inside the door, trying to hide the state of her clothing. She looked as if she had only this minute awakened-from a bad dream, Vikki thought. Like a sleeper awakening.
"Mrs. Baker," she said hurriedly, sensing that this was not the appropriate moment to bring Pete's name into the conversation, yet failing to see how she could avoid it. There was no specific reason for the assumption, yet she knew instinctively. Clairvoyantly. "I've come to pay Mr. Connors' rent. As you know he's...."
Ice dripped from the interruption. "I've heard all about the accident, Miss Marsh! "
Vikki sighed, determined now to continue. "How much is owing?"
"Nothing, thank you."
Something was desperately wrong, Vikki thought. Pete had been broke. Bill Senior had told her that much. The presentiment was stronger now. "Mrs. Baker ... surely Pete, er, Mr. Connors owes at least for the coming week?"
"Miss Marsh-I happen to feel for young Mr. Connors, too. He has suffered enough at your hands already. Can't you leave him alone ... leave his spirit unbroken?"
The woman was keyed up and bordering on tears. Vikki knew the symptoms and guessed that the feelings this woman had for Pete were more than a landlady would normally have for a roomer. She hated herself for believing that Pete would fuck this woman, but there was no other justifiable motive for Mrs. Baker's behavior. None that she could think of now. "I'm sorry for troubling you, Mrs. Baker," she said and slowly started to leave.
"Miss Marsh "
She turned, stared into the distressed features peering down at her.
"Please ... come in."
Some inner compulsion guided Vikki's feet into the house. She followed the distressed woman upstairs to the top of the old home and into an empty room with the bed rumpled and stained from recent occupation. The atmosphere was unhealthy, Vikki thought. Stale and ... somehow ... unclean.
Mrs. Baker sat on the bed, hand racing lightly through the perspiration-marked clothes. "I wanted you to know what you've done to me, Miss Marsh," she said softly, menacingly. Her eyes shifted and locked on Vikki's. "I hate you, Miss Marsh!" There was violence in the calculated choice of words. "You're a bitch! A filthy, sex-mad bitch! Everybody knows what you're like. Running all over God's half-acre looking for the next cock to bring you satisfaction. Oh, yes-give me the shocked look. Try a few lies. Maybe I'll believe you. Maybe. Just maybe."
Vikki stared down at the woman. A fanatical light shone in the cold, fixed gaze. Even as she watched, Vikki saw the transformation occur. From deadly menacing to soft tenderness and ... breaking apart ... a woman in need. Hands that had been actively engaged now fell lifelessly into the lap. Face that had reflected hate and hardness melted and drained of savagery.
"I'm sorry, Miss Marsh ... really sorry. You couldn't begin to understand...."
Vikki understood. She spoke clearly, coming close to stand practically over the older woman. "Pete made love to you, didn't he?"
A quick nod, a frightened glance round the empty room and silence.
"You miss him?"
Distant eyes rose and the head nodded-yes.
"He's very much younger, Mrs. Baker...."
The woman came off the bed with alacrity. Her face was flushed again, her breathing labored. Her hands ripped at the dress she wore with full abandon and tore it from her body. She was completely naked underneath it. Her nudity stared at Vikki. ... "This isn't an old body, Miss Marsh. Look at me! Am I so terrible to gaze upon? Wouldn't you want to make love to me if you were a healthy young animal?" Hands molded the ripe breasts and caressed downwards, across the stomach to rest-proudly-on the lovely pelt.
Vikki wanted to run. She didn't wish to share the woman's shame. Or was it pride of ownership? Mrs. Baker was a respected member of the community, a churchgoer, and charity organizer. How could they meet on the street after this display of nudity?
The woman laughed, hands dropping from her warm, moist nest. "You should see your face, honey," she said. "I'm not abnormal. I'm a grown woman with a grown woman's passions. I've been without...." she frowned before adding daringly, "cock,...." and paused again to watch for Vikki's reaction. When she got none she continued boldly, "I need to be fucked as often as you, Miss Marsh. I need to feel my juices flow, too. I've got to have a man's juices spurting into me once in awhile...." She stopped, face drained of color.
Be kind, Vikki told herself. Be very kind. She smiled and moved until she could place a hand gently on the woman's shoulder. The flesh there was moist, cool yet warm under the skin. "It's all right, Mrs. Baker. I won't mention this meeting to anyone. I promise."
Tears rolled freely down the pale cheeks. Sobs shook the unfettered breasts, causing them to jiggle majestically. Vikki couldn't take her gaze from the milk-white globes. Something inside her snapped. Suddenly, she was back in time ... back ... to a day similar to this one ... when she had tasted the forbidden fruits of woman-to-woman love. She had never denied it brought fantastic pleasure.
Nor denied there had been other moments when sex was a mutual sharing between females. But not Mrs. Baker! Not Mrs. Baker....
Her hand automatically went to the swaying weight of the breast. It cupped and squeezed ... gently at first, then firmly ... harder. The nipple stiffened excitingly as her fingers rolled it deliberately.
"Miss Marsh...."
"Vikki," she crooned, sinking to the rumpled bed, drawing the older woman with her. "Call me Vikki...." Her hands held both breasts and massaged them to firmness.
"Please ... don't ... not this, too!"
Vikki gazed into those warm, melting eyes and whispered, "Yes ... this, too!" Then, she asked, wonderingly, "Not what, too?"
Mrs. Baker sighed, feeling a great sense of contentment sweep across her body as Vikki's hands continued their work. "I ... I was here ... masturbating ... when you knocked!"
Vikki felt a weird glow warm her mind. It spread over her body, bathing her in knowledge ... this woman ... respected in her community ... guardian of matronly morals ... proud possessor of gentile respectability ... had finally slipped into the abyss of baseness. It happened, Vikki knew. When the floodgates swung open and the waters of desire began gushing it was almost an impossibility to stem the onrushing disaster. Each venture into the realm of sensation only widened the broken gates; each dalliance with voluptuousness heightened appreciation of stolen, illicit pleasures. Considering every aspect of the situation within the split second of total awareness, Vikki concluded she could not be blamed for contributing to Mrs. Baker's final downfall. The woman had confessed. She had already teetered on the brink and found it, apparently, sensually worthwhile. She had deviated from the accepted norm of her class and discovered abnormality to be satisfying. Or so it would seem. If not, why was she baring her soul? Why was she completely without shame now as Vikki's hands fondled her wonderful breasts?
Vikki's mouth slid to the woman's ear. "Did you have an orgasm?"
Soft moans of consent followed the progress of Vikki's hands as, now, they worked on the stiffening nipples ... rolling and tweaking each.
"Did you work yourself off?" Vikki asked again, urgently.
The woman nodded energetically. "Yes ... yes ... oh, it was very good ... like this, too!"
Hearing Mrs. Baker say categorically that her orgasm had been good sent a shiver of pleasure through Vikki. In the hearing it heightened the joyous chords of lust playing with her love-centers. Every erotic nerve vibrated deliciously and the inside of her thighs suddenly felt slick ... wet.
"You want me to help you, don't you?" Vikki said, lowering her head, sliding down to take a hard, taut nipple in her mouth, caressing the stiffened bud with her tongue.
"Can't stop ... you," Mrs. Baker panted, writhing under Vikki's expert caresses. Passion flared alarmingly as the older woman yelled, "My God ... it's wonderful! Don't ever stop ... suck them both ... it's beautiful!"
Vikki pushed her down onto the bed, mouth glued to one breast, then the other, hands fondling and caressing the eager flesh into superb firmness, sensing the woman's uninhibited response as searching, fumbling fingers tried to loosen restraining clothing. "Wait," Vikki moaned and, getting off the bed, quickly undressed until she, too, was naked. Her body glowed in the room's soft light.
Mrs. Baker watched, marveling at the smoothness of the girl's exquisite body. Not a single blemish marred the perfection of this lithe animal. Every delectable inch of the softly curved flesh was made for loving and, suddenly, a knot of desire untangled itself and became arms reaching to hold Vikki. This was the moment of final surrender; the acceptance of needs greater than moral codes.
"Oh, you're so beautiful," the woman cried. "So very soft and girlish!"
Vikki wanted to laugh. Girlish, indeed. She was a woman-yet, she supposed, against the maturity that bloomed on this older woman she was, in a sense, girlish. She had not yet filled with the softer roundness of middle age. Hers was a body of sleek beauty compared to the more yielding fullness of Mrs. Baker-Mrs. Baker!-what was her Christian name anyway?
They lay side by side on the bed, naked, the woman unable to move as she drank in the sheer beauty of Vikki's exotic body. Her mouth worked silently as she examined the unashamed expanse of satin-clean flesh. She moaned quietly when Vikki palmed each breast and lingeringly toyed with the ruby-hard nipples. "What's your name?" the girl asked, bringing her lips toward the woman's, eyes searching the, frenzied depths of the flickering gaze that never seemed to stay still.
"Amanda ... please don't take too long. I'm ... I'm wet!"
Vikki pressed her mouth to Amanda's, tongue probing the hot, wet cavity, arousing ... exploring ... finding eager response.
"Touch me," Amanda whispered.
Taking her mouth from tongue-tingling torment, Vikki kissed each nipple in turn, hearing the excited gasps above her, racing her warm palm over the moist softness of Amanda's stomach. Snake-like ... crawling temptingly down the fantastic curve ... barely brushing the quivering flesh, Vikki's fingertips moved ... coaxed by the sensuous sounds in her ears ... goaded by her own soaring passions ... inflamed by the damp contact now of curling, thick hair.
"What ... what are you going to ... do?"
Vikki smiled, lifting her head, gazing at the gorgeous pelt. She felt a withdrawing and knew instinctively that her next move must be decisive. Once she'd introduced Amanda to the pleasures of. ... She could not afford to linger. Amanda was struggling to raise her upper body, arms stiffening, palms extended to push her away.
Vikki pushed the woman down again, quickly sinking between the white thighs, spreading them in an onslaught of tender intent. Amanda felt the soft, hurried touch of Vikki's mouth fervently travel along one thigh, then the other, feverishly shifting upwards to the furry center that tingled and burned now under those demanding lips.
At the first brief touch of Vikki's tongue, Amanda sobbed and cried out, "No ... don't do that!" Vikki, holding the tense thighs apart, head snuggling deeper into the warmth of pelt, clung tenaciously to the wet labia, sucking now, tongue delving into the delightful yielding softness.
Amanda was almost out of her head. The girl was driving her wild. She had never known the touch of another woman's tongue down there ... and even a man's' mouth had seldom been allowed to taste her juices so intimately. She was unprepared for the skills of Vikki's frantic mouth. All moral objections vanished in a rapturous blazing of ecstatic limbo. She glowed, hung in mid-pant ... working her cunt against that wonderfully velvet-slicked tongue ... bursting as her lungs expanded ... hands clutching the girl's head, pressing it tight against her ... body arched upwards, straining and pushing ... until, with an explosive gasp, the blinding spasms of pleasure drained her.
Vikki's head hurt. Amanda's fingers tugged at her flowing hair, pressed hard on her ears. The warm damp flesh surged juicily over mouth, nose, and face ... suffocating ... wetting ... convulsing. Her own body ached for release. Trembling buttocks quivered excitingly in her grasping, clutching hands and spasm after glorious spasm rocked through Amanda while Vikki continued to lave and lick and suck that wonderfully sensitive cunt.
"Enough! Stop ... I can't take any more!" Struggling to free her cunt from the voracious mouth, Amanda rolled away, gasping and perspiring. Her eyes rolled crazily and her hands gathered the bedclothes in huge piles while the intense pleasures blasted her again and again.
Vikki flung herself on the older woman, rubbing her own wet cunt against Amanda's thigh. She was desperately needing attention. "Amanda,...." she whispered excitedly. "Amanda ... suck me off now!"
The woman cried aloud. The tickling sensation of Vikki's pubic hair was damply exciting on her thigh. She reached down, fondled the yielding flesh, probing through the hair, dipping into the wet lips.
"Amanda ... go down on me. Let me feel your tongue inside my cunt."
Amanda was overpowered by the urgency of Vikki's plaintive cry. Her flesh glowed with gratification and now she wanted to repay the exquisite satisfaction the girl had brought her. Slowly, caressing breasts and nipples as she worked down that sleek body, Amanda Baker went for the first time into the haven of hair sheltering Vikki's sex. The odor excited her nostrils, the delicate scent of love-juices seeped from opening lips. She repeated what Vikki had done for her ... thumbs pulling the lips apart, tongue shooting into the orange-pink opening, licking, fluttering ... mouth tight to spread, sensitive flesh ... finding the erectile clitoris that hardened more as she licked it ... then, Vikki's hands moving into her hair and pressing her face harder, tighter against the reacting cunt.
"I'm almost there!...." Vikki couldn't stop herself now. Wriggling her hips in pleasure, straining to bring every part of her cunt into contact with Amanda's darling mouth, she felt the sweetening tension of orgasm climbing in her belly, flaming into her breasts, bursting in brilliantly-colored flashes in her brain. She panted, moaned.
Amanda's tongue flickered like lightning ... velvet lightning ... licking the slippery button of Vikki's clitoris ... swiftly moving the girl into orgasm. Her hands slipped from the distended lips of the cunt and cupped heaving, writhing buttocks.
"Finish me ... Amanda!" Vikki felt the tight, wavy, burning ripple inside her. A huge shudder jerked her body and a jolt of sheer ecstasy erupted in pleasure-waves as orgasm seared through her. She was screaming, "AHH! AMANDA! OHHH ... DON'T STOP EVER! AHH! LOVELY ... LOVELY!"
Amanda thrilled anew to the writhing climax. Her cunt ached to feel the velvet-tongued pleasure rip her apart again. Bitter juices oozed from Vikki's spasming cunt to be quickly licked away.
Vikki clawed the bed, aware of the acute pleasure, sobbing like an animal, sensing rather than feeling the inflamed clitoris reach the zenith of its joy. Then, fighting, kicking, pushing, she tore from Amanda's suctioning mouth to seek relief from the shattering churn of orgasm. It was too much, too strong, too ecstatic!
Amanda gasped for air. She could feel the gigantic pulses inside Vikki, hand on the girl's soft, heaving belly. "My God, what have I done?" she heard herself say.
Through the roiling fog of pleasure wafting over her mind, Vikki heard, too. Forcing her eyes open she stared at Amanda, smiled. Her thighs twitched convulsively and her body still made little urgent coital moves, the spasms getting slighter but continuing to bring pleasure-fantasies with every itchy shiver yet, concentrating on the dying glows of joy, she was still able to understand Amanda's outburst. Guilt! Unadulterated guilt! Personal gratification had not carried any great guilt complex. But this ... Vikki's frenzied display of uninhibited sexual release ... brought home to the older woman the extent of her drained moral collapse.
"Don't worry about it, Amanda," Vikki soothed, hands gently guiding the woman up her length until they lay in one another's arms again. "There's nothing to feel ashamed about. What we did was as natural as letting Pete fuck you. Does it honestly matter how we arrive at orgasm? I've had many men-old and young-and quite a few women, too. I've lain in bed nights and worked myself off. Men, women, masturbation-they're all alike. They achieve an orgasm and pleasure!"
"It's all wrong," Amanda wailed, head buried in the heat of Vikki's breasts. "Women are made for men to love them. If it was meant that we shared love with each other we'd have something between our thighs to effect entrance . ..."
Vikki laughed. "Some women have!" she replied jokingly. Her hand moved Amanda's face, positioning the woman's mouth against her nipple. She enjoyed the sensation of warm breathing on the turgid teat. It served to prolong the fading embers of orgasm ... to renew desire. "I've read about women having a four-inch clitoris. Imagine that, Amanda. Going to bed with a female with a clitoris big enough to get inside your vagina! "
Amanda shuddered. Her sense of shame was acute and she only wanted to dress, to see the last of this immoral girl. Not all the talk in the world would convince her that lesbians were right ... even if she had just been taught how pleasurable it could be between women. Better than masturbating, she thought quickly and shoved the disastrous idea aside. She had to be strong. Had to finish with this girl now. Immediately. She pulled away and got off the bed. Standing, looking down at Vikki she saw how easy it would be to fall in love with a woman. Soft, tantalizing flesh with proud breasts waiting to be kissed and, lower, buried between silken thighs, the wet-pelted warmth of scented woman-fleshed intimacy. Sex was there ... lying moist and open and pulsing eagerly for a licking tongue or agile hand or stiff prick.
"Amanda-" Vikki held out her hands, rolling on her back, legs lifting and opening. "Amanda ... get on top of me!"
The woman tensed. Hadn't this evil creature done enough damage?
"Fuck me, Amanda!" The hands dropped and parted the fringe of hair, pressed the luscious lips back to reveal an exciting pink-red anger. Vikki knew only too well how her cunt looked. She had fingered herself often enough, positioned directly before a mirror. She knew the splendid sight was almost completely captivating. Her finger dipped into the slippery slit and rolled teasingly round her rubbery clitoris. She felt the tension start to mount and suddenly she didn't give a damn if Amanda fucked her or not. It would be just as satisfying doing it herself while the older woman watched. In fact, she thought, finger rubbing more erratically, it'll probably be much better because she can't bring herself to relent and help.
"Vikki Marsh! You filthy bitch!"
Vikki wanted to laugh, but the excitement of masturbation was too joyous. Her finger rubbed ... rubbed ... furiously ... spinning on the slippery button.
"Oh, dear God!" Amanda felt her legs buckle and reached for support ... the bed ... hands almost touching Vikki's raised legs ... smelling the heat-tossed odor of sex stimulated to its most desirous permeate her quivering nostrils. Under her eyes the speeding finger worked the sensitive clitoris into a frenzy.
"Look at it, Amanda!" Vikki gasped. Her body jerked, thrusting to the finger, rolling round the agitation, thrusting back. "Watch me come, Amanda!"
Amanda couldn't hold her passions in check any longer. She squirmed into the nest of hair and raw flesh, quickly removing Vikki's finger, placing her own fingertip on the erectile clitoris.
Vikki panted, writhing lower, pressing her cunt at that poised thrill. "Amanda!...." she wailed. "Not that way ... stop before I come ... get on me ... rub your cunt on mine ... fuck me, darling ... fuck me!"
Amanda didn't know how, but she felt positive that Vikki would somehow show her. She kept her finger circling on the clitoris, climbed over the girl. The instant her cunt pressed against Vikki's she knew ... and her finger came away as they ground into one another.
"If you only had a big cock," Vikki panted, shoving up at the woman's mound. "I could use a cock inside me now ... God, it's lovely ... twist around more ... bring me off!"
Amanda felt the sensation building inside her own cunt and slammed hard against the girl, churning, grinding, working her hips in a fantastic display of agility ... thighs spreading, mingling ... untangling ... moving quickly until both cunts mashed and sucked and met in a seething, wet, slurping finale.
At last, Vikki lay still. Her cunt ached, pulsed, beaten into submission. Amanda was on her back, breathing laboriously. Her eyes were closed, hands across her face, hiding herself in a web of deceit. Every few seconds the older woman's belly would tremble, the pelt move convulsively.
"I'll visit you again," Vikki said softly, getting to her feet. Gazing down at the woman, she couldn't help but feel a stirring of lust. Amanda Baker was a luscious woman. A woman made for loving. A few more visits, thought Vikki, and she'll be quite an accomplished pleasure-giver.
Taking hands from eyes, Amanda looked at Vikki. "Yes," she said mechanically. "Yes, call again."
Bending over the prostrate woman, Vikki kissed her lightly. Hands caressing magnificent breasts, she asked, "Did you like it?" Amanda nodded. "Would you like it more if I brought a rubber prick next time?" Amanda looked scared, shook her head negatively. "It would be terrific, Amanda," Vikki explained. "It's shaped like a huge cock with straps. I could wear it and fuck you first...."
Amanda rose off the bed, eyes wide, frightened. "No! Go away ... I don't want your perversions! Can't you see?...." The woman sobbed. "I've never done anything like this before! I'm not going to do anything like this again!"
"Would you like to stay a night at my place?" Vikki asked, determined to break the guilty spirit before she left. "We'd get a young man into bed with us ... it'd be good for both of us. You could be fucked and licked and, if you wanted it, I could use the dildo up your ass when he's fucked your cunt."
Amanda sighed, mind reeling, falling back on the bed "
Smoothing her dress over firm thighs, Vikki smiled and blew the semi unconscious Amanda a kiss. She walked with a jaunty step. It wouldn't be long before Amanda Baker and Vikki Marsh got together again for a night of debauchery. The woman was too hot a proposition to forget so quickly. Vikki was sure she could overcome the moral objections. Pete had started the slide ... she would complete the headlong rush into perversion.
At the front door, Vikki hesitated. She was not a bad girl. Sex was healthy, normal, all-motivating. Cravings once released had to be satisfied. Amanda Baker had tasted the delights of physical love; Amanda Baker would thirst for more. If Vikki could be on hand when the urge reared its passionate head, so much the better for both of them. There would be men between bouts. Vikki was not the type to settle for one form of gratification. But, always, when pleasures of this kind were required, Amanda was available. Vikki would see to that!
CHAPTER TEN
Vikki was at home with the high-society jerks inhabiting Malabar Beach. She loved the phony atmosphere, the high jinks of adultery and promiscuity, and the intrigue that associated itself with every madcap meeting. In the several weeks since Pete Connors had rejected her passion she had sported with the upper-class wolves of Malabar, escaping only to continue her war of nerves on Amanda Baker. That woman now welcomed her occasional visits and performed without seeking refuge in fits of remorse spoke highly for Vikki's abilities as a princess among procuresses.
Malabar offered Vikki the depravity she craved. Getting Pete out of her system was tough. If only he would relent and master her again! Yet, he still ignored her every request for illicit love. She couldn't understand the gnawing feeling in her stomach when she thought of Pete. They had shared a weekend together. They had made love-as she had made love often with a procession of men. Pete had nothing to offer her except his lovely cock and his mastery. But wasn't that what she wanted? she asked herself. Didn't she need a masterful man who could satisfy her desire ... everything? The men in Malabar were a bunch of cheating bastards. They pussyfooted around the swank clubs, eyeing the women with disdain, taking those they thought would prove the most interesting. Marriage meant zero here. Sex was completely uninhibited. It was a with-it community dressed in evening clothes and expensive casuals. Junk jewelry was replaced with glittering diamonds worth millions and instead of a dirty pad to fuck upon the arts and crafts of intercourse were carried out on soft, huge beds draped with clean, fresh-scented sheets.
