Seeing the hunchback, the man automatically rose and fitted the key into the heavy door. They exchanged nods, the key turned and Raphael stepped into the apartment sitting room.
He glanced up at a significant picture and nodded. The Kewpie would know he was obeying orders because there was the evil eye of the television lens hidden in the ornate frame of the picture.
His long, big-knuckled fingers curled and relaxed. One hand went to his inner left thigh where his mule cock lay in long, thick awaiting. His private dream was to someday kill a white European or an American girl by thrusting his cock through the strained tissues of her cunt and coming in her bloody guts. Now he moved to the door of the bedroom ... his blood raced.
She lay half under the silken sheet, her arms akimbo, her legs showing as tapered delights in slight parting. Her face in repose was disgustingly pretty to Raphael ... Saliva drooled from his deformed mouth.
He wondered how best to start.
* * *
INTRODUCTION By Del Grayson, Ph.D.
The Kewpie's Dolls is another of Mr. Kyle Roxbury's novels that bridge the past and present. This time the author has chosen to write of tyranny and slavery, which certainly are not new subjects; however, they do tend to be forms of human behavior that are not relegated to any particular period of history. Not only has the author chosen to write of tyranny and slavery, but also of sexual tyranny and slavery. The time is the present and Jan Arden, one of the wealthiest men in the world, has purchased two American school teachers on vacation in Europe. They have been brought to his palatial home on the Spanish Riviera. As the story progresses we see the development of the master and slave relationship, particularly in erotic terms.
In his book Sexual Slavery, Carlson Wade defines a sexual slave as "an individual-adult male or female, young boy or girl-purchased by another individual for the purpose of providing erotic pleasure. Under these circumstances, the owner is master, the slave must submit to whatever debaucheries, perversions, abnormal acts that are demanded of him or her."
Sexual slavery has existed since the dawn of mankind. There is hardly a people or civilization that has been without a captured or otherwise kept-in-bondage individual for the sole purposes of providing erotic gratification.
The earliest written dictum on sexual slavery appears in the Bible: Exodus 21:7-11. "When a man sells his daughter as a slave, she shall not go out as the male slaves do. If she does not please her master, who has designated her for himself, then he shall let her be redeemed; he shall have no right to sell her to a foreign people, since he has dealt faithlessly with her. If he designates her for his son, he shall deal with her as with a daughter. If he takes another wife to himself, he shall not diminish her food, her clothing, or her marital rights. And if he does not do these three things for her, she shall go out for nothing, without payment of money."
The earliest times of the Bible were centered in the Middle East or ancient Arabia and consequently even today the word Arabia conjures up mental images of Sultans occupied with their harems of beautiful and curvaceous girls. However, the Arabs stole not only young girls but also young boys, who would bring high prices on the slave blocks in the markets or bazaars of Araby.
The practice of sexual slavery was so prevalent that the prophet Mohammed found it necessary to prescribe rules regarding it in the Holy Koran. He wrote thus:
"If you buy a slave-girl, do not forget that it is forbidden you to cohabit with non-nubile girls (pre-puberty age, about 12 or 13) before a delay of a minimum of one month, starting from the day of your acquisition. As for the others you will wait until they have had their menses, and in cases of any disturbance in health, you will wait the passing of three lunar months. Also, if you wish to sell a slave-girl you will leave off cohabiting with her at least a month before having her pass under the authority of another."
Thus, it was that the wealthy were permitted their harems, and with their many slaves it was necessary to have an overseer, which brought eunuchs into being. The eunuchs were men who had been deprived of their reproductive organs. For certainly the masters or Sultans could not have a normal male guarding and watching over their female slaves. Therefore, it became necessary to have male slaves to guard the female sexual slaves.
Although all forms of slavery are repulsive today, many of the slaves did not feel that they were mistreated. In a time when famine and hunger prevailed, many young boys and girls sold themselves into slavery so that they might have a home, food and clothes. Also, many of the eunuchs became quite powerful. In Turkey, they commanded the military and acted as counselors to the Sultan; and in Persia many were crowned Shahs.
The slaves of the Greeks, however, held even more respected positions than the eunuchs of the Sultans. The Greeks were idealists that achieved marvels of art, philosophy and political theory and as idealists their slaves were held with respect and also love. The sexual slave of the Greeks was expected to provide pleasure-heterosexual, homosexual, Lesbian-but the slave was expected to do this from bonds of devotion and love rather than from force. In Athens and other harbor towns, there were brothels or houses of accommodation in which slaves were to be had-both boy slaves and girl slaves. The slaves were not merely to be bought for money; they could be hired by contract for a long or short time.
Inasmuch as the Greeks were devoted to the pursuit of beauty, the very young were highly prized for their young firm bodies. Each older person was expected to train the younger in the perfections of art-which also included the art of love. Consequently, homosexual liaisons of both sexes were the norm rather than the exception. Even today Greek love has a connotation of homosexual relations.
Although many of the Greek slaves were captured people of other lands, they did not come close to the Romans, who perhaps captured more people than any other civilization. And the Romans were known to be quite cruel. Because of their cruelty to the slaves, the Romans were in constant fear of slave riots. This social situation of the Roman Empire became the source of many novels and one of the most famous of these was Spartacus, which was also a very successful motion picture.
In the Christian era there have been no official institutions of sexual slavery. However, many marriages were agreed to when the children were as young as five years of age for political advantages, which was certainly tantamount to sexual slavery. Probably the most adept at this were the English kings and in particular Henry the II. At one time all his sons who were less than ten years of age were engaged to various princesses whose dowries included almost half of France.
Among the poorer classes there was another form of slavery that in many cases represented sexual slavery. Until the abolishment of debtors' prisons in the late nineteenth century, people that had incurred debts and could not pay them were either sent to prison or they settled their debts in some other form. Quite often this form took the shape of indentured servants. By this a person that had incurred a debt might offer the sendees of a son or daughter for a number of years in order to settle the debt. When the master was unscrupulous, the indentured servant quite literally became a sexual slave. Although various contracts existed, the most common length span for an indentured servant was seven years.
In 1619, true slaves that were bought and sold on the auction block were introduced into the United States. While the original purpose of slaves may have had an economic basis, it is certainly obvious that many a master consoled himself with the young Negresses. Apparently so many of the white masters dallied with the young Negro slave women that new words such as "quadroon" and "octoroon" came into being. Also, so many children with mixed coloring were born that many of the southern states passed legislation that defined a Negro by the amount of Negroid blood a person possessed. As an example, in Missouri a person with 1/32 Negroid blood is a Negro and this may be determined by a jury looking at the person and saying so. Certainly these young Negresses were sexual slaves in the true sense of the word.
In the Western world the Civil War in the U.S. ended legalized slavery, but another form of slavery existed, known as "white-slavery," which simply meant enforced prostitution. The syndrome of "white-slavery" or "traffic in women and children" as it was later to be called, instituted world conventions as early as 1877. And it has continued up until the present time and is even included under the charter of the United Nations.
Thus, we have The Kewpie's Dolls which is an interlude in the white-slavery market. This is an inner glimpse into a world-wide social problem and the masterminds that run it, and as such provides interesting and informative reading. As in his previous novels, Mr. Roxbury leans heavily on erotic realism. But how else could he give us this interesting look at a seldom talked about subject?
-Del Grayson, Ph.D.
* * *
CHAPTER ONE
The Spanish Maestros who had built the huge hacienda on the Mediterranean edge of Estado Castellon, had thought the big room to be meant for a gran baile. The Barcelona architect who had drawn the plans and supervised the construction had been paid too many pesetas to be concerned. If the mysterious Americano wanted a room twenty meters square with vaulted ceilings and terrazzo floors of polished Italian marble and Turkish alabaster, quein sahe?
All Jan Arden wanted was a room sixty-five feet square with high ceilings for air, polished stone floors for solidity, and a wall of Moorish arches so he could look across the Mediterranean sea to nowhere. It had to be right because he fully intended to spend the rest of his life in the room, and he had been thirty-eight when he made this decision. Now forty-eight, he had seldom left the room.
He had left his special chair, privately dubbed "The Throne," only a few times. It was not quite a chair. It was a cabinetmakers dream, containing among suitable characteristics, the ability to be made into a luxurious bed at the flick of a switch on the many switched console. There was hot and cold running water piped to it and a concealed washbasin. There were telephones, so Jan could attend his many lucrative interests around the globe, a tape recording system, television, and some small controls that did many other strange things. It lacked a bathtub only because Jan never took a bath in the conventional sense. He weighed four hundred pounds and his bath was administered by two stolid-faced Spanish girls who had been taught, among many things, to wash his massive, pink and white and hairless body with soft cloths and water of the proper temperature.
Aside from the items of expensive furniture from many exotic lands, there were some peculiar devices and contraptions in Jan's room. It had taken half of the ten years to develop them, through imagination, experience, and a peculiar sensuality of mind that only a man of Jan Arden's wealth could afford. He considered his single error in the construction of Castellon Vista to be the immobility of The Throne. To compensate, he had hired and trained a dozen Spanish mozos to do his fetching and carrying, and to look with typical Spanish indifference on the occasional fiestas privadas with no interest. Or so it seemed to Jan, who cared only for his own interest in things.
He sat now, chewing voraciously on a leg of Spanish lamb, his ponderous face pushed to even fatter rounds by his gluttonous appetite. He listened to Juan Fernandez, capitan of the FELICIDAD, probably the dirtiest of the sardine fishermen to list its home port as Palma, Mallorca. Through snake eyes, almost lost in the pots of blubber above and below them, Jan scanned a photograph of two women, smiling Americans, obviously leaving the Queen Elizabeth Hotel lobby in Palma. One of them didn't impress Jan much. She seemed about thirty-something, large, full-bodied, but stern of face, almost forbidding. The other woman was also stem of face, but the smile broke it into another element; she looked serious, haughty, nearly intellectual. And she was sleek, even under the travel suit. Her ankles were slim and her calves were full, and the pull of her skirt showed good, tapered thighs, a flaring hip line, and above the slender waist, the bulge of large breasts, high and overly bound by a conservatively firm brassiere. She had mousy blonde hair and deep set eyes. Jan's cock jerked, but he made no sign that Captain Fernandez could discern. He tossed the tooth frayed lamb joint over his shoulder to the naked Spanish girl huddled on the Persian rug behind The Throne. She picked it up, bit hesitantly at the meat morsels and scratched her swollen, overly developed tits as she continued to observe the meeting between her master and the handsome sea captain.
"Three hundred dollars," Jan said.
"Five, senor."
Jan raised his browless fat above the snake eyes. Normally, Fernandez nor anyone else altered a cash offer from him. "Why five?"
"Eet was necesario that both women be taken. They were-how you say-no solamente."
Jan grunted. His huge body was already singing with excited blood, and the difference between three hundred and five hundred to him was only a matter of spoiling one of his henchmen. He opened a secret compartment in a side segment of The Throne and took out a bundle of large denomination pesetas which he already knew amounted to five hundred American dollars, and tossed the packet to Fernandez.
"When?"
"Manana, senor."
"Fuck that. Today. Within two hours, or the deal is off!"
"But, senor! They are een my place een Palma! Two hours ees not possible. Manana, in the morning, ocho horas, by the Virgin!"
"All right, tomorrow morning at eight o'clock." Then, to tease the Spaniard who was a devout Catholic despite his villainy, he added, "And if you can catch the Virgin, I'll go three hundred for her!" Fernandez crossed himself and blinked upward, then he grinned at Jan and picked up his money. "Muchisima gracias, senor!'
"Rapido," Jan grunted, and dismissed him with a big fat hand that seemed to wipe the air clear of their deal. Then he licked his fingers free of lamb grease, and the Spanish girl was miraculously there with a damp cloth and a clean dry towel. Leaning some, he rewashed his thick middle finger in her vagina and made her lick it before he again wiped on the towel. She waited, in case he wanted to take other liberties with her lush body, but Jan settled back, holding the photograph of the two American women. He had ideas for the younger one, but none for her older companion. However, he thought, skinned out of the frumpish clothes, the two hundred dollar broad might inspire some ideas. He'd keep her on ice until he'd gotten his three hundred dollars out of the good-looking one.
He smelled of sardines, body sweat well fermented and some other odors of filth, and for a Mallorca Spaniard, he was tall. He was also thick and hairy and muscled like his namesake, the bull. Toro stood, his ragged shirt open from throat to belly, his nostrils flared to the heave of his big chest. He was a mean man, even among men and women who had known him all of his thirty-odd years, and now he was in the grip of his two important hates. He lacked pesetas for more wine until Capitan Fernandez returned, and this shortage only added to the venom with which he stroked his huge, dark-skinned cock over the arrogant American girl, lying tied on the filthy floor pallet. She lay half on one hip because she was trying to protect her pantied hips from his hot gaze, and because her hands were severely tied behind her back. She had quit trying to speak through the gag tied hard around her face. Her eyes stared in pure panic as Toro shook his penis and swung his balls.
He was sure such a dainty, coldly beautiful gringa had never seen a cock the equal of his; it had sent half the putas in Palma running for goose grease. Now he drew the thick foreskin back and his lust made him kneel, just above the girl's abruptly turned face. He put a dirty hand to her gray-blonde hair and turned her head back, her bound mouth barely three inches below the broad, blood-filled glans. He would spew on the gag, he decided. It would soak through the cloth and flavor her gringo lips, give her a taste of fine Spanish jism and teach her that Americana turistas did not own the world nor the services of every Spaniard she saw. Turn her into a gibbering idiota; he knew her kind, afraid of a man, afraid of life and supporting her arrogance by looking down at better people than she could ever be. Beauty, style, money, but no guts for a macho.
Toro turned and looked at the other gringa similarly tied but facing the wall. An old one. Well, not old, but older than most women his capitan stole for The Kewpie, el hombre gordo, and of a violent tongue. It had been a pleasure for Toro to hold her big bottom to his groin while he silenced her mouth with the oily cloth. He turned back to the frightened one. His eyes followed her shape from slim, round throat, down over the significant fullness of her tits to the perfect hips, now excitingly revealed by her raised skirt. That had been as far as Toro had dared go. He had felt of her bare thighs, patted her twin rump curves and shuffled the chi-chis in their lacy net sacks. But had he availed his dirty fingers of more intimate exploration, of the shadowy area between her close-pressed thighs and the bare flesh under the brassiere, he would have risked a knife in the guts or a crushed skull. The Kewpie demanded untouched women.
There had been one who Toro had dared to touch. She had been an English girl, meaty, youthfully solid and of a certain eye. He hadn't needed to speak her hated language. She had lain there on the pallet, her eyes talking, her lush body squirming.
U had knelt and laid a hand to her belly and she had fuck-hunched at him. Still, he had not dared untie her knees and spread her trembling legs. He had thrust two fingers into her cunt and later, excited beyond control, he had turned her over so she could draw up her legs, presenting a pair of magnificent nates between which he had fingered and finally nudged his cock for an ecstatic come. She had, he thought, loved his big funky penis and hardly anything he chose to do to her, or could do because of her gag and tied extremities, had not set her bouncing and singing through the gag. He had spurted his sperm in several places, between her compressed English tits, between the cheeks of her ass and again on the dark vee of curly hair at her crotch by sitting astride her belly, his dirty ass to her face while he ran his convulsing cock down the front of her panties. He had meant to wash her, but Fernandez had returned too soon. Conveniently then, because his capitan was a man of sympatico, they had dropped her overboard at the anchorage under Castellon Vista and the salt water had removed most of his dried and yellowed come. But she had told The Kewpie.
Toro had been severely beaten and deprived of his next two month's pay. The hot English girl had been sent to Gibraltar and sold to a whore master who dealt only with Algerians-mean, long-cocked and often, half-rotten with gonorrhea. No. The Kewpie wanted only untouched girls. They didn't have to be virgins, but they had to be untrammeled by sardine fishermen or the like.
Now he was beginning to like his hand on the tumescent organ that sprang from his hairy groin like a sun-bleached bit of driftwood. She was squirming but it was terror, degradation, humility and the true revulsion of a virgin, mental if not physical. He put a hand to her tits, squeezing them through the blouse and brassiere. He sent his fingers lower, testing the taut belly, taut with fear. Then he patted and curled his hand around the cheek of her ass, daring to press slightly between the twin pillows, but not firmly.
He was hot now. Holding her head, he let his prick drop to thump and saw across her nose and forehead. He tucked the monstrous head under her chin, stroking it until it swelled and jerked in soon-spurting. She was gripped with terror. Her eyes squeezed tightly closed, then opened, as if she were afraid to not see. Toro put the drooling eye of his cock to her left nostril. That would be good to do, he decided, except that his jism came like water from a pipe and she might drown from the spew as it shot up into her nose. He wanted desperately to come, but he held back, trying to think through his excitement of a novel if harmless place to evacuate his balls. Then he had an idea, one that stilled his masturbating hand and turned his hot eyes to the woman facing the wall. Why not? She was gratis. By no stretch of Toro's limited imagination could that one be of interest to The Kewpie. It had been necessary to take her too, or risk the Palma Policia.
She had seen himself and his capitan and could recite their appearances. So they had struck her skull very hard and threw her into the old van, to bring her here with the pretty gringa until something better could be done with her. Toro thought he knew what the "something better" was. He came to his feet, his old pants half-falling. He held his cock and stepped his dirty bare feet from the trailing garment. Then he walked over to where the woman lay and knelt again. She really had a good ass, he thought. He raised her skirt, exhibiting her undergarments. A hated European corset and panties, with straps and snaps to the tops of long stockings. But low under the girdle and through the nylon film, he could see how the cheeks of her ass pressed and curled under. Thinking only a little of the consequences and a great deal about the demand tingling in the head of his cock, he fingered down her panties until he could see the thick fringe of dark brown hair that grew from her cunt-bump down around the lower scarlet of her sex and up the crack of her ass. He put a quivering finger between the plump cheeks and felt for her ass-hole. He found it; a hot pucker, soft and resilient. She did not move; he had hit her head very hard, he supposed.
With a strong hand, he pushed her limp legs up, causing her ass to pull from under the edge of the elastic girdle and form two smooth, white moons, revealing the puckered rose to his squinting eyes. So bent, her body gave him a choice. He could plunge his cock low and send it plowing into her listless cunt, or he could fight the pucker, with spit and thrusting, and maybe get his organ up her bowel before he had his hovering come. He dropped forward and let his prick hang stiffly out and down as he aimed it for the pair of seductive apertures. The oozing eye touched the warm soft flesh. A raging thrill went through Toro. He-hated white women with a passion; he adored white pussy with all his lusty soul. Among his people, he was a moreno, and he resented any skin that was whiter than his coffee-hued hide. Then he remembered the arrogant beauty, and he looked at her. She had turned more toward him and the unconscious woman. Her eyes were the widest he had ever seen. She was gasping through her open mouth, moistening the gag, and the air that finally had to rush through her nostrils made a harsh wind-sound. He grinned, realizing that although he was not going to fuck her, she was suffering as if it was her lovely ass his prick was nudging and dimpling. He turned back to the listless body. His cock was pressed to her asshole. He took a breath and began a screwing in-pressure. It seemed to give, but it was only the outer flesh, not the pucker. He grunted and his muscular body tensed as he twisted his cock at the reluctant hole. It would go, he knew. He had rammed his prick in twenty Spanish assholes, from nine-year-old boys to sixty-year-old fisherwomen. All resisted, all finally gave way to The Toro, some screaming, some laughing, all panting with pain as his cock tore tender tissues, then sighing with delight as his furious fucking turned agony to ecstasy. Oh, it would go, he knew. The problem was his come, boiling in his balls and knotting the under muscle where his spine turned into his penis.
Then he put his finger down, and for a moment, dallied the pucker into moist openness. It felt good, the tip of his finger turning and feeling the soft flesh of her rectum. He fucked the hole with his grubby forefinger, distending the pucker into a flaccid ring. Then he put his prick back to the prepared ring and just shoved a full ten centimeters of his throbbing pole into the defenseless tunnel. He gasped as his cock stuck, and a moment later, the restrained come let loose with a tremendous pressure. He rammed, and the full length of his prick followed the slippery come and his balls slapped to her ass. Grunting and cursing, Toro waited only until his juice ceased to spew and the head of his cock was soothed by the sticky heat of his jism and her disturbed shit, then he began fucking for a second climax, his mind satisfied, his prick happy, and the girl to his left forgotten.
As he rammed, Gail Brown urinated because her painfully tied body and her senses had lost all respect for her outraged morality. She forgot her aches, forgot that her full-lipped mouth was so horribly mashed that the swelling was crowding her perfect teeth. Her tongue was also unmanageable. It kept beating at the evil-tasting gag, in rhythm now to the way the dirty seaman's body was pounding down and into Trina Salisman's frightfully stretched rectum. Gail could see every detail, her eyes long ago having gotten accustomed to the half light of the waterfront structure.
She had never seen a male penis before in her life, only out-of-proportion drawings in hygiene manuals and biology texts. Foreskin was a descriptive word concerning the prepuce; that it came in thick rolls, amazingly elastic and laced with dark blue veins was a shock. No biology book had dared to describe the Spaniard's penis. It was long, nearly a foot, she thought, and thick as her wrist and the shape of the flaring head had been so sensually intimate Gail had spent a moment of secret admiration for the pulsing, black red helmet. The great sac, hairy as an animal's, full of egg forms and what seemed to Gail to be fluid in huge quantities, was erotically frightening in a mystical way. The huge ugly seaman had terrified her in his obvious resentment of her nationality. His penis had chilled her by its size and ill-smelling threat. But the big sac of testicles somehow held a new and more specific threat. The great penis could thrust and maim as it was doing to Trina's rectum and it could demoralize, as it was slightly affecting Gail, but the huge sac and its deadly contents were symbols of procreation, of destiny, and of a woman's weakness as Gail understood it.
What had happened she didn't know, from the moment when a soft but insistent something dropped her into blackness hardly a few feet from their hotel, until she wakened with the filthy Spaniard standing over her, his penis erect and the look of unholy hate upon his face. She was thoroughly tied and the gag almost choked her it was so tight. Her skirt was well up, but she felt that she had not been molested except by the man's cautious hands and the threat of his naked instrument as he masturbated it over her face. Now, she saw that Trina was not as mercifully spared.
A raging heat went through Gail as she saw the thick, oddly tubed shape slithering in and out of her friend's rectum. Such an act was beyond Gail's understanding, though she knew it was named sodomy and was an abomination throughout the centuries and a massive crime in the United States. Further, she couldn't say what it was, though the ugly Spaniard seemed to be in the throes of furious ecstasy. He grunted and shoved, spreading the cheeks of Trina's bottom, sending the slack flesh following in until it appeared to be tucked in neatly. Then the shape of rape changed as the Spaniard drew back and back, baring his throbbing penis in full, with only the glans gripped within poor Trina's anus. The rounds of her bottom were foul with excretion, pumped from her bowel by the ruthless tube of lust.
Then the detail of Trina's disgusting rape ceased to register as Gail watched the erotic scene. A brutal man, a bare bottomed, unconscious woman; she knew the word from school mates and the doors of toilet rooms-the man was fucking Trina in the ass with a massive prick. She wanted to close her eyes and couldn't. The Spaniard's dark skin was strangely exotic. His muscles bulged and strained as he rooted into Trina. Her bare bottom was also exciting, not in itself because Gail had seen it several times during their three weeks of travel together, but in bent offering to the penetration, the lust. There was a kind of struggle in the man's hunching, a frantic, dedicated fury that made something almost beautiful out of his contorted face and grasping hands. The manner in which Trina's body jerked and rolled as he twisted and screwed his member into her body was significantly primitive, earthy, almost esthetic in its brutality.
Gail shuddered. The fate she had somehow escaped was worse than death, but if there was any pleasure in it for the woman, as there seemed to be for the man, then she almost felt sorry for Trina's lack of awareness. The man was sweating. Among the waterfront smells, his body odor came to Gail's sensitive nostrils. She could smell the churned brown from Trina's body. It was strongly offensive, but being able to see how and why it was being dragged and smeared, the odor was somehow sensual. Again Gail quivered at her bold assessment of the ugliness. No, no, she thought. It was violent, criminal, immoral, but it was not ugly.
She watched as the man began to rear higher and ram harder, nearly jolting Trina to the wall at her head. Gail frowned as best she could. The man seemed terribly intent, almost blind in his frenzy. She supposed he was going to have orgasm, odd word, in Trina's bottom, but why it should turn him into a frantic animal she did not understand. It had said in the biology book that the male orgasm was a climax induced by continual and strenuous friction of penile nerves, and that it constituted a nervous spasm which triggered the seminal vesicles, located in his lower body, to expel its semen in forceful spurts, sending the vital fluid through the male urethral tube to be deposited in the female vulva, close to the cervix of the receptive womb.
A doubt went through Gail as she saw the man burrow deep in Trina's backside, grunt and jerk, his tight bottom tensing and relaxing as some monumental inner stress was released. It didn't seem to Gail like a nervous spasm at all. It seemed as if a great dam bursting in the man had driven him deeper and deeper, to deposit his sperm in huge ripples high in her friend's poor bowel. And if the book said the fluid came from his seminal vesicles, the book had to be lax in its diagram, because she could plainly see the big rubbery sac of testicles gather and knot and after a half minute of this, the sack hung listlessly and obviously partially emptied of its horrendous contents. She urinated a few drops more, her belly suddenly paining with strain. She squirmed as the fire between her legs became unbearable. Her shoulders ached from her half-twisted arms and her feet were numbing from the tight ties around her knees. But for a moment, she could only feel the heat in her belly and the violin strings that sang unreasonably just above her sex aperture. Cunt.
Then she saw the Spaniard was coming back to life, rising over Trina, slowly dragging from her ravaged behind the long, now pliable tube of his penis. The flesh dragged out with it, the foreskin rippled from the anal ring, then the man hesitated as if he could not remove the remainder. He humped and the huge acorn, black-red-brown, popped lewdly from the sphincter ani. A last spoonful of thick gray gushed from the anus stripping head. For an instant, Gail had full view of the gaping rectum and the drooling penis and had her mouth not been firmly closed with the gag, she would have shrieked because the fire between her legs and the violin strings all exploded at once and her belly was shaken mightily by a hideously delightful thumping. It blinded her and sent shivers of ecstasy running up and down her tortured belly. She closed her eyes and wept as best she could; once or twice when she was a teen-ager, she had done it to herself, and once, she had let a boy do it for her through her panties. Now, she wept in self-contempt as she had the fourth orgasm of her twenty-one years, watching a brute-rapist practice sodomy in the backside of her best friend.
The terror was still there when the man stood up, using a dirty rag to wipe his huge penis clean of foul. He stood, fingering the flaccid organ in satisfaction. Then he glanced at Gail and left the dingy room, shuffling his flesh back into his pants and tying the rope that secured them to his lean waist.