Vikki, for all her promiscuity, refused to dabble in the frequently-held orgies of Malabar. She preferred the seclusion of a bedroom, sharing her favors with man or woman ... but twice being snared into threesomes with an inseparable husband-wife team of sensation-seekers. Three was the limit. Chains and all-out fucking where everything, anything, and innovations took place were all right for the others; not for Vikki Marsh.
One man fascinated Vikki. She had heard his name mentioned several times and, now, she was confronting him. All the topnotchers were gathered under a single roof for a charity gala evening. For a matter of hours the wealthy perverts were relaxing, letting eager photogs snap them for society columns, letting tongue-in-cheek journalists interview them for the glossy magazines. Questions and answers bounced around the crowded room, filtering through the haze of innuendo that provided excitement for losing-time sex-maniacs.
Dressed in a pure white gown that dipped enticingly between thrusting breasts and clung to the wonderful curves of hips and buttocks, Vikki smiled into Dean's eyes. She knew she was creating a panic at the table. Wives eyed her jealously, enviously. Men ogled her with interest and lascivious undertones. Waiters, arriving to serve, hung over her shoulder and gazed down at the fleshy vista when she bent forward.
Only one man seemed unaffected by her tantalizing appearance. Stuart Dean. Aloof, millionaire head of the John Slate Society, distinguished, standoffish Stuart Dean.
"Miss Marsh, why should men and women dedicate themselves to a world of pleasure?" he asked contemptuously when the subject swung to sex.
The others nearby hushed and waited expectantly. Vikki was an outspoken critic of John Slate. She detested Dean's principles and the assumption that America was an all-white society. She loathed the fear John Slate spread ... the ritualistic sacking of Negro homes ... the brutal segregation of men and women when all they wanted was to fuck regardless of color or creed. She had never been bedded by a Negro, but she had not created a barrier in her mind to such an event. If she was hot enough she liked to imagine she could be satisfied by a black cock, a yellow cock, a copper-colored cock, or a white cock. The sperm didn't change according to skin pigmentation. That was always slimy and spurtingly pleasurable. Everyone knew too what Vikki thought about sex. They either loved her views-men-or hated her guts-women. She bristled. Dean was using her for his enjoyment. He was all-powerful; she a guinea pig. She was his lamb for the slaughterhouse, the perfect foil to present his moralizing before the members of the press. Or so he thought!
"Stuart," she deliberately used the familiar to bring them on level ground, "don't you ever find an impulse impossible to contain?" she asked lightly.
"Never! I believe in the family, the rights of one man and one woman, and the absolute privacy of the bedroom! Sex should not be put on public display." She laughed, thrusting her abundant breasts forward. He noticed them. She felt a hot gaze descend the gaping neckline and fasten on the milky white curves so teasingly, lavishly displayed. "Believing that does not lessen the impulsive reaction to the opposite sex," she said. "Many a family man has succumbed to ... say ... a stripper!" bean replied acidly: "Then that man is not worthy of his wife and children. When a man loves, he should make damn sure it is for life-not for the span of propagation or until his wife's sexual attributes fade. There should never be a time when a married man can feel free to wander willy-nilly through the long grass of promiscuity."
The table buzzed with murmurs. How would Vikki react to this? She glanced at the others. One man-a short, ugly little creep-had taken a shine to her tits. She glared at him, seeing his wife-tall, slinky and decidedly built for lovemaking-grab his sleeve and whisper hurriedly in his ear. The man frowned, but his gaze dropped from Vikki's tits and sullenly concentrated on the plate before him.
"You're speaking about married men," she said to Dean. "What about single ones? What about unmarried girls like me? Should we suffer because men are to be tied to their wives' apron strings?"
"You are single?" Dean asked with some amusement, "lam."
"Then all I can say is-you must be a damned fool! You're not the type of woman one would associate with cold beds and sleepless nights."
Vikki roared triumphantly. "See? You do have inclinations! Why think of cold beds if you can have hot ones?"
Dean sighed. "Miss Marsh, I happen to have made a study of the single American female. Dr. Kinsey did an admirable job on them and so have I. Single girls have been busy chasing me for years-offering seduction, pleasures-untold, and marriage in a variety of forms."
Vikki smiled. "No wonder, Stuart. According to rumor you have a very active interest in the sexual behavior of the single girl."
"That's a damned lie," he replied harshly.
"Is it?"
The small creep with the obvious interest in Vikki's tits spoke with smug disregard for his wife's disinclination to become involved. "Come off it, Stu. Don't go all sanctimonious with us. I've been told about Josie and her cats...."
Dean almost had apoplexy. Bright eyes fixed on the small man and color washed his face furiously. "I abhor friends and business associates who take advantage of social gatherings to grind evil axes," he snarled. "Say what you really mean, John, or close your mouth!"
The man gulped, darted a hasty glance at his wife-then Vikki-seeking support. Finding none, he blurted, "I wasn't being nasty, Stu. I was referring to the episode with Josie the stripper and her educated cats. Remember her? Remember how she acted when you invited her aboard your boat?"
Dean smiled thinly. "I recall a woman with a mania for cats. It is also true I have an inbred hatred for the beasts. At the time I was more interested in purchasing the cats to end the misery of their nightclub act. Even I have feelings for animals!"
Vikki shot her bolt then. "Are you saying, Stuart, you have never taken a woman to bed for pleasure?"
Dean laughed. "Miss Marsh, what I have done, what I do, and what I intend doing, is no concern of yours. Do I make myself clear?"
"It is-unless you are considering my body as an instrument of personal satisfaction and pleasure." Vikki eyed him speculatively. She suddenly wanted him. She wanted to know conclusively whether the rumors had told the truth and if so, why he thought it necessary to maintain his aloof, sexless front.
"That, my dear, is for the future to decide," he replied slowly. "At this precise moment I have no desire to take you to bed-attractive and alluring as you are...." He inclined his head, corrected himself, "No, sensuous is the right word for you, Miss Marsh. Now-would you care to dance with me?" He got to his feet and smiled down at her.
Vikki laughed and joined him on the dance floor. Nestled into him she gently applied pressure, forcing her crotch against the indistinct shape of his cock. It was soft and unresponsive and she began to wonder if the rumors had been just so much hot air.
"Like doing that?" he asked.
"It would be better if you got harder," she replied boldly.
"The single girl rears her sex-starved head and tries to proposition the stone man!" His hand splayed down her spine, slipping lower, into the dimpled crease between her buttocks. His breathing came faster and, she imagined, there was a slight stiffening of his cock within his confining trousers.
"Stuart, to hell with polite phrases and hints. I'm wet. I'm wet enough to penetrate. I want it and I don't give a damn where. Right here or in a bed or standing against a wall. " She laughed quickly. "That would be a novelty. I've been told they called it a knee-trembler overseas. A soldier I let fuck me had done it to an old prostitute in an alley."
They were close to the orchestra and the raucous sounds drowned their conversation. Those nearest, weaving and swaying in close embrace, could not hear a single word.
His face was frozen into a smile meant for those watching them. Never once did he relax, never did he permit himself to tarnish his public image. But, to Vikki, his voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper. "You talk like a slut, dear. Do you honestly think I'll lower my trousers at the mention of four-letter words? It'll probably be no great surprise to learn that I graduated from an exceedingly rugged school. I've made my millions not from a departed parent but from hard work and an ability to speak to men in the field. I can swear with longshoremen and roughnecks. I can drop into a gutter and converse with gutterites and sluts but I never speak to a lady on a dance floor in lust terminology."
She rubbed her loins on him, whispered back, "Why not? It's not a federal crime to ask a girl if she'd like to get fucked. It's no secret I've got a hot cunt and you could have a hard cock if you gave it half a chance. You're a lot of man and I can take everything you're willing to give."
His hand tightened on her back and he growled, "All right, all right! You can't take no for an answer. You want me to fuck you! You want anything I like! Well ... we'll see if you are as sizzling as you say. Let's go!" He took her arm and guided her through the crowd. Outside, with a chill night breeze ruffling her hair, he stood close again, fondling her buttocks furtively. She could feel his response now-full, throbbing, hard inside his trousers. Her fingers brushed the bulge lovingly.
"You're a bitch!" he said. "A sex-crazy cock-loving bitch!"
"I know," she whispered, stroking him slowly. "What are you?"
He grabbed her again and started across the parking lot.
He was laboring for breath, keeping her tight to his side, brushing hips, eagerly watching the rise and fall of her breasts under the gown. "What am I?" he asked himself. "A goddamned fool for getting involved with you, Miss Marsh! But you'll pay for this. I guarantee you'll pay ... my way!"
The menace in his voice scared her. She tried to draw back ... couldn't. His fingers crushed her arm, hurting ... pulling her along ... unwillingly now. She was afraid of him and the terrible blackness of his anger.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Vikki was only slightly aware of a nightmare journey in a sleek cutter. She hadn't been prepared for a sea voyage and now, seated in the spacious cabin of an oceangoing yacht, she felt uneasy, frightened. It hadn't helped any to see uniformed men on deck-John Slate men! Even one glance had told her the yacht was packed with a quasi-military force of pistol-carrying morons just drooling to start a revolution or assassinate one of Dean's political opponents.
Dean shrugged from his jacket, removed his tie and tossed both on a deep couch.
He was a handsome devil, Vikki thought. Handsome and dangerous. She regretted her desire to arouse him.
"Get undressed!"
Vikki stared at him in disbelief.
"I said," and he came toward her, face drawn into a scowl, "get undressed! You've done it for other men-why not me? Go ahead, Miss Vikki Marsh-display your proud nakedness. See if you can inflame me with passion. See if you-and you alone-can swamp me with a desire for one woman ... you!"
"Please ... Stuart...."
His hands savaged her arms as he hauled her erect. His breath was a hot flame beating on her face. His eyes stared-wild and lascivious. "You wanted cock. You asked me to fuck you. Okay, I'm going to show you my cock and I'm going to fuck you until you beg me to stop. But first ... take your clothes off ... without help. Get naked. Excite me with your thrusting breasts. Make me whimper like an animal when you bare your bushiness. Stand with legs apart and tell me where you cunt is and see how I grovel and plead for a taste of it. And when I'm fucking you, when my cock is slamming deeper and deeper into your vagina then whisper how much you like being fucked by a real he-man."
Vikki wanted to scream. Her body tingled with anticipation and his voice was gnawing at her belly ... driving her hands to the zipper of her gown ... forcing her to obey. Yet, she still wanted to scream. Wanted to refuse. Wanted to run like hell and leave this maniac to his automaton army and his power-mad thoughts. She wasn't his to order. She belonged to no man. Not even Pete. He had rejected her and turned her loose upon the sex-starved world of cock.
"Look...."
She glanced down. Dean stood with trousers draped about his feet, his thickly-haired cushion rising above a semi-hard penis that swung temptingly above two massive testicles. She gulped. It was a beautiful penis. Erect, it would satisfy her like no other cock had ever done. She could almost feel its mighty knob battering on the entrance of her womb....
Dean smiled and began to stroke his prick ... slowly ... pumping easily until it stiffened into full erection. Vikki gasped, gown dropping to the floor, stepping from it, eyes unable to leave his monstrous cock. Her hands trembled ... her brassiere came off and, freed now, her breasts swung heavily ... nipples rising like twin peaks of enchanting challenge . ... With a whisper she pushed her panties down her velvety thighs and stood ... breathlessly wondering when ... how ... as he examined her bush intently.
"God ... it is a beauty!" He tore his shirt off and joined her ... cock swinging stiffly ... hands moving greedily to her breasts. "Feel this,...." and he pressed his length hard against her cunt ... laying it hot and hard along the damp nest, the huge head squeezed between their bellies. His hungry mouth met hers and, immediately, his tongue speared past her teeth ... probing hotly, affecting the role of penis in the mouth of her cunt. His hands fondled her breasts, teasing the nipples, hurting her ... twisting the resisting breasts until she cried out against his mouth.
"You don't like pain, eh?" he asked, stepping back from her.
Vikki knew now the extent of his depravity. He was a sadist. His kick was inflicting agony. She retreated across the cabin.
Dean was unmoving, eyes narrowed, gaze flicking from breast to cunt ... from buttock to belly ... always returning avidly to the perfection of her loins and the curling, damp hair covering her sex.
Ignoring her altogether now, Dean removed an internal phone from its upright rest and jabbed one of a series of buttons. Immediately-and Vikki found herself thinking it was too fast for casualness-a voice answered. She listened, wonderingly. What was this strange man doing? Could he switch instantaneously from lust to business?
"Yes, sir!"
"Come to my cabin at once. Bring the others."
"Yes, sir."
"Tony "
"Sir?"
"Make absolutely sure that Jean is willing. I do not want to spend valuable time dealing with her, too! "
"She's more'n willing, sir. I've had a long talk with her ... this afternoon!" There was a chuckle that sounded, to Vikki, more evil than any she had ever heard. It seemed to work a minor miracle in Dean. He grinned mirthlessly, replacing the phone and, still grinning, contemplated the cabin furnishings as though she did not exist; as though her nudity was part of the interior decoration and not the sensual delight she knew it to be.
"Stuart...."
The man raised his eyes and studied her objectively. There was no outward sign that he had lost interest. His proud piece stood hard, glistening. His gaze concentrated on her exposed nest ... lecherous and burningly intent.
"I'm going to dress," Vikki said, trying desperately hard to control the fear bubbling inside. "I have reconsidered ... this is not for me." She bent, fingers seeking her underwear.
"Drop that!" His voice was a command; harsh, snarling. His face, when she glanced up, was black and mottled with anger. Fanatical eyes gleamed bright. "You're going nowhere unless I authorize it." He moved swiftly then ... answering the firm knock that echoed round the spacious cabin.
Vikki trembled, hiding her nakedness with flailing arms. Something warned her this was going to be an experience she would always find repulsive. She couldn't quell the feeling, couldn't explain the cold atmosphere that permeated the cabin. Her flesh rippled and goose-bumps prickled the satin-smooth skin.
The door opened and Dean, his nudity a casualness of unconcern, stood aside. Three tall, strong, bronzed men entered, followed closely by three gorgeous females wearing cloaks. Even as they stepped into the cabin, Vikki knew the women were completely naked under the cloaks. Bare legs, glimpses of white, firm thighs and, from one, a swinging gap that displayed an expanse of alabaster stomach above a thick, furry pelt.
"Ah, Tony ... you are prompt!"
The first man smiled, eyes racing over Vikki. "Thank you, sir. Always glad to be invited for a little party."
Vikki stood facing the newcomers, aware of the women's envious stares, aware of the men's decidedly appreciative gaze. For several pregnant seconds they stood like that ... frozen statues mutually committing to memory how the others looked, and what the personal reaction was to the confrontation.
Vikki quivered. There was no doubt in her mind that Dean had prepared his men-and women-for an orgy. He himself was a smiling demon ready to supervise the evil proceedings. His lust had not diminished one iota ... strong and rigid proof stood erected from the man's groin ... satisfactory tribute to his staying powers which, under different circumstances, Vikki would have found not only remarkable but highly gratifying.
One woman caught her eye ... tall, middle-aged, and extremely sensual in build. Large brown eyes returned Vikki's gaze and, almost in slow motion, capable hands shifted the cloak aside to expose a narrow waist and full, wide hips. Peeping from under the cloak, Vikki could just see the bottom heavy curves of large creamy breasts. Yet, it was not the voluptuous figure that attracted Vikki so much as the face. Framed by soft, brown hair gathered close to the head, the woman's sensual mouth moistly moved in silent approval of Vikki. The expression scared ... and fascinated Vikki. This was a woman capable of dominating other females ... men included, if the mood was right. Somehow, Vikki felt the woman was not too interested in the opposite sex. Rather, she gave every indication of knowing that pleasure was a woman's nudity writhing beneath her strong body.
The others were ordinary ... almost. The two women were inclined to hang back, sheltering behind the men. Vikki smiled grimly as each avoided her direct gaze. In another room, under different circumstances, they would have been called beautiful. One-the smallest ... elfin-faced with large, intelligent blue eyes-had the skin poets wrote about ... rose pink, unblemished, polished so the light shone on its perfectly smooth surface. The other was of medium build, younger-probably in her twenties, Vikki surmised-and the defiant thrust of breasts under the cloak was teasingly provocative. She had long, slender legs, and tantalizing gray eyes that wavered, flickered back, hurriedly swung off again. Yet, in their depths, the flame of dormant passion smoldered ... begging to be lighted ... pleading for respectable release. Vikki reckoned this woman was displeased and she automatically gave her the name, Jean.
The men studied Vikki with healthy desire. She was experienced enough to recognize the animal passions burning in their eyes. They were of a similar height-six-two or thereabouts-and each wore the semi-military uniform of Dean's John Slate Society. In jackboots and peaked hats they presented a picture of disciplined manhood straining at the leash of Dean's authority.
Dean strode across the cabin and cupped one woman's chin in his hand, smirking, menacing with soft voice.
"Tony tells me you're willing to participate in our little games now...." He gestured and the woman's face paled. Slowly, her hand dropped to his rampant penis and circled it. "That's much better, Jean. I like knowing you are trustworthy. Enough!" She jerked her hand away, glancing at the smear of lubrication deposited on the palm. Her eyes swept from Dean's proud rod to Vikki and fell away fast. Vikki had been right. Gray eyes belonged to Jean!
Dean came back to Vikki now. His smile was cold. ... "Are you ready?" he asked politely.
Vikki tensed even more. "Ready for what?" she asked, voice tight, strained.
Dean laughed, beckoned abruptly. Two of the men bounded forward and, before Vikki could fathom what was happening, she found herself bent double almost ... forced into a corner. ... She wanted to scream! Things like this belonged to the dark ages of witchcraft and inquisitions. Fear paralyzed her throat muscles ... froze her ability to struggle.
Dean nodded approvingly as he watched Vikki docilely strapped to the cabin walls. This was his creation. A masterpiece of imagination. Metal rings placed less than four feet on either adjoining wall; stout leather straps attached to the rings and-now-securely fastened to Vikki's wrists. Her arms, he thought, form a magnificent praying V to that lovely body.
Not even the biting ache of the leather straps cutting into her tender flesh shook Vikki from her immobility. She felt detached, somehow, unable to comprehend what they were doing next. Looking down, through the hair cascading over her strained face, she saw hard, hairy hands seize her legs ... force her feet into ankle-high boots fastened to the cabin floor. She watched disinterestedly as the laces were tied. ... Her back began to ache. Suddenly, her fear raged into frenzied struggle. She couldn't move!
Now Dean positioned himself behind her beautiful, taut buttocks, caressing and smoothing the skin with cold, dry palms. She wanted to kick back at him-and couldn't! She realized how skillfully her movements had been curtailed. She was his plaything ... unwillingly ... She tensed again. Dean's probing hand had worked over her rounded buttocks into the delicate, deep crease ... worked under her ... slipping through the crisp hair ... poised along the lips of her cunt. The heat of his cock rubbing on strained thighs brought new awareness. His fingers moved ... parting her cunt lips....
She trembled, confused thoughts pushed into a mental background as the insidious workings of his fingers started a new chain of sensations....She moaned, lowering her bottom, letting him have freer access to her cunt. Once, as he lingered overly long, she had a flash of premonition. He was teasing her for some, as yet, unknown vile purpose ... he was working her up ... getting her cunt wet and pulsing ... arousing her into an acceptance of this unusual position ... making her accept the watching group ... but for what? For what devilish purpose?
The moment passed swiftly. Dean was not about to allow time for serious thought. His fingers dipped into her distended cunt ... rolling round the excited flesh ... teasing, mock-thrusting at her slimy vagina without really entering. Then, the fingers moved ... along vibrating lips ... fastening on the clitoris ... rolling, rubbing the tender bud until she was gasping and twitching. Now, two fingers into her ... working deeper ... deeper ... twisting and exciting and frictioning in and out ... side to side ... flicking and snapping.
Vikki whimpered, buttocks rolling, thrusting back at his hand ... impaling herself eagerly on his fingers.
Dean smiled, watching her body flush gently, behind wiggle energetically, thighs part as far as the position allowed. Then, suddenly, his fingers withdrew-gleaming, frothy, coated with passion's juice.
"Tony...." Dean swung on his companions.
The tall woman held herself erect, thighs clamped tight over imprisoned hand that could be seen to move deliberately against her furry pelt. Her face was flushed, eyes shut tight, muscles throbbing in desire's grip.
Dean smiled, hand extended. "Your belt, Tony, ... "he said.
Tony quickly whipped his belt from around his waist, handed it to Dean. Even as the belt exchanged hands the group began to undress-anticipation slicking their faces with perspiration.
Dean stepped back, sensually caressing the leather belt, concentrating on the sight of Vikki's snow-white cheeks. Slowly, his arm rose....
Pain exploded in Vikki's brain! Shock and disbelief flooded her! She gasped, screamed, shuddered ... straining against the confining straps ... trying to dislodge her feet ... unsuccessfully!
A murmur of excitement echoed on the heels of the loud thwack ... and, as the belt whistled again, laid perfectly across Vikki's rounded mounds of flesh ... the murmurs rose to excited cries of raging lust. The girl's anguished screams rose shrill and piercing ... bursting in rapid succession from tormented lungs as the belt whished back and forth ... welting ... bruising ... cutting the tender meat of her delightful rump.
There appeared no end to the terrible torture. Warm viscous fluid trickled down her battered behind. And still Dean flailed away with the belt ... eyes savage, fixed on Vikki's adorable bottom; seeing the angry welts swelling amid the bloody carnage.
"My God!" The voice erupted from Dean's elbow. His arm cocked, stayed in midair. He blinked, focused on Jean's terrified face. "You bastard!" the woman yelled. "You beast! Can't you see she's almost dead on her feet? Can't you stop now?" Jean breathed laboriously.
"Tony!" Dean roared, belt dropping from his hand. "Take her now!"
Tony grinned mirthlessly, grabbing Jean, flinging her to the floor, rigid member pearly-tipped ... curving toward her lovely cunt ... pressing on the labia ... forcing into her with one powerful thrust.
Dean approached the writhing, whimpering Vikki. His cock throbbed and, placing hands on her hips, he drove straight into her juicy cunt with one strong lunge.
Vikki screamed anew, the massive hardness slamming into her, his coarse-haired belly frictioning on the bloody flesh of her tortured buttocks. She had never known such agony ... and the brutal cock battering at her uterus only heightened her revulsion. She couldn't escape his lunging penis-nor the terrible hurt when his pubic hair violated her torn buttocks.
Dean was a staying stallion. The brutalized white buttocks surging and heaving in rhythm with his sturdy thrusts increased his pleasure a hundredfold. He didn't need to inject Vikki's delectable cunt with sperm to reach ecstatic heights; that, in part, had come during the whipping. The finalities of ejaculation were merely an emptying of swollen testicles and not the climax of intercourse. Gasping, slurping sounds from behind him provided no incentive to reach climax, either. This scene had been repeated often enough to be practically commonplace now. Stuart Dean was abnormal. Sex was not the guiding factor. The erotic sensations of his cock thumping back and forth inside Vikki's snatching, greedy cunt were tolerated ... but not all-important. His pleasures came from power; corrupting power; the power to cause pain and suffering.
Vikki felt his immense cock plunge into her cunt-and withdraw. Slowly, through the red haze of pain, she began to feel a measure of gratification in its hardness. She had thought it impossible to forget pain so swiftly yet, as his wonderful piston worked inside her, she discovered her flesh demanding pleasure and the steady friction of Dean's lance was gradually erasing the agony, replacing it with electrifying sensations. Twitching, trembling, buttocks rotating eagerly on his rod, shifting jerkily under his hands, she felt the first pulsations of orgasm tingling inside her cunt. The flame spread, consumed, burned upwards through her breasts into her mind ... white-hot, jolting, incredibly wonderful.
Dean heard Vikki's gasp of pleasure and felt her buttocks shake mightily. His cock slid through her juices, caressed and sucked within her hot depths. He plunged faster ... pumping ... straining. The music of lust hammered in the background, echoes of labored breathing and speeding surrender toward frenzied pleasure. His knees weakened, chest heaving. One final lunge, poised at the entrance of her grasping womb ... completion! Spurting sperm jetted hotly into her belly. Throbbing wild cock jerked erratically inside her cunt. She screamed, orgasm exploding, spasming, convulsing.
Dean staggered back, cock glistening, dripping, and oozing. His face was a mask of hate. He saw Vikki's soft, pliable flesh tremble out its message of love; slick, slimy white semen sliding down the inner thighs. He saw her cunt, red and wide, his juices fringing and clinging to the hair. He saw her as an enemy.
"Tony...."
From the floor, ass rising and falling swiftly above the clinging, vibrating Jean, Tony paused, feeling the woman claw his back demandingly, insistently, pleadingly!
"Tony ... fuck her!"
Tony slammed his cock into Jean, short-stroking furiously.
"Not her ... this one!"
Tony quivered ... brinking climax ... daring to ram his rod home once ... twice ... three ... four times. Jean shuddered, gasped, thrust her cunt against his driving cock, rolling wildly into orgasmic spasms.
Dean's hand tore at Tony's shoulder, pulling him bodily from the woman. A spurting cock plopped from Jean's cunt and sent a jet of slimy seed over Dean's foot. Face flushed in anger, Dean slammed a fist into his lieutenant's belly. "I'll have you flayed for that," he roared, seeing Tony double and grunt. Sperm continued to ejaculate ... forced from his long, thin penis by the doubling process.
"Shove it into this one," and Dean pushed Tony against Vikki's bleeding, welted buttocks.
Tony closed his eyes, squeezing the hurt from his belly. Opening his eyes he saw the wonderful mounds of butchered meat and his cock throbbed anew. Straightening, he parted Vikki's cheeks and rubbed Dean's sperm into her little anus. His face hardened, his cock swelling majestically. Grasping the rigid rod he aimed and shoved home.
Vikki yelped, shooting forward. Pain shot through her again. Her ass was sore from Dean's savage beating-now it was being violated again. But in a different way! Luckily for her, Tony's cock was thin. Long but thin! Even so, crushing her anus, pressing its tightness apart, it hurt. Hurt awfully! The pleasure of her orgasm vanished ... pain lanced upwards on the knotted head of Tony's cock!
Jean squirmed on the floor, soaked, splattered where Tony's ejaculation had wavered across her thighs and belly before finally spurting on Dean's foot. She rubbed the hot slime, lifted her hand, and licked the residue. She was totally aroused and the sight of the others ... naked, pumping, sucking, licking ... did nothing to lessen her thirst for thrills....
Vikki felt frantic hands loosen the straps around her wrists-unlace the ankle-high boots that held her feet securely to the floor. Tossing her head, hair flying aside, she saw Jean-wide-eyed and flushed-husking, begging, "Please ... get on top of me! I want to feel Tony taking you!"
The pistoning penis in her rectum had not melted the initial agony; had not yet begun to penetrate with any degree of pleasure. Vikki knew she was free now. She knew the boots holding her feet were hurdles she could simply vault. Her hands slipped from the straps and she thanked Jean silently, poised....
Dean lay against the wall, glistening penis dangling limply. His attention was diverted by the energetic tangling of the tall woman and one of his men. It never failed to please Dean when he could watch the frenzied attainment of orgasm on a woman's face. There was something primitive about the facial contortions ... a throwback to furry animals unleashing primitive lusts in brutal lovemaking. Too late, Dean realized what Jean had done ... what furies had been unleashed!
Vikki waited until Tony was partially withdrawn from her anus. Then, thrusting with hands, she surged backwards, anus closing viciously around his knob-squeezing, hurting, forbidding further entry. Stepping from one boot, Vikki pulled forward, the distinct plop of Tony's thin cock leaving her ass giving her added incentive. She swung, drawing her other foot free. Blazing eyes bored into the startled Tony; revengeful hands grabbed his glistening, thin cock ... and savagely twisted ... yanked ... jerked!
Tony screamed, staggered back, hands clutching his injured member.
Dean came erect, ready to spring to his feet.
Jean yelled, "No ... don't leave me!"
The tall woman shoved her steaming cunt into her companion's face and slurped mightily on his spurting prick, swallowing the hot seed greedily.
The third woman twisted her head, glazed eyes trying to focus. She was impaled on a pumping prick, her hand expertly working the remaining man off.
Vikki could only think of escape. She knew, instinctively, that they would soon catch her unless....
She saw Tony's discarded clothing, the holster lying open, pistol tilted precariously to the floor. She dived, fingers closing around the checkered butt.
Dean levered off the wall, yelling orders. "Don't let her getaway! Brad ... Tony ... Mike!...."
Vikki brought the heavy gun level, aimed at Dean, closed her eyes. She felt the trigger resist and squeezed harder. ... Flame erupted from the muzzle, blasting explosion rolled deafeningly. Her arm kicked. Cordite stung through tightly compressed eyelids.
Across the cabin, Dean slumped, hands pressed to his chest, trying to stem the crimson flood that bubbled and frothed from his punctured flesh. His eyes glassed, rolled.
Jerking once, his body lay motionless now ... etched in the red blood.
Vikki felt the gun drop against Tony's clothing, felt its being eased from her limp grasp. Hands lifted her, moved her. Cordite wafted round the spacious cabin and the smell of death grew heavy....
CHAPTER TWELVE
Birds singing awoke Pete Connors from a deep slumber. Rubbing sleep from his eyes he padded naked to the window, grinned as a couple of brightly-colored fledglings fought for one portion of bread, shut the window and returned to his lonely bed. The clock showed 6:47. He frowned. She usually crawled into his bed around five-fifteen for her morning, internal massage. Pete had gotten used to calling her she. He did not want Bill Senior catching him referring to Amanda Baker. Only in the privacy of a bedroom, her naked body bucking under his, did he permit himself the luxury of an occasional Amanda. And then to encourage her into more strenuous, more imaginative acceptance.
Stretching lazily, Pete let his mind wander. He thought about Vikki ... and leisurely dropped a hand to his limp penis. He became aware of the action and laughed. Trust him! Just her name got him working on a hard! He didn't bother to remove his hand and it automatically coiled round the soft member, easing the foreskin back, rolling it gently, letting the sensations increase the strength of his thoughts. His other hand came up, brushed the scar that angered his cheek ... and fell quickly away. He had long since forgiven her, yet he could not admit it to anyone but himself. Stubborn? It was possible! Proud? Very!
He heard the rattle of cup in saucer and lay back, across the bed, hand idly pumping on his rising penis. She would have his coffee and a wet pussy to take care of the stiffening rod. She was an extremely active woman-sexually. Her awakening had been swift; appreciated. Working at the gas station was not a job that gave Pete any satisfaction. Ambition was not needed to fill a tank or open a can of oil. Only pride made him stay ... in Vikki's town-working for her, taking her money each weekend. He'd momentarily shelved the idea of returning to the legal profession-intent only on finding a way to get Vikki back ... to where they'd been before his accident.
Amanda Baker stood in the doorway. She had blossomed fully and, tray balanced in one hand, she watched him slowly prepare the weapon. Her robe hung loose, showing more than a hint of pubic hair and a beautiful breast. She laughed, parted the robe fully, placed a hand on her cunt and parted the labia. Rolling a finger on her clitoris she feigned passion and orgasm, gasping amusedly, "I'm coming, Pete ... oh, Pete ... shove it in hard and shoot your load!"
Pete smiled, penis standing erect. He grabbed the coffee and drank-eager to do exactly what she'd said-shoot his load into her!
"Pete...." Amanda sat on the bed and placed her gentle hand round his strong cock. "I've a confession to make!"
He eyed her speculatively. It wasn't like her to confess to anything ... unless it was her abject liking for cock. That she cheerily confessed every moment they shared.
Her hand drew the foreskin back, slipped down to the base, fondled cock and testicles simultaneously. An old familiar itch began between her thighs and she squirmed. "What's the confession?" Pete asked.
"I ... I...." She bent and kissed his penis avidly. Her tongue licked down the hard length, back to the tip, tried to insert itself in the hole there, didn't, and returned to licking around the glans. Once, experimentally, her mouth opened and took the knob into her moistness. Bobbing her head several times, she tasted the fine, healthy salt of him before sitting up again. Their eyes met ... knowing, agreeing, saying "soon."
"The confession!" Pete said.
"I've been,...." she hesitated, rushed into, "I've been seeing Vikki!"
Pete tensed. His cock throbbed alarmingly.
"Pete, she's a nice girl. Very nice!" Amanda smiled and grew wistful. She remembered the first time Vikki and she....
Pete grabbed her head and forced her to face him. He searched her eyes, saw ... his heart thudded. It couldn't be! Surely Vikki would not want. ... "Did she? ... Have you?...." He cleared his thoughts, spoke calmly now. "You and she have been lovers!"
Amanda nodded. "Yes, Pete-we have! Oh, I'm confused. I've wanted to tell you. Don't think Vikki is rotten. She isn't. That girl is a young animal. Fresh, clean, vibrant. She came to pay your rent when you were ill. I refused to take it...." She stroked his cock lovingly, informing him why she had refused. He smiled understanding and drank the coffee in one gulp. "Pete ... oh, dear Pete ... Vikki gave me comfort. I'd been naughty." She chuckled at the idea of a grown woman being "naughty." There was a large hunk of Amanda Baker belonging to the Victorian era. Puritan blood coursed in her veins; only the lusts of modernity kept her fully in her own century. "I'd been masturbating ... thinking of your lovely cock. ... Vikki called and I felt compelled to blame her for the accident. I went too far and, suddenly, it happened. We were naked, making love. I'd never done it with a woman before. I have since ... with Vikki. Here, when you've been working. At her place when you thought I was visiting friends." Her head dropped while she continued to stroke his penis, kept it erect and strong for her.
Pete was the confused one now. The last person he'd ever have suspected of playing around with lesbianism was Amanda Baker. It was almost impossible to believe her capable of having a young lover. A respected woman, matronly, pillar of moral strength in the small community, founder-member of several women's' clubs-that was Maw Baker. Pete knew she had her moments! He shared all ... no, most ... Vikki apparently shared the others! It was unbelievable! But why had she confessed? Was she due for another session with Vikki? Was this why she had told him?
"What forced the confession, Amanda?"
"I'll explain everything afterwards," the woman said. She lay back, thighs spreading, damp hair curling teasingly round her delicious cunt lips. "Don't take long, Pete. I was fingering myself waiting for the coffee to boil."
He bent over the damp, sweet-scented nest and raced his tongue around the fringe. A little quiver warned that she was very worked up, and he dived his ardent tongue deep into her vagina. She gasped, lifting her legs, parting and holding her thighs to her breasts. Pete knew what she wanted. His fingers probed her taut buttocks, poking one into her tight anus, twisting and probing deep ... deeper ... hurting and pleasuring. His face pressed to the stretched muff, lapping labia and slit, prying the lips open, finding the slippery, sensitive button, sucking and drawing on its stiff protrusion.
"You're wonderful, Pete," she moaned. "Now ... get it into me!"
He rolled her until, knees bent under her, buttocks twin white mounds parted darkly in rearing glory, head lowered, face hard down into pillow ... she was ready. Taking his stance behind her uplifted bottom, he grasped his strong, stiff prick, gently touched her wet cunt.
"Yes, Pete ... shove it in hard!"
He thrust, plunging past the moist lips, spearing her vagina to its quivering, fleshy depths. She moaned, twitched her ass, thrust back at his loins. The soft plop of entry sounded exciting. The heavier noise of his testicles slapping the tense backs of thighs was an obscene after-pop. Grunting, Pete drove at her again and again, faster and faster and deeper into her dripping tenderness. He was ruthless; a machine stroking in and out of the bisected tufts of curling, wet hair. Amanda panted, her face split between sheer ecstasy and an expression of joyous pain. Never once did Pete's huge staff cease its merciless work; never once did either complain. Creaking bed, labored grunts, the wet, slurping contact of organs mingling with crooning sounds from Amanda gave Pete the final mental shove into climax. The noises, the sensations, the rising odor of sex intermingled and untangled into their separate slots. His cock slid throbbingly in and out, his hands now under her, squeezing, hurting her marvelous breasts.
Hot sperm poured down her thighs, flooded her cunt.
His cock dripped seed on the crumpled bed. He stood back ... waiting. She rolled, mouth open, hands reaching in desperation. He bent over her, urgently moving his knob between her eager lips. Her tongue licked the sperm from the swollen glans, sucking now up and down the staff. He twisted, her teeth catching his skin, releasing when he jerked away, sucking it better. Her thighs lay wide apart. His tongue slid into her pelt, into the lips, greedy for the sperm-juice taste of her.
He was fantastic. Shudders shook her flesh. Hot spearing assaults licked the stickiness, brought her roaring to a new orgasm. Spasms shook her belly, made her suck faster, tighter around his cock. He had to come again ... soon. She couldn't stand the exquisite thrill of rocking orgasm any longer. Her clitoris pulsed rapturously ... and the fused fieriness of seething completion brought tearing, ripping moans of inexpressible pleasure from her. She was afraid she'd bite his cock; she coaxed him to come, tickling his ass, his balls, sucking and licking ... feeling his urgent thrusts shove the wonderful thing deep against the back of her throat.
He came, spurting his pleasure....
Amanda tore from his mouth, hands pressed to the glowing, spasming center of her being. She rocked, groaning, panting ... deep inside fluctuating between orgastic fury and agonizing pleasure.
Pete watched her through the haze of his own climax. He clasped the still dribbling penis, keeping the thrill alive with slow, pressured strokes up and down its softening length. Then, when the final throb, the last pulsation had vanished, he lay back, hand sticky and possessing his skilled lance.
Five minutes after the sensations abated, Amanda rose and smiled down at him. "I can't stop being amazed at the way I act," she said. "Even when my husband was alive it never felt like this."
Pete was respectful. He simply said, "Some men don't know how to arouse a woman to her best."
"He didn't, and that's for sure," Amanda agreed. "His cock-" and she examined Pete's minutely, handling it delicately so as not to encourage its lusting erection, "-was thicker than yours. Not so long. Just thicker. I can't remember feeling him hit bottom of my cunt. Fact is, I can't recall his making me want to fuck more than once a night. With you, Pete," and she stroked his chest tenderly, "I could fuck night and day. I've got to stop for a few minutes, otherwise the wonderful pain would kill me. Is it like that with you?"
Pete grinned ruefully. "Not exactly."
She squatted, crossing her thighs, the furry sex displayed fully. Parting the wet lips she touched her clitoris. She jerked. It was electric ... acutely sensitive. "See? Still too soon for another go."
Pete studied her cunt. He liked seeing a woman spread her thighs and show her cunt in all its pristine glory. A cunt was an unending experience. No two quite alike. No two fit around an erect penis the same. No two so different yet so alike in action. The labia and the soft, moist vagina, the clitoris and the curling hair, the elongated wound and the tiny, proud closure of the anus nestling where splendid buttocks crushed together. More interesting and photogenic than the male appurtenance. More fascinating in its folding, intricate wonder. Absently, he asked, "What were you going to explain?"
She closed her legs, swung until she sat on the edge of the bed. Her face was tense, expectant. "I don't want to lose you, Pete...."
He sat upright. Something was wrong. Did it concern Vikki? It must, he realized as cold fear twisted his gut.
"That's why I wanted you to fuck me before I mentioned this. Vikki is in trouble!"
"What trouble?" He was icy. Calm.
"She murdered a man...."
"Oh, God! No!"
"It's in the papers. A headline story."
"Where's the damned newspaper?"
"Outside the door." She reached for him, face lined with worry. "Pete-this won't spoil things for us, will it?" He hesitated. Vikki meant everything to him. He loved her. He was virile and healthy. The scar had almost changed his personality but not now. He had overcome! Could love for Vikki exist side by side with fondness and passion for Amanda? Or other women? He'd had one marriage busted by promiscuity and illicit affairs. Not his. Betty's. He thought differently about sex out of marriage now. It was right providing both parties agreed and were constantly aware of any and every deviation. He could condone Betty-Vikki, if she accepted his manifestation of love. It was human to find variety a spice. A necessary quickening of sexual stimulation outside marriage was a tonic. Amanda could fulfill a want. Vikki, too, enjoyed lovemaking with Amanda. Yes, it was possible that the three of them would find perfect bliss in their relationship.
He was well aware that the world would think his new attitude "sick," that they would never condone, much less understand, his new feelings. But they were part of that same world which classified oral sex as a crime against state and church, that felt divorce by itself was a heinous sin. No matter how one looked at it, there would always be a group somewhere who'd find fault with someone else's morals regardless of what they were. Well, he'd seen the error of his own ways. He'd accepted that he'd been living in a looking-glass world and maintaining the familiar double standard that what men did was all right, but women shouldn't do the same thing. Why shouldn't they? Who took the privilege of super judgment and pronounced all women who strayed from the traditional as outright whores? What fool would assume so god-like a stance ... certainly not he, not anymore. Pete no longer wanted to just "use" a woman, he wanted to enjoy her. Does an art collector ask who else has viewed a painting? No. It is there ... to be enjoyed, to be admired-not to be possessed or kept draped lest someone else perceive its beauty. Pete had learned, and the scars of his weekend with Vikki had become emblems of maturity instead. To hell with what the world would think!
"Amanda," he said eventually, "Vikki will not destroy the bond of affection we share."
"It's not affection I crave, Pete," she said quickly. "It's cock. Your cock. Inside me, doing fantastic things for my cunt. To be told I'd never have your sperm spurting into me again would be condemning me to death. Living death."
He kissed her lightly. "Don't worry, that won't happen. Now," and he hurried to the door, glancing at the headlines as he returned with the newspaper, "I've got to make arrangements. I'm going to Malabar. Vikki needs me more...."
She wailed, "Pete! I need you, too!"
Smacking her protruding rump, he smiled nervously. "Yes, you do, but what you've just had should keep it satisfied for a week or two. Remember, you went without for six long years!"
Amanda nodded thoughtfully. There was no percentage in argument. Pete was a stubborn, determined young man. To antagonize him could mean a break between them. She was willing to settle for a portion of his affection rather than risk a complete bust-up. "All right, Pete-but don't ever forget, when you're lonely and desperate for a good fuck, I'll be here, waiting!" And she wiggled her ass, fondled her cunt mischievously, padded naked from the room. Once outside, she cried. Bitterly. She felt lonely again....
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The journey to Malabar was filled with suspense. Pete read-and reread-the newspaper account of the shooting, trying to see behind the usual smoke screen of unverified evidence already collected by the Malabar police. From the onset, Pete formed a theory. Somebody was lying! According to the police department, Vikki had shot Dean in a fit of jealousy. That, Pete instinctively knew, was incorrect. Vikki was anything but a jealous type. She could be classified as wanton, uninhibited, promiscuous, wild, crazy, borderline-nymphomaniac ... but jealous? ... never! He doubted if Vikki possessed a single jealous bone in her body.
The weight of evidence against the girl was overwhelming. So the newspaper report said. People at a charity ball had testified that Vikki had been attempting to seduce Stuart Dean all evening. Dean's personal crew aboard the oceangoing yacht also stated that she had been determined to cause trouble. They even ventured to state that Dean had warned them of this. What the actual trouble could be was left unanswered, but the suggestion alone was damning against Vikki.
Pete felt his ambition returning. Since the accident he had found sleep difficult, his health had deteriorated, and his entire mental attitude had suffered. Now, he felt alert. A surging flow of challenge raced through veins trained in the gymnastics of the legal profession. Old skills-long since shelved and shrouded in a need to forget an unhappy marriage-came bubbling to the surface. He was an attorney. A damned good lawyer. More-he was a trial lawyer ... and that's what Vikki needed.
Pete felt the money spent during his hobo days worthwhile. Those books he had bought-legal tomes and Perry Mason novels-would start paying off. He admired Gardner as an attorney. The man was a legal wizard and, although Perry's courtroom tactics were to be taken with liberal doses of salt, there was much of the fictional lawyer in Pete's own makeup. He believed, in all sincerity, that Perry Masonism was preferable to becoming a dust-encrusted office resident.
Malabar was straight from a Hollywood movie set. Lush, catering to the perversions of the very wealthy, incapable of understanding anything short of outright flamboyancy. The entire area was permeated with an atmosphere of unreality and lascivious decay. It existed-and yet, failed to register as a town where ordinary folk lived, worked, played, made love.