Stunned by illicit thoughts and pique that she had not been as attractive to the rapist as had been Trina, her senior by fourteen years, Gail trembled in mixed agonies. The orgasm had been involuntary, induced by what she did not understand. She was not to blame. Watching the thick gray-brown ooze coming from Trina's still unclosed anus, she took no blame for that, either. The entire, completely inexplicable nightmare was enough to contemplate. Gail closed her eyes and tried to remember how they had come to this despicable helplessness. All her mind could generate were continuous pictures of the huge penis as it plunged and cavorted in Trina Salisman's bottom. Gail opened her eyes to dispel the ugly, immoral vision. And to her surprise, Trina was stirring. Her lashed hands worked, the fingers wriggled. Then the second surprise.
"Gail?" came a garbled call.
"Um-mm-mm!"
"You all right honey? Has he gone?"
"Um-umm!"
"Good, the beast! But in his passion, he loosened my gag." A moment of struggle. "My head! What has happened to us?"
"Umm-mm!"
"Oh." Trina made a tremendous effort to turn over, facing Gail. It was then that Gail saw how the gag had been displaced, and how the front of Trina's travel suit and blouse were tom open. One big breast hung loose, white, bulbous and firmly nippled. The other was half buried in the disturbed garments. And Gail also saw how the Spaniard had dragged her friend's skirt up and dislodged her panties. The firm white thighs junctured with the soft round of Trina's belly and she was covered with finger welts and shiny spots of wet.
"Oh, Gail! You poor thing! Did he do-do anything to you?"
Gail could shake her head and did. The strange hypnotism with voyeurism had passed, and her eyes welled with tears of fright and despair. Trina tried to worm her way closer, her knees and elbows thumping on the dirty board floor. Finally, she was closer, but no nearer to helping either one of them.
"Did you see, Gail?" she asked.
Nod, slowly.
"I couldn't help it," Trina said in a low voice. "I knew he might kill me if I squirmed and humped to get away. It was-was terrible! I think he hurt me very badly. I'm sick at my stomach. Now I know what r-rape really is! Oh, the beast, the animal! But he's gone, now, and I hope God strikes him d-dead! Oh, Gail, what have they done to us? Worse, what are they going to do to us now?"
"Um-hmm."
Trina's eyes closed. "Two innocent schoolteachers, captured by white slavers, I'm sure! I've read about such things. Well, if we ever get our hands free, we'll fight! White slaves! In a Mediterranean house of prostitution. With Italians and Spaniards and Gr-Greeks and Africans! Oh God, save us, please!"
Gail couldn't even hum through her gag. She quivered in self-pity, then in monstrous sympathy for her badly raped friend. To her, it all seemed grotesquely impossible,, like some bad dream where she ran naked through Grand Central Station and huge dogs with rampant penile structures howled and chased after her. But as much as she hoped it were a nightmare, she knew it was not. Trina's breath was too heavy and the odor of her ravaged behind filled the ugly hut. Please, death.
CHAPTER TWO
Dawn came at five-forty-seven and within minutes, Jan was sitting upright on the bed, returned to a chair, and his two Spanish scrub brushes were working on him with soft, American wash cloths and lavender soap. He lay back in the chair, watching Consuela scrub his rotund belly, running the cloth under his nearly feminine breasts and through the deep wrinkles. Hortensia was washing up from his thick legs. By training, they would meet at his groin, a mass of fat rolls of intriguing shape, one of which seemed drilled so that his big cock and the small sac of balls could spout from his ponderous belly. His cock was already half hard, but not from their ministrations, though they were permitted to do anything their twenty years inclined them to try. He was thinking about eight o'clock and the exhilarating excitement of a new woman.
He had money to buy almost any woman in the world, unless she were some sort of an idiot Methodist. But Jan did not like bought pussy, and no woman had given him any look other than curiosity since he passed the age of nineteen and his first two hundred and fifty pounds. So he indulged his continual sexuality with kidnapped beauty, of any nationality that interested him, but always beauty that fought and screamed and cursed him for a bloated fiend. Not that he ever hurt them very much. A nine-inch prick might give some tenderfeet a case of hysteria, but in the end, they would revolve and hump and plead with him to shove it deeper. He loved women, but had no respect for them at all. They were liars, born prostitutes and evil schemers. More than one had thought to cajole and fool him into assuming some special position in his "harem." A few had tried to bargain for their release. One had sworn she loved him so while she was clamoring over him, he had closed his huge hands and tree-like arms over her and held her helpless while Joven, his half-Negro barber had fucked her in the ass with his mule prick until she went into a coma, to awaken next in the whore house at Gibraltar.
It pleased him doubly. He had taught the bitch something, and he had justified Joven's presence as a barber. Jan needed no barber; on all of his expansive hide, not a hair grew. He had been called Egghead in school, pelon in Madrid, and incurable by a dozen scalp specialists in a dozen countries. He kept Joven just for vanity's sake, and because the mulatto was the only man he had ever met whose cock was as large as Jan's and as indefatigable as a ball bat.
He had known for uncounted years that the American newspaper man had dubbed him The Kewpie. He had come for a syndicated article on one of the world's richest recluses and had stayed a week. In that week, he had seen quite a lot of Jan because he had weighed only three hundred and sixty pounds then and sometimes took the elevator down to the beach below the hacienda to lie in the shade of the big cabana and tell lies about making money. With his normal perversity, Jan had liked the Kewpie tag, because it pleased him to look like a freak and be one of the best brains in contemporary economics. Now he cuffed Consuela away from his cock. She delighted, with no smile, to fondle his circumcised organ until it stood at an odd angle from the fat roll and became easy to wash softly with much lather and the proper touch. Sometimes, between special excitements with special "guests," he did not mind. Fat as he was, his appetite was equally huge, and because he did no exercise nor any physical movement whatever, past using his hands, mouth and eyes, his ability to maintain an erection wras prodigious, and he could have orgasm as many as six or seven times in a row without appreciable rest. All he needed was inspiration, and it was not long before eight o'clock. He had not one apprehension about Juan Fernandez being on time with the two American women. Manana was easy to educate out of a Spaniard, if the teacher used a whip and a flaying knife and a threat toward the offender's family. No, Fernandez would deliver, as promised.
He toyed with guessing who she was, a tourist, certainly, but an American and young, traveling apparently with a slightly older woman. She would be about twenty, maybe a year or two either way. A virgin, he hoped, but this was only a technicality. On his cock, all women reacted like virgins because he shattered concepts and ripped flesh far more intrinsic than the traditional maidenhead. He hoped the picture didn't lie, or that the firm breast bulge wasn't cotton pads. She had a good ass, he noted, and that would take some looking into. But his main pleasure would not be in just fucking the girl until she melted to his massive maleness. It would be in gauging his play to her mental attitudes. If she were shy, he'd humiliate her in front of his Spanish servants. If she were religious, he's assault her faith with every abomination it proscribed. If she hated him, he'd make her seeD with his insatiable cock in her cunt, strapped to his moon belly so his snoring could lull her to sleep. Many things.
His mental gymnastics caused his prick to become gigantically hard, surprising both maids. Consuela's tits stuck out under her thin blouse like spikes and Hortensia wriggled shamelessly and tried to capture the glowing red fist in her full red lips. Jan took the wash cloth from her and jammed it into her mouth, poking the wet terrycloth with a stiff middle finger until it was entirely folded into her face. Then he waved them both away and sat, drying in the Mediterranean warmth that wafted through the Moorish arches. Hurry, Fernandez.
It had been dark when they were hauled aboard the stinking little boat, but at daylight, after endless periods of heaving and tossing on the rough and fish-smelling planks of the hold, a leering seaman had dropped through the hatch and opened a lidded tin of steaming porridge. There had been two spoons. Their gags had been removed and the seaman had fed them, holding their aching jaws and stuffing the thick grain-mush into their mouths. Talk had been forbidden by a cuff of the seaman's callused hand. There had been water, a bit acrid but marvelous, then the seaman had gone above deck without returning the gags. Because, Trina thought, they were far enough at sea to make screaming a worthless pastime. She waited until the hatch was closed.
"Well, that's something, anyway," she said. "I think we are on our way to the North Coast of Africa. Probably Algiers. How do you feel, Gail?"
"Oh, Trina! I'm frightened half out of my mind! Kidnapped! I can't believe it. One of Europe's most famous resort towns. And we were snatched right off of the main street! My God, who would believe it?"
Trina rested on one buttock, her body a mass of pain. "If you had my bottom, you'd believe it! Oh, that beast! And right in front of you, too! Oh, my dear, can you ever, ever forget what you saw? I mean, I feel so-so debased, so devastated. That animal! I wanted to scream and curse him and scream some more, but I knew he'd kill me, or at least, return that horrible gag! Are you sure he didn't molest you-take liberties, I mean?"
"He just f-felt me some. Did it hurt a lot, Trina?"
Trina shrugged as if such a question were insane.
She didn't know if it hurt a lot. Why tell the starry-eyed Gail that after a minute or two, the pain had turned to something else? She would find out soon enough because Trina was sure that they were now living actresses in one of the several melodramatic novels she had read in addition to the curriculum required to teach fifth and sixth grade. The biggest insult had been the Spaniard's apparent uncaring for her rectum, and his selfishness in not letting her see the huge penis he had rammed up her bottom. Trina had never seen a real live penis. She had once taken some photographs from a sixth grader, but the boy had gotten smacked for not telling her where he got them-and thusly, where she might get some more. There had been some pretty girls and some beautiful men, with penis structures she had gazed at for secretive hours in the privacy of her own room. They came, obviously, in different lengths, with prepuces and without, with big testicles and small, and the pretty girls had seemed gleeful no matter where the men had put the intriguing instruments. Hardly glee, but Trina had not really minded the intrusion after her bottom loosened up a little. He had smelled like a dirty man, but even that hadn't been too bad after a while. Now, her rectum burned and she wanted to go to the toilet, but somewhere up in her belly there was a strange emptiness that needed filling and her tits-breasts to Gail-were throbbing themselves right out of her brassiere.
"Whatever happens to us, Gail," she said, "we must always stick together. Until we find out more about all this, we have to assume the future seems pretty bleak. I suppose the hotel will report us missing and the American Consulate will institute a search for us. But somehow, I haven't much faith in rescue-the whole thing seems too well organized. If either of us was rich, it might be a kidnapping for ransom. But we are only working schoolteachers on a vacation. And one more thing."
"What, Trina?"
Trina's eyes narrowed. "That Spaniard. If this were-something that might be over in a few days, he wouldn't have risked raping me, would he? There seemed to be something-final about his treatment of us both. As if he knew no repercussions were possible."
"Oh my!"
"Oh my bottom," Trina murmured. Her mind was busy testing a dozen theories. Her life had never been very exciting, and though she could hardly draw a parallel between romance and the Spanish rapist, she was strangely alive, almost eager for the next phase of this truly horrible adventure. She looked at Gail; innocence personified with very little reserve strength, if their past year of experience together was any indicator. Still only a substitute teacher, lacking a few credentials to be fully launched on her career, Gail was fumbling. The fact that she was born with a cool poise, exteriorly at least, gave her the appearance of a well-organized person. But the fright and confusion showed now in her big blue eyes. Trina decided that she was destined to be the strong one in whatever tribulations lay ahead. At least, until Gail gained some worldly understanding-like having a brute seaman sodomize her while she lay tied, hand and foot. Trina shuddered. The stink of fish in the bowl-shaped hold was almost more than she could stand.
Then the motion of ihe small boat changed and she could hear men talking in hard Spanish above their heads. She cursed herself as a dumbbell for having taken French in college instead of Spanish. The heavy throb of the engine somewhere behind their prison slowed.
"We've arrived somewhere," she said to Gail. "I think we are stopping."
"I wonder where?"
Before Trina could guess, the deck above was smacked by many bare feet. Then the rattle of chain came and a moment later, the engine coughed to an ominous silence. Above them, the hatch was suddenly raised and the leering seaman who had violated her bottom dropped down into the hold. He spoke rapidly in Spanish, and his hands on Trina were roughly intimate as he moved her to the iron ladder fastened into the bulkhead. Then he just folded her over his shoulder and with no seeming effort, hauled her to the deck. She was passed to other hands, grinning, dirty seamen promptly dropped her into a small boat where another lecherous Spaniard arranged her on a splintered, fish-smelling thwart. A minute later, Gail was equally discharged from the fishing boat and as they lay close, handicapped by their bonds, both of them looked toward the shore.
It seemed impossible to Trina. The beach was shallow, a strip of white sand between the easy Mediterranean surf and a cliff, standing high to support what seemed to be nearly a castle. There was a neat dock at which an elegant yacht was moored. Back of the dock, the several cabanas looked almost resort-like, and she thought the precise column of windowless square housed an elevator. At the top, a red-roofed building would be the landing. But the house was the amazing thing. It was broad and starkly white with a many-faceted roof of Spanish tile. She could see balconies and intriguing stairways and shadowed overhangs. The center of the house seemed to be the row of Moorish arches that shadowed a deep-set veranda.
Then from the fishing boat came a tall handsome Spaniard who wore a dirty captain's cap. He seemed disinterested in either Trina or Gail. He dropped to the stern of the small boat, then whipped a dirty tarpaulin from under a seat. With no preamble, he spread it over the two women so they were covered completely. The stink of the cloth and the heat of the early morning sun made the dark instantly insufferable. A moment later, the outboard engine coughed to life and Trina knew they were heading for the shore.
"Oh, Trina, whatever is going to happen to us?"
"Courage, Gail."
And from back of them, the strong voice of the handsome one said, "Shut up!"
The English command frightened Trina more than anything else that had happened so far.
Jan flipped the switch of the closed circuit television, then he chuckled. She was obviously surprised at the luxury of her apartment and she was baffled by the stolid-faced Spanish maid who cut her bonds and rubbed her wrists and legs with experienced efficiency. She was pretty good, Jan thought. He sat quietly, contemplating a later hour. He watched old Galena indicate a bath in the adjoining chamber, then food. It took the girl several minutes to make up her mind, then she inspected the nearly Roman bathroom and disappeared. Jan flipped the controls to the other guest.
He immediately thought Fernandez to be an idioto. If a pretty face were obviated, she was one hell of a lot of woman. She was not as shy nor as frightened as the pretty one, either. She had already removed her suit jacket and blouse, showing big firm tits in a brassiere that left little to his imagination. Now she went to her adjoining bath, looked in, said something with a half smile to Maria, the assigned maid, and promptly unsnapped her skirt and dropped it. She had a marvelous set of bumpers, Jan noted, and they wobbled nicely as she entered the bathroom. He flipped back to the choice female.
Galena was gathering her discarded clothes. Then the maid brought one of the elegant and filmy robes from the wardrobe and took it into the bath. So far, so good. A first class breakfast would further relax her.
He flipped the television to a long range shot of his wharf. He could see Fernandez putt-putting back to the old FELICIDAD. Back to prowl the streets of Palma, or maybe run around the island to Cape Pera where there were two or three elaborate tourist hotels.
Then a soft buzzing caused Jan to pick up the hand-mike and depress one of the telephone circuit buttons. Burke in London. The European gold market was jittery; France was going to make all the speculators rich but Jan knew that in the end, de Gaulle was going to fall flat on his big nose. Nonetheless, business was business and he wiped his mind clear of the delectable fun to be had a bit later.
Behind him, Tesia, his always nude, always attending personal maid, made a lewd gesture at the television set and she squatted on her velvet pallet, sulking. Her only real misery occurred when her gordo grande entertained one of the sleek white putas from the fancy places in Mallorca or Barcelona.
The bath and the breakfast, the latter remarkably mild by all Latin standards, soothed Gail and returned her ability to think. She was shocked by the small apartment, a bedroom, bath and dressing room, and a sitting room furnished in pure Spanish antiques. She was annoyed by the glum maid who didn't seem to hear too well and spoke not a word of English. But she was intrigued by the certainty that she was not in North Africa because of the outside terrain, and that she was not cloistered in some cheap hut or cave in a waterfront area. Strong in her memory was the unreasonable treatment she and Trina had undergone, up to the moment when they had been hauled ashore and deposited in the grandeur of the big house on the cliff. From there, her mind could only speculate.
The filmy robe was a Paris creation. The dressing room was equipped with many more, plus cosmetics and finery she had never seen before. Money seemed everywhere. From hell to heaven, had she only the sophistication to appreciate it. But despite her naivete, she had a deep instinctive feeling that something terrible was in the offing. She was a nobody, a nothing financially and socially. She had a good brain, but somehow, she didn't think this to be a presently valuable commodity. Then the single asset she owned was a good body and a pretty face. She knew her body was good, because a number of eager college men, a school associate or two and the contemporary standards of feminine excellence had told her so. Now she looked down at her bathed and powdered nakedness under the thin gossamer and shuddered. Her breasts were too full, too brightly tipped. Her waist was slim, and the curved flare of her hips was almost indecent. She pressed her tapered thighs together as if to protect the never-touched vee between her legs. A flash of heat went through her; until she had seen the seaman send his huge penis into the secrecies of Trina's bottom, she had never been conscious of her own smoothly rounded buttocks. She squeezed herself, contracting inner muscles as if the gigantic club with the red head and the dusky prepuce were threatening her.
And if it did, what would she do? Fight to the death. Then she remembered how helpless she and Trina had been in the hands of the leering sailors.
They had picked them up, tied them, rolled them, carried them and made free with dirty hands and hot burning eyes. In desperation, Gail looked around for some weapon, or even some deadly device with which she could take her own life. Then the residual excitement of watching Trina be raped made her mind come unglued. Not death. Righteous struggle and dignified defeat, but not surrender. If her fate was to be immorally obscene, then she would suffer the ugliness as an intelligent, well-controlled female, a lady to the end.
Once more, she surveyed her elegant quarters, searching for some clue to the mind that had brought her to this bizarre place. A pair of closely grilled windows let her look out to the sea. She opened her mouth to scream for help, then realized that with all the other precautions, the locked door, the stolid maid, her ability to cry out to the Mediterranean was surely meaningless. She went to the dressing room wardrobe and found a robe slightly less transparent. For a moment in the changing, she looked at herself, naked and alabaster white in the huge, gilt-framed mirror. Gail tried to think of herself as a lecherous man might. A tingle went up her spine. She lifted her solid breasts in trembling hands. They were voluptuous, pink-tipped and alive. She turned, staring over her shoulder at the pert up-push of her bottom. She raised one leg, suddenly surprised at the obscene beauty she created by exposing more of her underbody. Then she faced the mirror and despite her inner fright, she checked her splendid body for faults. Only one. Her mouse-blonde hair was lusterless and indefinite. She gath ered it to the top of her head in loose waves. The effect was wanton. She dragged it back in a tight helmet. Sterile. To do justice to her figure, it needed to be lightened and rinsed with gold and done in some exotic manner beyond her knowledge. Gail blushed.
She was thinking like a whore. The word was hard in her mind, and she wasn't very sure of what a whore really did.
She put on the denser robe and went back to her sitting room. There were a few books, some magazines in Spanish and French and not a one in English. Which indicated to her that her mysterious host, or hostess was not English or American. She had been whisked from the world and nested in an elegant spider web, with the Lord knew whom to dictate her destiny. This made her cry.
Jan's huge fingers drummed the top of his console as he surveyed the notes he had scribbled while listening to his short-wave to Palma. Her name was Gail Brown, and she was a schoolteacher of twenty-one, so her passport stated. Her friend was also a schoolteacher, Trina Salisman, thirty-six. Neither seemed married. His informant had ascertained that his guests had been traveling on an open tour without prearranged schedules. They had been through Ireland, England, France and had come to Palma from Rome. Flitting females, with no set itinerary and no inquisitive fellow travelers. Very good.
He flicked on the television. She was napping probably tired after her night of ordeal and relaxed after her extensive comida. He sat back a fluid shape in a tent-like shirt and ample trousers of soft white cotton. It didn't matter what she thought of him, but he wanted her rested and well recuperated. How to begin? He opened an intercom circuit, waited a few seconds for Raphael to respond, then gave crisp orders in English.
He enjoyed seeing Raphael fuck a woman into subjugation almost as much as he delighted in the result with his own thin-skinned cock.
CHAPTER THREE
If God had seen fit to give him a straight back, Raphael Grieux would have been a tall man. As it was, he was barely five feet tall and the massive hump on his back twisted and thickened his chest to nearly barrel-like proportions. His long legs were thin as were his dangling arms. He looked not unlike a half-man, half-spider for his Basque face was dark and meaty, with tiny malignant eyes under bushy black brows. His broad thick mouth hung perpetually half open, showing long yellow teeth and overly red tongue, always fluid with saliva. Now he swung down the corridor to the door, and the cat-eyed guard sitting with a pistol in his waist and the significant key tucked into his shirt.
Seeing the hunchback, the man automatically rose and fitted the key into the heavy door. They exchanged nods, the key turned and Raphael stepped into the apartment sitting room. He glanced up once to a significant picture and nodded. The Kewpie would know he was obeying orders because there was the evil eye of the television lens hidden in the ornate frame of the picture. He looked around, his nose flaring as he smelled for her. His long, big-knuckled fingers curled and relaxed. One hand went to his inner left thigh where his mule cock lay in long, thick awaiting. His private dream was to someday kill a white European or an American girl by thrusting his cock through the strained tissues of her cunt and coming in her bloody guts. Now' he moved to the door of the bedroom and opened it soundlessly. His blood raced.
She lay half under the silken sheet, her arms akimbo, her legs showing as tapered delights in slight parting. Her face in repose was disgustingly pretty to Raphael, finely featured and perfectly tinted. But his eyes heated mostly on the way her slender throat led to the white plane of her chest , upon which lay the most symmetrical tits he had seen in a long time. The robe she wore was loosely open, showing him the alabaster swells, rising and falling with her even breath. He moved into the room on his cat-like feet, the big toes gripping the thick carpet at every step, until he stood over her. Now he could see the pink nipples of her melon tits, darker pink under the fine silk of her robe. He let his eyes go down her length and they paused at her crotch, as if he could see through the sheet. His cock, already alive, began to push hard at his duck trousers. Saliva drooled from his deformed mouth. He wondered how best to start.
Strip first. His fingers moved soundlessly as he untied the bleached rope and let the cloth drop. His prick leaped up, but it was so heavy it refused to lay above the horizontal. It was a lovely cock, he knew, not like most. It had outgrown its foreskin before he was eighteen. The shank was dark purple and there was hardly any head. It was a true mule cock in that its eye was large enough for a six-year-old girl to enter with a curious finger, and the end was blunt, ridged all around as if it had been cut off with a sharp knife at some previous time. Like his belly, his balls were nearly hairless, a black-brown sac almost sleek in its heavy hanging. Hi gripped his penis close to his belly and shook it pleasantly. Then he peeled off his shirt, shrugging stiffly because his humped back was not flexible. Standing so, he was a monster, with stringy muscles on his too-long arms and flat ribbons of steel-like flesh wrapping his grotesque torso. More than once he had gotten it into one before her first terror had subsided enough to allow her to struggle.
This one had not seen him yet but he hated her for the screams of horror she would emit when he awakened her. She would call him vile names, not knowing he understood her language very well. She would try to scratch him, not aware that his skin was like oiled leather, and she might try her puny strength with his. Suddenly, he wanted a bit more from this delicate beauty. He looked around the room and went into the dressing room. There, he removed several sashes from the hanging robes. Crouched over her again, he debated with prudence. His cock was throbbing with eagerness, his breath was hot in his big aquiline nose. She seemed to be sleeping very deeply.
Carefully, he lay the sheet back and back until she lay exposed. The robe had spread widely and he stared at her crotch, the perfection. Round thighs, wide hips and in the snug, the neat, untrammeled slot amid the blondish curls. He bent down, inhaling the cleanness tinged with female odor, sniffing like a dog. His cock jerked and to tease himself with anticipation, he moved to let his member hang over the delight, barely an inch or two above touching the haired mound of pubic plump. Right then, he could have come on her, but he held back, postponing this ecstasy until she was aware of him. She stirred, drawing up one slim leg and her cunt opened a tiny bit, giving him a sweet glimpse of the darling pink of her inner lips. As if instructing him, her right arm moved out, the wrist hardly a few centimeters from the carved Spanish bedstead. He formed a slip knot in one of the sashes and with infinite patience, worked over her small hand. Then he tied the other end to the bedstead. When she awakened and jerked to protect herself, the slip knot would grab her wrist, leaving her turn-and-twist slack but securing her to the heavy wooden frame. He went around and by cautious pressure, moved her other hand up so his clever tying could be duplicated there. Then Raphael stood back, admiring the trap he had set. Her feet did not matter. Let her kick, let her squirm. Once he was between those delectable thighs, his spidery legs could control hers while his thundering cock taught her a few things.
The anticipation was marvelously sweet to Raphael. He knew that The Kewpie was a man of finesse; he would be sitting in his big chair, eyes burning on the closed circuit television, savoring each surreptitious move, licking his fat mouth as he stared at the delight now under his own eyes. Raphael knew that if he did well and made a proper carnival of this raping, he would surely be given an va fifty pesetas and a jug of wine. Maybe this was the one he would kill.
She was slim, not tall and very delicate. He looked down at his tube-like prick. The putas in Bilbao had laughingly measured it at twenty-three centimetros many years ago before the last ten years had exercised and thickened it to its present gigantic beauty. Gauging now, he decided that if he could ram it all into this small slit, it must surely reach her navel, and perhaps beyond. The thought fired him to action and he moved to the foot of the bed, his cock aimed at the seductive crotch, his blood churning with impatience. But he moved slowly, without shaking the bed much and presently, he was between the relaxed thighs on his bony knees. Still he waited, letting his lust swell as his hand teased the pulsating column and his eyes burned into the glistening slit. The hole would be low in the small cunt, tight, slightly moist but not as wet as it would be after he had made the first thrust. Because of his short thick body, Raphael could brace his shoulders by placing his palms outside her spread thighs. He let his legs coast back as his hips lowered and his cock hovered jut outside the unsuspecting lips. The alignment would be right enough for entry. If it didn't hurt her a little bit she could not appreciate the good once he began to fuck her into submission. Then he grunted and shot his penis straight into the defenseless vagina.
She screamed, jerked as if to fold in protection. The sashes snapped tight around her wrist. Her belly bucked and she screamed again. Raphael twisted and hunched, feeling his cock tearing aad spreading. He dropped his ugly head and bit her left tit, savoring the new scream and the quick taste of blood in his slavering mouth. But he was in. He felt her try to evade his impalement but her hips seemed paralyzed. Her legs kicked some, then flew out and out and up, as to relieve the terrible pain of his entry. He closed his hands under her back, hooked his fingers into her flesh and began to fuck.