Pete's first call was with the D.A. He found the man upset, even nervous. Elections were due soon and political aspirations brought conflicts few survived calmly. Vikki's trial-if, indeed there was one-could not affect the outcome of the election. She was just another little-rich-girl and Malabar had dozens of her kind. Murder was an eye-catching headline in the papers, but the preliminary reports suggested an airtight case and that seldom aroused the voters to regard their elected D.A. as a genius in his chosen profession.
Pete had listened to the D.A. relate the police case. Now. ... "What does Vikki Marsh say?" he asked softly.
"Claims, naturally, she is innocent," the other replied. He tapped a sheaf of papers littering his massive desk. "These say she's guilty! "
Pete smiled indulgently. "Those, I imagine, are the statements taken from Dean's crew members!" He climbed to his feet and bent over the desk. "Have you had the autopsy surgeon's report yet?"
The D.A. settled back and grimly studied his opponent. The man was small, balding, eagle-eyed with a habit of drooping one lid when contemplating. "Not yet," he allowed. "Doc Baxter is getting old. Anyway, I'm perfectly happy with the police investigation. Your client does not deny shooting Dean. She claims extenuating circumstances leading to justifiable homicide...."
Pete barked, "What circumstances?"
The D.A. colored slightly. "Er...." He lowered his gaze.
Pete grinned. The man was old-fashioned! Knowing Vikki's penchant for getting herself involved in highly unorthodox sexual escapades, Pete could well imagine what was bothering this man. How did one go about castigating a wealthy woman before her attorney? Especially if the facts were decidedly lecherous-as Pete thought they were.
Pete helped the other. "Vikki was shacking-up with Dean and he wanted her to do something perverted which she refused to try. Result-force and self-defense."
The D.A. glowered now. "If that were all," he muttered. "Your client tells a story which I find impossible to believe. She claims Dean beat her before witnesses-naked, too. She further states she was sodomized "
Pete grunted. "Has she been examined by a doctor?"
"I believe so...."
"Believe?" Pete roared. "Believe! Man, that was your first step. What the hell kind of law is practiced in Malabar? A woman is accused of murder. She claims she was beaten and yet you don't have a medical report to verify-or deny-her statement!"
Eagle eyes glinted brightly. "Perhaps I have been lax...."
Pete shrugged and slammed a fist into his other palm. "May I see my client?" he asked bitterly.
"Of course," came the hurried reply. "I'll make the necessary arrangements...."
Pete walked from the office with his heart pumping wildly. Somebody, somewhere in the case was a bumbling bastard! Perhaps it would be better if he did a little investigation before meeting Vikki face to face. He arranged for a doctor to visit Vikki and make a thorough examination. He called on the autopsy surgeon and was told that it would take another twenty-four hours for finalities to be completed. The D.A. had been right-the surgeon was old and slow!
Returning to the D.A's office, Pete got permission to study the police report. It was the worst example of surface, routine investigation Pete had ever come across, but he refrained from mentioning the fact. He'd set wheels in motion. He could wait. Vikki was in no danger of indictment yet. Not until after the autopsy had been completed. Not until the D.A. had gotten around to having her medically examined, too. Pete felt the man's desire to make amends would go that far. He didn't dislike the District Attorney. He pitied the man. Thanks to laziness and laxity on the part of someone-and one helluva rush to get into print with a headline story-the D.A. was now placed in a position of acute embarrassment. It was his baby and no amount of explaining would get him out from under without a slight blemish on his character. And elections were coming soon!
Now Pete knew exactly what to do....
He checked into a hotel, changed clothing, and wandered along the waterfront....
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Across the harbor, Dean's huge oceangoing yacht rode at anchor. Wearing Levi's, casual shirt, and loafers, Pete looked like any other beach bum. The scar helped, too. It added a devilish grin and could easily have been the result of a waterfront brawl-which was what Pete wanted everyone to believe!
The rented skiff glided against the yacht's hull and was secured in a jiffy. Glancing upwards, Pete waved. The woman was unmoving, considering the intruder with disdain. Only a slight flicker of large brown eyes showed she'd even noted his arrival.
"May I come aboard?" Pete shouted.
The woman shrugged. "If you like."
He climbed the swinging ladder and planted both feet firmly on deck. He studied the woman then. Tall, possibly a few years younger than Amanda Baker, wearing a loose-fitted blouse over tight slacks that highlighted the sensual curves of hips, thighs, buttocks. "I'm looking for the skipper," Pete smiled. "Know where he is?"
The woman laughed-hard and brittle. Her sensuous face grew vicious. "Dead! But not soon enough!" She stared out to sea, zombie-fashion. "Not soon enough," she repeated, swinging again.
Taking a step in her direction, Pete halted, hand on rail. The woman's features underwent drastic change. Viciousness vanished, replaced by fear. Stark, living fear! Pete felt something boring into his back, heard a snarling voice say, "Don't move, buddy. This boat's private property and you just trespassed."
A gun! Now what the hell was a man doing carrying a gun aboard a yacht ... a private, as he said, boat? Pete wondered about it as, defiantly, he swung to confront a tall, sullen man in semi-military uniform. Ignoring the weapon, Pete said, "I came to see the captain. I'm looking for work. I've been a sailor...."
The gun wavered under Pete's nose and glinting, hate-filled eyes fixed on the scar. Then, suddenly, the other smiled and holstered the gun. "Sorry, fella-we gotta be careful. Work, eh?" Pete nodded. "Could be Tony has an opening. Wait here-" and the smile widened, "-with sexy Lola!" His laugh echoed from the companionway, fading into the bowels of the boat with its owner.
"Phew!" Pete grinned, turning to the woman. "Do they always greet strangers with guns?"
She was still afraid and clung to the rail tightly.
Pete advanced to her side. She smelled of expensive perfume-and the heady aroma of clean, freshly-washed woman. It excited Pete. She excited him! Everything about her radiated sex. No wonder the gunman had called her sexy Lola!
"Snap out of it, lady," he said easily. His hand rested on hers. She was cold yet the day was warm. Her skin felt devoid of life, taut across straining bone and muscle. Her eyes nervously blinked, focused on his face. She made an effort and color rushed to pale cheeks. The hand warmed slightly now. It moved, freed itself from his grasp.
"Get off the boat!" Her voice was harsh, tense.
"Why?"
She examined him frankly. She liked what she saw and said, "Nice! You wouldn't fit with the morons we have!" Her hand rested on his arm, squeezing, feeling for muscle and finding it. "I like you, sailor-boy. Take me with you ... now!"
Pete debated on the merits of taking her away. She gave the impression of a woman dreading contact with the others on board, yet she was oversexed, too. The gunman had implied so. Her body shouted of abilities far beyond normal passion. Her eyes and wandering hand confirmed the impression ... she was touching him fleetingly on the chest, flushing more, breathing harder. But, Pete thought, was it fear driving her into the solace of a man's arms? Or was she an incurable nymphomaniac who just couldn't wait to get stripped into action? Did she honestly want to escape from the boat or, the alternative, was she testing him deliberately?
Pete decided to take a chance. There was always the possibility she knew exactly what had happened aboard the cruiser ... her name had been mentioned in the D.A's report-Lola Brighton!
"We'll have to move fast," Pete told her. "He'll be back soon."
She panted, slipping her arm through his, the swells of her breasts rubbing warm on his side. She was tall, almost his size. "Let's go, sailor-boy. You first, eh? I'm a lousy one at climbing down ladders and I wouldn't care to get wet."
He helped her into the skiff and pulled away-fast. A head appeared at the rail and a strident voice shouted, "Lola ... come back!" She waved nonchalantly, her fears gone. "See you tomorrow, Tony. Give my love to Jean!" She laughed dementedly, tears streaming down her cheeks, burying head in hands, sobs racking her. Pete was worried. The woman was psychotic. Every action, the quick changes from fear to bravado and, then, into tears spoke of a severe complex. He felt he'd made a mistake bringing her along. A defense built on the testimony of a loon didn't hold out much hope for Vikki's acquittal.
Once ashore, Pete guided the woman to his hotel. She went peacefully, robot-like. The sparkle he had brought forth now had vanished, replaced with the original lackluster automation. Every muscle relaxed and glided beside him, obeying his instructions, flowing in harmony with his own.
Drying his face on a towel, Pete studied Lola Brighton. She sat in a chair overlooking the ocean, her colorful blouse reflected in the large picture-window of his room. She had been sitting there ever since they arrived; quiet, unmoving, lost in some deep reverie of her conscience. She was a damned beautiful woman, Pete thought. Under other circumstances she would be worth a tumble in the hay.
"Lola "
Her gaze shifted and vacantly considered the towel he held.
"Lola, can you hear me?"
She forced a humorless grin, nodded. "Yes ... I hear you." Her finger indicated the towel. "Going to shower?"
"Do you want a shower?" he countered.
Her eyes flashed as an inner power-source began working. Comprehension altered her expression and, slowly, her body vibrated again. "Oh," she said.
"Sorry ... I wasn't with it! Funny," she mused half to herself, "how it happens. I guess it's the tension of seeing a man killed and knowing that terror walks the decks every waking second. Did you know Stuart Dean was murdered?" Her brown eyes widened.
Pete flung the towel aside and knelt before her, hands closing in friendship over hers. "No, I didn't. If you wish to talk about it you'll find I'm a listener. People back home used to call me The Confessor."
Her laugh was spontaneous. Shaking her head solemnly, she said, "I'd rather not mention it again. May I take a shower?"
"Help yourself, Lola."
Waiting as the splash of water cascading into the shower became a torrent, Pete tried to devise a scheme for getting Lola around to a discussion of Dean's death. He dare not push it. His deceit was best kept in the dark. But how? How to broach the subject?....
"Sailor-boy ... bring me another towel!"
Pete swore, grabbed the damp towel he'd used, marched into the bathroom. He halted, staring at the unexpected sight. She was standing naked, water dripping from her body, trickling down the exposed front to gather in the thick pelt between firm thighs. The shower hissed and sprayed harmlessly behind her.
"Care to join me in another shower?" she asked. "We could wash one another's backs." She laughed, added seductively, "Or fronts!" A hand wandered down the sweeping curves and lay on a wet thigh, close to her dripping nest. "Like my front?" she husked.
"Like! "
Pete affirmed.
Stepping back into the shower, hands doing fantastic things with her magnificent breasts, hefting them, holding them out provocatively, she said, softly, "Come in with me, sailor-boy! I want to get my hot hands on you."
It wasn't the fastest strip Pete had ever done but it came close to a record. Levi's, shirt, underwear ripped from his body. Then, he was with her, water spraying over them, both naked in the confining proximity of the small shower. Feeling the tingle of her breasts brushing his chest, Pete felt compelled to ask, "Isn't this kind of sudden, Lola?"
Her mouth came toward his, eyes closing, head tilting. "Sailor-boy, don't you want me?" Then, mouth mashed hard, tongue darting hotly, she pressed against his length, water beating their flesh to the rhythm of lust. She was hot, sizzling hot. She had more than her share of experience. Her mouth opened wide, tongues entwining, taking cues from the coital motions down below. Fingernails dug and clawed at his buttocks. She was moaning and writhing now, too.
"Wait!" Her mouth tore from his. Her breasts heaved, breathing labored, gasping harshly. She glanced down, moving back. His penis stood stiff, pointing its swollen knob at the furry triangle. "Sailor-boy ... it's terrific! I want it all inside me ... but not yet! I'm more at home with women," and she sighed, leaning against the wall, spray needling her flesh into tingling anticipation. "Look at me ... a woman-fucker!" Hands roughed his hair, bringing his face down between her wonderful breasts. With the water cascading over them, Pete felt their rubbery surfaces grow against his cheeks. "A lot of girls have kissed them," she said. "They're good, man ... good!" She raised his head and stared into his eyes. "I want to feel that hard thing inside me, but I want to talk about women."
Pete nodded agreement. It would be a new twist. He'd always been game to attempt something different. It would add spice and an unusual thrill to their lovemaking.
"Soap me," she commanded. "Get me all lathered and slippery. Especially down here,...." and her hand dipped into the velvet-tangled muff.
Pete worked diligently with the soap. She pressed against a wall, out of the direct spray, letting lather build until she was curving under foaming suds. Pete could feel his cock throbbing wildly. His hands slipped over her jutting, firm tits, slithered down her foaming stomach into the thick, squelching quagmire of her delectable cunt. Every time he rubbed along her slit she shuddered, moaned, writhed. It was a soft forest, tangled, mossy, and the pathway through the forest was coated with slimy, sudsy vapor. He imagined an unyielding rock set square in the path, blocking advancement. The rock was rubbery, movable but not movable. It lived ... pulsed and hardened to the touch.
"Why don't you have a cunt," she panted. "There's nothing like a cunt. Feel mine'. Finger me ... get me the hots! Rub me faster!"
She slid down the wet wall, thighs spread, knees bent, cunt thrusting and rolling against his cupped palm. The clitoris vibrated alarmingly under his rubbing fingertip. She continued to slide, then, buttocks taut on the floor, water washing away the soapy lather, she screamed. Her belly spasmed. Her hand seized his wrist holding his palm tight against her thrusting cunt. "You bastard! You lousy male bastard! I want a woman ... want a cunt shoving against mine ... look at your prick! Ugly bloated thing! All full of horrible sticky sperm to shoot into me! Rub faster, bastard! I'm ... oh, God ... I'm coming ... commmmmmming!"
Her hand darted to his cock, pulling on it, pumping wetly to the rhythm of her rotating hips. Eyes rolling, she forced her head back ... back ... jerking and grunting with the spasming of her belly. Hot, gushing juices flooded from her gaping cunt and flowed over Pete's hand.
The delightful agony of her hand sent stabbing pleasure into his loins. He had never known a woman to come so juicily. She almost ejaculated. She squirmed on the shower floor, spray bouncing from her flushed flesh, pools forming in the hollow of her thighs, trapped there by his hand, trickling down into the forest and on ... into the slippery, hot slash.
"Fuck me, sailor-boy. Ram that ugly thing up my cunt! Shoot me full of sticky come!"
Pete dragged her to slipping feet, grasping his penis. She was undulating crazily and he had to press her hard against the wet wall to keep her cunt in position. Her thighs opened wider ... spread around his hips. She was suspended now by the force of his shoulders pushing her at the wall. He felt the tangled, wet hair brush his cock. Felt the suctioning vagina close eagerly over his knob. Hands supporting her buttocks, he shoved into her, letting her slide down his length until it was all inside.
"Carry me to the bed, sailor-boy!"
He staggered under her weight, his cock moving tantalizingly against her womb, struggling to keep his balance as she writhed deliciously in his arms. Her hot breath beat on his ear.
"I feel it way inside me, bastard. I feel your ugly prick all hard and throbbing ready to fill me with come. Hurry, sailor-boy ... throw me on the bed and ram it home!" They reached the bed, collapsing as a unit. Pete wanted to yell at the delirious sensation bursting inside him when the jolt pressed his cock deeper into her greedy cunt.
"Lovely," she panted, thrusting back at him. "Lovely! How I love getting fucked ... I'd rather lick a woman ... like tasting cunt on my tongue ... shove it in and out, sailor-boy ... make me forget how much I enjoy being sucked off. That's it ... wild, man, wild! Faster ... I'll work my little clitty for you ... shove it up me!"
Her hand forced down between them and she began rubbing her index finger over her clitoris. Pete could feel every movement, his body tight against hers, his cock plunging in and out the minimum distance. He was beyond full-bodied strokes. His climax was nearing. She rubbed furiously, gasping, writhing, surging under his pistoning loins. Then, she screamed and spasmed. Thunder rolled and time stood still. Pleasure jolted. Waves crashed, ebbed, crashed again. Hot, jetting sperm erupted ... laved up into her womb ... fiery hot seed spreading fertility ... growing ecstasy ... sowing tumultuous pleasures.
His glistening penis slipped from her and trailed sperm across her moist thigh. The thick bush sparkled with his semen, oozing still into the furrow of buttocks. Her eyes stayed closed, hands twitching yet on the bed. Small spasms vibrated inside her belly, rippling the soft, pliable flesh. He lay back, depleted.
Later, she moved, bent over him. Her tongue probed gently along his chest, finding each nipple, licking it slowly. A hand caressed his limp penis lovingly, not trying to arouse it.
"You're some woman," Pete breathed.
"I wish you were a woman, too," she answered against his chest. "I would kiss your cunt and lick your clitoris...." She raised her head, enjoying the fleeting anticipation she found in his eyes. "You ever blown a man, sailor-boy?"
Pete laughed. "Do I look the type?"
"Do I?" she answered.
He stared down at her body, curbing the desire that hotly washed through tired loins. "No," he allowed. "Not knowing your penchant for females I'd say categorically that you lived for what a man could give."
"Have you ever sucked-off a big prick?" she asked again.
"No. Is it important?"
"Only then you'd fully understand how I feel about women. There is an ugliness about a penis. It may be fantastic having one inside you, but it sure looks awful." She rolled his penis in her fingers, staring at it with evident repulsion. "Ugh! Fat and soft and wrinkled and slimy and ugly." She looked up into Pete's laughing eyes. "Don't you think a woman's cunt is much better looking?"
"I definitely do," Pete said. "Let's examine yours, Lola." He tried to twist around her, was restrained by steel-like arms and down-pressure of her body.
"Not yet, sailor-boy. Not until I want to be licked," she panted. "I'll tell you a story, shall I? The story of how I started with women!" She smiled, rubbed her lovely breasts on his chest, toyed with his penis absently. "I want to tell you, sailor. I've never had the yen to confess before and, as you said, people just can't resist confessing to you."
Pete relaxed in the warmth of her caresses. He enjoyed being fondled and the subtle heat of her breasts on his chest sent little shivers of ecstasy through him. She was some woman, all right. Completely uninhibited, natural, healthy, conscious of her sex. There was another guiding factor in Pete's docility. If she warmed to confession enough she might also feel inclined to tell the facts regarding Dean's death. After all, Pete informed himself, he had not brought Lola t-o his hotel room for sex. He had been conducting an investigation. Some investigation, he thought. The only thing I've really probed is her cunt!
Lola lay with head on his chest, teeth scraping occasionally over his nipples, breath hot and sweet floating upwards to his nostrils. Mingled with the freshly-scrubbed scent of her it was an effort not to return her flitting caresses and make urgent love again. "I was twelve when it happened," Lola began. "I'd always been a well-built girl and my breasts had budded early. I knew nothing about sex. My parents refused to consider sex education as a necessary part of growing into adolescence. Many nights I had this feeling ... a crawling itch ... between my thighs and, sometimes, I would start to scratch myself. Hair was sprouting around my tiny vagina and, I supposed, it was this that made me itchy. I soon discovered that every time I fingered my pussy I got a terrific glow on. It wouldn't stop until I eventually rubbed like mad. Then, it stopped and left me gasping for breath. It was the most beautiful sensation and I began to feel guilty about the wonderful feelings it gave me. I tried not to touch my vagina and yet, I just had to."
She was stroking his penis slowly now, unceasingly. She seemed completely unaware of its condition ... rising into erection, lengthening steadily. She even appeared not to notice when Pete's fingers slipped into her cunt, rolling her clitoris gently, probing the lovely mouth of her vagina.
"About this time," she continued with a long sigh, opening her thighs automatically to accommodate his hand, "my mother had a third child. It was quite a shock to Dad. I distinctly remember him saying, 'Lola, some women don't know when to quit! ' There was a reason for Dad sending me to New York; but it's not important except to state I didn't like my aunt Molly. She was one of those wrinkled old women who seem to take a perverted delight in making young people suffer. She had never been a beauty and any girl with the slightest sign of developing into a ravisher brought out the worst in Molly. She hated me and made no bones about letting me know. I honestly think that woman hated everyone, including her husband Joe. It wasn't long before I was writing Dad frantic letters begging to return home. I prayed every night that Molly would die-an awful thing to confess, I know, but true. Dad kept calling me, saying Mother was having difficulties with the baby and ordering me to get along with Molly." Pete inserted two fingers into her wet cunt, rolling into her, rubbing the sensitive flesh of her nether mouth with his hard knuckles. There was an almost inaudible plop as his fingers entered and that, like the probing, went unnoticed as Lola continued her tale.
"Molly's husband, Joe, was a small, quiet man. He was kind and considerate to me and, after Molly was particularly nasty to me, Joe would come to my room and sympathize ... you know how, soothing talk, gentle hands caressing my hair. Then, one night, Joe knocked on my door. Molly had gone to the movies alone and Joe wanted to show me something. He was very excited and secretive. He first swore me to silence and made me promise never to mention his visit to Molly. Hating the woman as I did, I promised ... faithfully. Joe was pleased. He gave me a dollar, insisting it was worth it to him."
Lola grunted and eased Pete's fingers from her vagina. She admonished him with, "Not when I'm reaching the climax of my story. You men, can't wait for a piece!" She held his fingers against the rubbery, slippery knot of her clitoris and remarked, softly, "Just play with it gently." Pete remained attentive and silent. The sensations were mounting in his cock, kept building by her hand.
"Joe asked me to get on the bed and sat beside me. He began to unzip his trousers, whispering that his secret would soon be mine. Dad had packed my luggage and, typical of a man, had given me nothing to wear in bed. I had used my imagination and sewn lace on a slip and it was this I was now wearing. Joe had never mentioned how I looked before but now he did. He stared at me, his hand buried inside his trousers, kept whispering that my slip-nightgown was revealing my perfections and that I would be a beautiful woman providing he taught me how to act like a real woman. Flattery goes to a young girl's head and I was no exception. I begged Joe to show me how to be beautiful; how to act correctly. He bent forward and his hand slipped from the open trousers. I had never before seen a naked man in my life and the sight of his stiff penis caught in a pumping hand frightened me. His wet lips went all over my face. His voice sounded ragged and he was saying, 'This'll make you beautiful, Lola. Big girls need it inside them. It's got hot stuff to make a woman out of a girl.' "
Lola's hand twisted Pete's penis savagely. He grabbed her wrist, face contorted in agony. "Watch it, lover. That's my cock you're trying to rip off!" She glanced down, withdrew her hand in disgust. A single drop of lubricating fluid glistened on her skin. She hastily wiped it on the bed. Then, slowly realizing where she was, with whom, she sighed and took his penis into her warm palm and began to stroke it firmly. "Sorry, sailor-boy-I was carried away."
Pete rubbed her clitoris and relaxed again. The story was reaching an interesting development. He wanted to hear how some men seduced young virgins.
"Where? ... Oh, yes-Joe telling me about his penis! What followed next was a nightmare. I couldn't stop looking at Joe's penis and the way he pumped up and down its stiffness with his hand. There was something magical and thrilling in the continuous action. Something that made me think of the joys I'd experienced touching myself. I sympathized with Joe, wondering if, perhaps, I should ask about his itch. Yet, I've never forgotten how ugly his penis looked. He was in his late forties, balding. He had a long, thin penis that was the color of white bone. The knotty tip was blue and cold-bare in appearance and a thin drop of white stuff came oozing from the little slit on its head. I asked him if it hurt and he smiled, telling me to touch it for him. Tentatively, I placed my hand on its hardness. It felt so thin and hard and devoid of flesh. I pulled back-horrified by the thing. He only laughed and said it would feel lots better inside my pussy. Thinking of that terribly thin bone inside me made me cringe. He stroked my face, whispered, 'Wait until I get you worked up, Lola.' Then, before I could stop him, he started ripping my slip. His wet mouth closed on a nipple, sucking it greedily. His hand went immediately to my vagina and started spreading the tiny lips. I shouted for him to stop, but it only made him worse. He straddled me, rubbing his penis over my belly, clawing at my breasts, mouthing awful obscenities."
Rage flushed her cheeks and she dropped her hand from Pete's penis. Her body quivered as memory took hold.
"I tried to break away and couldn't. His small body lay heavy on mine and his knees forced mine apart. The burning length of that thin penis shoved at me, smacking into belly and thighs as we struggled. I felt his mouth on mine, his tongue shoving past my lips, into me. Now he brought his hands down between us and I could feel him working his penis around trying to find its target. I was suffocating, his tongue diving deep into my mouth. Then-he moved over me, thrusting his hips forward. I felt his thin penis lunge into me...."
Lola writhed under Pete's fingers. Listening to her had whetted his sexual appetites and he wanted to fuck her himself. She moaned, struggling to tear his finger from her wet cunt. Pete relented, relaxed, withdrew his finger. It glistened with a fine film of white froth. He'd certainly been working her up, he thought. Their eyes met. "Bastard!" she whispered. "It's a wonder you didn't ass-fuck me to complete the misery."
Pete grinned, his penis throbbing firmly. It rose majestically above his testicles, standing as mute testimony to her capabilities as storyteller and handler. He motioned at it, asked, "Want to hold it again?"
Lola grunted, hand clasped to her thickly-pelted cunt. "No! Service yourself!"
Pete shrugged and, leisurely, placed a hand around his staff and began pumping ... back and forward, up and down, slow and sure.
Her eager eyes fastened on the action. A pink-tipped tongue raced round already moist lips. Her finger found the excited button of her clitoris and massaged it gently. She wanted the sensations to climb steadily, reaching acuteness with the end of her story.
Pete nodded, enjoying the tremor of anticipation running along his cock. Masturbation on a mutual scale was comparable to two brilliant pianists playing a difficult duet together ... it demanded split-second timing and a full appreciation of the music. "Go ahead, Lola," he whispered. "Work yourself off and finish telling about dear old Joe and his long, thin prick! "
Lola remained quiet for a minute then continued. "The pain was terrible. Thank goodness he had a thin penis. I forgot his slobbering mouth as he pounded into me. In and out ... in and out ... shoving it deeper every stroke. I was hot and bleeding and wanted to die. I didn't want to be beautiful if it hurt this way. God, how he fucked me. There didn't seem to be an end to his thrusts. On and on he plunged, riding me brutally until, when I reached the point of sheer exhaustion, he spurted a weak, sickly jet of watery fluid into me and rolled away, panting and grunting. I was sore and ashamed. I got off the bed and stood there, dripping, his come running down the insides of my thighs. Blood stained me, too, and I actually believed he'd split me open. When I mentioned that, he laughed and told me it was my cherry. I'd lost it. He had taken my little cherry. He delighted in talking about my cherry. I thought he had flipped his wig until he explained what had happened. I was not a virgin. I was elected for the worldwide club."
Lola sighed and stretched, thighs parting slightly. She glanced down at Pete's penis. He held it firmly, pumping away. "Don't blow a gasket yet," she warned. 'There's more to come!"
Pete nodded, not stopping the delightful movement. "Continue, ... "he said.
"Joe left me soon afterwards, reminding me of my promise not to talk. I washed myself as best I could and lay naked on the bed, crying myself to sleep. The moon was shining through my window and traffic had tapered off for the night when I felt somebody next to me. I awoke, frightened, believing it was Joe come back for more. It wasn't. It was my aunt, Molly. Funny, I seldom called them Aunt or Uncle. The experiences I had living in that house took them from a relation category and placed them on a private list of monsters. Molly was sitting there, staring down at my nudity, her face showing pale and different in the moonlight. I covered myself with trembling hands, wondering if she knew I was not the same-that I had lost my precious virginity. 'Don't be scared, child,' she said. 'Joe told me what happened.' I shivered. I had promised. Why hadn't Joe kept his mouth shut? Molly would never let me forget. She would use her knowledge to make me suffer more unpleasantness. But-she didn't. She used what had happened for a different purpose. Her hands moved over my naked body, slowly, gently. She bent forward until her breath fanned my face. Her eyes glittered evilly. 'He hurt you,' she said. 'His terrible penis hurt your little pussy, didn't it?' Oh, how I needed her sympathy then. Tears rolled down my face. I sobbed out my story of Joe's wickedness and pleaded with her not to tell my father or mother. She promised to keep our secret and all the while her hands were fondling me-touching everywhere. My breasts tingled under her skilled caresses. I noted the delightful sensations and wanted them to continue forever. How different from Joe's savagery! How exquisite her gentle hands tweaking my nipples, rolling them. I was beginning to relax under her hands, hearing her soothing whispers of understanding, explaining how violent and uncaring men were. She stroked down my stomach into my bruised, violated pussy. Her finger entered and touched lightning bolts of pleasure. Suddenly, I was aware that she, too, was committing me to a passion pit. She was breathing faster, laboriously. Her mouth moved over my face, found my lips-kissed me. I wanted to shout and leap from the bed-and couldn't. I was held by my own weaknesses. Her finger probing inside my vagina gave pleasure. It lit my senses. Inflamed by desire for the joyous caresses to continue, I lay there, letting her play with me. Even when she undressed and lay beside me naked I was unaware of her intent."
She rolled on her side and gazed at Pete. His eyes were shut tight, hand gliding back and forth along his rampant prick. His breathing was shallow, covering little moans of joy. "Sailor-boy, kiss my cunt!"
Pete blinked his eyes open. Her face was flushed, heavy with undisguised passion.
"I'll come shortly," she said.
"And me?"
"Sixty-nine?" she suggested.
"Nuts!" he remarked. "I prefer it like this." He gave his cock a hard pump for emphasis.
"Kiss my cunt! Eat me!"
"I'm not a woman!"
"What then?" She was getting desperate.
"Fuck me!"
She stared at his huge cock, felt her cunt convulse eagerly. Her thighs straddled his, body erect, leaning back. She slid up him until her thickly-haired pelt brushed over his throbbing penis. He made coital thrusts with impatient hips. She raised her buttocks from his thighs and guided his cock into her wet cunt. For a moment she rotated her hips, rubbing his knob excitingly then, slowly, taking him completely into her, she slid down the hard staff. Her body stiffened, his cock wedged tight against her uterus.
"Slowly ... don't let me come before you finish," he moaned.
"I won't," she promised, setting up a small, back and forth rocking rhythm that would grow into full-bodied thrusts when the time was ripe. "Touch my clitoris, too," she gasped.
Pete used his thumb, rubbing teasingly slowly. He didn't want ejaculation to be quick.
"Molly," she panted, "awoke my passions. In the moonlight, naked, face softened by the subdued lighting, she seemed quite lovely. There was a mysterious quality in lying naked with her. Somewhere inside me a voice kept telling me this was wonderful and gentle. Sensations slowly came boiling through my loins as she pressed her curly hair against my practically bare pussy. She stroked my back, fondled my buttocks-and kept rubbing herself on me. At last, she couldn't stop! She twisted on the bed and trailed her mouth down my belly, pausing to lick my navel. Then, I had the greatest feeling ever-her fingers pressed my lips apart and her tongue entered me. She held my backside, probing deeper and deeper, rolling her lovely tongue around inside me. Wild elation surged through me. Sobs of sheer pleasure escaped my compressed lips. Her tongue slithered into my moist vagina, getting in ... in ... in. I felt her fingers digging into my buttocks and adjusted to make it easier for her. Her face was completely surrounded by my damp flesh and still she licked, probed, licked. This was pleasure. My body swam in hot oceans of bliss, soaring high into realms of fantasy. How long she took I can't say. Time meant nothing compared to the ecstasy of her tongue. Then, rushing, pushing my flesh aside, I felt an explosion rip through my vagina. I screamed and begged her to stop and yelled for her not to all at the same time. That orgasm was memorable. It left me drained, limp with wonderful fulfillment."
Lola ground her cunt down hard on Pete's cock. The thrusts had lengthened, the withdrawals almost plopping him out of her. Every muscle of her was taut, face straining and perspiring. Her hips pummeled him, her buttocks juicy melons, bouncing heavily on his thighs. Pete gasped. At this rate she'd have him spurting. He had to hold back, had to slow her. His voice was harsh, forced. "Not yet!"
She didn't hear him. Her body tingled with the growing sensations in her cunt. She felt his whole length inside her. A fiery excitement swept through her loins. Her hands grasped his knees, behind her. Back arched, thrusting and grinding, bobbing and taking, she reveled in the feel of his full, thick cock throbbing in and out of her. Her stomach muscles tightened, her cunt sucked voraciously.
"Yes ... yes!" Pete roared, thrusting powerfully at her.
Lola gasped, the female scent of her rising in waves. Writhing flame devoured her. His cock thrust deeply into her, held there by the writhing, pressing action of her superior position. Then, the dam burst and she felt the joyous spurting of heated sperm inside ... deep inside ... splattering and flooding. She collapsed, falling over him, breasts seized and mouthed in the frenzy of his release ... sending her orgasm soaring into the dizzy heights of passion's contentment ... sinking her down onto his lance as they gaspingly experienced the totality of mutual pleasure.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Looking at the gloriously naked body stretched full length on the bed-every curve accentuated, each indentation highlighted by glistening perspiration-Pete felt the urge return to tempt him. Shoving it aside he tried, instead, concentrating on the killing of Stuart Dean. Somehow, he had to make this startling female talk. Not about sex and her string of conquests but about death-and Vikki. It was difficult trying to think with long, shapely legs spread apart, revealing the exotic beauty of the exciting opening between her thighs. Swirls of damp hair framed pulsating lips-a perfect setting for the pink-gashed mound. More, the aroma of sex wafted enticingly from her opening, mingling with the bitter odor of sperm drying.
Damn Vikki! he thought. Man should not be distracted from the natural inclinations of his flesh. The woman was a sex-machine-sensual, sizzling, seductive. One touch ... finger dipping into the wet center of that delectable opening ... and heaven would beckon willingly. There would not be repeat performances. Every delightful penetration would be fresh, daring, novel. He knew her penchant for variation. He understood that perversions and variety were the spice to heat her passions. This was a woman-all-woman. A man's woman! A woman's woman, too!
"How did you get mixed into murder?"
Lazily, she twisted her head, eyed him suspiciously. A nervous twitch caught a comer of her sensual mouth, dragged it down.
Pete laughed, bent over her, kissed her mouth lightly. "Don't mind me, Lola-I'm a detective-fiction fanatic. You name the book and I've read it." He hoped that would satisfy her suspicions.
"Oh!" She appeared satisfied with his explanation. Her hands traveled up the velvety smoothness of her belly, cupping her ample breasts insinuatingly, pushing them out, upwards. "Oh!" again.
"Like to talk about murder?"
"What's there to say except a girl shot Dean?"
"Did you see her do it?"
"Certainly I...." She hesitated, moved quickly, pushing her breasts against his belly, rubbing the hardening nipples on his hair. "I did not! "
she finished.
Pete wished she'd cease her rubbing motions. She was dangerously near his penis and, any minute now, he knew she would try milking him. He lay back, her breasts pushed against his hip. Safer, he thought. "I've heard it rumored there was one helluva orgy on board when Dean was shot," he remarked casually.
Lola snorted disgustedly. "Orgies are for men and women who enjoy sex. Dean was a bastard. Oh, sure-he shot his load into the girl, but that doesn't mean he wanted her for pleasures so simple. I pitied her, sailor-boy! She never knew what he intended doing. How could anyone unless they belonged to his personal circus?"
"You, I guess," Pete laughed, "were his star performer."
Lola growled deep in her throat. "The hell I was! If it hadn't been for the other women I'd have left ages ago. Say ... let's change the subject. Dean and his antics bore me." Her hand raced down his pubic hair, closed round his staff. "I'd still like a cunt beside me, but...." and her hot tongue licked at his length, washed his testicles avidly, returned to envelop the soft tip.
"Honey, I can't yet!" He guided her head upwards, placed it on his chest. He sighed, feigning exhaustion. "Sorry, Lola-I'm one of those individuals who require breathing space between bouts. Let's talk awhile, eh?"
She bit his chest angrily. When he stiffened she laughed. "Punishment!" she said, muffled into his chest. "Dean would have given me an award for doing that!"
"You hated Dean so much how could you allow this girl to suffer for what Dean forced her to do?"
Her eyes lifted and met his. "You know the girl?" she asked quietly.
Pete considered his answer during prolonged silence. If he said "no" the inquest ended there. If he said "yes" she would understand his invasion of the boat and why he had brought her here. Either way, as he saw it, he risked losing information. He decided to come clean with her and trust in her hatred for Dean to offer a sliver of evidence. It would be a long shot, but she could be just psychotic enough to fall for it.
"Yes-I know her! "
She smiled warily. "You're a worse bastard than I imagined," she said. "What makes you think your cock is so goddam hot? Did you actually believe I'd spill the beans on our setup?"
Now that he had opened to her, Pete saw no reason to withhold anything. "Lola, hear me out before you condemn my actions. You are quite a woman and I'd never consider you in any light other than that. Under ordinary circumstances there isn't anything I wouldn't do to seduce you. You give me the hots. Hotter than I've had them for years. But, Vikki is the woman I aim to marry. I'm her attorney. I don't believe the evidence against her. Jealousy is no motive for a promiscuous bitch-and she is a bitch. This-" and his fingers gentled the scar, "-was caused by her. Accidentally, but directly attributive to Vikki Marsh. She's a girl who likes getting into bed with a string of men. Virile men. Maybe you'd understand her better if I mentioned she also plays around with women, too...."
"Ahhh," came the golden reply. Lola sympathized now. His stab had hit heart. "Keep talking, sailor-boy ... hey, what's your real name if you aren't a sailor?"
"Pete. Pete Connors!"
She rolled it on her tongue. "Pete ... Pete ... I like it, Pete. For Pete's sake do something with your hands, Pete!" She smiled, waiting, stretching again, legs apart, pelt thickly beckoning. Pete sighed and dropped his hand on her mound. Fingers found it wet, thrusting to meet his gentle onslaught. She moaned. "Much better, Pete. Keep fingering me. Maybe you've noticed-I'm a sensualist. I enjoy the finger where it counts."
"Okay, Lola, I'll keep you happy, but how about the death night? What happened to Vikki?"
She moaned softly. "I like the way you finger me, Pete. Perhaps I shouldn't! Anyway, I prefer women to men...." She rotated furiously against his probing, massaging finger for several sensually-thrilling seconds, lapsing into spasms of delirious ecstasy when the sensations reached overspill point. She was tense, tight, holding herself in check. Then, sinking back with a loud sigh, she smiled at him, said, "That was good! Not an orgasm, mind you. When I come I'm going to blast the hell out of this damned bed. I'm in the mood for one terrific climax, but it can wait ... hey, I said the orgasm can wait, not what you're supposed to be doing!" She replaced his hand and lifted her cunt toward it. "Gently, Pete-boy. Gently. Make it long and good! "
"Lola...."
She nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, this girl! All right ... I'll tell you what really happened...."
As Pete fondled her cunt, she told him precisely how Vikki had been violated, how the others had unwittingly freed Vikki and how, frightened out of her senses by Tony's vicious assault on her ass, Vikki had shot Dean. Then, nonstop, she recounted the events following the shooting. She explained their dilemma. If the truth were known, the police could easily have involved each of them under a morals charge. As Dean had placed a considerable fortune in their hands for the advancement of John Slate work, they saw no valid reason for losing everything when, by concocting a fable, they could simply blame Vikki and emerge unscathed. It was then they had fetched the police-first removing all traces of the orgy and Dean's ingenious fucking comer.
When she finished, her body writhed, working hips closer to Pete's, panting, "How do we do it?"
Satisfied now there was nothing else to learn from her about the so-called murder, Pete permitted his body to respond to her urgent cries. Straight was not acceptable-to either. Nor did he intend going down on her. As a preliminary to penetration he enjoyed the taste of a juicy cunt, but not for the whole meal. He wanted a measure or two of ramming into her-and he didn't feel her mouth would give enough gratification to fulfill him.
"On top of me "
She groaned. "We did that!" ... "with your ass down!" he concluded, his penis rising strongly.
She gasped. "Fantastic, Pete! This should be terrific!" Moving fast, she stretched the length of him, buttocks mashed on his thighs, legs spread wide apart on either side of him. Cushioned between her and the bed, Pete's muscular form prepared for their supreme effort. His hard penis reared up between her spread thighs, throbbing with a natural desire to plant itself in her cunt. Reaching around her, down between her legs, he grasped his cock, forcing it back on itself, rubbing the head of it on her inner thighs, guiding it toward her dampness.
Balanced on his body, she lifted her legs high into the air and spread them as wide apart as possible.
Pete felt her weight press down on him, finding it extremely difficult to breathe. Nevertheless, he resolutely proceeded to move his prick around her soft, inner thighs and touch-fleetingly-the delicious opening with its majestic head.
Now Lola reached down, grasping his penis, moving the foreskin back and forth. Pete's hands traveled up her body, kneading and stroking and squeezing her swollen breasts. His tongue darted to trace the outline of her ear, bringing moans of joy from her. His buttocks thrust upward, testicles hanging heavy on his thighs, pearly drops of moisture oozing from his penis, lubricating it profusely as she moved the tip into her slippery cunt. Her hips pressured down on him, rotating, twitching up and down, rubbing his knob into her vagina. The friction of her hot, fleshy glove drove him wild. His hands left her swollen, bursting breasts and again invaded her thighs. Drawing his penis from her cunt, he inserted two fingers into her, moving them back and forth violently. "Stroke my cock," he panted, forcing a third finger inside her, wriggling them in every direction as far inside her as the fingers would reach.
Pain, mingled with ecstatic pleasure, brought a small cry from her. Her hand punished his ramrod penis, jerking hard on it, pulling skin down, down, hurting.
The sweet agony was unbearable and Pete's hand raced up and down her body, clawing at her breasts, diving back between her thighs, rubbing and exploring her dilated cunt. "Put it in, Lola," he shouted, capitulating to the frantic lusts within his loins. He arched his back, thrusting his hips upward.
Lola was wild. Tremors of anticipation shook her almost apart. Her trembling hands guided his throbbing penis to the hair-fringed lips of her pulsating cunt. Forcing her body down onto his rigid member, wriggling and squirming it deeper into her, inching it farther up into her resilience, she cried, "Lovely! Pete ... I feel it hard inside me ... this time I'm going to enjoy a cock!" Her knees bent, legs under her thighs now, lowering her cunt down his shaft, writhing it into her suctioning vagina, sliding down his muscled, straining thighs. Somehow, she arched, shoulders and the bottom curves of her buttocks touching him, making it a perfect fit now.
"God!" he panted. His hips began the urgent coital rhythm. Each thrust slammed up her stabbing, working, pleasuring. Both hands went to her breasts, squeezing in frenzied strength ... flesh bulging outward from his massaging hands.
Her head flung wildly from side to side, constantly rotating buttocks doing ecstatic things to his cock. And with the side-to-side, round-and-round gyrations, she danced up and down with a weird kind of jungle rhythm atop his cock ... faster and faster ... arched into the driving rod that brought a goodly measure of joy to her inflamed vagina.
She was screaming now, savage in the contorted jerking effort to climax. Each delicious thrust of his hips sent a thrill of sheer unbearable agony through her belly. Spasms racked her ... rocketed upward ... into her roughed tits ... blasting her mind.
Pete felt her convulsive clutching inside and rammed home harder, faster. The throb was wild, growing wonderfully frantic. His cock slid in and out, up and down, and the heat of her ass on his thighs was an added joy "Yes ... yes ... YES ... YES!" she screamed, bouncing wildly.
"It's shooting!...." he yelled, grunting, thrusting, coming powerfully.
Hot jetting semen spurted into her from his throbbing, plunging cock. "DON'T STOP ... FUCK ME ... FUCK ME ... FUCK ME!"
He fucked. Hard and brutal, clawing her tits, shoving his frantic prick deeper ... harder ... faster ... spurting, spurting, spurting!
Elastically, she sprang forward, plunging down on his cock, bending toward his feet, jerking hips wildly as the orgasm spasmed deep inside her belly. He could see the perfect mounds of her buttocks, spreading, darkly haired deep inside where the pumping stem of his cock showed plainly as it entered, withdrew, entered, her steaming vagina. She kissed his toes, bent double, backside lifted high, plunging down to imprison his strong, gorgeously ugly penis, lifted again, poised as spasm after spasm erupted deliciously, slamming down to take the fullest hardness against her womb.
Pete fell back, drained, emptied, verging on sheer exhaustion. The rhythm of her hips, the rise and fall of her wonderful ass did nothing anymore to inflame his desire. It was but the final token of thanks for her help that forced him to suffer the excruciating pleasure of seeing and feeling her take the draining sap in a last flurry of passion. Only when she had tasted the completeness of satiation did she eventually relent and twist off his burning cock.