"Oh, no, no, my God, no! You're killing me. Oh my stomach is punctured! Oh, Trina, Trina, they're killing me!"
Laughter bubbled through Raphael's blood-flecked lips and he bit her other tit, now a hard globe of fright-tense flesh. She screamed again, and to his absolute disgust, went limp with faint. He hadn't planned on that. He had thought gleefully of many minutes, perhaps an hour or two of violent fucking, of beating the frantic body down and down until it began to rise to his incomparable lust. He cursed her; the gringa had foiled him with her female weakness. A good strong Basque wench would have fought him for hours, then loved him fiercely.
He dragged his cock out, surprised at the streaks of blood on the tense shaft, more surprised as the frayed edges of a tom maidenhead followed his foreskin in outward pursing. He felt the tightness around his prick, like a child's cunt, perhaps. But it had not occurred to him that a woman so patently pretty by European standards could be a prima, a virgen. He swore at himself. Had he suspected such a thing he would have opened her with his tongue and brought her to love him with his lips and sucking. He spidered back, dropping his shaggy head into the inert crotch. His tongue shot out, tasted the bloody fringes of torn flesh, then began to search the ruptured aperture with more than curiosity. His lips nibbled at the delectable cunt, and he licked it clean of blood and the beginning juices his one massive lunge had literally squeezed from the shocked glands. His cock hung down in rigid weight, almost touching the bed despite the high hump of his bare hips. He would soothe her and pet her and awaken her to his masterful sucking. Then he would fuck her.
His mind melted as his licking and nibbling took physical shape in his defective brain. He smeared his face into the violated sweetness and the sound of his ardor became noisily wet. Then he let one hand curl farther under her fine, round-cheeked ass. His middle finger sought and found her asshole, like a lamb's cunt, puckerv, soft, almost flat in the deep crevasse between the firm cheeks. He pressed it and depressed it, feeling the slack tissues slowly responding to his dirty fingertip. He sucked hard, licking deeply, and as his lust built, he stubbed his finger past the tight ring and felt of the moistness inside. At that moment, he lost control and too late, he raised to scoot forward and come in her saliva soaked cunt. His cock skidded up her belly and the huge gush of yellow sperm went shooting up to splash thickly against the undercurve of her jiggling tits. Again and again, the stub end of his deformed prick swelled and spat his boar-like come to her white flesh while his balls knocked heavily to her abandoned cunt. He groaned and gasped, exquisitely trapped by his bursting passion. As a last desire, he crawled up her body and let the last slimy glob ooze out over her slack mouth. It ran down her cheek, to her neck, then hung heavily, staining her white skin with mottled yellow-white.
After that, he laughed low and throatily at his degradation of the Gringa. She would awaken soon because faints did not endure. Then he would be patient, slower, but no less stunning to her raped body and terrified mind. Now not a virgin, her woman mind would fail a second faint and her enlivened body would demand a fulfillment. He was sure of that, for hadn't he hunted and destroyed maidenheads the height and length of the Pyrenees Mountains? Even now, he saw, she was stirring. He reared up on his knees, letting his barely relaxed prick hang out so she could see its beauty when she opened her eyes.
For a moment, Gail let herself peer through barely slotted eyes at the hideous creature who had awakened her with ripping flesh and grunting passion. She saw he was barely human, and when she looked at the gigantic tube of pulsing flesh thrusting at her from his muscular belly, she almost fainted again. But not quite. Her stomach pained and her breasts were streaked with agony, but that huge instrument was somehow the most fascinating form of flesh she had ever seen. She saw the sleek sac, dark-skinned and gleaming, hanging under his slightly spraddled thighs. Not like the ugly Spaniard who had sodomized Trina, but significantly the same in an animal way. Then she felt the burning of her rectum. Did men always want to sodomize a woman? She concentrated. It did not feel deeply and largely entered, but she was hardly able to compare the difference between mild intrusion and a total ramming. Her vagina was numb even though it felt disarranged. She knew she had been criminally assaulted, deeply, painfully. She couldn't remember much of it however.
She couldn't bring her legs together because of the kneeling ogre. Her wrists were tied securely to the bedstead. Turning and twisting seemed futile; he was staring into her crotch and had been doing so for interminable minutes. Then a huge drop of sticky fluid oozed from the end of his member, hesitated until he flexed some inner muscle and finally dropped to her crotch. She raised her head in terror, watched the small glob settle into the already wetted hair around her vagina and gave a wail of agony as she remembered the sterilely worded threats in her biology texts. The thought of a child spawned by this human bug made her flesh chill to the bone. The next drop was from his lips as he leaned forward and put his hands to her.
Two huge thumbs opened her vagina, pressed the lips back until she could feel the cool air on the burning tissues. He rubbed a certain place that made her whole body tremble with strange feelings.
From girlish memory and the texts, she knew he had caressed her clitoris, already unreasonably alive with tingling. She quivered under the heat of his fingers, and when he thrust two long digits into her stinging vagina, she shrieked and twisted, managing to screw herself on the thrusting fingers despite herself. She gasped, staring at the huge penis, obviously next into her. Abruptly, she revolted. Her legs came up, her knees bent and she aimed her feet at his barrel chest. They never reached him. His hands shot up and with great ease, he held her ankles together, closed one hand around their slimness and held her bottom raised while his freed hand went to the taut shapes. She nearly jerked her arms out of the sockets in her frenzy. Nothing worked, hump, twist, buck backward, nothing. The ugly man was leering now, his deep-set eyes sharpening at the corners in a mirthless smile. Holding her legs up straight, he again inserted his first and middle finger in her vagina then with no warning, plunged his out and down hooked thumb into her anus. Again Gail screamed, but it ended in a whimper, for mercy, or death or-or for something more than this crude, rude fingering. Again she cried out, now aware of the hideous thoughts that were flashing in her terrified mind. She felt his fingers, the knuckles, the wriggling end joints. She felt his thumb, digging deeper, stretching the penetrated aperture, alerting the inner nerves to his rough skin. It shocked her to like the torture, it stunned her to know that her inviolate body could respond with quivering and tense waiting. She hated her breasts, throbbing in rhythm to her run away heartbeat. She fought valiantly not to relax and let his scouring, digging fingers work their inhuman will. Then Gail sagged and from her bone-dry lips came words she had never thought to utter.
"Oh, yes, yes, yes! F-fuck me, you-you crippled beast!" Instantly, she bit her lip, ashamed of her lust, happy that this awful man could not understand her blurted plea. Then to her horror a look of victory came over his thick-pored face. So far, he had not spoken a word, in any language, but she shriveled within as his eyes narrowed in understanding. Then he dropped her ankles and back-handed her legs apart. Atrophied by new fear, she lay, panting, hating but devoid of strength to resist or to correct her obvious verbal error. And in those seconds, a fire began in her belly that caused her to tremble visible. Her breasts shook like disturbed jelly. Her anus quaked, fought the press of her buttocks. All the pain in her vagina became a lonely, hungry ache, and she strained at her wrists, not in frustrated escape but in sudden, uncontrollable desire to take that sleek penis in her hands and love it to her lips. Gail moaned, turned her head to blank out the vision. Then she felt him move. Unable to look, she held her breath as the movement became significant. The hot kiss of his penis was like an electric shock. It seemed to nudge and spread, and her nerves sang as she waited, praying for deliverance and hoping it would not hurt too much.
She smelled him, hovering over her. She felt his hand on her breasts and she almost cried with the relief his fingers brought to the throbbing globes. Then the other hand, fingering her open, placing the hot kiss. It began to enter; she felt the shape of it as it displaced her ruptured inner lips, sensed its firming and pushing as the emptiness gave way to a white-hot filling. A hesitation, then a bit more. She squirmed, impatient for the agony, terrified of her own thoughts. And now it was going deeper, rising in her torso, finding resistance, spreading the barrier, stretching her vulva in brutal delight.
She was being fucked, she told herself, and that suddenly, she had to fuck back, to end the pain of lethargy, to satiate the screaming nerves, so freshly enlivened in her virginal body. And although her first roll and up-thrust was small, it seemed to make the hunchback aware, and he began to drag back, deliciously before he rammed and turned her into a bowl of trembling, ecstatic mush. Her legs snapped up and linked over his deformed back. Insistently, she pressed and to her illogical joy, he began to stroke in her exactly as the Spaniard had pistoned his penis in Trina's rectum. Then Gail forgot Trina, the Spaniard, yesterday and forever as she joined the sweating beast in his grunting, panting lust.
A dull pain grew high in her vulva; he was too long, she was sure. Her vagina mouth seemed stretched around the plunging shaft within a hair of splitting. His body on hers was rough, hard, unfeeling. But now her mind had melted and was flowing down, down, around the exquisite goodness in her distended sex sleeve. She was going to have orgasm, but better than she had ever induced with her timid finger as a teen-ager. If she had orgasm, would he? If so, then that sleek dark sack of devastating testicles would follow the leaked drop of a few minutes past with massive spurting that would impregnate her gaping womb and make her a mother, a bloated beast as foul as the animal about to seal her destiny. Mentally, she thought about the susceptible pear-shape of her uterus. Close tightly. Refuse the sperm, turn it back to lie in malodorous death within the ripped and painful tissues she was now trying to wrap around his penis in eager demand. It felt so good, so filling, so compelling she started to cry and when her tears made him ram with speedier force, she let go, thinking she would faint but succeeding only in dropping into an explosion that drugged her with passion, again and again as the huge thumping in her belly inhaled the plunging flesh; and then the spew.
She thrashed and rolled, humping up to each jerk of his organ. Her legs flew wildly out, up, down, her feet flailing with no control. She wanted to urinate, to defecate, to turn inside out with the ecstasy. In the end, she lay quietly, letting his spurt bathe the flaming tissues of her bludgeoned vulva.
"Oh, oh, you evil, dirty beast!" she panted. "I'm dying!"
"Good fuck, huh, baby?" he said in accented English.
Shocked, Gail's eyes widened to bursting. Then she drew her legs up, placed her feet on each of his bony hips and kicked straight back. So furious was her hate that he flew down, his organ popping out to string yellow threads of slime. His hands scraped over her body but he was too surprised to clutch. Gail crossed her legs and locked her ankles. The ogre huddled on the floor, eyes baleful and promising.
"You bitch," he snarled. "Fuck me like a whore, then kick me to the floor. Well, I'll teach you not to spurn Raphael!" He leaped to his feet and came kneeing up the bed, striking her legs down, straddling her waist, then lifting her breasts as his lean thighs crowded them. He held her face with his left hand and his penis with his right and for a hardening moment, it poised a bare inch from her pinched open mouth. Then he thrust the sticky, musky-smelling flesh into her mouth.
"Suck my prick, bitch! Lick it, kiss it, mouth it and if you so much as touch it with a tooth, I'll smash them down your throat! Suck my cock, you gringa puta!" he almost screamed.
And there was little else Gail could do. She didn't know how, but the moment he released her jaw, her lips closed around the hot, hard end. The instant taste was nerve-shattering, and she almost vomited. But he was pushing and the blunt snake was crawling over her tongue and filling her mouth to the throat. She pressed, sucked involuntarily, then as her saliva flowed in furious amounts, he began to hunch, his small hard bottom grinding, his testicles bunching between her breasts. There was no pain, only surprise.
Her tongue curled around the thick shape plunging through her lips. She tested its firmness, learned of its small fleshly forms. He was holding her head up now with one hand entwined in her hair. The end kept bumping her palate, always receding just before she gagged. She found that by using her tongue and the slight movement he permitted her head that she could ease his thrusting and subscribe to the tempo of his lust. Her drawn-in eyes focused on the ponderous shaft, watched the veins pump as his passion raised, sensed the power of the rock-stiff organ. She began to do things with her tongue and pursed-open lips that were not unpleasant. She found the taste again, less acrid, with the tip of her tongue to the flaring eye. And to her disgust, she wanted to do it harder, to swell the sleek member to greater filling, to excite it past the ogre's control. And when she admitted to herself that she wanted to destroy him with ecstasy, her next desire was to feel the spew and fluid fire, yellow, thick, endless in her mouth. Humming self-revulsion and hate around his penis, she closed her eyes and ignored the aching cords in her raised and working neck. The feeling came late to her belly, but it came and she was shocked, then hopeful, that somehow, contrary to the biology books, a woman could have orgasm without penetration. The hope built, the fire increased.
Then he roared, softly, intently and she could feel his underbody crawl on her chest and his balls rolled between her up-rammed breast. To herself, she said all the words; balls, cock, cunt, fuck, cock-sucker, come and please, please.
It rippled through his penis and shot slickly into her mouth. Her lips closed tightly around the pulsating shaft, holding his organ as it spurted and spurted until in desperation she swallowed. Not a clean swallow; she could feel the tenacious fluid clinging to her mucous tissues. She coughed, but only a hollow gasp around the now dribbling tube. Another swallow, two more in frantic effort to clear her throat.
He was laughing at her now. His penis seemed suddenly weak, softening in her lips. It fell away; she needed her hands to return it. Brutally, he held it and slapped her with it. She closed her eyes, excited by the indignity, and then she had her climax, a soft, private thudding in her vulva. It went on and on until in moral revolt, she spread her thighs and let the pressure escape. He had been right, she was a bitch, a whore, an evil receptacle for an animal's lust. She wanted to cry but he was moving and his hands were intimate if trembling.
Jan lay, a nerveless pulp. His eyes seemed glued to the television, as firmly as Tesia's Spanish lips were formed around his sleek cock in avid sucking while she too watched the drama.
Jan was far from being as pulpy minded as he seemed physically.
At first, he had been encouraged by the way in which Gail Brown had struggled under Raphael. Then he had been confused and angry when she had obviously succumbed to his mule-prick. After that, she had revived his interest by kicking the surprised Basque to the floor, Hardly a minute and a half later, she had sucked his prick with positive delight, even to swallowing the hunchback's come. Now he was developing a new hope; Raphael had turned her over, having loosened one hand so he could spin her magnificent tits and panting belly to the bed. She was kicking and humping under Raphael who held her with one hand in the small of her back while the other screwed with bunched fingers between her chorus-girl nates. The angle was unfortunate for the camera, but Jan knew when one, or maybe two of his hunchback's fingers went into the girl's rectum. She arched painfully and began to thrash as best she could. She obviously didn't like it in the ass, but then, she hadn't seemed to like it in the cunt or the mouth until Raphael really got going.
Jan didn't like easy women. Tesia he didn't consider a woman. She sucked his insatiable cock or rode it in whichever hole he chose with squealing glee and a pout when it was done. She was not a woman. She was an accommodation, a fixture in which to spend his sperm when he was between thinkings. But the blonde was something else. The whole point of kidnapping was to frighten, alarm, produce hysteria. This one had shown all these delightful fears, but they seemed to melt too quickly. Schoolteacher or not, she was an introverted nympho, he decided. Like now.
If Raphael thought she was fighting his two fingers up her ass he was as stupid as he was ugly. Jan could see some small pattern to the way her ass reared, hesitated, then dropped quickly as if to delight in the partial expulsion of the hunchback's long, hard-knuckled fingers. Proof of Jan's analysis came when Raphael snapped his finger out of her asshole. Gail lay quietly, only her toes wriggling, while the gnome poised between her thighs and finished stiffening his cock. And when he put his hands under her belly and lifted, her shuffle to arrange her knees and thrust her beautiful ass back to him was very obvious. The innocent ex-virgin wanted it in the keister, badly.
Suddenly, Jan flicked a switch and Raphael jerked upright, his eyes turned up to the hidden buzzer. The girl bucked, fell to one hip, her head twisted to also find the buzzer. The expression on the Basque's face was one of disappointment, but Jan cared nothing for his henchman's desires. Slowly now, Raphael got off the bed and began to put on his clothes. The girl was speaking but she was too far from the pick-up mike and was talking too low for Jan to hear her words. Raphael hadn't the nerve to reply, but at the door, he knocked for the guard to unlock the door and as he slipped through, he made a small, conciliatory gesture to the naked girl tied to the bed. For a moment Jan watched her pet her raped crotch. Then she busied herself freeing her still tied hand. As he guessed, she went quickly to the bathroom. He blacked out the closed circuit and concentrated on coming in Tesia's slobbering mouth.
She was getting careless. His sperm trickled from her lips, ran down his colossal cock and was smeared by her still masturbating fingers. Her eyes rolled as he hunched and hurt her throat. He had orgasm only with half his person. The rest, unshaken by the earthquake of his balls, promised to consign Tesia to the rancheros, and promised to think of some way to make the blonde worth the three hundred dollars he had paid for her.
Women had a way of turning sour on a man, he thought. On any man but Jan Arden, because he was as cruel as he was inventive, and as dedicated to pleasure as any hedonist in the wide, wide world.
CHAPTER FOUR
The buzzer had saved her from hell. For the second time that day, Gail settled into the big, tiled tub and lathered herself with fury, scrubbing again to rid her flesh of the hunchback's odor, and if possible, the filth of memory. It was impossible. There still lingered in her taste buds the incredible flavor of his sperm. Her breasts were sore, marked with welts and teeth marks and her trembling fingers to her vagina found raw edges and strained tissues. Weary of scrubbing, sick of thinking, she slid down in the tub until the soaped water came up around her chin, a soothing envelopment and one that hid her vile body from her tear filled eyes.
She was no longer a virgin. The dreams she had always had of going to a handsome, tender and adoring spouse with a pure heart and a flawless body were forever shattered. She had neither, and a flush of self-accusation added to the warmth of the bath. Diligently, she tried not to recall the inhuman emotions that had twice come to her; first when his huge penis had soared ruthlessly through her surprised vulva and again when his organ had hung out to her face, to her lips. She hadn't been able to help the beginning because he had held her face and forced his flesh between her lips. But once started....
Tiny waves occurred on the water as her trembling became acute.
At first, there had only been the fright and the worry of having been kidnapped by unknown criminals for an unknown reason. The beastly seaman in Palma had seemed to be an incidental, if a horrible one. But he had been dirty, ragged and poor and not the type who would engineer such a dangerous mission as kidnapping. The handsome sea captain was more likely, but again, Gail could not imagine a poverty-stricken sardine fisherman attempting such flagrant crime.
And the hunchback. Obviously some sort of servant to the mysterious master of this huge and elaborate house. He had entered while she slept and had worked his filthy will upon her with cruelty and passion, almost as if told to do so. This impression persisted because at the sound of the buzzer, he had literally dropped her, put on his clothes and left. The buzzer meant something, control of some sort. Had he been needed elsewhere in the hacienda or....
Gail leaped up out of the tub, wrapping herself hastily in a huge fluffy towel. Back in the bedroom, she sat on the bed almost in the position she had been under the hunchback. Slowly, her eyes scanned the walls. Not until she came to the ornate picture frame did the tell-tale reflective eye identify some sort of a spy-glass or camera. Gasping with fresh anguish, Gail ran to the sitting room. A similar frame surrounded a different picture and it too boasted a round glass eye. When she climbed on a chair and tried to dislodge the picture, she discovered the frame was virtually part of the wall. Indignant, embarrassed and raging with fury, she scurried back to the bathroom, searching it for a peek-aboo hole. She found none and with some courage, dried herself and put the robe back on. Then she went to the cosmetics on the dressing table, found a deep red lipstick and proceeded to redden both lenses. The subterfuge gave her a first feeling of humor. But it wasn't really funny.
Somewhere, a man or a woman or both, or many, had watched the ugly hunchback, who understood English, rape her and commit her to obscene acts. She cringed. Why the buzzer had stopped him from sodomizing her, she did not know. In hope, she tried to believe there were some evil acts to which the watcher objected. Suddenly she realized that by smearing the lenses with tenacious red, she had also cut herself off from an opportunity to contact her abductor. On the other hand, once they discovered her sabotage of their surveillance system, they might make a positive move.
Her confusion was postponed when the ugly, taciturn Spanish woman brought tea and some fluffy looking cakes. Already having tried English on the crone, Gail merely looked at the steaming pot and the pastry. She preferred coffee but tea would do. Like her purse and small costume jewelry, her wrist watch had been stripped from her. The two windows showed late dusk, at that latitude and in mid-July, it would be about six-thirty or seven. Sullenly, she watched the woman inspect the room, tidying a bit. For a moment, she considered doing something violent to the maid, then the monumental problem that violence might create quelled Gail's desperation.
She ate the cakes and drank the tea, taking instant strength from the sweets. After that, she seemed very tired so she lay under the slightly soiled sheet to protect herself from lenses she had not discovered and relaxed. The bed was good. The rooms were comfortable, luxurious, in fact. What had happened to her had happened and there was little she could do about it. But rest was imperative because there was a night yet to be experienced. She wanted to sleep but it took a while. Every time she started to drift off, her mind recreated the hideous hunchback with the leer and the enormous penis. In her half-sleep, it seemed larger than real, darker, harder, more insistent. He came at her, the dark sac of testicles swinging. She seemed frozen, unable to run or twist or evade him. She was tied to the bed, arms out, legs lashed to opposite corners. Time and again, she jerked to consciousness before the beast-penis entered her, vaginally, rectally and orally. Her moans were audible even to herself. She thrashed and perspired and finally a mental dullness added to her weariness and she slept.
The lipstick bit encouraged Jan. At least it showed ingenuity and a woman with that was
worth something. The fact that she went for the tea proved two things. She wasn't intrigue-wise and she didn't know good tea when she drank bad. It would take the tincture of Algerian hashish about thirty minutes to work. Jan squrmed inside at the prospect of later. Then he rang a bell for his cena. Cunt was one thing but food at regular intervals was another, especially for a man of his ponderous belly. Anyway, he thought better on a full stomach, and he was about half through planning Gail Brown's total performance.
If Joven had ever possessed a second name, he did not remember it. He was a slip, perhaps an intentional slip because his Sudanese mother had resented her ugly blackness and liked the lilt of the Italian sailor who had lustily spent his seed in her deep African vagina, then whipped her belly and tits and high, ethnic buttocks with his belt until he developed another erection which he used to tamp home his first fertile discharge.
Joven had been everything a Mediterranean mulatto could be in nearly thirty years. He had been a beggar as child, a thief as a boy, a pimp as a young man and then a barber. His position in The Kewpie's entourage was a strange one. Never needing the services of a barber, The Kewpie had discovered some of Joven's secondary talents. He had a cock that was unique in its size and girth-and in its strength. Other than his ugly, down-squashed face, he was beautiful in an animal fashion, rippling with muscles, tall and well-proportioned, toned as if ducked daily in a strong sepia bath. And to all of his basic faults and capabilities, Joven had added one more facet he seldom showed to anyone, even his blubbery employer. He was sly, shrewd and more aware than his monosyllabic conversation would indicate.
Now he approached the guard at the gringa's door, speaking to the dumb peon in bad Spanish, suggesting the man might take advantage of a friend's presence and sneak down to the cccina for some bread and wine, especially the wine. He, Joven, would mind the door. "Bueno!" the guard agreed, and in a moment, Joven was fingering the door key, his blood sped a bit by initial success, and a bit more by memory of Raphael's chattered account of his time with the blonde woman.
Fearlessly, Joven unlocked the door and stepped into the sitting room, locking the door behind him. It was time for the kewpie's cena, which would be followed by a few minutes of telephoning to the parts of the world where the banks were not closed. Perhaps he would dictate a memo or two to his English secretary, Millburn, who typed well, remembered things and liked to be fucked in the ass by Joven. In any case, there was time for some illicit pleasure. Now that Raphael had broken the woman in, a little black cock wouldn't make much of a difference. Privately, he thought she'd adore it because he was very enamored of his cock and its performance. He stepped to the bedroom door, then stopped. She lay quietly on her back, her arms over her head framing her pretty white face, her body curved in delightful relaxation and her legs kicked apart, one up flat to the left, the other straight down. He licked his lips and rubbed down his groin to the base of his awakening prick. He could almost see through the covers; the little cunt would be pouting there, waiting for him.
He walked over and stood above her. White women smelled nice. Even if they used the same perfume, black cunt had a different odor. He put out a big hand and placed his fingertips to her throat where the slow steady pulse appeared. To his surprise, she opened her eyes. Not wide, but enough to show him the bright blue behind the long lashes. Her full lips opened and partly closed as if she wanted to speak but couldn't.
For a moment, he was confused, then it occurred to him that The Kewpie had doped her. From his thick lips came a rumbling laugh of victory. With no further ado, he unzipped his beach pants and flopped his cock out. The expression in the eyes did not change. She was stunned by whatever concoction The Kewpie had prescribed. He stroked his prick, bringing it to erection.
Something special, he mused, but it would take him a minute to decide what. He used the minute to take off his trousers. He tied his shirt-tails together over his high, flat belly. She didn't seem to see his prick nor the dangling sac of plum-round balls. He moved until his thighs pressed the edge of the bed, positioning his flaring glans directly over her mouth. When he ducked his organ down to meet the slack lips, the eyes blinked. He grinned. His pole made 'em all come to in a hurry.
He jerked the sheet back and spread the robe. Then he roughly rolled her limp body free of the garment. Her head tipped down, chin to her chest, when he dragged her to a sitting position. He rested her shoulder to his groin, letting his cock lay hard against her face. He would have liked her to be more responsive so he ducked his hand down and curled two big fingers into her cunt. It was hot and wet and tight and though he roughed into it, stretching and searching for the nerve, he never found it. She didn't move, although her tits jiggled with his handling. Disgusted, he pushed her over sideways and fell over her bended buttock. His cock slipped out of the crotch nest. He reset it and with one hand holding her knee up, then he set his prick into the listless aperture. He grunted at the fit, the quick hot sheathing, then began to fuck her deep and hard, his vanity piqued by her indifference, his cock pleased with the exercise.
It was impossible to scream and easy to control herself. Gail lay, only half-feeling the huge black penis as it sloshed and plowed and thrust in her vagina. Her bottom felt disengaged from her body, the big hands were fondling another woman's breasts. The smell of the blue-black penis was still in her nostrils; she had tried to open her mouth and bite it when it lay against her face but something had forbidden the action even though her mind went through with the fury. Now, all she wanted was to cry, and perhaps die. She was being pummeled and impaled, rolled under the straining black body. Her eyes moved slightly, staring at his big hand flat on the bed to brace his body for the unforgivable attack between her legs. The nails were short, broad and oddly pink. She had never been so close to a Negro before. His skin was oddly cool; then she felt the hotter skin, the thickness and the agonizing length, coursing in and out of her vulva. Somewhere around the girth, her vagina mouth was beginning to tingle and sudden tinges of sharp ecstasy were occurring.
She remembered no blow on the head so she instantly assumed she had been drugged. She rested, abruptly enjoying her lethargy. If she had been drugged, then this huge black ape was not by chance and she was in no way to blame for the sweetening indignity. Then she twitched as one breast sent a flame of agony into her body. A moment later, she could identify the pain. He was squeezing and pulling her breast with unmerciful fingers. Then she could turn her head and above her, his animal face was frightening in its drawn, thick-skinned ugliness. She saw his huge teeth behind the fat, purple lips and his eyes were squinted in total concentration. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. The pumping in her belly was increasing. Out, in, stretch, shrink, and all the while the growing awareness of the ballooning sensation of utter delight.