"You," she gasped, "could make me get to enjoy being fucked by a man. Boy, was that wonderful! I feel shattered inside. If this girl of yours-what's her name? Vikki?-is willing I'd like to visit you both some time."
Pete smiled wearily. "I imagine it could be arranged," he remarked. "Depending on your testimony, of course...."
She laughed. "I told you what happened, Pete. I didn't say I'd change my testimony. And-" she bent to kiss his penis before looking into his eyes, "-I won't. With the gang it's all or nothing."
Back to square one, Pete thought regretfully. Well, he'd come this far. He knew positively that Vikki was not guilty of murder, as such. Self-defense, perhaps. It all depended on whether or not the D.A. wanted to make a pre election appearance in a courtroom. Personally, he believed there was no evidence to warrant the issue of a true bill on murder one, or on any other charge for that matter. But, it depended on the D.A. And Pete was determined to present that individual with concrete evidence clearing Vikki before such a decision was necessary. The possibility of convincing Dean's crew that changing their initial statements was the only way open gave him an idea. He would go with Lola and tell them the truth-as he had Lola. He would place himself in their hands....
He smiled mentally. "In their hands" opened a feast of doors and ... sensations?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Drifting on a gentle swell, engine cut, Pete thought about the ocean. Deep down, he was a romantic. His mind caressed nature and harbored prose-poems sketched in moments such as this....
The sea was a woman-savage and beautiful; tender and contemptuous; mysterious and open. She was the ultimate spaciousness-stretching around the male world; fingering into every weakness; arousing golden shores in ecstatic caresses; crushing those who rode her in passing fits of anger. She welcomed-and rejected. She took-and clung tenaciously to the taken. And, in the final analysis, buried her sorrow in fluid-bosom.
Slap-slap!
The ocean-kissed yacht loomed in outline, breaking his thoughts. Blurred against a pinpricked sky, the hull rose above the breeze-riffled surface, hugged by the adhering night.
"They're waiting for us!"
Pete grinned. Her features were lumpy, in the darkness, indistinct, lost in the envelope of water-sky.
"Did you hear me?" she hissed again.
"I heard!" He felt annoyance. If she would just keep quiet. He didn't like the yacht riding the female-sea without lights. Not one single glimmer broke the dark-shaped hull. And that was contrary to regulations. Even John Slate could not claim exception to the strict rules of the sea.
Their small boat rocked violently and she moaned, hands clutching his shoulders. Damn her, he thought. Aloud: "Sit down!"
"Pete-I'm scared again!" She squatted, doing nothing to stop the rocking motion of their boat. "Maybe we should go back?" t
"No! We'll board her and take a chance."
They bumped against the darkened hull, Pete guiding them to a swinging ladder. Quickly, he tied the boats together and turned to Lola. "You first, dearest."
"No! Not me, Peter...."
He reminded her, "You're not much good on ladders."
"I'm worse going first-tonight," she said firmly.
Pete shrugged and began to climb. He could hear her following, noisily thumping against the yacht. He reached the deck, stepped onto it. The yacht seemed dead-uninhabited. He waited for Lola and assisted her to find the decking.
"I don't like it, Pete," she whispered.
"Nor do I."
"Can't we leave now?" She pressed against him, face a more distinct whiteness in the reflected light from white-painted superstructure.
"Let's examine the-"
Shapes melted from the darkness, formed figures. Pete confronted the gleaming guns aimed at his body. His arm hurt where Lola's frightened fingers dug into his flesh. She was terrified, trembling violently. Small scared moans escaped her lips. She pressed against him tightly.
"Welcome back, mister ... Lola!" It was the same man Pete had met; probably, he thought, the same gun, too.
Three to one, Pete noticed. They formed a tight circle around the intruders, guns unwavering. In the darkness it was impossible to distinguish the second and third man.
"I'll bet Lola's pussy is sore," the spokesman said lightly. "Hey, Lola-did he fuck you enough? Come on, Lola baby-tell me. Is his prick bigger'n Tony's? Is?...."
"Drop the chatter," snapped one of the other gunmen. "Lola will tell us when we get below!" He stepped closer, gun jabbing into Pete's ribs viciously. "And you'll explain how come you didn't wait for me, buddy."
Pete laughed. "That's easy. Lola isn't the type of woman a man enjoys in company."
The gunman slashed his pistol across Pete's face.
The third shape detached itself and, soon, riding lights appeared and the decks were awash with brilliance. Pete blinked. When he opened his eyes, finally, Lola was being pulled from his arms. "Take it easy-she's done nothing wrong," he said.
The man he'd met snarled, "Keep outta this, fella." Ignoring their menacing guns, Pete stepped forward, pushed aside the hand holding Lola, faced the other squarely. "Shit on you, too," he growled. "Go ahead, shoot-if you want every cop for miles nosing over this floating sex-nest!"
The man tensed, darted a glance at the other gunman. "He's got the making of a regular tough-boy, Mike. Pity we can't feed the sharks. They like tough meat, I hear." He grimaced. "I'm Tony. This is Mike. The other guy is Brad. You're?...."
Lola exploded. "Pete Connors. He's the girl's lawyer!" Tony smiled thinly. "So? A legal wizard! Mike, holster the gun, we've got a famous personality on board. Show the man some manners. Escort him down to Dean's cabin. But watch him-these lawyers are slippery birds and we wouldn't want him yelling for the fuzz and blaming us for negligence. That okay with you, Mister Lawyer?"
Pete forced a laugh. The humor was stale, overplayed. He reckoned the appearance of Vikki's attorney had temporarily shaken Tony. The V.I.P. treatment was a cover-a stall for time, excuses, and delayed action. "Thanks, Tony," he said. "After what Lola told me I am most interested in Dean's cabin."
Tony's eyes narrowed, swung to Lola. She cringed, diverting her gaze, flinging a nervous head from side to side, darting hatred at Pete. "I see," the man snarled. "Make Lola and be told all! I suppose you figure you've got us by the balls?"
"No," Pete answered honestly. "I've got facts, but you realize they don't hold water in court. What I want is to agree on a story for the D.A. Vikki is guilty in deed, if not degree. With your help I can get a light sentence for her-possibly even her freedom. And," he smiled reassuringly, "we can work it in such a way that you do not leave yourselves open to criminal proceedings."
"All wrapped up in ribbon! "
Tony remarked. "What if I disagree with your plan?"
Pete splayed his arms, palms upwards ... shrugged. Tony smiled bitterly, indicated the companionway, said, "Downstairs, mister. We'll talk there."
When they entered the spacious cabin, Pete found himself the star attraction for three men, three women. Lola had taken a seat with the other females and regarded him as an experimental rat about to be dissected in the cause of science. Charming, thought Pete, I'm Exhibit One. When they decide to execute she'll wave and shout louder than any. She'll probably jump up and down.
"All right," Tony said. "Let's hear your ideas."
Pete studied each as he spoke. First, Tony. The man was their tower of strength; viciousness showing on the thin features, eyes steel-gray and mocking now. Mike and Brad came from the same mold-rugged, brutal, ambitious for power without having the mental facilities for authority. Their faces wore expressions of bewilderment and intolerance. They didn't appreciate the niceties of the act.
The women gave Pete more satisfaction when he turned his attentions on them. Lola he knew intimately-as much as any man ever would. The others were unknown quantities, both lovely adornments for a man to display proudly. He could see passion kindling in their eyes ... passion for him. The knowledge was instinctive, gratifying. It happened to so many women. Much more and he'd get a complex!
"I haven't got much to say," Pete began. "Lola-rightly or wrongly-gave me the highlights of the killing. Dean deserved what he got. Vikki Marsh does not deserve to suffer more than necessary for shooting Dean. With your cooperation I believe we could get the D.A. to agree to a reduced charge ... say, manslaughter." He didn't bother to explain that he was shooting for self-defense. Even they would see pitfalls for themselves in that. "You've told the police that Vikki shot Dean, which is perfectly correct. You said she was alone with him, which was wrong. If you suddenly switch statements you're asking for trouble, so, I propose, two of you remember opening the cabin door at the precise moment Vikki pulled the trigger. You'll have to amend the bit about Dean saying the girl wanted to make trouble. You could state this was an error; that he actually said, 'Shell be trouble when she discovers what I'm going to do with her.' " He looked at each for reactions. For a moment they looked back at him.
Tony laughed. "Beautiful, Mister Lawyer! So simple, eh? Like hell! We start changing what we said to the fuzz and Dean's ghost won't ever leave us alone. I happen to like things as they are. Nobody will get hurt excepting this Vikki girl and she don't mean anything to us, anyway."
Lola shivered. Her eyes flashed a warning, but Pete ignored it. He was sorry almost immediately. Brad had moved and, on command from the vicious Tony, brought his pistol down on the back of Pete's head. Through the instant fog of unconsciousness that closed swiftly over his mental facilities, Pete distantly heard Lola scream ... then nothing....
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
He was naked. Goose bumps teased his chilled flesh. Rope bit deeply into wrists and ankles and a hardness bruised his spine. Slowly, carefully, he opened his eyes. He was alone.
Moonlight filtered through a single porthole and swept the small cabin with imperious impartiality. He was lashed to a plank resting on chairs, hands and ankles bound beneath the thin slat of stout wood. His knees hurt worst where they angled over the plank, hard against the rough edges.
A dull throbbing pain reminded him of the paralyzing blow and he smiled ruefully. How swift the end of his speech had come! The forlorn hope of rescuing Vikki from a first-degree murder charge had vanished with a flashing pistol-butt. Now, he, too, faced a brief trial. But his judge and jury were already agreed on their verdict-guilty. He would pay the penalty for assuming kindness existed in people such as they.
The door opened and a shaft of light streamed across his cold flesh. His head twisted and he stared into a woman's eyes.
She quickly closed the door softly, her scent overpowering-assailing his nostrils as she moved quickly to his side. Moonlight did wonderful things to her body-curving over thrusting breasts barely concealed under a thin, semitransparent blouse. The perfume was stronger now and he recognized it-expensive, cloying, fragrant; Betty's favorite. The fleeting memory of his wife evaporated quickly. Vikki had at least released him from that torment.
Gentle hands moved along his flesh, probing, touching, exploring. He could feel her hot breath on his face.
"How about cutting me free?" he asked hopefully.
He saw her smile-quick, flitting across the pale face. Saw, too, the shake of head. "No, thanks," she whispered. "I won't hurt you, Pete. Just let me touch you-everywhere! "
Dean could certainly pick 'em, he thought.
Both hands were working over him now. Down across his prickled chest ... down through the tangled forest of pubic hair ... down between his thighs-forced in there with surprising gentleness.
"It won't do you much good," he grinned. "Nobody could get an erection strapped to this damned plank."
She laughed softly. "You will when I start working on it."
He felt her hands move again ... fondling his testicles ... the limp, useless soft core of his manhood ... rolling foreskin back ... laying the impotent organ along her warm, moist palm.
"Like that?"
He shook his head. "Not here. Not without being able to feel you, honey."
She bent and kissed his mouth. No passion, no tongue. His lips remained tight, refusing to respond.
"You'll want to kiss me soon enough," she whispered.
"Promises!" he grinned. It would be extremely interesting to discover if his mind was stronger than his physical reactions. He was determined, no matter what she did, to stay remote from the calls of his flesh. He ordered his penis to stay limp. He commanded his body to freeze to all sensations. He was spirit, soaring above the mortal plane. Physical actions and responses were past. This was the year of abstinence. Flesh was nothing. It did not exist. There was only the intellect-free, unfettered by the wiles of women.
Especially, this one woman!
Her mouth descended to his chest, teeth bared, nipping his nipples ... suctioning the exposed nubs ... teasing with little flicks of moist tongue.
No reaction!
She smiled, hands warming his chilled flesh, feeling a feeble flame of life begin to pulse between his thighs.
Down boy! he ordered.
She was so very deliberate. No hurry. No rushing from delight to thrilling delight. Steady work ... cupping testicles and penis, warming slow and sure, kissing ... licking ... down across his hairy belly ... down into the forest, breathing hot seduction onto the buried flesh.
I will not yield! he told his weakening resolution.
She bit into the hair, nipping the sensitive flesh below the coarse clumps.
He tensed!
Luminous eyes raised and smilingly informed ... response! He was betrayed! Her hand slid across his thighs, round ... round ... probing and feeling, liking the tense muscles ... down around to where the plank savagely cut into corded, knotted buttocks. That was how taut I am! he thought. Was? Yes-was! The knots dissolved, the cords flew apart under her insistent fingers. Am? Am! Loose, pliable, putty. Molding clay for her to shape and cajole and work....
No! his mind screamed.
"Want me to suck you off?" she asked in his ear. The tickle of her hair was a pleasure, the scent of her flesh and perfume erotic now.
Her hand clamped over his scream. "Not so loud!" she whispered urgently. "They don't know I'm with you!"
When her hand came away, he panted, "For God's sake don't please me."
"Oh, it pleases me, too," she said. "The taste of sperm is most enjoyable. Have you ever tasted sperm?"
He wondered about Dean's women. Lola had asked the same question. Did they all believe that the human race was completely subjected to perversity?
"No, I haven't-and I don't ever expect to blow a man, either."
She chuckled into the hollow of his throat. Her hand kneaded his penis again, the other working in and out of his ear. "If Tony wants to get sucked off, you'll do it," she said. "Tony likes men. He'd rather fuck a backside than stuff it up a wet cunt." She looked at him, head tilted, queryingly. "You like hearing a woman talk dirty, don't you?"
"No!" That was a lie!
"Lola says you have a filthy mouth."
"Lola is a liar!"
"Lola is a lesbian,...." and she tweaked his cock hard. "That's why I want this inside mine. If Lola raves about a piece of ass it's got to be terrific. She's never enthused over any fuck before. Boy, did she have us all squirming when she talked about that back-to-your-belly-stretched-out fuck! Come on, lover, let it get hard. I want to see its size. I may even let you do it to me."
"I won't," Pete affirmed, knowing within himself that she had just about shattered his mental capacity to resist. Every second saw the flesh become more powerful, the mind less able to withstand her caresses.
"Can I suck you off now?" She was eager.
"Try ... you'll get nothing from me." He forced a laugh. Bravado cost very little.
"Not even milk?" She grinned, snuggled into his chest, hair brushing his face. The scent was compelling now. Rising in waves from her gorgeous body....
He tried not to think of her as gorgeous or beautiful or sensual. She was a woman-a frigid woman. ... Hell! Frigid my ass, his brain shouted. No warmth like hers! She'd be fertile inside, too. Fertile, hot, wet, demanding, agile, spasming!
"You shouldn't be cold," she murmured. "I'll make you warm-all over!" She straightened, hands leaving him. Slowly, moonlight dancing on the clean, sleek smoothness of her, she undressed. Venus! he thought, watching the unveiling. The Naked Maja! Hair prominently shown.
"Look," she ordered. She turned, twisted, posed. Hands traveled over her satin-flesh, reaching for her jutting breasts, hefting, holding, fondling. Thrusting ruby-tipped nipples for inspection. Hands traveling down across seductive hips onto firm, perfected thighs then onto belly and down again ... into the pelt ... shaping the delicious mound, spreading the upper swirls of hair, pouting delicate, glistening lips.
It was too much! His penis throbbed in anticipation and began to stir ... lifting its head proudly on its swelling staff.
She saw his penis slowly erect and smiled wistfully. Her fingers explored-tantalizingly-trekking into the dampness ... opening heaven's gates wide. Pink gash! Primitive urges moistening the glowing interior! Pinker ... angry-hued now ... darkly caverned into glistening darkness. Moonstruck ... thrusting forward ... closer ... scented of juices and the woman-power of her being!
"I'm Trudy," she said. "You're Pete ... and Pete's going to go into Trudy and fill her with Petey-germs! "
She straddled the plank.
She's a nut! Pete thought.
Her body quivered and now the gash was directly over his face. Slowly, letting him enjoy the approaching heat of her sex ... letting the wondrous woman-smell grow stronger in his quivering nostrils ... she lowered ... lowered ... moonlight dancing on the hair and pink-wounded flesh ... until there was no more light ... just smell, erotic, exciting, tasteable ... and the cloying wetness of her cunt. Pressing and writhing on his mouth ... grinding down to punish and please ... moving over and around ... flowing wetly, fleshily ... suffocatingly!
"Lick me, Pete! Shove your tongue into my vagina!"
He could feel his penis standing erect, pulsing wildly. Mind could not compel flesh to ignore this! His mouth opened and drank the beauty of her cunt. Darting, strident tongue lapped the juiciness of those fleshy, suctioning walls....
Suddenly, it wasn't there. Laughter rocked the cabin and light flooded over him.
"You're terrific, Trudy baby!"
Blinking against the sudden assault of light, Pete faintly defined Tony standing in the doorway, crowded from behind by the others. Trudy grinned down at him from her superior position, back from his face, cunt gashing wetly above his chest.
Tony came to his side and began loosening the ropes. He kept heaving as peals of laughter erupted. Trudy raised a leg, climbed off, staying to play with Pete's penis. Her hands seethed, evidence of her own denied pleasures.
"How'd you enjoy our little Trudy?" Tony asked, unlashing the ropes binding Pete's hands. Circulation rushed back, excruciatingly painful. "Man, she could unfreeze a brass monkey! If you're willing and promise not to do anything foolish like trying to escape I may just let you ride her." He swore then, struggling with the final mass of knots.
Pete considered the possibility of escape. The three men outnumbered him in quantity if not quality. It was highly improbable he would ever find himself in a position of one against one. He thought then about the women-Lola, Trudy, and Jean-and decided that an orgy would be fun. He conjured up fantasies where he was the only man in a king-sized bed with the three hot women-he shivered-Trudy's hands doing sweet, wonderful things to his hardness. Okay, he decided, firmly now, he'd go along for the ride! Trudy! Lola! Jean! Three desirable mares for a stallion called Pete!
The ropes dropped away and Tony's hands supported him as he rolled from the plank. His bones ached, his bruised flesh complained. He felt dizzy, leaning on Tony, being dragged from the small cabin into Dean's spacious sex-nest.
In the light, slowly regaining strength and movability, Pete took time to assess the situation. An orgy was about to begin-everything pointed that way. Cushions dotted the floor; lights covered with sensuous pink shades cast glowing warmth over the cabin; heavy, cloying incense burned slowly between massive ornate candelabra and, before him-naked, smiling, restless-the three women.
"Pity you didn't bring your girl along," Tony laughed. "We're one short!" He approached Lola, running his hands down her buttocks, prizing the cheeks apart, probing, twisting a finger into her. The woman tensed, started to move forward, paused. As Tony's finger continued to work into her tight anus, she relaxed, bent-thrusting her backside to meet his probes. "She loves it once she realizes there isn't any escape," Tony remarked casually.
Pete knew the man wasn't deeply interested in fingering Lola's ass. He was simply proving he was master of this gathering. Lola had erred, gone with Pete. What had happened to her during his period of unconsciousness was a mystery he did not intend to fathom. It was enough that Tony had now decided to make an example of her.
Lola was smiling wistfully. Her mouth hung open, eyes glazed slightly. The finger proceeded to twist into her, hurting yet pleasing. She bent forward, spreading her buttocks eagerly, breasts swinging heavily. She began to gasp, rotating hips in a familiar rhythm.
"She's turned on, Mister Lawyer," Tony said. "You know she loves it, don't you?" There was an undertone of sarcasm as he glared his hate.
Pete nodded, determined to bring the tension to an end. He had nothing to lose, either way. If they wanted an orgy-let it commence. If Tony wanted him crawling-let battle be joined. Pete would be beaten to a pulp, but his manhood would not be subjected to a sickening, slow disintegration. "I didn't try her from the rear," Pete prodded. "Maybe I should!" He grinned, rising, aware of Brad and Mike ... seeing their instantaneous alertness ... feeling Tony's body tense, ready to meet any attack. Stepping closer, almost within penis-distance of Lola's face, he stopped, examining Tony's tormenting finger buried inside Lola's delightful anus. The man had the finger invaginated to its base, hand splayed between the mountainous swells of those white, taut buttocks. "She's deep enough to take a full-sized cock," Pete acidly remarked. His gaze dropped to Tony's thin penis, mockingly.
Tony exploded. His finger plopped from Lola's ass. "Take the bastard," he yelled.
Pete swung-too late. Strong, hard hands seized his arms and held him prisoner. He struggled momentarily, ineffectually. Then, with a shrug, he said, "Okay, so what next?"
Tony was grinning evilly now. He motioned his henchmen and moved rapidly to a comer. Pete stiffened. Trudy had mentioned Tony's penchant for ass. Lola had spoken about Dean's sadistic corner and Vikki's torture. Was this?....
Before he could organize his confused thoughts, he was pulled savagely into the corner, forced to bend and....
Tony leered up into his face as the straps bit deeply. Mike's strong, unyielding hands forced his feet into the ankle-high boots, tightening restraining laces around each. Pete inanely wondered if the shoes fit everyone.
And Pete knew how he looked-a gigantic question mark; arms stretched and secured, head lowered, back arched taut to the skin-tightened-sweep of his buttocks, curved round into strained thighs, down into knotted calves, ending in those damnable boots. He wrestled with a problematical, crazy questionnaire that kept flashing through his mind. Question: What did a sadist do with a question mark? Answer: Ram it in the bulge! Question: Could a question mark straighten into an exclamation?
Answer: If it were elastic and pliant enough!
Bent! Tony! Ram! His ass!
He could feel Tony's hands stroking down his buttocks now. Down ... down ... into the crease ... touching the sensitive flesh around his anus. He quivered!
"You've got a legal ass, Mister Lawyer," Tony said. "Full of arguments!" He laughed although Pete couldn't see any humor in the senseless remark. If Tony had his way there'd be a rigid cock filling his ass. Pete tensed, forcing the anus tight. He'd make it hurting for any violator of his rear entrance.
"Trudy, come here!"
Pete wondered if, perhaps, Tony had changed his mind.
Trudy smiled up at him, wriggling her beautiful body between his lowered head and the corner. She was lying stretched full length, glistening cunt-lips closest to his face.
"Work him off but not before I come," Tony commanded.
Pete stiffened. Trudy-ever eager to seize his penis-pouted seductively and quickly coiled her warm fingers around his softness. Slowly, teasingly, she rolled the foreskin back and forth, whispering, "Get it hard, lover. You're going to enjoy this!"