The something knocking at her buttock when the in was total would be his testicles. And when she thought of them, her fear became nearly an overwhelming thing. Did a uterus care? If it had refused the hunchback's sperm, would it accept this Negro's frightening discharge? Her tangled mind saw the two sperms, buried deep in her vitals, fighting for the right to breed her. Which? A deformed ogre or a black man? Then she heard his gruntings above the harsh hiss of his breath. He seemed to be banging extra hard to her bottom, the piston was swelling, the fist struck harder at her stomach. But these were secondary feelings. The main one was the eye of the cyclone in her belly, swirling, burrowing and pleading for just a few more of the raging thrusts, a little more of the fiery friction, a last devoted servicing of her disgustingly eager sex. Then she felt the edge approaching, the fine knife line of adjustment. The academic faded and she let the good words echo in her brain: fuck, suck, prick, cunt and the one she had forgotten under the hunchback-jism, hot, thick and endless in its gushing. Shame mixed with passion, hate with adoration and as she hovered at the dear brink, the emptiness returned with a wet and obscene ploshing.
No, don't quit now you gorilla prick, you beast. No, put it back in, ram it to my throat, burst me with its fatness and let me orgasm around the throbbing darling. Fuck me, fuck me, until I die.
She blinked because the sudden tears were blindingly hot. Not a sound had left her throat, not a whimper had disturbed her lips. Where was he, that weighty, musky man with the organ she so needed? Her head turned slightly, her eyes widened. He was on his knees above her, his slowly down-arching penis dripping gray-white egg-white. He had climaxed in her electrified vagina and she hadn't felt it, hadn't had a chance to revel in its spurting. Perhaps the heat in her belly was the pool of sperm. Half dead, useless. She couldn't even put some
fingers to her deserted vagina to finish the excitement he had left in her.
The tea brought by the Spanish hag. Spanish Fly, perhaps. It was something weird and frightening she had heard about in college. It was supposed to turn even the most staid and moral woman into a raging nymphomaniac. Her mind, fighting for sanity agreed that it must have been Spanish Fly. If this were so, the frustrated ecstasy she harbored was not her fault. Drugged, Negro-raped, excited to the point of complete abandon. Spanish Fly.
What was he doing now? She turned her head a bit farther and was suddenly lifted into strong, beautifully muscled arms. Her face was mashed to his. Bad breath, wine-sour, hot, blowing into her mouth and nose as his slavering lips smeared her white skin with lust and desecration. His hands under her bottom, his penis rubbing into her ravaged crotch. She saw her breasts, deformed against his broad chest-man chest, woman bosom. Then she discovered that one dangling arm was at his back and the fingers were pressing to the rippling muscles. Strong Negro. Panther back. Horse penis. He was lifting her, her legs flung around his powerful thighs. The under-probe. Why stand, black giant? Then she relaxed. It was not unpleasant crushed in his embrace, her face on his shoulder. All of her was coming back to sensitivity. The probe was hard into her crotch, mighty male who never rested. He was carrying her to the long, thick-planked table.
"Don't put me down," she said, and was surprised when the mumble came out, bubbling on the black skin. "Just set me on the fist. I am oh so empty, oh so deserted. No-no, not there. It will tear my rectum, split my bowels. Please not there, black lover. No, no. Well with grease then. On the dresser, the white jar of face cream. Save my anus. Hemorrhoids-small bunches of small grapes, painful; used to make Marian Golden scream with pain during her menstrual periods. Oh my God, it is going into my rectum. It is in."
Her mind cracked open. She was seated, leaning back on the heavy table. Her legs were out, stretched to the side until they ached with strain. His penis was burrowing, screwing into her anus and he was doubled a bit, to look down and perceive his furious entry. She could count every curly hair in his rotund skull. She moved her head aside and looked down, hoping to see what seemed to fascinate him. All she could see was her vagina, shamelessly agape, oozing thick clear fluid. The lips were inflamed, swollen and the gristle tip of her clitoris thrust out, searching for caress. Gail screamed in terror.
Startled, the Negro jerked back. For a moment before she rolled away on the table, she had that deserted feeling. Then he was at her again, his penis fighting to regain its lost snugging, his hands folding her flailing arms while his hips fought her legs apart.
Ripples of lewd laughter came from deep in his heaving chest as he gradually subdued her with pain from his ruthless fingers and his irresistible strength. Then she was wrapped, breathless in his two-armed embrace, crushed close to the sweating black body. Her legs were spread so furiously her hip joints seemed ready to snap. She felt him searching with his rigid organ, jabbing up, seeking any aperture. She twisted, gasped when it came close, then twisted again and then she didn't twist enough. As the hot stub penetrated her vagina he quickly crushed her down and she shrieked in agony as it rammed up and up. Then the clarity that had sent her into spasms of resistance seemed to fade. The fire spread, the flesh burned pleasantly and she slumped, waiting for the brute to work his lusty will.
The orgasm he had not completed in her was still alive, more so because of the brief moment when his penis had distended and entered her burning anus. She gripped his legs with her weary thighs and tried to ease the pain of his rooting and turn it into critical ecstasy. He was laughing at her and she had no power to refute his glee over her surrender. When his arms relaxed, hers tightened, giving her the purchase to writhe and hump to his stroking member. Her lips wailed, mewled, even protested, but she could not keep her body from demanding more and more of the delightful torture. Her senses reeled and she forgot where she was or who. Her mind seemed to wrap around his penis and milk it with exquisite obscenity. Then she felt it coming on again and instead of fighting the lewd surrender, she contracted all of her secret muscles and the climax burst in stunning, soul-searing glory.
"Auu-oh!" she coughed. "Oh! Oh God. Oh. Aughh-uh!"
It wouldn't stop; the penis stroked, indifferent to the seconds when she wished it would tarry, unfeeling to her singing nerves. She orgasmed around the plunging, crying painfully, trying desperately to hold it in and wring its vitality into fluid fire. Then she sobbed as the delicious thumping slowed, faded. The penis now had a man attached to it. A black man, sweating and smelling and hunching with the same frenzy she had just experienced. She felt the knotting, the swelling of his organ and it seemed like a tree as it began its discharge. The sperm struck her distended vulva, turned her insides to slippery fire. He grunted each time his convulsing sex hurled a fresh glob into her vulva. And as Gail dreamed of the flaring eye, the thick cream gushing into her, the sickness turned to passion and a second orgasm surprised her into chattering ecstasy. It was still throbbing when the Negro let go of her And his penis slipped easily from her vagina. Deserted, Gail rolled to one hip, legs jerking, her mind a strangely jellied nothing as the juices ran from her body and soiled her inner thighs.
He was saying something to her in words she couldn't identify. It didn't matter. She felt his hand on her bottom, feeling its perfect contours, testing the perspiration-moist valley between her nates. She twitched as he fingered her anus. To her, it seemed too soft, too helpless. Empty as she seemed, the thought of his huge organ pushing into the unresisting aperture was frightening. Then she hoped he would. Once done, she would be destroyed forever, mind and body. Sodomize me, black man. I can not fight you. Don't leave me with that one fragment of decency to protect. Don't let me wonder any longer.
She let her right hand go out and back, fingers groping. He moved and her hand was suddenly filled with the amazingly pliable tube of his penis, wet and sticky and hotter than she knew flesh could get. Again he moved, sending the firming shape through her hand. She felt the thick base, slightly grown with stiff curls. Then the hose slipped away until the flaring head caught in her inept grasp. She pressed and searched the shape, learning about the monster that had so recently sent her into spasms of ecstatic passion. A tingle of excitement went up her spine as the rubbery form began to harden in her fingers.
Holding behind the head with encircling thumb and forefinger, she felt for her bottom with the other. She was filthy with slime that drooled from her own vagina and when she found her rectum she deliberately sent her middle finger in as if to guide the throbbing knot of his member. As she indented her eager anus with the head, he took command. Her hand lingered, feeling the slow slip, the slight bending as he urged his penis to pass the sphincter ani.
She moaned in agony, in self-disgust, but her hips rolled to the orders of his strong hands. And it went in, with searing agony and she was sure her bottom had not surrendered, it had torn. Her hips ached, the skin between her nates cried out in protest, but the pain somehow mingled pleasantly with the unbelievable filling and Gail quaked with sweet shock. Her hand now found his rock hard belly, straining as his lust was deepened. She let her fingers drag down until she found the root thrusting from the wire-curled pelvic pedestal, then she followed the tremendous shaft until she could trace its entry into her frightfully distended anus.
He was stroking gently now, enjoying her bottom, thrilling her with the deep agitation as well as with the feel of his penis screwing into her ravaged body. Too gentle, black lover.
I don't hurt. I should hurt. I am a dirty bitch, a foul creature who loves what you are doing to my rectum. Hurt me. Hurt me a lot so I will have orgasm again and again and again. She let a long soft groan escape her lips and as her first rectal orgasm started, the dullness in her mind turned to darkness.
She didn't hear her rapist gasp, "Jesus Cristo!" nor did she know when his sperm charged up into her bowel with the fury of a bull.
Joven staggered back, his cock trailing the thin strings of cum from her flaccid asshole. He sat down, slouched, his long legs trembling with weariness. His prick softened quickly; it had been milked and wrung and inhaled until it ached with strain. He stared at the seemingly unconscious beauty, her lovely white ass turned to him so he could almost look up her slowly closing asshole. From the down-corner of her cunt ran trickles of her own cum. The hand that had found his prick, caressed it to her ass and demanded the entry lay limply over her smooth white thigh.
She hadn't fought him very much. She had cursed him in some English words he understood, but while she had reviled him she had come to his meat like a Turkish whore. He was wet with sweat, confused by his unimpressive victory and exhausted from the three orgasms she had ripped from him in less than a half hour. He sat up and with a long leg and a curling toe, snaked his trousers from the floor. Shaking, he pulled them on, tucking his befouled prick into the cloth, remembering how he had gotten here and what he must do.
He lifted her limp body from the table and returned it to the bed, covering her to the chin. Then he went to the sitting room, unlocked the door and slipped out. When Gonzales finally rolled back from the kitchen, his belly pooched with wine and French bread, Joven was dozing, his lips dribbling saliva, his penis twitching in tempo with the dream.
CHAPTER FIVE
How long she had slept, Gail could not tell. When she had awakened, sick, sore and not quite able to understand what had really happened to her, the darkness was blue-black outside her windows. Above, stars twinkled brightly and a few wispy clouds showed highlights from a moon not visible from her point of view. Inborn fastidiousness had insisted she was unreasonably dirty with a kind of filth she could not identify, so for the third time in what she thought was a day, she bathed, It had taken all her strength to stagger back to the bed, and now she sat, trying to remember.
The hunchback, yes. But she had recovered from him, then there had been tea. Innocent enough, and certainly not responsible for the horrible feelings in her body. She spread her legs and stared at her vagina. After-effects of the rape, she supposed. The lips seemed terrible swollen, inflamed and when she tentatively tested the burning inner tissues, they were agonizingly sensitive. And when she generated enough courage to raise one leg and put a cautious finger to her anus, she almost shrieked with pain. The burning was bad enough but the pucker was no longer just that. It was a raw ring of puffed flesh and a more careful touch told her it was throbbing with anguish.
It worried her not to be able to remember. Small indistinct flashes of mental pictures kept coming, but none resolved into positive form. She looked at the table and it seemed familiar, more familiar than just a piece of furniture she had seen before. There was a musky odor in her nose, a fleeting smell that seemed to have no identity. The ugly memory of the hunchback was never very deeply obscured in her mind, but as it flicked, he seemed to have a very dark skin and be somehow larger and more muscular than she knew he had been. And in the pit of her stomach the dull ache persisted, as if she had been deeply bruised. That returned the hunchback to her mind, but he hadn't seemed to hurt her that much. On the other hand, he had raped her and destroyed her virginity and perhaps done more damage than she knew.
Then she heard a small sound from the sitting room. On tiptoe, she went to the door. Nothing. The sounds were out in the other world. Was it a hallway, another room or what? Shivering in fresh alarm, Gail went back to her bedroom and put on the robe. She wrapped her trembling body carefully, then sat tensely waiting. If her privacy was to be invaded again, she couldn't think what to do. Every thought she began somehow faded into nothing before she concluded it. She couldn't even revive her anger and hate for the hunchback. Tears wouldn't come. It was almost as if she were suspended in a dream, except that she could feel pain. And hear. The sounds had ceased. Still she sat as if hypnotized.
Jan stood in the hallway, watching the night guard slop away to the servant's quarters. He felt very alone, insecure. He seldom left The Throne, and he hadn't ventured from the big room in nearly five years. He wouldn't have done it this night except that the way in which Gail Brown had blanked out his television cameras had piqued him unduly. He steadied himself with a fat hand to the door casing. He was fantastically strong because it took more strength to lift his arm or move a leg than the average man could generate. But he walked so little his legs were quivery. His massive body hung on his deeply buried hips, belly looped down, buttocks like pillows sagged in back. The key in his palm was very hot.
What would she say when he lumbered in and awakened her? Not much, he guessed, because she had probably not yet worn off all the effects of the hashish tincture. He quietly fitted the key and turned the smoothly graphite-coated lock. The door opened easily and he moved like a pink elephant into the apartment. Relocking the door, he looked around, noting details of the room that were not visible from his camera angle. It was a nice room, precisely the way he had ordered it. Then he tightened. Used to the big room and the expanse of space, this cubicle, made smaller by his size, seemed oppressive. He moved to the door into her bedroom, filling it from edge to edge, his bald pink skull barely an inch or so from the door header.
She leaped straight up from her seat on the bed, eyes wide, mouth agape. Her hands clutched furiously at the robe, as if it could provide protection from what she must surely believe to be a monster from another world. Jan grinned.
"I know," he said in his rumbling bass. "I come as a surprise, to say the least. Ask me to sit down. I am Jan Arden, your host, Miss Brown, and we should begin by being friends, I think."
"My God, what kind of a ... a beast are you?" she wailed.
His legs hurt. The chair wasn't going to be big enough for his bulk. He moved forward and Gail gave a yelp and scurried to one side, certain, he was sure, that that he was coming after her. At the bed he turned and sank weightily, bending the mattress until it seemed ready to break under his ass. He sighed.
"As you can see, standing gives me problems. Please, sit down. I want to talk to you."
"Why ... why have you kidnapped me and my f-friend? Oh, the terrible, awful things that have h-happened to us!"
"Raphael, the hunchback?" Jan asked. "I owed him a favor and I wanted to see how you reacted to sex. If you haven't guessed, sex is my favorite science, right after making money. Did he hurt you?"
She was backed to the wall, staring as if she couldn't believe him, nor what he had implied. The fact that she showed any animation at all was proof to him that the hashish was wearing thin.
"You-you fiend!" she finally gasped. "If I had a gun, I'd shoot you d-dead!"
"That's what I like, determination. How do you like your apartment? I hope you enjoy it because it will be your home for some time, except for some visits to mine after we understand each other better. Please, sit down. Over there!" he snapped, suddenly stern.
She jerked at the impact of his command, then moved on her pretty bare feet to the chair he had avoided. He followed her with his narrowed eyes. The robe was a little bother, but he could savor the high full breasts and the lush hips, and as she sat down, the smooth taper of her perfect legs. She saw him inventorying and drew the robe over her knees as far as it would go.
"You watched," she said, flicking her eyes to the red eye in the picture frame. "You beast! You watched your horrible servant r-rape me, didn't you?"
Jan chuckled. "I did. I also saw how you glommed his cock and sucked him silly! I don't recall you spitting out his load, either, though it may have had something to do with not drowning. Take off that robe!"
"I will not! I will not do any such a thing!" she almost screamed. "Who do you think you are, asking such a foul thing?"
He moved. She threw out a hand as if to ward off his four hundred pounds and his big hand closed around her wrist. She reared back, nearly dislodg ing her shoulder, and he began to squeeze. A gasp of pain burst from her lips. Then as he increased the squeeze, she began to writhe and moan, and finally, like a dying animal, she curled and crumpled and slid forward from the chair, her other hand going to his sausage fingers, trying to pick them from her wrist. The robe fell open and Jan dragged her to him. Instead of trying to peel it from her twisting body, he merely took a handful of the silk at the nape of her neck and ripped the garment away. She moaned again, sobbing in agony as he feasted his eyes on her voluptuous body. Then he made the tremendous effort to stand, releasing her wrist. She huddled, cuddling the bruised arm under her swaying tits. Jan removed his flowing shirt. Then he inhaled his huge belly and unsnapped his cotton trousers. They dropped, and he stood naked, his skinless'cock with the flaring head stiffened out and down from the crowded roll of fat under his abdominal loop. But he wasn't ready to fuck her so he sat down again, reaching out to gather a handful of her disheveled hair in his ham-like fist. He jerked her head up.
"They call me The Kewpie," he told her. "Suck my cock a little. I want to find out what made Raphael lose half his back hump!"
She drew back but he jerked her in close under his belly. Leaning back lifted his prick and he shifted his huge bulk, slapping her taut face with the huge phallic monster. It was fat, so fat the thin white skin was stretched around its girth so tightly the big blue veins seemed almost on the surface. The closely circumcised shank was lewdly scarlet and the head, begun by a high coronal ridge, tapered fatly to the long eye that was almost a goldfish mouth. Half of his balls was buried in the underpulp of his crotch, giving his prick a strangely naked look as it bobbed under her eyes.
"Suck it, woman," he husked. "Make me bark like a fox!"
Her eyes closed but did not squeeze, as if she wanted to close out the ugly sight, even if her stillness expressed her resignation. Then she opened her mouth and he pulled her face onto his cock. She met it with firmly ovaled lips and the tip of her tongue and he watched her melt on him as he had seen her do with Raphael. But the hunchback had a mule cock, long and not too bulky at the head. Jan's was thick enough to hurt a she-mule and Gail's mouth was quickly stretched to a bloodless circle. Her dropped jaw caused long planes to draw on her cheeks, and small wrinkles appeared below her ears. Nonetheless, he thought she was very quick to adjust by letting his glans move in to nest in the roof of her mouth. He jiggled as her tongue gave him quick twirls. He let go of her hair, and instantly, both her hands came up to grip around the rock hard shaft as if it were a baseball bat. He dropped back on his elbows which let him hunch to her as he often did to Tesia. But she was a cock-sucker, he thought, and Tesia was an amateur in her shadow. He had meant only to subjugate and humiliate the haughty schoolteacher, but as her saliva slicked his peter and her pressures became acute, he decided to let her go as long as she seemed to want. He would have preferred to turn her end over end, her flat belly rocking over his moon so he could look into her pretty ass and finger her secrets as she raised his passion, but he was fascinated by her apparent delight in his steaming cock so he half-closed his fat eyes and watched.
It was impossible, Gail thought. It was a nightmare, from the moment she had seen him in her door to now. This huge hot form in her mouth was a dream penis. The smell of oily skin and the heat of the flesh mountain were images, conjured in her harassed mind. The ache of her jaw was not real, the club gripped by her fists was phantom. Like God, he had said "suck it" and she had been unable to resist; the spastic atrophy of dreams. Presently she would awaken, or like other dreams, this would fade into a totally unrelated drama. In the meantime, she breathed hotly through her nostrils and let her dream lust savor the fullness in her mouth and the coursing of her tongue over the pulsating flesh. And if she couldn't control her dreams, there could be nothing wrong with liking the sudden wetness between her legs and slight convulsing of her responsive, if untouched vagina. Some terrible thing had happened in her head. Since a time she could not quite place, her mind had changed. No more the stem and academically poised schoolteacher. Now, the abandoned whore, the nymphomaniac, the sucking, fucking slut. How could she stand it?
Perhaps the key to departed sanity was not to resist. She understood a bit of psychology; the subconscious fought diligently to enforce what the conscious sought to discourage. Suck harder, say you like it, believe you want to lick and suck and drink the inevitable surge of white-hot semen. Love this huge column of lusty evil until her subconscious wearied of filthy play and surrendered to her true morality and strength of character. Wait. The eye into which she could almost thrust her tongue was oozing and the taste of the ooze was familiar. It turned her glands to dribbling fonts and she swallowed to keep from choking. The swallow traveled down her spine and she felt her vagina tighten, then fall open. The Talmud had said that a woman was a temple built over a sewer. Thousands of years ago, a man had known of these mysterious quakings, these inhuman desires. Fuck, shit, cock, cunt, jism and spit, the alchemy of passion. She was going to climax. Would it be one of those earth-shaking thunderings or one of the quiet thumpings that seemed to drum and drum until she was close to fainting. Now, now, because through her hands, pressing the thumb-thick tube on the underside of the swelling penis, she could feel it coming. She moved her head back to make room, her lips clinging to the flinty coronal ridge. Ah God, it was in her mouth, spew, spurt, slosh and her vagina was grinding down as if to turn inside out in search of a filling. Come, come, come, Gail, because it is only a dirty, sweet dream. Swallow furiously, delightfully; how many calories were there in a dream man's discharge? Would it fatten her belly like his, or would it just make her breasts grow until they burst her tingling skin.
"Great, I'd say, as a man who's been sucked by experts," the bass voice said.
She opened her eyes, drawing back, her jaw still down, her mouth open so the layer of sticky musk pooled on her nervous tongue.
"It isn't a dream, is it?" she asked with thick syllables.
"Dreamy, but no dream, baby," the behemoth chuckled.
Her brain seemed to split with rage. She ducked her head like a striking snake, lips drawn tightly over her even teeth. Then the teeth snapped together over the still leaking flesh of his penis. He screamed, his massive body jerking in shock as her bite sunk deeply into the glans and tore the meat. Blood spurted into her mouth and gushed down over her swaying breasts. She spat his penis from her lips and fell back to watch the mountain of animal go into a frenzy of agony and rage. His roar shook the walls, his arms flailed and he stomped his sandaled feet. She watched him fold his instantly limp organ into gigantic fingers through which blood trickled to soil his body-thick thighs and her creaking bed.
Frightened at the chaos she had caused, Gail wiped her bloody mouth and scuttled back and back, huddling in terror as he seemed to regain control. Then he reared up, towering, swaying, groaning.
"You bitch!" he gasped. "You lousy, rotten little bitch!"
Gail laughed with some mirth but mostly with hysteria. He came on like a grotesque cat, quick, spitting and hissing. It was impossible to escape, so for a second, Gail held herself erect and became the poised and dignified woman she had wanted to be from the very first. He knocked her senseless with one blow of his bloody, ham-heavy fist.
"Yes," Trina said to the nicely dressed man who had, in perfect English and an apologetic tone, explained that he was Mr. Arden's secretary, George Millbum. "Yes, I've had some experience at first aid. I'm not sure I want to help anyone belonging to this house, however! Is it serious, Mister Millbum?"
"Mister Arden may be bleeding to death," he explained timidly. "I'm not very good about making such appraisals. Will you come, Miss Salisman, please?"
Still half asleep, Trina looked down at herself, clad only in a hastily snatched up robe. "I'm not dressed. I can't dress! My clothes have been ... stolen."
"Come as you are, I beg of you. It won't matter, I think. Mister Arden is also in some state of disrobement. Hurry!"
He couldn't have stopped her, but she felt some protest had been necessary. Now she marveled as he led her through a corridor where an armed guard stood at an open door. Millbum led her into a sitting room almost identical to her own. In the bedroom were three or four insanely interesting people, two men, a hunchback and a Negro, one half-naked girl, weeping furiously, and on the bed, or nearly in the depressed mattress was the biggest, ugliest man she had ever seen. Open beside him was a first aid kit. It would be needed, she saw. His belly, legs and groin were a mass of blood and lying limp and strange to her eyes was his penis. It looked as if the end had been chopped off or badly mangled. Beside this mountain of pink and scarlet flesh, her own near nakedness was inconsequential. The hunchback snarled up at her.
"Stop the bleeding, at once! He is in great pain. There is morphine and a hypodermic in the kit. Administer a sedative-but be sure it is enough and not too much! Move, woman!"
What Trina did in the next ten minutes she could never remember clearly. The room, the fat man, the Negro and the arbitrary gnome occupied some of her mind, her own position, the rugged, painful past night demanded some thought and the pure requirements to help the moaning, suffering man took the rest. She had only practiced injections in an orange. The label on the morphine was in Spanish. Her hands shook. She knew nothing of male genitals, but she knew no serious attempt to stop the blood flow could be made to such a sensitive organ without the aid of a pain killer. The half-naked Spanish girl was some help. Chattering wildly, she put her hands to the big penis and through some non-academic pressures, succeeded in easing the flow of blood. Her nerves shrieking, Trina cleansed the soft genital and laid the wounds-teeth wounds she was sure-together and over gauze she taped the difficult flesh into steadiness. Once she looked at the man's contorted face. It was a mass of flesh bubbles, but the eyes were alive, like some sinister beast waiting for the proper moment to leap. Again, his fat hand came out and gripped her thigh, not in hurting, but in some sort of gratitude for the clumsy things she did.
"He should be washed with warm water and covered well, to off-set shock," she told the hunchback. "He will sleep in a few minutes. He needs a doctor badly. Isn't there one close by?"
"One hundred kilometers, woman. I have sent for him."
Trina turned to Millbum, standing in a tense crouch, rubbing his hands together like a maiden aunt as he stared at the fat man. "Who's running this ball game, Millburn?" she demanded.
"Mister Arden," he replied, nodding to the balloonish man.
"All right. Who pinch hits when he's out of the ball park?"
"I-I do, I guess. But Raphael is very capable in emergencies. He will see to the things you suggest. May I suggest that you now return to your quarters, Miss Salisman?"
"You can suggest, but I don't intend to do any such thing! Mister Raphael, I think I deserve some consideration-after this! I would like to know what you have done to Miss Brown!"
The hunchback finished snapping orders to the girl. He grinned at Trina with all the charm of a gargoyle, then looked at the Negro. "She wants to know what we did to Miss Brown," he snarled. "Take her back to her room and show her, Joven!"
"No!" Millburn gasped. "No. Mister Arden may feel most kindly to Miss Salisman after this inci dent. No. Come with me, Miss Salisman. I will get you some tea, with brandy, if you like, and try to explain as much as I can."
"Miss Brown?" Trina demanded.
He seemed to hesitate. "She ... she is sleeping now," he said. "Come. We will go to my quarters. Oh. I mean you no harm, of course!"
"That's Goddamn well a fact, woman," the hunchback laughed.
The Negro said something obviously funny in Spanish. She thought it sounded like "ambiguales", but she wasn't sure. After one more look at the quiet fat man, she followed George Millburn, her attention once more on her surroundings.
It was a huge house, with many alcoves, corridors and closed doors. Once, they passed a big clock, old and part of a cathedral-shaped alcove. It was five o'clock in the morning. Then Millburn opened a door and ushered her into an apartment not unlike her prison, but intimately furnished in excellent taste. There were leather chairs and sofas and a big desk, containing a multi-circuited telephone system, and a built-in tape recorder. Files, three high and four wide covered one area. All was precise, very business-like. And frightening, despite the slight advantage she had gained.
"Sit there, please. I will ring for tea. The servants are just rising so it might well be a minute or two. Would you care for a brandy now? I am sure you were very, very brave about the entire matter, Miss Salisman. Being a confirmed homosexual, I have little fortitude in the face of such occasions." Trina hung on to her composure. She had never even known a homosexual before, let alone one who so boldly confessed his deviation. "The brandy would be fine, I think. Mister Millburn?"
"Yes?"
"What in God's name kind of a place-and people-have I come into knowing?"
"God has little to do with it, Miss Salisman," he said, opening a built-in bar with beautiful glassware and countless exotic bottles. Mister Arden-Jan Arden is God in Castellon Vista. A very rich and eccentric man, to say the least."
"But, we have been kidnapped! That is a criminal offense, even in Spain, or Morocco, or where-ever we are! He can go to prison for many, many years, maybe for life!"
"Ridiculous, Miss Salisman, I assure you. The man to whom you will be sold when Mister Arden wearies of you is a Jefe de Policia in Spanish Gibraltar. Try the brandy."
Trina hadn't the strength to lift the fine goblet. "Then the wound I treated was exactly what it looked like! He had been bitten by an angry fella-tor! I have been raped once-the man, Raphael, was lewdly inspired to remark the colored man to take me somewhere and g-give me what Miss Brown has apparently suffered. This is a den of sex fiends, isn't it?" Her question ended high and shrill, quavering.
"By your definition, perhaps. Mister Arden prefers to be known as a practicing hedonist, a devotee of worldly pleasures. He often jokes that he is too large to get through the Pearly Gates and will make too much grease in Hell. Admirable sense of humor, I assure you. More brandy? It is eighty years old and we have a cellar full of it."
"I hope he dies! If I'd known, I'd have let him bleed to death! I might have even-"
"He'll like you," Millbum decided. "He likes a fighting female. I admire you, but of course my respect for a woman is limited. If you are so inclined, however, I'd feel sorry for your friend, Miss Brown. His vengeance is seldom mild."
"Vengeance? Are you inferring that she ... that she bit him?"
He nodded. "It is an urge that often comes to a fellator, Miss Salisman. Reaction to strange emotions, though Mister Arden did not identify the emotion that triggered her violent responses."
"My God!" Trina gasped. "Oh my! Oh, I must go to her! Millburn, I beg of you-"
"The tea," he said as if psychic, and a moment later, there was a knock on the heavy door.
Trina sat back in total stupefaction while the Spanish maid poured the tea and brought each of them a fine China cup of the steaming liquid. Millburn dismissed the sleepy woman, then waited quietly for his devastated guest to recover. Trina was not sure she ever could recover.
The floor was stone and it was wet. Her head throbbed and her neck was beginning to stiffen from the mighty blow he had dealt her. Dried blood made hard spots on her face and naked body. She was sorry she had done it, but then, she was conversely pleased with herself. It was time to die so she let sleep take over again.
CHAPTER SIX
But she didn't die and when she awakened next, she was surprised by her new prison. It was obviously a cellar room. High on one wall, a narrow, stoutly grilled window showed bright sunlight. Hardly five feet from where she was lying, cramped by the cold and bruised by the rough hands that had brought her to the cell, was a cot. It was not unlike those she remembered from summer camp, a million years ago, except that it was rusty and sagging under a thin, lumpy pad. Groaning at every movement, Gail crawled to the cot and hauled herself up to a sitting position. The light beam through the window showed her how devastated she was. They had beat her, unconscious or not. Her breasts showed beginning blue bruises amid the patches of dried blood. Her stomach muscles were sore and her thighs ached. She gingerly felt her vagina; she couldn't tell if she'd been violated because there were the same raw places she had noted before the fat brute had entered her room.
Jan Arden, he had said. Rich, ugly, obese. Suck my cock.
Gail shuddered. She had done exactly that, hypnotized by the massive organ, frightened, forced, degraded. Now her mouth moved in memory and she could almost taste his sperm and feel its fire going down her throat. Then the other thrill, the feel of her teeth slicing into the fat penis, the spurt of his blood on her trembling nakedness. Why had she done it? Her filthy performance was over, the man's lust had been accepted. Then she remembered. She had thought it was a dream and it had not been a dream. She had bitten him in fury, not at what he had demanded but at herself for enjoying the dream that had not been a dream. She had bitten him, knowing full well that he would do her great harm, perhaps even kill her. The death wish, that had been it. Now as she looked around her, she thought maybe her wish would come true, although it was taking a form that only increased her terror.
She went to a comer and squatted. The act of urination was sharp, almost exciting. She felt herself, ruffling the last drops from the lips of her vagina. Tentatively, she tested her anus and it was less sore than it had been, but boldly swollen. She went back to the cot, stretching out, cringing at the thought of damp bugs or spiders, perhaps. Now that her eyes were fully accustomed to the half light, she looked at the wall beside the cot. It was covered with scrawls and marks. Other people had shared her prison. Then she saw a sentence in English, scratched on the stone as if with a diamond or a piece of steel:
"J.A. an epileptic. 1 or 2 seizures a day. Only chance. I muffed mine. Goodbye. Avis Garden, 7/6/66"
Gail gasped, hideous recognition coming like a hard fist. Even the date was nearly familiar. Avis Garden, one of Hollywood's most glamorous stars, had disappeared mysteriously that summer. It had been in the papers for weeks. The world adored the beautiful brunette and her movies made millions. Gail traced the tragic message with a trembling finger. She could almost see the lovely actress, raped, beaten, inhumanly tortured, using her last strength to warn whoever might follow her to this dank cell.
Goodbye.
Gail sat up straight, abruptly clear-headed. If the fat man were an epileptic and he had a seizure or two a day, then the only way to defeat him was to be constantly with him until he became helpless in an epileptic fit. Defeat him, how?
"Kill him," she said out loud. The words echoed and she shivered at her own boldness. But the thought persisted. He was huge, strong, ruthless, but under the layers and layers of fat, he was a human being, with vulnerable nerves and blood vessels and vital organs. A knife, even a fork, anything sharp. Place it to his fat throat, drawn steel taut by a violent seizure and thrust it home. Goodbye.
Then the teasing thought she had not quite clarified in her mind became insistent. To be constantly with him meant what? She doubted that there would be any opportunity provided her now. Like Avis Garden, goodbye. Obviously, this square stone room was a last stop on the way to oblivion.
But if there were the one more chance, what would she do with it?
Instantly, she felt the emptiness in her low belly. The little aches turned to one big need and she could feel every nerve in her vagina stand on end. Involuntarily, her lips moved and her tongue wetted them. Her swollen anus became a tight knot between the cheeks of her bottom. Her mind saw the huge fat man again, sleek, pink, panting and tremendously masculine. She saw the penis, like a sausage somebody had carved into sensual shape. If he were cruel, he was also lusty and she remembered the knife-sharp thrill his command to suck it had shot through her female sensitivity. She knew what she would do if she got one more chance. She would do everything he suggested and act as if she enjoyed it, knowing well that the end justified the means.
Please, God, give me one more chance.
They talked and had breakfast together and at eight o'clock, Millburn excused himself and enlivened his private telephone console. Trina thought he was the strangest man she had ever met, in real life or in the pages of a pulp novel. He seemed humorless, acutely intelligent and in some ways, as ruthless as his employer, Jan Arden. He freely admitted being a confirmed homosexual without even suggesting there was hanky-panky between himself and the obese Arden. And though he had adroitly avoided her questions, he had coldly explained to her the probable fate she could expect. It was very simple.
When Arden's inventiveness in sexual matters, lewd, extreme and in many ways, sadistic, exhausted itself, she would be sold to a whoremaster in Spanish Gibraltar. Escape was impossible, even Millburn had intimated, if she wanted to escape. By the time she arrived in the cheap house of prostitution, she would have little spirit and a badly worn body. A day or two in the hands of the whoremaster would destroy any tiny hope she might have left. Twenty to thirty men a day, more if the harbor was active, and they would be black and white and all the shades between, many with gonorrhea and syphilis and a range of Oriental infections no doctor had ever named. She would be forced to act in 'carnivals', with two or three men, horses, donkeys and dogs, and some well-trained simians the African traders had sold to the whoremaster. Calmly, he had delivered shock after shock to her and now she watched him, heard him talk briskly into the foreign phones, and she wondered why he had told her as much as he had.
Because he liked to talk and because he was a lonely man?
Or because he was a precisely trained segment of Jan Arden's circus, like the hunchback, Raphael and the Negro, Joven? Like the dour maids and the glum Spanish guards. Had Gail's actually been the teeth that had wounded Arden, or was this another attack on her sanity? How all of the apparent efficiency of Arden's hacienda could exist if the obese master were as evil as Millbum had said he was gave Trina doubts.
Then she remembered that she was sitting in a thin robe, her body almost a naked thing, and that three hours before, she had stemmed the bleeding in a huge penis hanging painfully from the fat belly of the most naked man one could imagine. Four hundred pounds of naked flesh at five o'clock in the morning. What had gone on between the normal hours and the early morning carnage?
Now a red light flashed on Millbum's desk and he instantly attended another telephone. He listened intently, and all he said was, "Instantly, Mister Arden. She's here with me now." Then he turned to Trina. "He wants to talk to you. Come quickly."
"Where is he now?" she asked, only half hoping for a reply.
"Oh. He has returned to his own quarters. At the end of the corridor," he added absently, nodding as if the corridor were visible.
Trina took a deep breath and stood up, folding the inadequate robe carefully across her voluptuous body. Millburn stood up, frowned at his desk as if trying to think of everything, then rubbed his chin.
Trina hit him as hard as she could with the half full coffee pot. He went down without a gasp, nor a cry of pain for the hot fluid she had showered him with. Coldly, she jerked the desk mike cord from its parent instrument and with more fury than skill, bound Millburn's hands behinds his back then to his sharply bent ankles. She made a gag out of his breast pocket handkerchief, tying it as tightly as she could. A third thought made her drag him behind his desk in case any one looked into his apartment. A broken coffee pot was one thing, a knocked out fairy was another. She went through the unlocked drawers of the desk and found a small, nick-le-plated pistol. She had never fired a gun in her thirty-six years, but she held it, moving picture fashion, and decided she could hit a target as huge as Jan Arden. Then she left the apartment, cautiously, and took the direction Millbum's nod had indicated. Her heart was in her mouth. Her rectum still hurt from the rape she had endured in Palma. At the pair of big exquisitely carved doors that surely led to Arden's quarters, she stopped, looked at the pistol and felt lost. Then she slipped it in the robe and tucked it firmly under her left arm, a cold, deadly shape in her armpit.
One step inside the big door numbed her. It was a massive room and the establishment on the far side was impossible to believe. She saw him, a mountain of naked flesh, marred only by the bandage she had taped on his penis, lying in the strange chair. The outer perimeter of the room was resplendent with expensive furniture, polished walnut, red Moroccan leather and endless artifacts. The center of the room resembled a medieval torture chamber, gone modem. There was a wheel with straps and spikes, a hideously efficient-looking rack and some smaller units that she failed to identify because she had no time.
She was seized by both arms, strong crushing hands, belonging to two tall Spanish men dressed to match the room. They wore harem trousers, bagged over exotic sandals and they were naked from the black belly sashes up to their shaggy black hair. The pistol dropped from her armpit and clattered on the shiny stone-like floor. One of the men kicked it away. Then they dragged her across to the foot of Arden's odd chair-bed. She saw his eyes, pinpoints of fire between his puffy lids. His fat hand lay over his belly, fingers lightly touching the base of his wounded sex.
"You disappoint me, Trina," he said in a low rumble. "I dare say I'll need a new secretary, at least until the concussion recedes, and all for nothing. Tsk-tsk. Strip that robe off or I'll have my men tear it off and stuff it up your delightful ass!"
"H-how did you know?" was all she could blurt. "Closed circuit television to every room in the hacienda. I saw it all. You were going to kill me, weren't you?"
"I was going to try! I will not take off-no, no! I'll take it off. Keep your dirty hands off of me!"
"They speak only Spanish," Arden chuckled. "If you weren't so ugly you'd be quite a lot of woman!" Trina drew herself up as straight as she could, her big breasts jiggling out, her belly sucked in and her legs together in useless modesty. She flushed as he inspected her, then she glanced at the two Spaniards. They weren't even looking at her nude charms.
"First, you did a good job on me. When I came out of the morphine, my cock seemed in good shape. Joven, my barber, gave me a local shot in the perineum so I don't get a hard-on and bust everything loose. Can't feel a thing here," he re marked, lifting his penis and rolling it lovingly in his hand. "Damned shame. Bet you're a real good fuck, Trina. Or you can be taught to be a real good fuck!"
She gritted her teeth, swallowing a millstone. "Gail. What have you done to my friend, Gail?"
The fat pod over one eye raised. "That one. To tell you the truth, nothing, yet. She beats the shit out of me, Trina. I thought I knew something about cunt, but she baffles me. I'll figure her out later. Crazy bitch if I ever saw one."
"Do you ... do you have to be so foul-mouthed?" she hissed.
The fat pod raised again. "No, but it helps. Creates an atmosphere, sort of. How do you like my toys?" he asked, nodding to the exotic torture devices.
"Millbum said you were a fiend!"
"He did not-I heard a recording of everything he said. He said I was inventive and appreciative and knew what I liked. Care to try that wheel? Enough pressure disjoints a woman's pelvis like labor separation. Hurts a little, but you can fuck her with a cantaloupe when she's loosened up. You ever been married?"
"N-no," she whispered, fighting a faint.
"Virgin?"
She ignored her somehow squinching rectum. "Yes, I am!"
"Climb up here on my belly and let's see if you've lied!"
"Oh, God, no!"
He snapped his fingers. The two Spaniards seized her, lifted her and as Arden showed them with charades, they set her on his belly, her legs straddling, her bottom thrust almost to his face. They held her firmly though she squirmed and gasped and tried to wriggle away. Her own face was barely inches from his bandaged penis. She smelled his oily skin and felt his belly rumbling under her squashed out breasts and cringing belly. She tried to free her hands from their steel grip so she could tear like a frantic animal at the wounded penis. Then she was turned to stone as his hands grasped her bottom and two big thumbs pushed under to open her vagina. The grasp changed and a huge finger rubbed into the quaking lips. Trina twitched as her clitoris was flicked and pressed. Then another finger lay firmly to her anus.
"Trina, baby," his voice came heavily. "Who fucked you in the ass within the last day or so? Don't lie! I know a cock-sore asshole when I see one!"
"K-kill me," was all she could murmur.
"Who did it, Trina?" His voice came with more power.
"Let me up. I c-can't talk this w-way!"
He said something in sharp Spanish and the two pairs of hands instantly let go of her. She put her palms to the huge thighs, soft and warm under her hands, and pushed up, hiding her private parts as her bottom flattened on his rotund body. But his big hands, resting on her hips wouldn't let her scramble away. "All right, now. Winch one of my people hung it in your asshole, Trina?"
She twisted, meeting his eyes. "I don't know. I was tied hand and foot and thrown into a corner in Palma-on a dock or a waterfront warehouse. I never saw him. He nearly killed me!"
"Toro," he grunted as if to himself. "Did you like it at all?"
Quickly, she twisted back, afraid to show him the quick flush that rose from her suddenly pulsating breasts. "No! I hated it!"
He laughed, bumping her up and down. Suddenly he spun her and clamped her to him, her breasts deformed to his chest. His other hand went down, curled under her bottom and his sausage finger dug straight into her rectum. She screeched, tried to fight loose, then managed to get her legs straight and pressed together so her buttocks tightened in protest to the plunging digit. "You beast, you dirty, fiendish animal!" she wailed. "Oh, God, don't do that t-to me!"
He chuckled, his hot breath burning her face. The finger in her rectum pushed deeper, spreading and stretching the already anguished circlet. Moaning in mental as well as physical agony, she was forced to relax her buttocks and then his finger was in to the palm, and he held her close and began to work the cruel digit in and out. Sobbing in defeat, Trina lay heavily on him, and it didn't hurt so much when she let her legs fall slackly apart. She forgot about the Spaniards, and Gail as she fought to exist through the lewd torture Arden was putting her through. Then she discovered that he wasn't holding her so tight, and that she was beginning to squirm inside as his finger slipped in and out, generating a furious, not intolerable fire. She raised her head and he was looking right into her eyes. "All right?" he asked softly.
"Oh, goddamn, goddamn!" she murmured and as her resistance crumbled, she began to hunch hard on his finger, twisting to ease the ache in her belly. Her body slithered over his belly, her breasts skidded on his fat chest, sending crazy streaks of feeling through her. "No, no, no more, n-no more, please!" she pleaded, but she was unable to cease trying to screw herself harder on his finger.
"Give up, Trina," he said. "Damn that bitch! Just when a man needs a stiff cock, it's out of whack!"
Then she screamed again because a second huge finger had joined the first, forcing itself into the now sleek aperture until she could almost feel her rectum rip. He curled both fingers then, and she was sure he was going to tear through her bowel and penetrate her vagina from the inside. Only nothing tore and a subtle ecstasy made her pant with excitement. Abruptly, she wanted to put her open, saliva wet mouth to the fat white flesh of his shoulder and she did. Her tongue tasted a slight saltiness, and for no reason she could name, she sucked a dark red monkey-bite on the skin, and then another, all the while hunching and squirming as the climax built in her rectal cavity. She spread her legs, snugging her vagina hard to his bowl-belly, rubbing the throbbing lips, smearing sudden wetness on his skin. The finger speeded, pushed deeply.
"Now?" he asked.
"Oh, goddamnit, yes! Now, now-n-now, you dirty bastard!"
The pleasure became so excruciatingly wonderful she had to cry, shuddering on him as his finger expertly teased her to soothing.
"Toro knew what he was getting into, didn't he?"
Trina suddenly giggled, crazily. "Oh, I forgot! I hate you, don't I?"
He said something more in Spanish and she turned her head and watched the two men disappear through the big doors. Then she relaxed snuggling to the hot mountain of soft fat as if it were a feather bed.
Three hours before, she had been horribly shocked to learn that her young friend, the virginal and highly moral Gail had sucked this giant's penis. Trina wriggled. "Do it again, Kewpie," she breathed.
They brought food, the hunchback and the Negro. Gail dragged the soiled cot-pad up to cover her nakedness. The Negro slapped her and jerked the pad away.
"You don't act bad," the hunchback told her. "Goat stew. Eat it. One meal a day until the boss says different." He put the pottery dish on the bed and his hand jollied her left breast on the way back. Oddly, his touch did not disturb her. She was more afraid of the leering Negro, and as she tasted the sharply spiced stew with the wooden spoon, her mind played fearful tricks. She had seen him somewhere before, but her harassment and confusion wouldn't let her decide where. She wished she could understand Spanish; the two were talking and laughing and she felt very naked in front of them.
"I need something to drink," she said to the hunchback. "And I have to ... to go to the toilet!"
The ugly gnome related this to the Negro. They roared with some private joke. Head down so her stringy hair covered her flushed face, Gail ate the stew. She was hungry, and the warmth each bite added to her weary body was good. Rolling her eyes, she stared through the open door. A worn set of stone steps led upward. To freedom if she could generate the strength and speed to make a dash for it, or to some unknown terror, even worse than the naked misery of now. Desperation made her bold; she resolved to try another kind of escape.
"Are you going to ... to fornicate with me?" she asked the hunchback. "I mean, you did it yesterday and I feel fine!"
"Like Raphael's cock, huh?" he boasted. In Spanish, perhaps again to the black man. He laughed, then asked his squat friend a question. "Joven is jealous. Wants to know if you remember him giving you a good fuck or two yesterday." Stunned, Gail looked at the leering Negro, a small light dawning in her mind. The flashes of memory; a hunchback with a black skin, a smell she couldn't identify, a pain she did not understand. Then the desperation of her circumstances reminded her to react.
"Tell him I don't remember him at all," she said.
"Has he a big th-thing?"
More talk, more laughter and suddenly, she was looking at a huge black penis, standing out of the Negro's white duck pants like a club. Her eyes widened; the throb pumping the huge glans into super-hugeness was visible. It was longer than she remembered the hunchback's, but not as thick as the obese Jan Arden's organ. She shivered, horrified at the nearly certain fact that she had taken this monster into her nearly virginal body and could still walk. He took a step toward her. The sex smell was strong. It made her nostrils quiver and a strange tremble struck her belly. She reached out and laid her thumb on the top of the thick shank, her fingers curling under to press the pulsing tube on the underside. Then she put out her other hand and ran the fingers under the root until they found the black sac of testicles, covered sparsely with wiry curls.
"Maybe I remember a little bit," she murmured.
Something amusing was added to the translation. Then the hunchback opened his pants and took out his familiar penis. Gail marveled at the complete difference in their shapes. The Negro's was long and nearly the same size from root to glans. Raphael's was thick at the root and tapered out to its naked scarlet shank, capped by a blunt, big-eyed knob with the thin sharp ridge.
"Jack us off," Raphael snapped. "Both at the same time! You're just lucky the boss said to leave you alone or we'd both be in you at the same fucking time!"
A weird sickness caused Gail to shudder-both would be in her at the same time. She transferred one hand to Raphael's penis, again surprised that it was so hard while the Negro's organ was rubbery, like a hose filled with water. Awkwardly, she began to stroke the pair of lust-poles. They throbbed in her fingers, swelled and became frightening. "Too dry, bitch! Wet them with your mouth! Do it!"
Slowly, fighting the weakness in her spine, Gail put her lips to the more familiar penis. Raphael hunched, bruising her mouth as he sent three inches of his member into the gathering saliva. She rolled her lips, feeling the eye with her uncontrollable tongue. Then she reluctantly let it slip wetly away and as the saliva regathered, she leaned to the ugly black penis. It was cooler than the other, bigger, forcing her mouth open and her lips into a thin oval. He too hunched, popping the heavy coronal ridge past her lips. Again, the rolling and eye-touching. Her senses reeled with insane emotions.
What was she doing? Trying to please two hideous animals with lewd acts. Softening them to whatever opportunity they might afford her. Building their lust until they were off guard. To do what? She let the black penis fall away from her lips and resumed her hand stroking, instinctively using more pressure on the back stroke than on the return. The saliva helped. She let more gather in her tingling mouth. Now they were undulating and humping to accent her fondlings. Men, reduced to rooting animals by her inexpert touch, and perhaps, the lewd vista of a dirty, frightened and naked white woman exploiting their sex like a common prostitute. Like a common whore who was also entranced by the sight of two huge sex-snakes, responding in her hands almost to the point of bursting. They were panting now, thrusting harder.
What would she do when they climaxed? Both at once? She envisioned the flaring eyes, spitting furious sperm on her face and breasts, to run thickly down over her belly and if she aimed them right, both streams would trickle into the blonde hair and soak the fire in her vagina to failing coals. Don't think, Gail Brown. The moment to run for the door and the stairs will be the instant their evil lust bursts, turning them both into stuttering idiots. Now.
She hadn't expected Raphael to climax first. The hard discharge of yellow semen struck her full in the face, just below her nose. The heat and the smell were instantaneous. Then the black penis coughed and an even larger glob of sticky fluid hit her chin. She said, now, now, to herself and then the atrophy she had counted upon in the two men struck her. She wailed, her neck bowing with stiffness as the climax burst in her own belly. She grunted and gasped, and the spew of both men struck her face again and again. Her legs popped apart to let her vagina spasm and quake unhindered. The sperm dropped to her thudding breasts, formed a single stream and ran down her belly and into the blonde curls. It trickled into her vagina mouth, a cool stream now, and she hunched, trying to inhale the vile syrup with involuntary convulsions of her terribly empty vulva.
Defeated, Gail howled her anguish and fell over on the cot.
They muttered together, laughed shortly and made clothing sounds. Then she heard the clang of the door and the hard sound of a bolt shooting into place. She wept, not for what had just happened but for her foolishness in biting Jan Arden's penis. All she really wanted to do was to suck it and sit on it and fill her miserable body with his fat.
On the other hand, she'd kill him if she got the chance.
CHAPTER SEVEN
He sent Trina back to her apartment under guard at noon, to rest her passions and to get his mind back on business. For a half an hour, he dictated to the skull-wrapped Millburn, recovered but still wearing a bloody knot on his head. After that, Jan had comida-baked Spanish chicken and fried rice with wine gravy-and with these important matters taken care of, he thought about Gail Brown.
Give her to the peons as he had banished Tesia. Tie her between Raphael and Joven and tell them to kill her with cock. Have her strung on the wheel, or maybe the rack, or hang her from her heels in the over-head sling and pour her ass and her cunt full of hot beeswax. Bathe her and feed her and let her rest until his prick was healed enough to use in every hole she owned. When she learned to like it, roll over on her and burst her bladder; Fatty Ar-buckle her to death. This gave him some pleasure. He tested the head of his cock. It was sore, but he had a fantastic metabolism. Even his seizures were relaxing since he had been taking the anticipatory drug. He hadn't had one in two weeks. A dozen doctors had said incurable, but Jan had hopes. He wasn't an average man, nor was he planning to settle for average opinions. He peeled the bandage off his penis and inspected it. The wound seemed to be almost healed, though he knew that the swelling had much to do with closing the teeth marks. He'd wind up with a knot on the head, a built-in French tickler. The feeling was beginning to return.
He located Joven on the intercom and told him to come up and give him another shot-right after he got his nigger ass to the dungeon and turned Gail Brown over to Consuela and Hortensia for a bath and a rubdown and some rest on a good bed. Treat her like a queen and keep your black fingers out of her ass.
Then he settled back, thinking about Toro. He couldn't blame the seaman much for corn-holing Trina. The proper fucking position for a woman of her no-good-looks was bent over a barrel. She had a good ass and it responded. He looked down at his cock again. It was twitching and he cursed Joven's lethargy in coming to give him another shot. Heal, sweetheart, because before I put you in Trina's nice ass, I'm going to give you a shakedown cruise in her virgin pussy. Thirty-six and no cock. This got him to thinking about the idiotic academic world he had left many years ago. He kept perfectly abreast of political and financial trends in America, along with every other country in the world, but he spent little time philosophizing about the humanities. He wondered what kind of men in his deserted homeland would let an ass like Trina's wobble around without trying it. Then he changed thoughts as Joven entered the big room. In Spanish, he said, "Hurry up. It gets hard and I lose a drop of blood I'll have your black hide for a wall piece!"