Pete shuddered. This must be a monstrous, perverted joke. Trudy's ministrations were as natural as every pleasure he had sampled. But the heat of Tony's penis now pressing against his splayed buttocks was a barbarous invasion. His mind could barely contemplate it. He was not a sex object for another man! An orgy with everyone participating, partaking, giving, was within the bounds of sanity. Healthy sex must have its outlets and even if that included passions unleashed in mutual admiration and gratification it was a far cry from what was about to happen ... was happening ... would continue to happen.
Pete wanted to scream. A cruel finger jammed into him ... suddenly, relentlessly ... into his reluctant ass! He squirmed ... feeling the excited prodding penetrate to agonizing depths. Tony's body curved over his, lasciviously pressing him forward ... drastically ... shamefully extending his buttocks back for the insidious finger to work its way further into his ass.
"Lover ... concentrate on your cock," Trudy gasped, face flushed, lips moving up and down in simulated suctioning of a cunt. Her hand pumped his stiffening penis steadily, eyes glued to its tumescence.
Pete closed his eyes. He rebelled against all cooperation in the rectal rape. He couldn't face the girl's obvious agreement to Tony's sadistic scheme. This was going too far!
The others formed an irregular circle around the threesome. Lola and Mike watched the gruesome game with evident delight, expressing heightened passions with an occasional interchange of caresses. Jean and Brad, however, were by now oblivious of the forth coming rape. They lay, entwined, bent over heaped cushions, feverishly fondling, biting, touching ... the girl's thighs spread wide to accommodate the man's enormous erection as it probed the dilated vagina-never entering fully as if awaiting a signal to plunge home.
Suddenly, the signal sounded! Tony wrenched his finger from Pete's ass and positioned the hard knot of his cockhead at the rear passage. Pete gasped, realization flooding his mind, revulsion closing his anus tight. His penis dropped alarmingly and Trudy panted, "Bastard! Make it hard!"
Tony's hands grasped Pete's hips. He braced, lunged!
Pete screamed! His mind exploded as the thin, hard penis tore into his ass like an impaling white-hot shaft.
Brad slammed his cock deep into Jean's greedy cunt-testicles slapping noisily on her inner thighs. The girl yelled-thrusting upward to take every inch of his driving rod.
Pete felt his knees buckle; felt Tony's hands raise him, hold him in position. Every part of his ass hurt; impaled to the final measure. But the ultimate mortification was yet to come. Tony tensed, gyrating against the splayed buttocks then, with a sighing ecstatic caress, withdrew only to savagely ram back in again. Pete was consumed by sheer agony. His eyes popped open and stared into Trudy's excited face. Her hand pulled viciously on Pete's cock, jerking in rhythm to Tony's brutal back and forth jabbing.
Tony was possessed. Sweat dripped from him onto Pete's back. His cock rammed in and out ... in and out, striving for a climax.
Inexplicably, Pete's cock became rock-hard in spite of the almost-unbearable pain that coursed through his body. Trudy shouted triumphantly, increasing the speed of her jerking. Her body glistened, a fine film of perspiration coating its lovely curves and indentations.
Tony picked up the pace. His cock humped in and out, hands crushing Pete's hips as the rape urge became acute. The tightness of Pete's anus slackened, adjusted to the impaling shaft, caressed its length at each ramming thrust.
Pete felt unable to think properly. His ass burned, his cock throbbed wildly. He was a mass of contradictory sensations. His mouth hung slack, and involuntary grunts followed every white-hot lunge into his tortured rear passage. Staring eyes fastened on the shimmering, wavering pink flush of Trudy's delightful flesh. He could see the glistening nether mouth thrusting avidly against her hand as a finger rolled on her slippery clitoris. He saw, too, his cock vanish, reappear, vanish within the clasping girth of her hand; feel the increasing ecstasy of onrushing climax.
Final humiliation! When he actually began to push back, to hump in Tony's driving rhythm he could not tell. Realization of his actions did not lessen his depravity. Nor did it cease to amaze him when he suddenly found that the pain was now almost gone and, instead, replaced with seething pleasure.
Tony felt the abrupt change-simultaneously with Trudy. They exchanged fleeting nods of approval, returned to their delightful chores. Tony hammered in and out, racing Pete now for his climax.
"Shoot it in my mouth," Trudy yelled, straining under Pete, positioning his cock near her open mouth.
Pete wanted to shout instructions, but the force of Tony's lunging hips drove the wind from him in explosive grunts. He was almost there-sensing Tony's final flurry of thrusts beating him to ejaculation. Then ... Tony tensed, rammed deep, ground his cock inside Pete's ass, short-stroked frantically at the end of the passage and spurted a thick, hot jet of sperm into the tortured rectum.
Pete humped wildly, Trudy's hand pumping faster ... faster ... her mouth weaving from side to side in unison with Pete's shifting body. The exquisite pain flowed ... poured along his shaft ... spurted true into her waiting mouth.
Faintly, Pete remembered the sudden emergence of Tony's cock from his sperm-flooded ass; the intense pleasure of Trudy's mouth suctioning on his cock; the agitated flesh surging and falling when she brought herself to orgasm; the gasping meeting of flesh on flesh behind him and the shrieks of delight as Lola and Jean reached inspired, perspired orgasms.
Ten minutes fled into history. Minutes of reflection, rejection, objection-acceptance.
The warm, sticky fluid trickling down his thighs was a constant reminder of Tony's brutal rape. The slight pulsing sensation in his cock brought back memories of Trudy's flushed skin, her rolling eyes, and the avaricious desire to taste his spurting sperm. At first, he could only reject his frailty. He had, he knew, accepted the climax. He had actually helped Tony reach it. Indeed, he had been bathed in semen and enjoyed the gushing sensation. He shoved Trudy's participation aside. That was natural. Any other time he would gladly have poured his seed down her throat so why object now!
Could he ever again experience rectal excitation and retain his measure of manhood? He wondered about that. It was, he supposed, possible for a man to take and give. Women could-was he so different? The idea horrified him. There was something filthy associated with a man getting fucked up the ass. Yet, he saw no dirt attached to buggering a woman. In her, the ass was just another pleasure-hole-instinctively to be plugged, and so fractionally removed from the center of her sex-machine. Why then did he feel ashamed, humiliated, depraved? Many famous men had dealt exclusively with homosexuality. They were none the worse for sodomy. Their status seemed not to suffer in their respective communities. They received more than a fair share of speculation, but they had pleasures comparable to those he himself felt when fucking a woman. After all, it all boiled up to a tremendous explosion and an ejaculation of seed. The sensations, regardless of male or female opening, were alike. Friction produced thrills and sperm out flowing and a hole was a hole whether in back or front.
Through his turmoil, Pete could hear faint noises of intercourse. They were having one helluva orgy behind him, he mused. Why leave me here-alone? Is this the lull before another rape?
Trudy returned, crawling on her knees. Her back was vividly marked where fingernails had raked her. Her bottom glistened with freshly-ejaculated sperm. She was dazed, excited, frantic. Her hands spidered over his belly, coiled around his penis. "Pete ... want to fuck me now?" She was begging, whispering to the limp softness she held.
Pete started to answer her, yelled instead as a heavy hand viciously slapped his bottom, driving him forward.
"Mister Lawyer," Tony's voice came from behind his ass. "It's agreed-we want you to join us."
Pete trembled, indignation a lump in his throat. He had suffered just about every humility possible. The slap had been the last straw.
"Pete-boy," and Tony's face came into sight. "How about it, eh? Want to have fun with the girls? Trudy here is panting for a piece of your cock. Lola wouldn't say no to a length-that is, if she can finish Jean quickly."
The only escape lay in agreement. Pete knew a refusal-or outward sign of antagonism-could result in his staying indefinitely in this back-breaking position. "Unfasten me, Tony," he said, assuming the expression of one beaten, willing to cooperate now.
Quick hands unstrapped his wrists, unlaced the restraining boots, helped him straighten. The sight of Lola's body entwined with Jean's sent a shiver of anticipation racing through his loins. He had been brutalized-why not have several measures of pleasure before he departed the cruiser? They couldn't do much more to him. Anything involving the women would be acceptable.
"She prefers a cunt," Tony laughed.
"Like you prefer a man's ass?" Pete queried.
Hand snaking down to swiftly caress Pete's buttocks, Tony nodded absently. "It wasn't bad, Pete. Tight but exciting."
Pete wanted to wipe the smile off Tony's face. He detested this man. Hated the sadistic formation of mouth and eyes. Yet-he grinned. "Don't you ever get a kick from a cunt?" he asked, moving his ass from Tony's reach.
"Sure," Tony allowed. "When there's only cunt about it's terrific."
"Then why?...."
"Don't ask me. Ask Lola. Why does she think it's sexier and more satisfying to bring off another woman? My guess is it's nature's way of proving she can make mistakes. A quirk of the womb! Could be I was born with my head trying to come outta my mother's ass!" He exploded into gales of laughter. He was still laughing when he fell on Mike and speared into the man's ass with one savage, perfectly-aimed lunge. Pete heard Mike's startled gasp, saw the frantic attempt to evade the plunging penis and the eventual surrender as Tony's strong grip held him supine, lifting writhing buttocks into a fuckable position.
Trudy blocked his view and Pete became conscious of her woman-smell. She weaved, eyes slitted, swollen, and puffed with passion. Her hands moved restlessly over her nudity-fastening on breasts and pelt with equal frequency. "Pete,...." she crooned. "Fuck me! Get it inside me and fuck me!"
Since awakening in the small cabin this girl had pestered and propositioned. The others were engaged-Tony ramming it home into Mike's ass; Lola verging on collapse with head buried in Jean's muff; Brad reaming Jean and clawing her tits to the rhythm of his hips. Only Trudy remained upright. And the headiness of sex seething in the spacious cabin was undeniably inflaming. He decided.
"Come here!"
She flung herself at him, mouth open, tongue entering his mouth. Her cunt rubbed against his hardening penis, her hips rotating furiously. Frenzied hands went up and down his back, pressing him tight into her. She tore her mouth from his, panted, "I'll never get enough tonight!"
They fell to the floor, landing on soft cushions. Her hand grabbed his hardness, guided it to her wet cunt. He mouthed her breasts, flicking his tongue at her nipples, sucking them, marveling at their swelling response. Her hips whirled and she thrust at him. The wetness of her cunt swallowed his bursting cock, sucking at it, rubbing down its length, side to side, round and round. He slammed it deep, smashing against her uterus, driving at it, sensing the exquisite agony of his assault. She moaned, urging him to burst through tissue and flesh and explode his warm, drowning fluid into her belly. The impenetrable wall squashed his cockhead, rubbed its sensitivity into his being, convulsed and sucked, trying to help him through-coaxing him to return to the womb. He was disconnected. Abandoned. Clinging to her body with desperation, guiding his cock down the long tunnel with its dripping, caressing walls doing such wonderful, beautiful things to him. He felt the dream-like rhythm of her flesh riding under his; the surging, demanding capacity for physical satisfaction engulfing him. His ass reared, poised above her kicking legs, cock merely trapped in the roiling flesh of her vagina. He plunged ... down ... up into her cunt ... in deep ... hard ... furiously assaulting her uterus again ... gasping as it started to yield ... grunting when his cock slowly pulsed into the oceans of tumultuous flesh.
"Yes ... yes ... shoot it now!" She screamed, writhing wildly. Her vaginal muscles gripped and pulled.
The fantastic sensations tremored down his length, exploded in his testicles, shot its joy back ... back ... bursting in seething spurts at the core of her body.
Pleasure washed over his entire body. His spurting cock felt flooded in a strange liquid fire-his seed and her outlawing. She was squirming frantically, thighs clamping tightly, opening, clamping. Small fists hammered on his spine. Whimpers came from her slack mouth. Her buttocks quivered, raised, jerking automatically now. And still he stayed deep inside her, grasped in the tight circle of flesh-sucked, drained, laved deliciously in her juices.
"No more!" She pushed at him. "Take it out! No more!" She was screaming, bucking, withdrawing from the pleasure-agony buried inside.
He rolled from her, on his back, panting exhaustedly.
Lola's face swooped down on him, eyes wild, mouth working against his. "Eat my cunt! Lick it ... bring it off!" She twisted, away, coming back ... the warm, sweet-hot juices glistening on the thick fur ... jamming it on his face, rubbing until her dilated, steaming vagina was directly on his tongue. Then she humped and rubbed, moving back and forth doing the work-his tongue out, tasting, licking greedily at the proffered clitoris.
Hands took his, folded the palms round strong members. Faintly, from outside the clammy thighs pressing his head, he heard a muffled voice shouting, "Jack us off!"
He wanted to bring his hands to Lola's buttocks. Wanted to raise her muff and gulp fresh air-not the cloying, woman-scented odor of cunt. He couldn't. Compelled, driven by impulse, he moved his hands up and down the rigid cocks, working them furiously. ... His penis throbbed, strongly erect. Hot lips circled it, sucked it into a moist mouth. He cried out into the seething quagmire of Lola's frenzied cunt. This was pleasure perfection. He could feel the pulsing cocks prepare to ejaculate, sense Lola's rising orgasm and the small spasms announcing her climax, feel the pumping suction of that wonderful mouth travel up and down his cock, take it into the throat, licking expertly with tongue-like precision around the swollen, bloated knob.
He was starting to come. His body trembled. His hands jerked erratically, bringing first one then the other cock to climax. Hot sperm splattered on his thighs, stuck to his palms. Lola bucked, bounced, collapsed-huge ass swollen and whitely-rounded within his field of blurred vision. Then ... faster, bobbing furiously, sucking the sperm from him ... swallowing jet after jet greedily ... the mouth sent him soaring on uninhibited joyrides through a huge void where flesh faded and only the shattering sensations of the mind remained.
When he recovered he was laid on cushions, Lola's cunt a thickly matted forest of flesh-painted hair beside his face. Mike and Brad were stretched out on either side of him, cocks oozing pearls of fluid over his skin and, between his thighs, face blissfully raised as tongue licked her juice-stained lips, Jean-content and flushed. Across the cabin, Tony sat with Trudy on his lap, his cock pumping sperm into her dilated cunt, mouth sucking on a swollen breast as she continued to buck up and down on his impaling shaft.
Depravity, Pete thought. This is utter depravity. I've had enough. To hell with evidence. I can tell my story to the D.A. and provide medical proof of my own assault at their hands. I can't stay here longer. I'll be corrupted beyond return, destroyed. Swallowed in a perversion.
He pushed Lola from him, slipped his hands along the softening cocks, climbed shakily to his feet-aware of Jean's idle interest. His clothing must be somewhere near. He searched ... noted Tony's gaze swing to encompass him ... ran!
Cold night air froze his nudity. Darkness swallowed him-brought him to the brink of serious injury. His foot slammed into a deck fitting ... pain lanced upward, flooding his brain. He staggered, felt the rail metal-cold on his side-toppled overboard!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Fingers steepled below his nose, the D.A. glared at the mass of evidence spread, across his desk. He was painfully conscious of Pete seated opposite him. More-he was silently furious! Not one single fact agreed with the original police statements. The autopsy proved conclusively that Vikki's claim to have shot Dean while lying on the floor was right. The track of the bullet through Dean's corpse was undeniable evidence. Also, the medical examination Pete had ordered for Vikki had again backed her every word-including those maligning her moral self.
Pete grunted, rested his foot on a corner of the desk, asked, "Does she go free?"
The D.A. rose, paced the office. When he halted, his face was a righteous series of furrows and frowning wrinkles. "Yes! But I'd like you to help me...." His eyebrows shot upwards, questioningly.
Pete nodded. He understood. "What do you want of me?"
"Don't mention this yet...." He raised a hand hurriedly as Pete prepared to explode. "No-the girl will not suffer. I'm asking for a minimum time ... three hours! She can wait that long!"
"How?" Pete queried.
The D.A. smiled. "I'm taking the chief and his so-called team of investigators out to that yacht. I'm going to give him free rein to tear the boat apart. I'll mention my dissatisfaction with the conflicting evidence and-" he nodded sagely, "-stress Miss Marsh's claim that she was savagely beaten, raped, and held captive in an infernal contraption. I want to see how hard they search for bloodstains and Dean's manacles."
Pete laughed, "That shouldn't be hard to find...."
"It will be if I'm right in my assumption that our dear chief of police has sloughed off again. You know, Mr. Connors, I've gone along with the guy for many years simply because he's handled the petty crimes we get with flair. The man's no Sherlock Holmes but we never have much trouble in this town. Our community believes in closing a blind eye to socialites and their high jinks. Reflect, see how easy it is to accept the word of four or five witnesses against that of a girl. Oh, I understand that the chief would never wittingly help convict anyone to execution. He is just a guy trying to get along as best he can, and unless someone shouts he doesn't think about pursuing an investigation to its conclusion. There is always the open road."
Pete extended his hand. "I admire a man who can face defeat graciously," he said, shaking.
The D.A. inclined his head. "Defeat? No, Mr. Connors. Not defeat. I was never committed either way. My indictment would only follow rigorous perusal of all the evidence-and that includes medical. If I gave the wrong impression you must excuse a preoccupation with electoral necessities. I am an ambitious man, sir. One day...." He smiled inwardly as the possibilities flooded his brain before permitting himself the luxury of thinking aloud again, "There are many road open to a victorious candidate. The governorship ... maybe even the Senate."
As he headed for the door, Pete called, "Good luck, Mr. President!" Then, he was standing in a narrow, drafty corridor with thoughts of Vikki filling his conscious mind. The D.A. and his political aspirations faded into insignificance. Vikki. ... Could he tell her the whole story? Should he play a game until?....
He grinned. He'd sworn vengeance for the scar he carried. It wouldn't hurt little Miss Hotpants to sweat another three hours. She'd be in no danger. Her freedom was assured now....
One thing that could definitely be said in favor of the Malabar police chief was that he was a gentleman. Whether it was because he truly was chivalrous, or because he feared some later repercussion from the wealthy of the area, no one would ever know. However, he was not a man to allow a girl as beautiful as Vikki to sit out her time waiting in a public jail. Consequently he had obtained permission to take Vikki to his home where she would be watched by the chief's wife and son, properly clothed in what became her best, and permitted suitable freedom of the house to assure some measure of decency.
Vikki had been at the chief's home for three days, alternately raging at the chief's family and being genuinely grateful that she didn't have to endure a cell. If only someone would tell her what was going on! She had heard that Pete was in town, acting as her as yet unretained lawyer. But beyond that she knew nothing. The chief's wife attempted some measure of communication and encouragement, commenting from time to time about the lovely weather, or how nice it would be when "all this nasty business is over." Vikki was hard put not to retort with a very unlady-like "Bullshit! "
but she managed.
She was reading the current edition of Life when she heard raised voices downstairs. She listened-recognized Pete's booming voice demand to see his client. She hurried to the door, shouted: "Pete ... Pete! I'm upstairs!"
The door swung open and she raced to the landing, stared down into a small hall. Pete and the chief's son stood there, faces flushed, heated argument interrupted.
The deputy seemed nonplussed. His hand blocked Pete's progress yet his eyes questioned Vikki-defying her to say this man was her attorney. Vikki had to admit to herself that Pete looked anything but successful. Or legal!
He wore ill-fitting slacks, a T-shirt and hideously-colored socks. Baseball sneakers completed an authentic picture of a bum-about-town.
"Vikki-tell this moron I'm your-" Pete shouted.
"Don't tell her what you are!" the deputy yelled. He frowned at Pete, called over his shoulder, "What is he, Miss Marsh?"
Vikki laughed. "It's all right. He is my lawyer. His name's Pete-r Connors." She added the r quickly, reckoning it sounded more impressive than Pete.
The chief's son scowled, dropped his hand. "I dunno," he mumbled, grudgingly allowing Pete to pass. "Don't you be long," he called after Pete. "Pop is mighty strict about prisoners taking liberties."
Pete had reached Vikki now and, his hand squeezing hers, conveyed a message old as Adam-after the snake had given him the first taste of heaven-on-earth-pleasure.
"In there!" Vikki pointed, sensing Eve's triumphant coup.
Once inside the bedroom, she melted into Pete's embrace-feeling the muscular hardness against her, his mouth feverish on hers. For seconds they clung together, tongues caressing, bodies straining on leashed passions.
When they separated, she viewed his clothes with disgust. "Couldn't you find anything worse to wear?"
He laughed, hurriedly brought her up to date on the events following his arrival in Malabar. Tactfully avoiding all references to his interlude with the delicious Lola and the painful intimacies of the orgy aboard Dean's yacht, he recounted how he had swum ashore in the nude and bought the present gear from an obliging dock worker.
Vikki listened eagerly, then, "Pete-how serious is my predicament?" she asked.
Pete hesitated. He wanted to erase the worried frown on her lovely features. He wanted to laugh and hold her and whisper that it was all over. Yet....
"Bad, Vikki!" He felt a heel but this was his revenge. "The District Attorney figures he has an iron-tight case. I think we'll be extremely fortunate to get you off with a manslaughter charge. Mind you-" and now he was enjoying the look of consternation on her face; so much so that he decided not to come clean until . ... "-with mitigating circumstances you'll only get seven years!" He waited....
"Seven years!" She collapsed on the bed. "I'd die!"
He sat beside her. The scent of her was subtle, desirable.. This was his Vikki-not one of Dean's depraved bitches. The agonizing memory of humiliation burned in his rectum, his mind roiled against things done and seen on board the yacht. He had to wipe the slate clean; had to cleanse himself in. ... His hands went to her shoulders, forcing her back on the bed. He bent over her, drinking her beauty, smelling her woman-odor. "Seven years and we'd be in our prime, Vikki," he whispered. "I'd wait for you."
"You'd be screwing Amanda Baker every night, Pete Connors!" she accused.
He smiled, kissed the hollow of her throat. His hands roamed wild and free across her pliant breasts, cupping and squeezing passionately. "If I did, it would be to keep her moist for you, dear."
She pushed his head away, glared. "She told you?"
"Yes!"
"And? ..."
"And when you're released from prison we'll both be waiting. Think of it, Vikki-the three of us together. When you want cock I'll be available. When you can't stand another inch there'll be Amanda-wanting to be sucked, capable of sucking."