"Yes, boss. She's being taken care of. That's a hot-blooded woman, Boss. She's coming around, too. Bad off as she was, she came on to Raphael and me like a bitch in heat when we fed her this morning."
Jan's eyes pinched almost closed. "Did you and that crookback fuck her?"
"No, boss. You said not to. Raise your legs, please."
Laboriously, Jan spread his tree-like thighs and raised them until the fat of his belly stopped the folding. His huge ass was a yard wide, massive moons of putty soft blubber. His cock hung out in a listless arc, his balls nested in the under fat of his perineum. His asshole was exposed, a huge rose, developed from years of passing the residue of his five-man appetite. He grunted at the folding. Joven carefully drew five cubic centimeters of the cocaine into the hypodermic body, squirted a single drop through the needle to dispel the probable bubble of trapped air, then wiped the round of fat with an alcohol pad. He plunged the needle in, then began the injection.
Jan felt nothing. He looked down at the burr-head, wondering what thoughts the mulatto had with his nose nearly shoved into his lord and master's massive ass. "You got a hard-on, Joven?"
The Negro looked up, his eyes wide with surprise. "No, boss."
Jan chuckled. "Losing your punch, eh? As they say in the Estados Unidos, back to the carwash, boy!" Jan dropped his legs to the Throne. "How did she come on to you and Raphael this morning?"
He knew Joven dared not lie because Raphael might tell the truth of the matter if asked, and no one in Castellon Vista knew exactly the position and power of the closed-circuit television-which was not wired into the dungeon.
"Jack-off, boss. She just sat there, hand-fucking us both at the same time, using spit to wet the slick. All the time she was staring from one prick to the other, and when we unloaded, she popped with us and she took our jism all over her face. I swear it, boss!"
Jan nodded and waved the blackamoor away. He looked down at his cock. It was surely dead, at least for the time being. But his mind was not and Joven had just given him the clue to enjoying Gail Brown, even though he couldn't fuck her for a while. He wondered if Trina had the guts to watch. It could be fun to find out.
She was, it seemed, the picture of total comfort: warm, fed, bathed and annointed and tucked into the big comfortable bed by the two Spanish attendants. In fact, she was more miserable now than she had been in the bare stone cell. Gail shuddered, trying to keep her hysteria under control. Her single solid conviction was that God had heard her plea; she was going to get another chance. Slowly she fought for clarity of mind. It was difficult because in the past forty-eight hours she had lived a horrible lifetime. More frightening, she had discovered some things about herself which kept her sick with dread.
What chance had she to fight back, to wreak some small measure of vengeance, to rise above the villain Arden and his sex-mad cohorts when her defiance consistently melted the moment they engaged her in any kind of sex? She ached with self-hate, revulsion flushed her freshly scrubbed body. Like the ripcord of a parachute. A man, no matter his ugliness, his filth and his immorality, could send her into quivering surrender by thrusting his sex up before her eyes. Even now, she was squirming inside with irrepressible memories. Her fingers remembered the feel of rampant flesh and her skin seemed incurably seared by the fire of sperm globs, hurtling at her from the exciting penile forms.
Logically, she argued with herself, she was not to blame. She had been forced to watch Trina being sodomized in the old warehouse. She had not sought out the voyeuristic moment. Further, she was young and innocent of mind and the impact of seeing that huge penis spread and deform and ram into the bent bottom might well have been too much, even for a seasoned woman of the world. Nor had she been able to avoid Raphael and his ruthless rape. He looked frail and deformed, but his arms were steel and his hands were like claws. His lust had been painful, irresistible, and she had been forced to accept it, anyway he chose to present it.
The ecstasy of sexual intercourse had inspired a thousand classics. Could she be held responsible if his plunging penis, his body and the animal of him had penetrated her defenses, battering her senses with unfair physical advantages?
The Negro, Joven, she was not sure about. Like now. Was she herself, trembling with these acute mnemonic thoughts, or was she under the influence of some insidious drug? In any case, she had barely recalled indefinite things that indicated she might have been at his mercy; the black skin, the smell, and of course, her very sore anus which had not been seriously molested by Raphael because of the buzzer.
Now she looked up at the picture frame. The red eye was no longer there. They had cleaned the lens. She hadn't the will to care. From beginning to end, they had dominated her and harassed her, stripped her of her dignity and consigned her to all manner of foulness. Jan Arden had admitted he had watched Raphael rape her and subject her to obscene acts. What new thing could he possibly see?
She thought about the giant man-The Kewpie. He had treated her like a common prostitute. Suck it. She shivered. Holding her by the hair, thrusting his fat groin forward, nearly stabbing her with his monstrous penis. There had been no choice but to do as he demanded. This made Gail cringe inside. The feel of his hot, blood-filled penis had unnerved her, startled her out of her moral fortress and hurled her back five thousand primitive years. Proof of her true character was that she had retaliated by biting him like a cornered rat, in defense, in retribution and in declaration of her real self.
And what she had done that morning, with Raphael and Joven had been done in the name of hope. Beaten, dirty, cold and helpless, she had yet been able to act with calm and purpose. It was not her fault if her frail body had defeated her by reacting to her deliberate ministrations to the hunchback and the Negro. Her unreasonable reactions only proved one thing. Sex was a powerful force, unpredictable and destructive, a force to be abhorred and evaded.
Now that she knew her own weakness in the face of lust, she could plan intelligently. Let them do what they chose with her. She would henceforth be prepared, strong, determined. Her task now was to get into the good graces of The Kewpie. Let him do what he would, demand what he could. She would be soft and subjective until her moment arrived. In her mind, she saw his huge naked body, jerking with an uncontrollable seizure, and she saw herself, nude, ravaged horribly, perhaps, rising above his helpless body, a thin steel something in her hand. One thrust. Jan Arden's death would make the world a better place and if she died for it, her life would not be uselessly forfeit. Somewhere in martyr's heaven she would embrace Avis Garden and tell her how she had helped destroy the evil man.
"Get up, bitch," the hunchback said from the door. "The boss wants you."
She stared. So deeply had her mind been swimming that she had not heard him enter, or the two blank-faced Spaniards behind him. These two moved in and Gail scuttled to the far side of the bed. They clambered after her, with grasping hands and they hurled her down on the bed so they could tie her wrists and ankles with the short hard cords they carried.
"What are you going to do to me?" she gasped. Raphael shrugged. The two men lifted her and carried her twisting, kicking body between them. Her breasts wobbled, shook, drew at her skin with their weight. A big hard hand gripped under her buttock to steady her. She heard Raphael scuffing along the corridor behind them. Calm, Gail, she told herself, because the ordeal has begun. They went through big doors and she saw the vaulted ceiling and the high, tapestry-hung walls. Turning her head, she saw the extent of the room. There was a great vacant space in the center of the room, the marble floor marred by only a single piece of furnishing. A square bed, with a velvet coverlet and four bedposts. The shape of the polished black wood sent chills through her. Each was carved in the precise image of a male penis. Above the bed dangled a peculiar cluster of harness, hanging from a small block and tackle in the central ceiling dome. The Spaniards hurled her on the bed then backed away. Gail twisted and there he was, seated pulpily on a grotesque chair that seemed to be an almost bed, a nearly desk and a frightening web for an over-weight pink spider. Then she saw Trina, bound into another chair, her mouth covered by a purple silk gag. There was another man to the left, dressed in conservative business clothes, a strange note among the naked and half-naked group. A dozen Spanish people, mostly men, huddled to the right. All were naked. Gail's jaw chattered, but no cry of terror came from her atrophied throat.
"Miss Brown, we meet again," The Kewpie rumbled. "I thought it time to entertain you properly in my hacienda, and perchance to suffer you the opportunity to return our hospitality. Some of these friends, you have met before-Raphael, Joven, Miss Salisman and myself, of course. The others are anxious to make your acquaintance. For instance, these shivering peons are from the farthest reaches of my estate. Among the seventy rancheros I employ, these possess the longest cocks and the sturdiest balls. The four women are known for their voracious adoration of the female cunt, one of which I presume you have? Yes. Millburn here, is my secretary. He is queer and so is in attendance only as a spectator and a connoisseur of orgy we're going to have an orgy, or hadn't you guessed?"
And now Gail felt the full impact of The Kewpie's evil. It seemed to settle around her like an enveloping blanket as she stared at the strange audience for her naked helplessness. Some of the peons were grinning; several held in carelessly caressive hands, the rigid, frightening organs they were noted for. The women were hideous, with wild eyes, over-developed breasts and bellies, low-grown with thick black hair. Speechless, she made a sympathetic sign to Trina. She was tied firmly into an upholstered chair, her naked body a lush symmetry of white against the red Moroccan leather. Trina squirmed, but the muffled sounds from her throat were lost in the veil of nasal breathing. Raphael and Joven she did not look at.
"You-you will go to Hell for this!" she hurled at Arden.
"Doll, I have held a mortgage on Hell for many years," he told her quietly. Then he snapped his fat fingers with a sharp crack, and the two half-naked men who had brought her to the loom leaped forward. She thought of struggling, then she remembered her determination to remain calm and await her opportunity. Shivering with dread, she was spreadeagled on the bed, her wrists and ankles strung to the phallic-formed bedposts. There were gasps and murmurs as her total nakedness was exposed to the assemblage. Involuntarily, she tugged at the bonds, giving her perfect legs and taut torso mobility. Then she relaxed, closing her eyes; shame was her only garment and humiliation her single emotion. Then hands stuffed and tucked a velvet pillow under her blonde head. As if to give her a perfect view of what was going to happen to her vulgarly displayed body. Through the valley of her breasts and over the flat of her belly, the fat fiend sat on the odd throne. He was not wearing a bandage where she had bitten him; he showed no penile passion and Gail spent a second in wondering. She wanted to spit at him, but her mouth was suddenly dry.
Abruptly, the lights dimmed drastically, but she seemed especially illuminated by hidden floods. Under the bright beam, she blinked and discovered that while they could see every exposed delight of her body, she could not see a single one of her audience. They were there because she could hear them murmuring and shuffling. And suddenly, one of the naked brown women appeared at her feet. She was large and heavily weighted with luxurious flesh. Her breasts were long and thick and tipped with fat nipples. She was pretty in a fierce way, her black, deeply set eyes flashing under heavy brows. She held a small gourd in her right hand and she scrubbed tenderly at her hairy crotch with the other. She just leaned forward tipped the gourd and a thin, viscous stream of amber oil poured down to Gail's belly. She flinched, but the oil was only warm. It spread swiftly, down into the soft pad of blonde pubic hair, over her sides to pool under her nates, and as the stream heavied, the woman moved it to cover Gail's breasts.
Then another woman appeared and still a third.
They ranged on either side and began to smear the oil over every inch of Gail's body. She shrieked as strong, knowing fingers worked the scented oil over and around her breasts, her waist and under the small of her back. And then from her quivering belly down, into the taut juncture of thighs and belly around the pelvic mound and finally, into the quaking mouth of her vagina. The fingers moved and massaged, spreading the thin lips, rolling the inner tissues, probing into her vulva and finally, trading touches as four fingers began to assault her clitoris.
"Ahh-no! No!" Gail pleaded. But the fingers paid no heed. Propped by the pillow, Gail stared down at the hands, shining with oil and digging into her body with deft, so very deft manipulations. She tried not to feel, but the slick pressures, the small flicking were acutely accurate. Then while one of the women continued to caress the now widely opened vagina, the other sent her fingers under Gail's bottom and smeared the oil over the taut nates and finally, between them. Gail arched up, not to aid, but to tighten her buttocks against the insistent invasion. The oil made the fingers irresistible. She hung her hips in a still vibration, whimpering and mewling and the fingers worked her anus into sleek helplessness. "No, no, no!" Gail yelled, but the woman's middle finger went screwing into her rectum, deep and squirming. Gail fell to the bed, panting with strain. She lay in flaccid trembling as they continued to oil and finger violate her private parts. Then abruptly, the hands were gone.
Gail opened her eyes. The fourth woman was there, a tall, rangy Spanish beauty of broad bony hips and small tight breasts. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bandana from under which a long thick braid of coal black hair hung down her bare back. But it was not the woman that frightened Gail. It was the unreasonable device strapped to her lean hips. It was a shiny black bull horn, nearly two feet long, fastened by the horn-butt to the rawhide belt she wore. It curved out and up, its point almost needle sharp. The woman settled the harness with long-nailed fingers. She knelt between Gail's out-strained legs, contemplating with evil eyes the oiled and opened vagina. Then she took firm grip of the deadly cuemo, twisted it and jerked. It came off like a spear sheath, and the ugly shape it had held was almost as terrifying to Gail as the horn had been. It was long, gray and tapered, and she was sure it had once belonged to some animal, a horse or a mule or perhaps the same bull that had provided the shiny horn-sheath. It was springy, and the skin was wrinkled as if mummified. There was a depression in the end, but it seemed withered closed. Gail moaned and the woman crouched, turning down so the stiffly fastened rod aimed precisely at the oiled and defenseless vagina.
It was cold and rough and it sent rasping sensations up her belly as it slipped in, easily at first but with some pain as the taper thickened. Now the woman was over Gail, her hard face drawn in some lewd exultation. Her breasts hung slightly, the nipples like blunt spear tips. Her muscular thighs snuggled between Gail's legs and with small, expertly twisted thrusts, the false penis went in until Gail shrieked with up-high pain and tried to shift her bottom away. It would perforate her abdomen, she was sure. It felt as if it had already nudged her stomach. She held her breath until her lungs were near to bursting. As she exhaled, the hard brown body began a slow undulation. And instantly the pain eased, another agony sent Gail into throes of excruciating hate. The wrinkled skin, rasping in and out of her sex-sleeve seemed to touch every nerve and excite every fiber of her body. She cried out in protest but the steady in and out persisted. The woman was grinning now, a leer of victory. Her head dropped and she nibbled hungrily, first at one of Gail's nipples and then at the other. The hot mouth was like puppy's, sucking, working, pinpointing the throbbing ache of the quivering globes.
"Oh, please, please," Gail murmured. "Not again! Not this time. No, no, I won't, I won't!"
"Pobrecita," the woman husked. "Abandona, querida mia!"
Without knowing she had been asked to surrender, Gail wilted. Instantly, the invader seemed to swell, to thicken and fill her suddenly eager vulva. Instead of arching against the plunging instrument, she hunched to it, and as her dizziness increased, she felt the deep gathering, the hesitating beast of lust that would soon spring forward and' consume the horn-like marvel. She wanted to raise her legs and kick them out but they could only struggle. She wanted to clasp her body to the lean brown one and form a meshing that would last forever. All she could do was lie and shudder with ecstasy and when the orgasm burst, she whimpered and stiffened to the ripples of delight.
"Enough, Malaguena," the Kewpie's rumble decided. "Termina!"
It slipped away and Gail would have cried her protest but she had some half-sensible idea that there was more to come. She needed strength now, to suffer the rest of the inhuman torture, whatever it might be. Take it all. As long as her flesh was able, show the massive ogre that she was game, even eager, so that when her total subjugation was accomplished, he might grant her some personal favor. Like sending them away so she could finish shredding herself with his lust. If she were compel ling, exquisite, he might have a seizure. The orgasm glow was fading; she opened her eyes.
He was not tall. His body was hardly more than a skeleton, with flat hard muscles pasted on his bones. He was shaggy, dirty, and a scar ran from the base of his throat to a hip bone. He seemed stooped, but perhaps it was only so he could curl his spine to give his long lean penis a further up-angling. She expelled a quavering cry of fear; the flaring glans was dotted with four or five or eight warts, dark brown lumps of callused looking gristle, giving the black-red fist the look of grievous disease. Now he stroked the tight foreskin and moved around. His head turned in fascinated terror as he knelt at her shoulder, his penis a threatening club over her face.
She had one intolerable flash-if his penis were diseased and it dripped, the evil fluid would drop on her cheek. She turned her head to the other side, and his grimy hand, malodorous with sex, turned it back. There was no drip. Hypnotized, Gail counted the warts. Three huge ones, four smaller ones. Like huddled flies on the pulsing flesh. He was still holding her head so when he scrooched and pressed his penis to her mouth, she went "Hmm-mm!" in protest. He suddenly seized her nose, squeezing it closed. Her mouth flew open for a desperate breath and the warted shape was abruptly filling her to the throat. He held her nose. She inhaled around the foul form, was forced to swallow before another breath, and with a gurgle of surrender, closed her lips around the shank behind the coronal rim. He let go of her nose, but his poised and ready fingers hovered, threatening her if she failed to keep his penis in her lips. Eyes closed to shut out his ugly face and scrawny body as she tested the warts with her tongue. They were hard, like pebbles glued to the throbbing, softer flesh. He was flexing his member. It pounded as the muscular tensing crept up to dissipate itself between the roof of her mouth and her pressing-up tongue. He began a slow sawing, hollowing her cheeks then distending them. She had one quick taste of the ooze now creeping up his urethral tube. His hands were on her breasts, squeezing, paining, but always milking them upward into final tingling. She knew what to do now. Simply lick and suck until his lust burst. She was becoming used to the warts, fond of one that seemed to twitch of its own accord. Then as she became aware of more weight on the bed, Gail opened her eyes, rolled them. Past the bony man, another was crawling between her legs. He was stouter, browner, and his penis was shaped like a lean fish, thick in the middle and small at the acorned end. She cried, "Not two!" but around the warted intruder it sounded like "Na-boo!"
Abruptly, the scrawny man threw one leg over her chest and cradled his testicles between her breasts. His penis plunged, causing her to cough and straighten her head. His dirty hands pressed to her cheeks, his thin bottom rasped on her chest as he began to undulate his thin hips. Then she felt the fish-shape. It pummeled, slipped on her oily skin then plunged into her helpless vagina. It was smooth and sleek, but the thickness of the shaft suddenly became impossible. She writhed and it was her undoing. The hot flesh shot in, snugged tight and high in her vulva. Hands slipped under her oily nates, lifting her bottom to the furious impalement. She tried not to feel the slow movement, the throbbing. She thought only about the warts, and she sucked furiously, hoping he might slap her. Instead, he howled a Spanish curse and rammed his penis to the back of her throat as his climax exploded. He fluttered, giving her breath room and swallowing space. The taste was strongly acrid, the sperm was thin and steady. He still held her head so she let him jerk his orgasm to the end, trying only not to drown nor think about the havoc in her vagina.
There were sounds, wet from her crotch, rumbling from the darkness back of the lighted area. The bony man unloaded, much as he might have from a pony. Where his thin chest had been was the face and shoulders of the man now rooting, grunting in her crotch. She lay listless, trying not to feel. A trickle of sperm ran from her slack lips and she deliberately tried not to focus her eyes. It was growing down there again. She could not control the workings of her secret muscles, gripping, releasing as the thick penis deformed her inner organs. It somehow felt different but it was going to be the same. She rolled her head, left, right, left again, fighting the weakness that was melting her intestines.
"Trina! Trina!" she suddenly screamed. "Oh, God, help me!"
There was suddenly another man astraddle her breasts, another hand, prying her mouth open, fol lowing the dirty fingers with the blunt hard-softness of a smelly penis. Didn't these Spaniards ever wash their privates? The fish was swimming upstream, nudging the sensitive end of her contracting vulva. There, there, and out to come there again, spreading, filling, sawing endlessly at the delighted places. Her jaw ached as she accommodated her mouth to the samely-different shape. She was going to climax. It was like fire, and she had to climax. Fuck, shit, jism, cunt and blow my ass out, peon.
Don't go. He's gone but it won't stop. Thump like a big heart, petrify my belly. Hungry belly. Needs filling so I can wrap around the filler and inhale its heat until I die. It isn't stopping. Another one, in, in, all the way. This one in my mouth is sweet. It throbs and twitches when I tongue the little jism slit. His testicles are heavy, like a rubber bag full of rubber balls. That's what they call them, isn't it? Balls. Nuts. Knock-up nubs. Suck it, bitch. It's coming up the tube. I'm still climaxing; it won't stop and it is hurting me now, like cramps only harder. Why is he still pumping in me? Can't he tell I'm climaxing? Swallow quickly because when it's all gone and is lying in a cool pool in my belly, maybe I'll quit climaxing. It's gone but I can't stop-not until that one down there quits ramming and ramming and ramming. Oh goddamnit, god-damnit.
At Jan's order, they released her hands and ankles. She did a spastic thing and rolled to one hip, drawing her legs up and curling her hands down.
Her body jerked, moans of pain blubbered from her come-filled mouth. Spasms of involuntary orgasm, triggered by her mind and established by four hard fucks and three deep sucks.
"Interesting," he said down to Trina. "Your friend has a marvelously responsive body. I'll remove your gag if you promise to be a smart bitch. One yell and you can take a chance or five on that bed!"
"You've killed her," was the first thing Trina spat at him.
"Now, now. Fucking never killed anybody. We'll let her rest a bit then change the modus operandi. So far, we've been very basic, I'd say. Your lovely friend is a most interesting subject for objective hedonism. How's your bung-hole, baby?"
"Jan, Jan, for God's sake! Don't you ever give a woman a chance. Poor Gail!" Her voice quavered. "My bung-hole as you call it is driving me crazy!"
Jan chuckled. He looked at Gail. The jerks were fading. He had once had a woman who had hung on his insatiable cock and had orgasm for an hour. He fondled his numb penis. Later, man, later.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The floor was very hard but delightfully cool. Gail lay there, letting her mind settle from its insane turning, feeling the return of strength and tingling blood to her arms and legs. Her skin was too warm because the coat of oil was heavy. She was sick at her stomach. How many? Three that she could remember. Her swollen lips moved in memory. How could a decent, moral and right-thinking woman like that clinging flavor?
What were they doing? She didn't want to move lest those agonizing convulsions should restart in her vagina. The battered organ, the raped secrecy, lay in her low torso like a worn out glove. With only one elastic finger-pocket into which all fingers were shoved. How could a decent, moral and right-thinking woman like to high-heaven the filthy intrusion of unfeeling maleness. She had lost count. Her belly twitched dangerously and she clamped her jaw. Flesh, swell, in, out, hot, spew, spurt, thump. No, no. She had to kill Jan Arden.
The hands were strange, slight, almost feminine. She opened her eyes. It was the nicely dressed man who seemed so out of place.
"Care for a drink, Miss Brown?" he asked in a modulated voice.
"Y-yes, thank you!" She took the glass. It was liquor, she was sure, but she had often heard it labeled liquid courage and she needed all she could get. It was cold and it was acrid, but it sent a strong shudder through her and burned delightfully in her stomach. He had nice skin and his hair was brushed neatly. His shirt was clean and he smelled of cologne. What really was a queer?
"Easy," he said. "That is deceptively powerful brandy, only moderately diluted with soda. How do you feel?"
"Sick. They are going to kill me, aren't they?
Those men!"
"No, I don't think so. Mister Arden seldom kills women."
"S-seldom?"
"Seldom. Why don't you sit on the bed? They moved you to the floor while they changed the coverlet. Let me help you."
He was not strong, but he was steady. She let him seat her on the bed and she saw that nothing had changed. The circle of light, the murmur of spectators, the ugly bed posts. She almost sneered. Wooden penises. Then she discovered that Her friend was slowly removing his nice suit and white shirt. He seemed preoccupied, as if what he did was of no interest to him. Alarmed, she watched his soft white body emerge from his clothing. She even marveled that she could sit and watch a man turn naked, and she looked at his unhairy belly and small, skin-wrapped penis with cool appraisal. Not in the same class with the fiends she had entertained. She wondered if he were going to rape her. His testicles were unobtrusive, nearly shriveled shapes in a slightly furred sack.
"Are you going to-to have me?"
"No, Miss Brown. I am going to be had!"
"W-what?"
And abruptly, one of her arch-enemies stepped into the light. It was Joven, naked, blacker than she remembered and so rampant his high, rigid penis seemed capable of tipping him forward. He had a pair of shiny handcuffs, and before she could protest, he had snapped one of the cuffs around her right wrist. The other, he leisurely looped to his left wrist.
"What's the m-meaning of this?" she asked the nude white man.
"It insures a captive audience, Miss Brown. I suggest you sit quietly and watch because there is no way to evade what is to follow. Joven?"
The Negro laughed and curled his free arm around the man's waist, dragging him closer and half pushing him to the bed. Like a trained animal, the man named Millburn went to his hands and knees on the bed, his feet hanging over the edge, his plump, bare bottom a full exposure of male secrets. His rectum was a small neat pucker, and from it ran down a seemingly soft muscle which enfolded his testicles then turned into the dangling finger of his penis. He put one hand to his groin and she watched as his fingers skinned his penis back and exposed the small scarlet head. It hung that way when he released it. He then ran the same hand around his buttock and one finger began to knead and press his rectum. He made no attempt to enter his anus, but it seemed obvious that he was massaging his flesh with some sort of anticipation. Gail shuddered, suddenly more alarmed than she could recall. The total lewdness of his calm acts, the brazen exposure of his most private parts was an obscene nightmare. And while he did these things, Joven stroked his mighty penis and gradually moved closer to the bended rump. Abruptly, Joven leaned over and his first and middle finger wiped up under Gail's oily breasts. She jerked but could not evade him. The cuffs bound them irrevocably together.
With no hesitation whatever, he thrust his two tip-oiled fingers into Millbum's rectum. The man's back raised a tense bow, but he did not jerk away or protest. With evident glee, Joven began to screw his big digits into the resistless anus, stretching the rubbery flesh, turning to loosen the inner circlet, then thrusting in and out as if to warn the flaccid behind of what was coming.
Gail stared, frozen with amazement at the lewd play. Her belly tightened, and her anus seemed to click closed in sympathy. She found that her mouth was open, her tongue suspended in inner space. Dryness began at her lips and went all the way back to her palate. Joven was moving forward now, his movements shaking her arm. His hand twisted and took hers. She was powerless to get it free.
Then he drew her close, and his hand wrapped hers around his penis. The hot thickness sent a new shuddering down her spine. His fingers, still plunging and stretching Millburn's rectum now withdrew a bit and curled, hooking upward, stretching the moist aperture into a long oval.
"Huh," Joven grunted. "Ponga me pequeha en elano!"
He hunched, kissing the taut circlet, now distorted with his hooking. Numbed with surprise, trembling with unnamed emotions, Gail steadied his penis and with no conscious intent, pulled the huge organ so the glans entered the rectal tunnel. Then her fingers flew open but the entry was made. Joven curled his free hand under Millburn's belly and did a massive thrusting. His black organ went slithering in, twisted and aided by his supple hips and his huge belly muscles. Gail's knees went abruptly limp and she sank to the bed, her knee against Millbum's bare, hairless calf. Joven stole a second to grin down at her, then he wriggled the rest of his penis in and in, until his belly flattened Millburn's buttocks and his testicles kissed the homosexual's puny, dangling genitals.
For an instant, Gail's mind reverted to the horrible memory of the dirty Spanish seaman and Trina's penetrated bottom; this was different, drastically more violent, insidiously more lewd. One man having brutal copulation with another. One huge and black and fierce, the other soft, white and passive. And eager, because as she stared, Millbum's hips began to describe small lascivious curlings to meet and complement the stroking Joven was beginning. The huge black pole turned the thinlipped rectum in, drug it out pinkly, then screwed white and black flesh together and in again. Joven's testicles swung in weighty waiting. Perspiration appeared on his belly, made the short, wiry curls glisten. Gail had only to move slightly to see another beginning drama. Joven's hand curled under Millburn fondling the white penis, now not quite as small and as fragile looking as it had been. The black fingers skinned the organ back, and the head was swelling, pushing forward from the shaft. Millburn's movements altered and he was undulating into the caressive grip. Gail squirmed, wanting to look away, she fought to do so. But it was impossible to ignore this raw obscenity, this brutal display of degradation. Her breasts jiggled tightly, and her nipples hardened. She felt the lips of her vagina stir. But the thrill was elsewhere, somewhere in Her backside, below where she believed her kidneys to be.
"Joven, Joven," she breathed. "Fuck him harder!"
To her knowledge, it was the second time she had ever spoken the foul word aloud and it shocked her with its vulgarity. But she feasted on the vulgarity and leaned closer to watch the incredible workings of the black flesh in the white, no, pink, slightly browning. She stilled, fighting the deep excitement in her torso. Then she gave a wailing cry and fell forward, her forehead coming to rest on the curve of Millburn's thigh. Joven's belly, pumping, bumped her head slightly. Her one free hand went up under Millbum and somehow displaced Joven's. She seized the stiffened organ, thrilling to the small rigidity, and to the pliable skin slipping in her fingers. She felt she had to help him, had to share his quickening passion. In blind abandonment, she felt it was she who was suffering the incredible reaming, that it was her penis that plunged in and out of the responsive bottom, that it was her sex, giving and receiving the exquisite sensations, now audible as both men tensed for a climax.
Gail screamed, reared back, her palm full of sticky, hot sperm from Millburn's jerking penis. Joven howled, grunted, rammed. Gail slipped off the bed, turned and curled over the firm mattress, rubbing and undulating her crotch into the cold cloth. It had started again, heavy thumping, twisting, trying to bite and inhale and she was sure it would never stop, couldn't stop. She smeared Millbum's discharge over her face. Fuck, shit, jism, asshole, cunt and don't stop.
"Trina, T-Trina!" she called. "I'm dying, d-dying!"
"Remarkable," The Kewpie's voice came. "No one wet a finger in her! What will she do when I really get her fucked?"
"The nigger," Trina hissed. "I need him!"
The Kewpie laughed in reckless bellowing. And took a no-fit pill.
The cuff was removed and her arm flung out parallel to the other. She lay half draped over the bed, her knees far apart, her bottom curled to keep the pressure on her spasmodically jumping vagina. Delectably dropped into delirium, she flattened her face to the coverlet and consigned all of her life to the sweet orgasms that rose and fell away like the restless ocean. Fluid ran from her vagina, hot high and cooling as it ran down her inner thighs to her knees. The floor was very hard on her kneecaps; the dull pain kept the thumping in tune. She wanted never to recover, but as the convulsing slacked, she began to think. He was defeating her; it seemed impossible but he apparently knew more about her than she herself. She opened her eyes. Joven was gone. Millbum was gone. She was alone in the light, left for some other diabolical scheme. It didn't matter, she thought, and she even relaxed, trying to guess what might come next. Wasn't this the plan she had made-to take everything, endure all and persevere until the insane fat man dropped his guard? Laboriously, she crawled up to lie flat on the bed. Why look? There was nothing, no one there. She was alone in a sex hell. The Kewpie's voice, Trina's voice, the murmurs and scuffling of sandaled feet, these were hallucinations. There was only Gail Brown, body. She had a stupid flash of humor. If she ever returned to the world, wouldn't some handsome young swain be surprised at all the things she knew how to do for him? No, never. If God saw her once out of this hell she would never think a sex thought for the rest of her life.
She lay quietly, saving her strength. What went on around her she could not tell. Her body was like a bruise or an itch between the toes. However much it pained to rub or scratch, rubbing and scratching was preferable to leaving the demand unanswered. She squirmed. There was more, she was sure. What was The Kewpie waiting for? Her flesh crawled as she imagined all sorts of fiendish preparations. There were still several peons that had not abused her and those who had were probably rested and ready for a second brutal time around. And there was Raphael, the hunchback, obviously a favorite of The Kewpie's. He spoke English, with an accent, admittedly, but she had been able to communicate with him. Or were they arranging some experiment that would intrigue their evil emotions even though it destroyed her flesh? Footsteps then.
She heard the soft hiss and didn't identify it until the lash cut across her back. Gail jerked and cried out, but a moment later, she flattened to the bed, strangely relaxed now that it had started again. The lash cut a different angle. It was a soft whip, and she realized that she wasn't being hurt. Slightly, perhaps, but mostly it was shock and the j strange agony of being whipped. She stirred her legs and the third stroke cut across her upturned nates. She moaned. Every nerve in her body seemed to flow toward the stinging line, concentrating her feelings exactly there. She thought of turning over, her breasts ached and the whip might change that. But she was very tired and instead of turning, she twisted, drawing herself into a womb-shape, her arms folded under her breasts, her legs drawn up to furnish the whip master her bended bottom. It came again, and the feathery thongs, soft silk, she thought, curled around her bottom and made tiny fire points. She curled tighter, abruptly pleased that this new mistreatment satisfied them and didn't hurt her at all. If anything, the slowly sue cessive blows were too far apart. The hiss and swish of the gentle whip became rhythmic and she began to meet the wandering strokes with a subtle bunching of her nerves. From neck to buttocks, and sometimes at a new and exciting angle across her tingling bottom. Tense, wait, tense, wait, and suddenly, Gail possessed a million nerves that' demanded this soft abuse. They screamed for the odd caress of the steady, innocuous whip and with a wild cry of hunger, she rolled and threw herself out flatly, arms akimbo, legs out as far as her half-sprung hip joints would permit. She lay, eyes closed, dry lips agape, awaiting the kiss of the delightful whip. She trembled and bunched her insides in anticipation; across her neglected breasts in her crotch, full in the face if they chose. Then it came.
But it was different, startlingly so. The whip seemed stiffer, the blow harder and the lash tips did not kiss, they stung. Her nerves leaped and she writhed with involuntary release. The second blow stripped across her breasts and she yelped in surprise as her nipples resented the raking thongs. Still, she lay in surrender, waiting for the softness, the caress. From directly between her legs the whip came down, laying a line from her vagina to her breasts. It was good. The tightness there seemed to spring loose and spread upward. Another blow, higher. Not there, not there, she pleaded. Down lower, where the fire bums gently. Ah, there, there. And before she could think of what she did, Gail raised her legs and veed them out so the whipmas-ter would be sure to strike the proper place.
Suddenly, it was all changed. Hands grasped her ankles, her wrists. She opened her eyes, rudely jerked back from the incredible paradise of half pain. The peons were holding her, their bodies braced, their groins sprouted with rigid penile forms, the smell of them crowding down on her flared nostrils. The whip master was Raphael. He was naked, his monstrous penis swaying and bobbing in stiffened threat. But he was not now holding the sweet lash. He held a peculiar looking paddle, made of several thickness of heavy leather, beautifully stitched around the edges. Even as she stared in instant terror, his long thin arm swung and the leather smacked brutally across her bottom. Gail screamed, her body described frenzied twistings to escape the deep pain that went straight up her body to her confused brain. Again the smack of the hard-swung paddle and again she screamed. The pain was insufferable, impossible to survive. The next blow nearly caused her to faint. She wailed and pleaded, her words sputtering from a bone dry throat. A terrible fear came over her; if he should happen to strike between her legs instead of across her nates, the horrible leather would smash and crush her vagina into a withered pulp. Her eyes widened, she watched the leather approach in its vicious arc. Her bottom moved to receive the blow on the full of her buttocks. The peons seemed not to care how she evaded or met the blow. They held her ankles high and far apart and her hands pinioned to the bed. Shift again, the agony pierced her flesh. She saw the redness deepen as the tiny blood-vessels on her rump were ruptured. She didn't think Raphael was hitting her as hard as be could. He seemed always to crouch because of his humped back, but his swing was lethargic.
"Raphael, please no-Ooh-oh, not again, not any more!"
Half of her pleadings were drowned by the whistle and smack of the paddle. Hanging on to her fading senses, Gail concentrated upon shifting her pummeled bottom to avoid the one blow she felt would be almost fatal. Raphael's face was drawn into a mask of hate.
"You're k-killing me!" she gasped, hoping her confession would ease his vitriol. She took another blow and discovered that it hurt less because her buttocks were numbing.
Stop now, Raphael. Put down that cruel paddle and vent your hate of me by ramming that ugly penis into me, wherever you want, everywhere. No, Raphael, not another blow. Your penis, Raphael, your penis!
And as the unspoken words rolled in her brain, Gail felt the terrible knotting, the hated bunching in her belly. She took another blow, praying that it would hurt so deeply, so terribly that the burning desire would go away. There was no pain, only the hard jolt and the deadly sound of leather on flesh. She wailed, and when the paddle swung again, she jerked her legs and raised her bottom, as open as she could manage in the peons' grasp. The paddle struck, but it was limber enough to bend and the leather smashed to her vagina with a sickening, squishing sound.
The Kewpie boomed something in Spanish. The peons let go of her. Like a hail-hammered flower, her body crumpled to the bed, her legs suddenly stiff with spasmodic tensing. The thudding convulsed her belly, her vagina seemed crushed but defiant, eager to turn inside out, to gulp and quake and throb with uncontrollable frenzy. The orgasm was more painful than Gail could stand, but she stood it, gasping, mewling and mixing ecstasy with pain until her senses reeled.
When the ecstasy faded, the pain took over. Her hands moved sluggishly to her bottom as she rolled. She could feel the welts, and the slight moistness of blood. Instantly her mind assessed her wounding from the merciless paddle, the orgasm returned, a flesh-torturing ripple following ripple that shredded her insides. As it finally faded, she urinated, burning her thighs and lacerated flesh with heat and acid. Even this pain revived the twitching and Gail lay, moaning and whimpering as her body took its toll of her melted brain.
A bit later, she decided she was horribly bruised, but not as bloody as she had thought. The oil spread on her body by the women had helped her physically. Nothing could ever salvage her mind.
Jan dismissed Millbum and ordered Raphael and Joven to send the peons to their huts. He was tired, but not from boredom nor physical effort. He was tired from watching the destruction of Gail, or, if he truly analyzed it, her birth as a woman of sexual excellence. He looked at her, lying on the bed, apparently devastated. He fondled his cock, trying to test its returning life and the degree of its healing. Then he looked down at Trina. She was slumped in the chair, her chin down. Her big tits rose and fell with her breathing and she had managed to work her ankle bonds enough to get her legs slightly apart. He grinned. He had heard her several times, grunting, gasping and whimpering as she had watched her friend undergo the extremes of sex.
Gail had surprised him, tested his ability to play God to her strangely receptive sensuality. He understood her now. She was a woman whose sense of morality was unbending, even though it was founded on impersonal learnings. Unbending, that was, until sight or sound or touch triggered her primitive instincts. Once penetrated, her libido ran away like a bee-stung horse.
Horse? Jan petted his cock. He felt of the bite, testing it for weakness. Not yet, he was sure. Hard, his prick swelled in all dimensions, and the stress would surely split the meager healing. He cursed, then looked out at the body on the bed. Had she once during the past two hours cried out for mercy to him, or even acknowledged his presence? No. Did she blame her ordeals upon his vengeance or did she simply believe she was experiencing Castellon Vista's normal hospitality? He didn't know, but quickly realized there was an entire realm of exciting objectives he could yet pursue. But not until his prick was more serviceable than it was.
"Raphael. Take both women back to their quarters. See that the blonde one is properly taken care of. I don't want that pretty ass to be permanently marked, understand?"
"Yes, boss. I laid it on her good, didn't I?"
"Uh," Jan grunted and closed his eyes. He was almost asleep before the Throne room was emptied.
She didn't care until the big gentle hands began to spread the cooling salve on her aching bottom. She was lying on her stomach, her breasts squashed out to either side, her arms folded under her tear-stained face. A quick look told her she was back in the familiar bedroom, stretched out on the bed she had grown to appreciate. Inside, her nerves sang with victory. She had endured, persevered, and they had grown tired of torturing her. The hands were strong; one of the Spanish maids was soothing her flesh with tender care. The salve seemed to soak out the soreness. She moved her feet apart as the fingers molded and kneaded the cheeks of her bottom into separation and massaged into the deeply bruised crevice. It was intimate and nerve-tingling, but she was past modesty or indignance. Now the hands were massaging down her thighs, easing the muscles, petting the skin. To the calves now and then to her feet. With nearly professional adeptness, the fingers drew weariness from her legs by manipulating her feet. Then a hand patted her improving bottom and she recognized it as a request to turn over. Warm with relief, she rolled.
"Raphael!" she gasped.
"I did it, I figured I'd better fix it," he said gruffly. Then he scooped salve from the wide-mouth pottery jar and with no hesitation pressed the cooling substance to her belly. One sleek hand went to her breasts and the other to her low abdomen. Shocked past protest, Gail lay, half breathing while the ugly hunchback coated her body with the balm. She winced when he rolled her breasts and greased the nipples, but he did it as he were unaware that the flesh was more than a leg of lamb being pre-basted for baking.
"Good salve," he said after a minute. "My mother used to use it on me when I was a little kid. My back always hurt. My father was a Basque sheep-herder. This is made out of the oil of wool and goose fat. Feel good?"
"You nearly killed me with that leather thing," she murmured.
Instantly, his right hand slicked down and curled around her vagina, the fingers molding the bruised and swollen lips. Gail drew her legs together in protest and her hand went to his lean forearm to drag his hand away. It didn't drag. The fingers seemed uncannily able to massage without irritating, to mold without exciting. She turned her head. It was there, a long ridge of pressure in his white trouser leg. She knew he was physically excited at least, even though he made no outward sign. She looked at his face. The usual leer, the hardness of hate was absent. He seemed just like a stolid peon, doing a job somebody had given him to do. Had the fat beast told him to ease her agonies or was he doing this for some personal reason?
"That's enough-there," she murmured, again closing her legs. "Couldn't he have sent one of the maids to help me?"
Raphael straightened up to his limit, washing his hands with the residual salve, and, she observed, with the moisture from her vagina his deep massage had collected. Standing so, his penis was completely obvious in the pants leg. Gail covered her greased down pubic hair and laid her other forearm across her breasts. She was still afraid of him although her fear was merely another one she could endure. There was hardly anything else to do.
"I think he almost went too far with you," Raphael said. "Maybe it was because he couldn't do anything with you himself. You bit him pretty bad, and he was full of pain-killer. Sometimes a head is worse than a stiff prick. You hate me, don't you?"
It surprised her. "I ... I guess so," she admitted. "At least, you terrify me. You raped me, remember?"
He grinned, exposing his bad teeth and his overly red inner lip edges. "I sure do! But you went for it after a little while!"
She blushed and turned her head away. From some suspended place, she suddenly looked down. Gail Brown, lying naked under the eyes of an admitted rapist, discussing his memories and her reactions. Her vagina still purred under his soothing touch and her pounded bottom was softly content. She thought about him as a boy with a back that hurt constantly and a mother who anointed it with devotion. He was ugly, deformed and intrinsically evil, the willing servant of a man so depraved he drew no lines, from Lesbian women with strapped-on phalli to the sodomization of his personal secretary. Gail trembled. Spain was a long, long way from America; it was closer to the end of the world. She felt terribly alone, deserted, condemned.
Without even knowing what she did, she bent her arm at the elbow, bringing her hand up until the timid fingers found the long hard bulge in his pants. Then she knew what she was doing, pressing, testing the frightening organ whose throb came through the cloth with no uncertain beat. She remembered how it looked; like the trunk of a small elephant that some cruel trainer had stiffened with a rod of steel. Only it had only one nostril instead of two and toward the end, the shank was sleekly scarlet. Gail moaned in private agony. She was doomed, degraded, dedicated to a life of personal shame and irrevocable memories. God had deserted her and the childish plans she had made were patently foolish. In the past forty-eight hours, every one had done everything to her they could invent. The end was obvious, but before it came, she wanted fulfillment, the incredible and delightful experience of sex without force, passion without hate. Her face turned to him.
Had he been a handsome man, with poise and intellect and a developed sense of sophistication, she could not have spoken. But Raphael, the hunchback son of a Basque sheep-herder was somehow real, if impersonal. He hadn't counted yesterday, nor today, and tomorrow he would be only a memory. But please, God, it has to be a nice remembering. She increased her finger pressure.
"Fuck me, Raphael," she whispered. "Gently, completely, with all the strength and tenderness you can give me! I need to feel, to live, to remember! Fuck me. I promise to love you as long and as madly as you can stand it. Get naked, Raphael, and come to me!"
He stmck her hand away from his penis. The hardness came back to his face and he sneered down at her blushing shame. Then he looked up at the picture frame where the lens reflected a spot of light. He laughed, a guttural snarl of victory.
"You pig-sucking whore," he said. "Just what every gringa slut needs-a Basque hunchback for a house pet! The boss was right. You couldn't pray at Christ's knee without reaching for his prick!"
When he was gone, she lay weeping, truly devastated.
CHAPTER NINE
The cramp and bloodlessness soon left her wrists and ankles and Trina was more miserable than ever. She lay on her bed, writhing with inner need, her mind revolving around the past two hours of tortures in an endless motion picture. She wasn't sure that she had suffered less than Gail, though that thought she labeled self-pity. If Gail lived until morning it would be a miracle. The only sexual act she hadn't suffered was sodomy, and it was the one form of sexuality Trina thought she understood. One more form. Voyeurism, the vicarious indulgence without participation. How many times she'd had orgasm she did not know. Counting was useless, impractical. She had been tied with barely space to squirm, only a few feet from The Kewpie and his sausage fingers and his useless penis. She had smelled him sweating, the oily musk of glandular agitation. She had been within grasping distance of endless men, with lust stiffening them up in eager rampancy, only she had not been able to grasp.
Now she huddled in bed, fighting the after-shock. She didn't really want to be raped or assaulted. It was just that for two hours, no hate, no disgust, no amount of revulsion could generate the power to still the burning emptiness, the raging nerves in her sex parts.
Removed from the orgy, her mind refused to relinquish its images, but another emotion was gradually taking over. Fear, total terror. Millburn had been right. The Kewpie was insane. She recalled the fairy secretary's words-you will be sold to a Gibraltar whoremaster, the Jefe de Policia. When you are through here, you will not care to escape. Trina shuddered. If Gail escaped, what was left of life for her? There were some things no woman could forget, and there were even more things that no amount of sophistication could ignore. And God knew that Gail Brown had never been very sophisticated.
And what about you. Trina Salisman? That her turn was coming she was certain. She had lain on The Kewpie's belly while his big finger had turned her into quivering, climaxing jelly, his laughter bubbling in rhythm to his coursing in her rectum. But it hadn't been tender laughter or shareable mirth. He had been enjoying her ecstasy with a cold sadism that could never turn to affection. That she had escaped Gail's violent degradation was easy to explain. The Kewpie had told her; wait until I can get in that nice ass properly. In the meantime, watch how a fat God wreaks his vengeance on a stupid cunt.
But even that hadn't been entirely true, Trina thought. At some stage in Gail's involute spiraling into destruction, The Kewpie had been busy giving orders, specific orders that changed the raw impalement of Gail with horn and penis, into a more subtle, cruelly inspired torture. The body was one thing, a shape of flesh and bone and blood that would heal and stretch and rebound, no matter its abuse. But the mind was less elastic, less pliable. She had seen Gail spin from revulsion to vicious passion and have orgasm after orgasm without a single physical aid. She had heard her poor friend's cry for help, uttered ten seconds before her mind plunged irrevocably into the pool of mental orgy.
Trina sat up and snapped on the light. She went into the bathroom and climbed up on the marble Pullman surrounding the big washbasin. By drawing her legs up close and turning, she could look directly into her virginal vagina and see the slightly swollen ring of her anus under the hair-shrouded slit. Open slit, showing the pink inner wetness and the naturally perforated membrane of her virginity. She thrust her finger in the orifice and deliberately tore it, gasping at the pain, fascinated by the quickly bloody rip. Her mind envisioned the amount of pressure a man would have had to use in thrusting a stiff penis through the thirty-six year old membrane. She winced, but in the next second, she felt the spreading, filling surge. Stop that, Trina. That was probably Gail's trouble, thinking too much, imagining sensations, relief's and thrills until her secret sex burst all normal bonds.
Then she felt a little silly, staring at her voluptuous underbody, blotting the slowing flow of virginal blood with a tissue. She tucked a leaf or two of toilet paper into her vagina and went back to bed, trembling with confusion over what she had done. She thought less hopelessly about Gail. Men were foul with lust, but a woman possessed some inner weakness that could damn them into abandonment. Like The Kewpie and his big middle finger. He had laughed and stuck it up her rectum, as if playing some private game, but it had shattered her into fragments, none of which even resembled her former self. It had probably always been there, susceptible to agitation. She cursed the dirty Spanish seaman who had shown her what a rectum was really for. The memory, more than she had related to Gail, caused Trina's body to break a clammy perspiration. The books said a woman needed tender preparation, love-play, hugs and kisses and an ascending excitement.
She had been lying there, cramped, uncomfortable and worried half to death. There had been less than ten seconds of warning, the seaman's dirty hands, his ruthless fingers. Then ten seconds of the nudge, the spread, the pressure, and by the time he had rammed, she had been so ready she could have screamed. It had hurt, terribly, but it had seemed natural to hurt and now she withered sweetly within as she relived the deep plunging, the bludgeoning search. The eternal psychology of the female, a receptacle for men's lust, and above all the inherent desire to be filled and dominated.
Go to sleep, you fucking cunt, presently schoolteacher.
It didn't break open. Jan sat, slowly stroking his first hard-on in two and a half days. It had pained at first, but now it only itched. He touched the closed wounds, proud of his mighty powers of recovery. On the other hand, why not? A man's prick was always a constantly warm thing, with a persistent supply of blood to furnish new cells and corrective tissue. And down below, half buried in the fat, were his balls, the source of all male strength. The console buzzed and he let go of his penis to attend to business. Patience, dear thing. Another hour or two, perhaps three while I make another quarter million dollars, and you'll be stronger and better able to work my will.
She hadn't dared to hope it would last, but she had not only recovered her physical strength, Gail had reorganized her mind in the day and a half they had let her alone. Now she looked at the snarling Raphael, hardly able to remember the horrible plea she had made to him. She really felt no guilt about any of it. She had been at a low ebb, her mind and body so horribly jumbled she had not been able to separate sensation from emotion. She drew her robe close around her rejuvenated body and walked toward the door. When his hand closed around her wrist, she jerked it away with surprising strength.
"I'm able to walk. I know where I'm going," she said haughtily. "Keep your filthy hands off of me, hunchback!"
"All right, bitch. But don't try tricks. And I'll keep my filthy hands off you-until I get my prick up your ass and you cry to be milked like the fucking cow you are!"
"Well, I'd say you were built right to milk a tall cow," she said, instantly sorry for her own vulgarity but pleased by the pain her insult brought to his face. He followed her into the corridor but took the lead as they approached the two big doors to the Throne room.
She had a flash of exuberance when she saw that the place was deserted except for the mountain of naked flesh in the ridiculous chair. Even the big wooden wheel and the gruesome rack didn't frighten her. She controlled her nerve and walked directly to the Throne, noting that Raphael remained in the room but in the offing.
"Thought I ought to congratulate you, Miss Brown," Arden rumbled, shaking his gigantic penis at her. "A clean mouth is a healthy mouth. Your venom evidently has healing powers. How do you feel?"
"I do not feel," she said coldly. "All day yesterday I filed my teeth with a nailfile. Care for another Purple Heart? Or don't you get medals in your war on decency?"
The fat pods over his eyes raised. "That's pretty good. I would guess that we are feeding you too well. Why don't you sit here beside me and we'll talk. There's plenty of room. I once had four lush women on this contraption with me. Climb right up. Now!"
Already certain that refusal would mean power, she moved forward and stepped up, twisting to sit back with a foot of soft upholstery between. Instantly, she smelled his oily skin, and when she settled back in objectionable comfort, he chuckled.
"Changes your outlook of the world up here, doesn't it? Oh. You don't mind if I fondle my cock, do you? I do it often, especially when I require deep concentration. Soothing pacifier, I suppose."
Steeling herself, she looked down at the monstrous organ, standing stiffly in his fat fingers. She remembered every detail, the thin skin, the startling change of color from stark white to obscene pink. She could see the pulsing veins and the ring of scars from his circumcision. And the two closed wounds her teeth had left. She also remembered a taste and she fought the urge to work her mouth. He was very, very naked and she almost envied his lewd poise.
"You weren't very nice to me the other day," she said.
"Dear me, and I would have sworn you were delighted, at least at unpredictable intervals. Never mind. Tonight I have a kinder attitude. As your host, I have planned a more enjoyable occasion, one in which you will be privileged to be a spectator. You will not be touched, Miss Brown, unless of course, you care to join the performance. Your every wish will be honored, up to a non-critical point, at least."
"P-performance?"
"Yes. And you will get an opportunity to refresh your friendship with Miss Salisman. She will be here presently. Raphael! Will you see if Miss Salisman is ready to join our little party?"
"How do you tolerate that imbecile?" Gail demanded.
"Tut-tut! Well, first, he talks my native language. I am an American, at least, a renegade American. And he fucks beautifully, as you must recall! Further, we both have physical handicaps which make us compatible. With that, he is the meanest son-of-a-bitch I have ever known. Or had you forgotten?"
"That's rather childish, isn't it?" she asked, nodding to his casual, manipulating fingers. "Psychologists think so, anyway."
"I am sure your knowledge of the libido is superior to mine," he said in a tone that made chills run up and down her hot spine. "Ah, Miss Salisman has arrived."