She trembled, fire in her loins flickering hopefully. She glanced at the door, said, "I've got the key, Pete. We could lock it and...."
"Say it, Vikki," he panted.
She smiled, took his face in her hands. "I want you to open me, Pete. I want to feel the hardness of your prick shafting up my cunt. I want to explode when you shoot your lovely seed into my belly. Oh, Pete-darling-fuck me!"
Getting to his feet, Pete watched her features expand into an abyss of lust. He had seen it happen before. Perhaps it was strictly a mental aberration. The sparkle of eyes, flowing golden hair, nose and sensuous mouth-all intact, yet broadening with an onrushing passion-flush. She was out of focus, distorting into a major desire. He hurried across the room, savagely twisted the key. They were assured privacy now. Their lust could grow, swell into intercourse, drain into orgasm.
His hands traveled over her, stroking, squeezing, caressing. Small moans escaped her lips and she writhed beneath his explorations. "Pete ... undress me," she whimpered.
Slowly, savoring every minute particle of flesh appearing from under her clothes, he undressed her. Dress, slip, brassiere, stockings, suspender belt, panties. Naked now. Perfection disrobed! She was worth staring at. Hair gloriously disarranged and framing her face. Twin matched spheres jutting from the satin-velvety chest-each warm and vibrant, pliant ... capped by sweet-scented, stiffening nipples. Then down ... travel on a voyage of discovery ... to where her indented navel gleamed wickedly on the surrounding firm belly ... across the dividing line into southern climes ... hot, humid, tropical land ... forested with lush, damp growth ... and beyond, rising on either side of the forest, lithe full thighs stretching to eternity.
"Be gentle when you fuck me, Pete," she moaned.
He stripped. Quickly, fluidly. The rising projection of his penis came swiftly from his trousers and bobbed majestically before her eyes. She sighed, reaching to touch it.
"Vikki...." He flung himself at her, arms taking the falling weight, lowering softly to her resilience.
"You're wonderfully hard," she whispered, thighs opening to provide a nesting place for his tumescence.
"Slow and easy," he agreed. "I want it to be perfect."
"I'll get on top of you," and she squirmed beneath him, rolling together when he held her hard to his throbbing penis. "You can touch everywhere like this," she gasped, superior now.
He was toughened steel under her pliability. Legs straddling him she felt the superb hardness straining to spring upward ... to her waiting nest. Not yet, she thought. Not yet! It's got to last seven years! Forever!
His hands moved swiftly up and down her flesh, the length of her body. He went frantically from breast to thigh ... forcing them wider apart, wriggling under her, nosing his penis against the damp warmth of her vagina. He caressed her belly, fingering the curling hair above her dimpled wound.
"It's fantastic, Pete." She bent, tongue spearing his mouth. The movement forced the cockhead into her vagina. Feeling it enter, she wriggled, trying to impale herself on his hardness. His hands abrasively went between her thighs, lifting, raising her off his cock. "Not yet, Vikki,...." he panted. "Slowly, build it until we can't hold back another second!"
For what seemed an eternity to Vikki they lay there, touching, exciting, stimulating. Pete's hands knew how to inflame-jumping from breast to thigh, from nipple to cunt-always searching, probing, heightening the fleshy anticipation that this would be the final demand before completion. And, always, the hands would leave, linger, leap to another erotic part, arousing, cajoling, enticing.
Vikki was a bundle of vibrating nerve ends. Every part of her glowed, screamed for gratification. Her hands couldn't leave him-caressing the rigid flesh, cupping testicles, trying to insert. When she felt that the answer lay in masturbation to relieve the unbearable tensions churning inside her belly, he lifted her bodily ... upwards ... hands on her waist ... poising her dripping sex directly over his throbbing penis.
"Sit on it!"
His back arched, thighs knotted.
"Pete!" The name erupted from her. Now was the moment!
He pulled her down on top of him, thrusting violently upward at the same time, impaling her to the core.
He muffled her scream just in time-he didn't want the chief pounding on the door at that point. His body was a bridge of lust, forcing higher-hands hurting her tender flesh as they held her down, pulling her down ... tighter! closer!
Hair flung wildly and her head tossed ... throat a white curve going away from jutting, heaving breasts ... spine bending back ... muscles smooth and rippling along her taut thighs.
"Feel it go in, Vikki!"
She felt it ... granite ... unyielding ... filling her warm wet tunnel ... spearing ... rubbing ... pushing in ... up ... deep. His hands were on her shoulders now, drawing her body forward ... her cunt clinging greedily to the beautiful shaft rammed high into her ... belly folding ... breasts swinging outward and down ... face slowly coming toward his.
Hot eyes pierced hers. "Tell me how it feels, Vikki."
"A steel bar shoved into me, Pete!" She gasped, moved slightly to adjust it ... pushing forward, against the hard cock. "God, it's fantastic. I want to come now, Pete. Don't move ... I couldn't bear to feel it plunging in and out. Let me work myself off. I'll be fast ... I'm almost there!"
She kissed him. Deeply, tongue-coaxing, her hips rotating slowly, yet somehow frantically. She didn't work up and down his length. The swollen knob pressed deliciously against her uterus and she jerked erratically on it, never letting it stray more than an inch, round and round, twisting, pressing ... working ... hard. Her eyes were shut tight. The man-odor of him was exciting. Pungent, permeating her core ... mingled ecstatically with the rising sensations in her crotch ... intermingling sweat, love-juices, squelching sounds from down there ... between her parted, straining thighs. She knew how it looked ... silk-smooth flesh beaded with sweat ... damp, curling hair triangled bushily above his cock ... pink-raw lips gaping, clinging, suctioning-spread lasciviously around the bulging firmness of his organ.
"Pete ... I'm ... I'M COMMING!"
He clasped her hips. Suddenly, they'd gone crazy. Rotating, twisting, surging. Her cunt softly collapsed, clutched, rubbed furiously. Her belly began spasming ... rippling with the intensity of her orgasm. Warm copious juices bathed his rod.
"Vikki ... take it all now!" He humped, stabbing into the cesspool of juice. Faster, harder, viciously almost, he plunged upward. His cock frictioned along her vibrating, convulsing vagina.
"Hurry ... SHOOT!" she groaned.
He pumped away, spurting hot, blobbing sperm into her belly. His muscles knotted savagely, back arched to its extreme ... pushing his jetting cock deeper ... thrusting and jerking it into her lovely cunt. His hands mauled her swollen tits ... savaging the pulsing nipples. He couldn't halt the incessant waves of pleasure shooting into her ... it seemed he had unlimited supplies of teasing, pleasing seed to deposit.
As suddenly as the orgasm had washed them, it ebbed. Sensations having reached their supreme apex-vortexed into nothingness.
"Pete ... save me from prison," she whispered, satiated. "How can I do without this?" She licked the inside of his ear, enjoying the soft limpness buried just inside her slick, slime-coated labia.
"Yeah, I know," he muttered. "I could stay like this forever-inside you. You're some woman, Vikki. Every time with you is fresh, novel."
"Can't you do anything?"
He grinned, stroked her rounded buttocks. Sweat trickled down the crease, exciting him as he followed it into her anus. His finger gently opened her, rolling into the tight, resisting hole. "How about getting ass-fucked?"
"No, thanks," she remarked coldly. "My cunt was meant for cock!"
"I'll have to go soon."
"Fuck me once again."
He laughed, slipped from her. Cupping his glistening limp penis he sighed. "With that?"
She fondled it eagerly. "I could suck it into erection." He slipped off the bed. She deliberately spread her thighs, hair shining with his juices, cunt an exciting folding of flesh and space. "I've got work to do, Vikki. You do want me to defend you."
She played with the dripping attraction, sighing, trying to cajole. He shook his head. "Vikki...."
"Don't worry, Pete-I understand. Let yourself out, eh? I've got the hots again. I'm going to get it off ... this way." Her finger dipped into the wet lips, seeking, finding, rubbing her clitoris. He wanted to dive between those firm, soft thighs and close her cunt with his mouth.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he intoned absently, unable to tear his gaze from those widening thighs and the furry forest of temptation.
"Do that, Pete ... oh, it's wonderful. I'm thinking, Pete ... of your hard cock inside me ... all ready to shoot hot semen ... look!" She was straining, finger slipping across the rubbery, slick clitoris.
He dressed hurriedly, praying he could leave before she spasmed. At the door, he called, "Tomorrow, Vikki."
Her excited moans rocked his determination. He glanced back-her finger rubbed furiously, eyes rolling wild and bulging. Her luscious breasts rose and fell in agitation and her entire body vibrated, trembled with the intensity of her effort. She was climaxing fast.
As the door closed he heard her final, creaking flurry. Heard the forced grunt of ecstasy ... the sighing orgasm ... her plaintive cry: "Pete-I've come!"
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I'm a rotten bastard! Pete thought as he walked along the street toward the District Attorney's office. Sunlight streamed across the square, glancing off groups of people gathered before a store window. He stopped, grinned. Trust Malabar to come up with a gimmick like this! A model clad in flimsy negligee strutted around the window, giving all an eyeful of thigh and buttock and, occasionally, most of her full thrusting tits. A placard announced that: MEREDITH DREW-INTERNATIONALLY FAMOUS COVER GIRL-ALWAYS USES VANESSA GOLDBERG'S COSMETICS. To prove the point, a display of exotically-bottled makeup and perfumery littered a dressing table and overflowed seductively onto a frilly, indented bed where the sensuous girl proceeded to anoint her legs, face, and upper chest with a collection of the miscellaneous items being offered to the gawking onlookers at fantastic prices.
Turning from the window, Pete thought about his interlude with Vikki again. He detested his actions now. Why hadn't he come right out with the glad tidings! They could still have made love. Probably ... no! It couldn't have been any better. Vikki had given her everything. She'd been convinced his cock was the last male appendage she'd have for seven years. And ... it had been terrific!
"Mr. Connors-could you spare a moment?"
His reverie shattered and he swung to stare into marvelous green eyes.
"The boss won't be back yet...."
Pete smiled expansively. He placed the tall woman. She usually sat outside the D.A's door-cool, reserved, efficient. The barrier all visitors had to pass before being ushered into the temple of law. "Thanks," he grinned. "When he returns tell him I'm at my hotel."
Subtle perfume wafted to his nostrils as she silkily moved closer. Funny, he thought, how she's suddenly a woman. I've figured her for a hostile guardian of the D.A's person.
"Mr. Connors, you're an attorney...." He threw back his shoulders. There was nothing like recognition to make a man walk straight, walk ten times taller! "
I see,...." she smiled. "You're probably going to inform me that you already have a client and are contemplating a hasty departure from Malabar but...." She stopped, eyes lowering, the heat of her nearness making the perfume rise in overwhelming waves.
"But what?" Pete asked, trying to fathom what she was getting at.
Her eyes met his. He felt a reaction immediately. This was a woman to reckon with-a determined, legally-minded female with more than her share of seductiveness always available to sway men to her bidding.
"I have a problem, Mr. Connors-one which I cannot force myself to bring to the attention of my boss. He's a much underrated man-a very tolerant, dedicated instrument of the people's will, Mr. Connors...."
Pete nodded. He'd a sneaking admiration for the D.A., too. He could understand the man's secretary being loyal, filled with pride. Also, he knew it never did pay dividends confessing personal problems to an employer. "If I can help, ... "he said.
"Let's go inside here."
"Here" was the courtroom. It was empty, but something drew Pete after her. The woman nodded to a uniformed guard and Pete followed her ... until they stood alone in the sterile chamber of justice. Rows of vacant seats, tables for the opposing attorneys, raised dais and bench ... painful memories of a career almost lost in the aftermath of a broken marriage.
"Now, ... "Pete harshly said.
"Mr. Connors,...." she said, facing him, her attractive body tense with hidden worries. "I could be standing over there-" and she indicated the defense table. "I need help-urgently. I've committed a crime-and I can't face the possibility of baring my soul before the drooling public. Please-" and her hands seized his arms, her face broken into begging expressions, "-please ... help me!"
Pete couldn't shake off the dread gnawing at his innards. Something warned him to tear from her grip and say "to hell with the law and those in trouble." Yet-he wanted to get back! Back where he rightly belonged. Parading his skills before a crowded courtroom, swaying a jury with argument, interesting a judge with legal knowledge, battering an opposing lawyer with assured facts. This was where Pete Connors belonged-right here.
"Tell me about it," he said quietly.
She smiled. "Not here ... in your hotel!" She made it sound distinctly filthy. "I'm a strange creature, Mr. Connors. I needed to stand here. Now, I'm ready to bare all-in the privacy of your room! Just us alone."
Pete stared at her in confusion. There was an underlying hint of promiscuity. Was she playing a con-game? Was she making a sucker out of him? Had she been inveigled into trapping him? No! that was stupid reasoning for a trial lawyer. There was nothing to trap. He'd committed no crime. He'd spoken to the D.A. and he knew-assuredly-that Vikki was safe from legal shenanigans.
Then-why? What?
Pete didn't speak. He took her arm and moved down the rows of empty, silent seats. The woman walked easily at his side, head high, perfumed seduction wafting sensuously as gentle curves brushed excitingly against his side. Out into the square, past the ordinary people with their uncaring, bustling progress, along the street, into a taxi....
Seated in his hotel room, the ocean dappled and rippling far below-its sibilant whispers filling the silence with music-Pete waited patiently for her to bare everything. She seemed on edge-as if an internal struggle was taking place and a mighty effort was required before....
"Do you love this girl, Vikki?"
Pete laughed. Of all the questions!
"Do you?" she repeated.
Suddenly, Pete understood. Naturally, the D.A. would have his evidence typed. This woman had read-and, apparently, digested-the whole lot. She wasn't embroiled in a criminal offense. She wasn't even worried about the boss discovering her personal inadequacies. Pete figured she hadn't many of those. She was a capable female on the make and he happened to have captured her imagination.
"Yes-I love Vikki!" he stated, playing the game to its inevitable conclusion now. "In her fashion, Vikki loves me. I'm more than a physically attractive male to her." He attacked-trying to find her depth, her weakness. "You know, when two people copulate they don't necessarily mean it when they repeat 'I love you.' It's simply a three-word expression for 'it feels terrific' or 'don't stop doing it to me because it's so wonderful inside me.' "
She laughed nervously. This was what she'd wanted. The transcripts she typed had given her an urge. An uncontrollable urge. That was why she was here. In one way she wished she'd never approached this muscular, unregimented man. She felt sure he had tumbled her. It had been obvious. Once she suggested the privacy of a hotel room. ... She worried. What if her fellow workers discovered? Could she take their foulmouthed asides? Or, worse, would she ever feel right with her husband again? The spur-of-the-moment decision to nail this rugged, uninhibited man was losing its glamor, its heady excitement. Yet, there was the itch . ... She was wet. An uncontrollable itch needed scratching. It continued to build-wanting to be pacified, touched.
Pete got to his feet, strode back and forth. He wondered about himself-about Vikki, Amanda ... this woman. He swung. "What's your name?"
"Vanda Hale!"
He indicated her rings. "Mrs. Hale?"
"Yes." Her head dropped.
"Working at it?"
"Trying hard," she allowed to the carpet. She wondered if she should rise-run from him.
"You want it, don't you?"
Her head shot upright, eyes deeply mysterious and shimmering. Every fiber of her vibrated. She nodded, unable to voice the torrid thoughts swiftly coursing through her system.
"Why?"
She tried to speak, couldn't. Clearing her throat, she finally husked, "I ... I don't know! When ... I read what you told the District Attorney ... I felt I just had to ... have you!" She swallowed quickly. "It was completely insane. I couldn't help myself. I read and I was consumed with longing!"
Pete went to her, cupping her face, gazing deep into her green eyes. "Vanda-get the hell outta here. Go home. Strip naked. Seduce your husband. If you don't-" and he fondled her ears, "-I'll rip every stitch off you. You're a helluva female and I'd love to screw you but don't stay. Shake your beautiful ass down the corridor and hope to hell you've got a husband who'll give you what you want." She trembled. "Mr. Connors ... don't turn me away!" He tore from her violently. "Get out! "
"Don't you?...."
"Yes! Goddamit to hell, I do!" He grabbed her, feeling the pliancy melt against him as she rose. Their mouths opened, tongues feverish. His hands fondled her buttocks, drawing her into him. Then-shoving her away, he snarled, "Fuck off! Fuck off or get fucked! "
"Fucked!" She was startled at the explosive quality of her reply. This wasn't Vanda Hale speaking, she thought. She knew the whole gamut of four-letter expressions. A secretary soon gets to know those! She enjoyed being naked under her husband and had thrilled to premarital sex in college. But she hadn't deviated since marriage. Her husband had, she normally claimed, satisfied her every sexual urge, her every whim. Until now. Had she suddenly gone stark, raving mad?
Pete grinned. He liked the short, decisive answer. He wanted her as an animal wants one of the opposite sex. The rutting game. In season. Heat. She was a looker-full-breasted, tall, shapely, probably very experienced and capable in bed.
"Look!" Her hands flew to her buttons and, quickly, she bared her breasts. Freeing them by the simple expedient of tugging her brassiere down under the generous swelling curves, she thrust their raspberry tips at him provocatively.
"Put them away!" he heard himself snarl. "When your boss returns he'll have a couple of experienced perverts to teach you how it's done...."
"Milk yourself in here," she husked, squeezing her wonderful breasts together, showing the deep valley between them where a cock could ride comfortably; where a man could shoot his load.
Pete felt his penis swell, felt the undeniable urge to whip it from the confining tightness of his trousers and shove it between those milk-white tits. Sweat filmed on his forehead. His breathing was irregular, labored. "Beat it, babe!" He tried to blot out the vision of thrusting goodness. "Get lost!" He thought about Vikki ... about Amanda. More womanhood than any man deserved!
Her hands whispered material down her lovely hips and pushed at the elastic-topped panties. Lower ... lower ... sliding down silken thighs, down ... revealing....
He unzipped fast, letting his throbbing lance spring free.
"Oh, God!" she whispered, staring at it.
His hands splayed over her firm, resilient buttocks, pulled her against his manhood. The thick, damp bush excited his knob. He moaned. "You filthy bitch! You fucking cock-teaser! You've asked for this! "
Her thighs parted briefly, closed around his hot hardness. He felt the slick wet heat of her labia engage his rod and then....
"Shove it into me and make it quick!" she panted. "I'm ready to come!"
He pushed her back across his bed, her thighs opening to display the glorious bush with the pink-red wound waiting for a further injury. His hand guided his cock into her moist hole....
"Shoot it now!" she screamed, thrusting upward, taking him deep inside her suctioning, tender trap.
Pete had never had a woman like this before. He could actually feel her juices swamping his cock even as he touched bottom of her lovely cunt. Writhing, squirming, frantic. She was unable to stop the onrushing tide of orgasm.
"Spurt ... spurt into me!" she yelled, clawing at his shoulders.
He slammed in and out-once, twice, three times. The voluptuous sensations of warm juices trickling along his rod and the uninhibited bucking of her hips brought him to his swiftest climax. His cock belched sperm-pumping seed hot and sticky into her womb.
"Lovely! Lovely! Lovely!" she crooned.
Pete wanted more of her. He was still hard-still spurting as he plunged into the quagmire of semen and flesh. His teeth scraped over her taut nipples and his hands overflowed with pliant ass.
"Oh, Mr. Connors ... fuck me more!"
He wanted to laugh. Even now, at the height of intimacy, she was the perfect secretary. Then....
The knocking sounded officious. She pushed at him, frantically. "Take it out ... please, let me mop myself first"
Pete was irritated. He'd been seduced. The best was to come and. ... "Fucking door!" he swore.
She wriggled her cunt from around his dripping penis. She flung herself across the room, hand hurriedly smearing his sperm over her inner thighs, pulling her panties back on, sighing as they snuggled against her cunt. A quick flip and her beautiful tits vanished inside her cupping bra. Then, hands tidying her hair, she stared at Pete's dangling penis, remarked coldly, "Put that away, sir-you won't be needing it for a few hours!"
The knocking was louder and Pete smiled as he returned his throbbing penis out of sight and zipped again. He liked the coolness of the woman. Maybe....
One quick press and the bed was back to unoccupied normalcy. A few minor adjustments and....
The D.A. smiled grimly over Pete's shoulder, icily remarked, "Ah, Vanda-there you are! "
For a moment, Pete thought he detected jealousy as the man stared closely at him. Did it show? He thought it possibly did. There had to be something-even a slight flush ... or film of sweat.
"You may take Miss Marsh home now," the D.A. said casually. "I'd hurry, though. She's going to be plenty sore at you...." His eyes continued to appraise Vanda over Pete's shoulder.
Pete grinned. "Okay! How did you make out with the chief?"
"Fine! Just fine! He's informed me that his days as chief are numbered. Seems he developed a bug ... or just figured he'd done enough for our community. His retirement is next month." The eyes twinkled mischievously. "Must arrange for a presentation. He's been with the town many years...."
Pete shrugged. The chief meant nothing to him. Vikki was free-that was the prime consideration. He walked toward the closet, avoiding Vanda's gaze as he packed. Then, at the door, aware of the atmosphere, he flung his parting barb. "Maybe we'll meet again," he told the D.A. "As opponents in court!"
Pete left the room and walked down the corridor. How strange, he thought, that women asked so very little and yet their husbands didn't do a damn thing about it. A woman like Vanda Hale should never have to resort to going to a strange man's room-not from frustration! But, Pete supposed, there would always be Vanda Hales in the world ... and they would probably continue to seek him out to fill their cravings. Poor husbands-yet hadn't he been the same way with his first wife? He was lucky, Pete decided, damned lucky. He'd met Vikki. A slight smile came to his face and he quickened his pace.
He knew where he was going-to Vikki. He had never been more sure of himself than at that moment. Little Miss Hotpants would find him a generous lover. As her husband he would help build her empire of wealth, and more ... an empire of sensuality. Amanda could move in with them. Respectability would demand a position. Housekeeper would do, but the only house Amanda would keep was the home of his sex. And that was a triangle of ecstasy residing between Vikki's thighs.
He was whistling when he entered the chief's house....
He and Vikki could go riding off into the sunset ... any sunset ... she bucking beneath him ... the saddle fitting just perfectly.
He ascended the stairs, a new firmness in his steps. "Some things," he thought aloud, "are unpredictable-but very appreciated!"