Gail sat forward eagerly. Then as she saw Trina coming across the polished floor, she stiffened with alarm. She had no way of knowing what her friend had gone through in the past few days, but as she stared, she quivered with apprehension. Trina was stark naked. Her white body jiggled and rolled with lustily implied sensuality. She was oiled to gleaming and her hair was swirled up under a scarlet head scarf, gypsy fashion. She was smoking, the cigarette was clutched in her right hand, between her fourth and small finger. Gail had never seen Trina with a cigarette before. Now she put her hand to her mouth, cupped. She inhaled through the circle formed by her thumb and first finger. The cigarette quit wisping smoke. Then, with lewdly ovaled lips, Trina blew the strong white smoke from the very bottom of her lungs. She didn't cough. She merely came over and climbed up on the other side of The Kewpie.
"Trina? Trina, how are you?" Then to follow a feeling, Gail added, "Trina! It's Gail!"
"I know who you are," Trina replied with a flat voice. "You been climbing on my Kewpie? Well, don't! He's been a year getting over the last chomping you gave him."
"A y-year?" Gail gasped, looking from her strangely altered friend to Arden. "What's the matter with her, you ... you fiend!"
He chuckled. "Nothing is wrong with Trina. But Spanish hashish has peculiar effects when properly smoked. It is the parent plant of North American marijuana. It is a time inhibitor and possesses some other interesting characteristics. Particularly if one eats a gram or two of opium every five or six hours. Non-habit forming in the initial stages, but effective-especially for parties like we are having. We are having a party, aren't we, Trina?"
"Wild, Kewpie," she replied, very unwild. "How's my little old turd-tamper?"
"I've bathed since this afternoon," he told her. "Would you like to kiss it and play with it a little?" She tossed the short cigarette butt to the spotless floor. Then Trina leaned over the fat, out-pushed thigh and took the head of his penis in her lips. She did it with a movement that made the huge man go, "Ho-ho!" Then he dropped his massive arm down her back and curled his ham-hand under her prominently bowed bottom.
Gail almost screamed. She fought for her evaporating calm, staring at the ugly drama happening right before her eyes. She saw how Trina's big breast pillowed out over The Kewpie's thigh and she saw how her fingers caressed the wrist-thick penis upon which she nibbled so tenderly. The shudder coursing up and down Gail's body began to slow and concentrate and she was suddenly sweating between her trembling legs. Arden looked at her, smiling like an ape.
"Remarkable, isn't it? Well, that's exactly what she thought the other evening when her staid and dignified friend jacked off a homosexual while he was being sodomized by a buck nigger. I am always amazed at the chameleon qualities of the female. Easy there, Trina baby. The healing places are tender! Lick my belly a bit."
Like a mother cat, Trina shifted her face to his bowl and began to wash its pulpy shape. It was then that Gail guessed what his curled under hand was doing between the cheeks of Trina's bottom.
Dizziness then, followed by the deep inner sickness, the tight clutching of secret muscles and electrified nerves. Gail clenched her fists and leaned back, determined to keep firm hold of herself.
"I ... I'd like to go back to my rooms," she murmured.
"Oh, now! After all the plans we've made to entertain you! And you and Trina have hardly talked. Be patient. The hashish will wear off presently and she will be more talkative. At the moment, she wants only to be fucked, don't you, cunt?"
Trina laughed and smeared her saliva-flowing mouth up his belly to the valley between his nearly feminine breasts. He closed her to him and pressed his legs together, his throbbing penis standing up from the fat shapes a full eight or nine inches. With a gurgling cry of eagerness, Trina straddled his ponderous body, her curved bottom hanging, bouncing above his organ with obscene excitement.
An irresistible memory attacked Gail. She leaned forward, her head turning so she could look under her friend's bottom to where the gigantic penis was just fitting into the wide-open nest of Trina's vagina. While Gail stared, fighting herself, Trina yelped and screwed her voluptuous body down, gasping happily as the massive club stubbed in and in. Her belly smacked on his as the filling enlivened her. Stunned, Gail fell back, panting unreasonably as she watched the obese man buck up in blubbery hunching while Trina writhed and humped, her glee an obscene cacophony of saliva and pursed lips under his third chin. The Kewpie's big hands were now broadly gripped around Trina's nates, and he was rolling and grinding her to him with great power. Her nails bit into the palms of Gail's hands. Her teeth grated. She squinched everything fiercely and the knot continued to bunch in her vulva. She closed her eyes but the slosh-slosh of the big penis undulating in Trina was as graphic as the sight could be.
"No, no," Gail murmured. "I can't, I must not!"
The Kewpie chuckled. She opened her eyes and he was looking at her, his eyes sparkling with evil. Then the fat pods over his eyes raised and his mouth went slack. The power of his orgasm made Trina bounce and a moment later she was fluttering on his fat like a dancing monkey.
"Diddle, diddle, diddle, daddy!" she screeched, then went deadly serious as she beat her bottom down like a trip-hammer. Gail wailed, but she was unable to take her eyes from the lewd debacle. The smell of Trina's churned sex was like an anesthetic. Or a pep pill. Gail wanted desperately to urinate. Now another odor came, the hateful, familiar smell of a man's sperm. The Kewpie's, drooling down around his buried penis wetting Trina's pubic hair and trickling thickly to the press of his thighs. Gail could see it, forming a small pool of gray white before it seeped through to the chair below.
"You-you animal!" she managed to hurl at him. "Bitch!"
"What's bugging you, Gail, honey?" Trina asked. "Don't you know there's some things a woman can't help?"
"He's drugged you!"
Trina looked blank, her face abruptly a mask of intensity. The Kewpie's big hand was again curled under her bottom and Gail could interpret the rhythmic digging, the adept twisting. Sweat broke anew on her forehead as Trina began to snuggle and undulate to the finger in her rectum. After a moment, she began to inch up and Gail saw the still rigid length of Arden's penis slip wetly from the no longer interested vagina. It popped free, stood wavering for a moment, then Trina reached back and gripped its slippery girth. She led it up to her rectum, quickly deserted by The Kewpie's finger, and with a shriek of pleasure and a furious down-screwing, the wounded glans nudged in and disappeared in the rubbery aperture.
"Ah-ahh!" Trina breathed and her greed for the remaining inches of the ruthless club was terrifying to witness. His penis, slick from her vagina juices and his own copious sperm, oozed in without a hesitation. Stunned by the pure obscenity, Gail's finish came like a runaway locomotive. She screamed her protest, even as her vagina collapsed, each wall of tissue kissing the other as her clitoris raged with spastic jerking.
Gone then, she lay back, humping, her eyes eagerly devouring the foul meshing she had previously hated. Her hands rolled and massaged her breasts, her throat gulped in sympathetic memory. Her right hand shot out and under, the fingers delighting in the feel of the pulsating penis in the convulsing rectum.
"Ah, a volunteer!" The Kewpie laughed. His hand came out, turned and gripped Gail's belly flesh with painful power, as if to feel her orgasm through the jerking muscles of her torso. She wailed and groaned, feeling the agony feed her climax with fiery fuel. When it was all over, she was lying close to the fat mountain, held securely by his encircling arm. And she only sighed when she realized his sausage finger was curled under her bottom and was buried knuckle-deep in her delighted rectum.
He rolled her over and raised the robe. Her body seemed limp, but when he too rolled and stuffed his prick into her quaking cunt, he felt her come to life inside. He grunted and fucked, the position difficult for his bulk. The head of his cock seemed insatiable, his strength equal to his mass. Trina was slithering and mewling over his back, her hands caressing every roll of fat, every crease and valley. He couldn't lay close to Gail because his cock had to go in and in and his belly was so huge it forced his shoulders back. But he found her tits and their hardness gave him new lust. He milked them and squeezed them and presently her hands came up in silent pleading. He released a tit and she dragged his hand up to press her mouth to his palm. Cunt gone crazy. He promptly shifted, dragging his prick from her back, squirming. She had bitten his cock half in two. She had to hurt before she could enjoy. His penis seemed harder than he could ever remember and he held her hips and shoved his lust into her asshole without even giving her a chance to cry out. She bucked, she twisted and he drove it up and in with gleeful cruelty. Then she folded, thrusting her ass back and he began to fuck her hard and deep. He felt her climax and he lost count, his own come, his third, building with increasing intensity. These moments pleased him mightily. The sweating, the pushing, the stroking while his mind separated from his flesh and his solitary world appeared in living color. Money, lust, hate and domination. A lonely man, really, feeding upon the misery of incompetent bankers, fragile women and awe-stricken servants. A destroyer, building nothing but his own glory and answering to no man. She was coming again. Or had she ever stopped? Nerves like harp strings. Release the dampening pedal and pluck the bass, then listen to the reverberations of the tone field. He chuckled deep in his straining belly. Jefe Garcia Mendoza would have trouble with this one. Any dirty Arab or clapped-up Algerian could send her into spasms of come for a hundred pesetas. Jan quieted as his sperm leaped through the super-sensitive head of his prick. Grease her bowel. Soak it in Arden jism. He had lots of it. He was a very strong man, a real stud, a cock with three balls, two small ones and a third that weighed four hundred pounds. He raised his arm and captured Trina's head. Her tongue licked his hairless armpit. Wash me, school marm.
Five hundred dollars he had never spent so well. Milk it, Gail.
Later when he let them go to the bathroom, with Raphael standing guard outside the door, Gail thought they were making progress. Trina seemed to be well out of the drugged daze. They embraced and did some small weeping, both murmuring incoherently because of their mental and physical shock. Then assembling her scattered wits, Gail put her mouth close to Trina's ear and told her about the message on the dungeon wall.
"Avis Garden!" Trina panted. "My God, he doesn't draw the line at anything or anyone, does he. Oh, Gail, what can we do?"
"What we're doing, I guess," she replied helplessly. "As long as we pretend to be eager and anxious for his-his filthy sex, he'll keep us around."
Trina dropped her unpretty face into her hands. "Gail, I ... I wasn't always pretending!"
Gail felt terribly sorry for her friend and the murmured confession. "Well, I guess I lost control a time or two," she conceded.
She took one of Trina's hands and their fingers clamped in understanding. Past her objective, the end of The Kewpie, she didn't know how she felt about anything. Her rectum ached from gigantic stretching. Her vagina felt as slack and lifeless as a wet sack. The feel of his fat fingers, squeezing her breasts and pinching her nipples was impossible to forget. But these were physical things and they were not the horrors she fought.
"How will we do it-if he has a seizure?" Trina whispered.
"In one of his swinging desk drawers-a letter opener," Gail replied.
"But Raphael, that awful hunchback, is always nearby!"
Gail closed her eyes and tipped her head back. "By the time he gets to us, or me, if I'm the one, it will be too late. And it won't matter to either of us, Trina. We are doomed now, aren't we?"
"Maybe not. He's a man, he must have some human emotions! He seems to like us both. Maybe we could save ourselves by--"
Arm in arm, they left the bathroom, getting a curse from Raphael as they passed him without acknowledging his deformed presence. The minute Gail looked toward the Throne, the evil worm in her belly began to crawl again. Endure and persevere, but how did she control the hideous eagerness, the writhing need when she lay close to the fat man, with his huge and insatiable cock pointing at her crotch or throbbing beautifully to the caress of her fingers? Her nasal passages seemed coated with the musky oil of his body. Without a face, the mere preponderance of flesh was enough to make her heady with want.
. He lay resting, merely raising one hand in a weak gesture of welcome as they climbed to either side of him. For a moment, Gail was horrified by his penis. They had cavorted; it had played in her bottom and her vagina, with lonely intervals while he calmed Trina's raging passions, and there it stood, not one iota less rigid than it had been in the beginning. A man of pure blubber who turned to steel and their combined efforts had not changed the steel's temper.
Then she settled into the curl of his big arm and the brutal fingers found her left breast. Not a breast. A breast was a physical thing of milk glands and a nipple fashioned for a baby's mouth. It was a tit, a sensitive globe of pulsating flesh made for a man's hand and his passion-hot mouth. She turned her body to him, her hand going to his penis. Not a penis. A penis was a male genital, formed for procreating in a woman's vagina. This was a cock, made to plunge and fill a cunt or an asshole, to drive a woman out of her mind with the harrowing lustiness of its driving. Her fingers argued with Trina's, then they chose a segment, Trina taking the glans end, Gail going low. The feel of the stiff root, protruding from the fat mound was somehow exciting. It was there her rectum gloried when his organ was buried deeply, the throbbing head sending pleasant messages down to where her anus stretched in strain. It was strong there, like a wood en club fitted by a master carpenter into a snug knot hole in a tree trunk.
"Sorry now?" he asked, his hot breath bathing her face. She nodded, then remembered she should nod, should keep that conciliatory tone in his voice. But he had turned his head to Trina. "Push that black button, fourth from the right. "Maybe one or two of those lazy cocina cunts will bring us something to eat! And we could have some brandy while we're waiting, I think."
Gail sighed with relief as he raised the half-reclining Throne and they sat up. Perforce, she lost her grip on his cock, as did Trina. Raphael was summoned and he brought brandy and a bowl of fruit. He was then sent to the kitchens to supervise some cold fowl and hot bread. Gail's heart leaped; he was relaxing, he was certain in his ego that his penis had so hypnotized his kidnapped paramours that he did not need a guard. The brandy burned warmly in her belly.
"For ex-teachers, you are not a gabby pair," he chuckled. "Use your mouths for better purposes, eh? Like whispering together in the bano? Now, what the hell secrets could you exchange?"
"No secrets," Trina remarked quickly. "But this playing two on a man is ... is new, to say the least."
"But exciting," Gail felt disposed to add. "How many times can you m-make love before it needs rest?"
He roared with laughter and refilled their brandy glasses. "I never went that far-the girls generally wear out before I go soft! Maybe two girls is what I've needed. After cena, we'll have a marathon, eh?" Trina giggled. "You cheat. You lie there and we do all the work! Afraid of a heart attack or something?"
He frowned, then a slow smile turned his evil face to one of cherubic glee. At first Gail was afraid of what he had implied by using the term, marathon. Then she realized the inspiration Trina had furnished in challenging him to expend more effort than it took to lie under a squirming, humping body impaled upon his apparently petrified penis.
Then Raphael returned with a woman bearing a huge silver tray. The table segment of the Throne was swung around and the three of them laughed and enthused over the impromptu supper. Gail ate because she was unreasonably hungry and because it gave her mind recess from the constant flow of obscene hauntings. The Kewpie's burps sickened her but she laughed with Trina and herself burped conspiratorially. They were dawdling over strong Turkish coffee when Arden pivoted his head on his thick neck.
"Raphael?"
"Yes sir," the hunchback replied, stepping from the shadows.
"We need some entertainment. How about fucking that kitchen bitch for us? What's her name?"
"Alena, boss."
"Ven aca, Alena!" Arden roared. The woman stepped hesitantly from the shadows by the doors. Gail's cup rattled as she set it on the saucer. Her belly closed, compressing the food until she thought it was going to squirt back up and out her abruptly dry lips.
The hunchback grinned and reached up to hook a long hard hand around the woman's neck under her flowing black hair. A look of instant terror came over her face. She turned to her master and pleaded something in rapid Spanish, raising her open palm in supplication.
"Fuck her," Arden growled to Raphael. Then to Gail and Trina, "She's three months pregnant, she says. His cock will kill the child. That, of course, is just an old wife's excuse to not stand for a hated Basque."
"She's not very old," Gail murmured. Not terribly pretty, but she had the high-hipped voluptuousness of country women. She tried to pull away from Raphael's hand and he held her firmly and with a low swooping, sent his other hand up under her flowing skirt. She yelped and her hips twisted. With some swift trick, Raphael spun her and tripped her. She went down, to her hands and knees and he promptly jerked her skirt up, throwing it over her back and head. Her big brown bottom raised nakedly, twisted and was brought back to full view by Raphael's hard grip of her left buttock. Her head bobbed under the skirt and faint mumbles came in jerky Spanish. Gail stared at the sensual rump, with its deep divide and the under shadow of dark skin and crotch hair. When Raphael let go of her nate to undo his trousers, the whimpering woman remained as he left her. The cruelty of Arden and brutality of Raphael lay like a lead blanket over the woman. Then Raphael was standing, his penis thrust out like an animal thing. He stroked it affectionately and looked at The Kewpie.
"Fuck her," the fat man demanded with a rolling laugh.
The floor was bare, hard, polished white. The brown legs shifted, the bottom of the woman's feet were dirty, callused. Raphael knelt, made a face as his lean knees met the floor, then he moved until his penis belabored her buttocks. Despite his foreshortened body, his legs were longer than hers. He spent a moment holding his member down to rub it in the hairy nest. The woman squirmed in fear and discomfort and Raphael paused for inspiration.
"Get on with it!" Arden roared.
Raphael bowed forward and wrapped both arms around the woman's waist, his hips curling under. Then his knees slid back and at the moment when his groin was at a proper level, he hugged himself into her. She screamed, and Gail held her breath as the hunchback's penis burrowed in. It was impossible to see where it burrowed, but Gail felt it was in the woman's vagina. As the deformed body closed to the big soft buttocks, the woman fell forward, Raphael driving her down, forcing her thighs apart with his twisting hips. Her head raised and a mournful cry came from her lips. Raphael turned his head and bit, sinking his teeth into the plump flesh of her neck. His arms held her hips up a little and his wiry legs held hers separated. He began to undulate, rooting with audible grunts, as if trying to kill not only her unborn child but the suffering mother as well.
"Roll her!" The Kewpie commanded.
Raphael's feet sought purchase and with a strong heave, he rolled himself and the woman as one. The hump on his back prevented him from completely flattening; the woman's legs flew out, her heels seeking a firm place to ease the up-thrust of his penis. Gail's spine trembled as she stared straight into the hairy crotch and the distended vagina, thickly pierced by the hunchback's tremendous organ. From that angle, she could see the massive under-tube and the thick root, and below it, the big rubbery sac of testicles. The woman bucked, obviously in pain and the lean hips hunched, sending the brutal organ in and out of the tortured vagina. Gail cringed; the woman was beginning to relax, to move with the thrusting. Her arms came straight up, her hands clenched together as if in supplication. Raphael let go of her waist and closed his hands around her big breasts. Even through her blouse, the flesh bulged and fattened between his fingers. Now he was well into his work. His penis gleamed as he delved deeply and pumped the vaginal juices out around his throbbing organ. Her thighs began to cord and her belly heaved in rhythm to his undulations. Suddenly then, it all changed and Gail writhed inside as she saw the Spanish woman's defenses crumble and her body become an eager, threshing partner to the hunchback's passion.
Trina was leaning forward, saliva trickling from her slack mouth as she watched the rape turn into something obscenely beautiful. Gail found her own hand reaching and groping for The Kewpie's penis.
Time stood still and she wanted the tableau to never end; she became so absorbed in the obscenity she grunted with Raphael, not the woman.
CHAPTER TEN
The end came with furious passion. Raphael began to turn the woman so his up-thrusts could become side jerks. The woman burst into hysterical laughter and she arranged her broad bottom so he could beat to and under it in total climax. Sperm made the underside of his penis assume a rippling throb and a moment later the sticky white discharge oozed and squirted out of the quaking vagina and ran into the hunchback's hairy groin. Shrieking now with uncontrolled ecstasy, the woman grasped the lean fornicator and screwed herself onto his spewing organ with all of her strength.
Raphael let go of her and his slimy prick slipped out of the fully opened vagina. His penis stood gleaming, still jerking enough to force the last few drops of his climax out of the flared eye. With a cry of desperation, Trina slithered off the Throne and ran, tumbling down on the surprised Raphael, fighting with her wide-spread thighs to drop over the rampant organ. His spidery arms and legs closed on her and Gail cried out in shock as she shared the excruciating penetration of Trina's vagina. The impaled woman became frenzied, her body hammering at his, her arms and hands clutching at him ruthlessly. The Spanish cook scooted away, eyes wide as she saw the white flesh take over what her brown body had begun.
"I can't stand it!" Gail husked, scrambling over The Kewpie. "Oh, put it in me, fat man! Fuck me, fuck me, anyway, everyway!"
He held her to his heaving belly, laughing as he did some required movement that flattened the Throne to a broad level bed. Then he turned her squirming loveliness in his hands and rolled a bit more, throwing his massive legs astraddle her thighs. He grunted and came to his knees, a mountain of jiggling flesh, his penis swelling and jerking. With no seeming effort, he lifted her hips and jammed her back on his thick organ, burying it to the fat of his groin in her sex. Her arms flailed, her head rolled, her hips stiffened and held nearly motionless because of the monstrous rod. He didn't offer to drive her; his hands worked her body as if he were purely masturbating himself with a beautiful glove.
Gail nearly fainted with ecstasy. Her hands braced slightly, her out-flung legs dangled until her toes touched the strange bed. She felt only the huge, thinly skinned penis, filling her body, butting the hungry mouth of her womb, then dragging back to turn her vulva into a raging sleeve of fire. Her orgasm came without building, a sudden wrenching and milking, alternating between sweet agony and soft melting. Her breasts, hanging heavily, seemed to be growing out of their flushed skin. She began to cry, sobbing in abandonment and The Kewpie seemed unaware of her delicious distress. His laughter was impersonal, his strength served only the needs of his obesity. She never knew when he had orgasm because hers had never stopped. He set her down, a high-bottomed pyramid, knees far apart, arms and shoulders bracing and rearing her deserted rump. Even the air caressing her wide open vagina seemed exquisite and the trickle of his sperm running down her heaving belly was a streak of fire. Inside, she prayed. Maybe he would take her again. Maybe he would thrust that sweet club into her rectum. She winked it, the convulsion causing her vagina to evacuate itself of his full discharge. Wailing, she humped her belly, trying to entice the gigantic penis back into her pleading body. Then she groaned and fell over on her side, the intensity of her thoughts bringing the sweet thumping back to her womb. Shit, fuck, cock, jism and asshole. He had promised a marathon and he was chickening out.
He had never seen a cunt snap back to daintiness as quickly as Gail's. Even as she fell, the scarlet lips closed in puffed symmetry, gleaming hotly because his come still oozed from the throbbing hole. He looked over his shoulder. Trina was on her hands and knees and Raphael was clamped to her back, but low, his horse cock stroking smoothly and deeply in her asshole. She was reared back, head raised as if she were atrophied with passion. Her tits hung, swaying, her belly pumped, or was pumped by the hunchback's plunging prick. Jan looked down at the squirming ass under his cock. It was a beautiful ass, but it seemed to challenge him. He had fucked her and sodomized her and instead of fainting with agony she lay muttering incoherent pleas for more of his insatiable cock.
Suddenly, he had the urge to kill her, not with his hands or a pistol, but with ravaging meat. He reached to the console and pressed a button. A click occurred and Joven said "Bueno?" from somewhere.
Jan gave rapid orders in Spanish, then closed the button. After that, he lifted Gail's ass and winced as he stuffed his still tender prick in her asshole. She mewled and began to screw back on it and he broke fresh sweat as he watched his massive organ wedge her nates apart and turn her anus into a bloodless circle of strained skin. He fucked her hard, feeling the way his prick disturbed and displaced her belly organs. He felt the milking of her secret muscles; she had begun coming the moment the head of his cock had triggered her sensitive bowel. He fucked her, not for his own pleasure, but to see how long she could stand to come in endless orgasm. And finally, he had his own come in her ass, after which he flopped down, his cock still in her convulsing asshole, his breath coming a bit too fast to please him. Still bellied to her wriggling ass, he reached out and found his pills. The exertion was nothing, but he seemed terribly excited by this beautiful girl who took all he had and wailed for more.
Joven played the black Spanish hound on the end of the leash like a master trainer. The one hundred twenty pound dog sniffed down at the curled shape of trembling female. His long tongue lashed out, slapped wetly at the sex-smell of the swollen lips, then licked the sweat and near-dry stickiness of the flesh around it. Joven held the animal as its instincts reacted to the odor and taste. The hound began to pant as his tongue lapped hungrily at Gail's private parts.
From the two other huge hounds tied to one of the Moorish arch supports, came the deep throat rumblings that testified to their interest. This frightening sound was mixed with the chuckle from The Kewpie and the whimpers of sympathy from Trina Salisman's lips.
Then Joven let go of the leather leash. The hound surged forward, licking the bowed back and the listless arms. His hind legs bumped Gail's bottom, his huge penis, still sheathed in its hairy case, aimed well above her hip. But he had the scent in his nostrils and he had been taken to a sleek, hairless body before. He started to hunch, useless, but his penis showed a starting, a sharp pink tip that darted restlessly as his back built the hump and his head lowered. It was then that Raphael slithered forward and crowded the dog with a shoulder as he lifted Gail to her hands and knees. She swayed but did not fall and she remained bowed, head down, all initiative and protest seemingly gone. Now Raphael moved aside and the big dog leaped on the softly rounded shape. The instant his penis and loins molded around the succulent rump, the hound began to hunch and lunge. The pink tip now became permanent, running in and out of the prepuce as it jabbed eagerly. Again Raphael interfered. He straddled the dog's back and ran one hand under the animal's belly. His fingers guided the plunging penis to the low depth of Gail's crotch. The dog yelped, then with intense lust, shot his penis into her vagina. Gail groaned as the tapered rod plunged up into her sex. Then she dropped her head again and let it roll from side to side as the animal gripped her waist and began the furious, unfeeling lunging that sent its penis soaring into the hot wetness.
Before long, it became apparent that the perforated body was responding, either through pain brought on by the animal shape of the swollen penis or through some physical reaction to the bestial intensity. Once Gail seemed to try to crawl away only to be hugged back by the massive dog. Again she seemed to rear, as if to salvage some bit of the scarlet shaft not yet possessed. And as the saliva dripped from the hound's slavering mouth and his head came lower and lower in pure beast concentration, the two other dogs set up a fierce yowling, punctuated by short, angry barks. The odor of sex grew in the big room, and the avid watchers saw how Gail was fluttering her belly in furious orgasm. Then the dog changed his attack and seemed to reach into her vagina with new determination. After a moment, his mouth snapped closed and his hunch relaxed. He wriggled backward, panting again as his grotesque penis slid from Gail's thoroughly wet vagina. The length of the animal's sex was barely short of a foot and the first four or five inches of the bright wet red were swollen into a huge, elongated egg-shape. From the nippled end, thin drops of dog sperm dripped to the floor and over Gail's trembling legs. Joven came forward and retrieved the leash. The Kewpie laughed heavily and he was joined by Trina's high, nervous mirth. From Gail's vagina strings of sleek, sticky fluid oozed and dropped to the floor. The other two dogs were strangely quiet, but they panted and glowered and stood with unnaturally humped backs.
Her knees hurt from the floor, but this was only a minor pain compared to the many deep ones Gail felt. She knew there were two more dogs; there had been three and one was done. She was done too, and she seemed unable to care. There had been a time or two, once, when the great furry body had reared over her and hugged her bottom into his groin that she had felt a tinge of emotion. Then she knew that the hug was only instinct and that the slick hot penis shooting up into her belly was purely beast. Another time, when the plunging had thickened and the fullness had returned, she had tried to make it adequate. It had started her climax but it had not been adequate. She dropped her head, shrouded by her stringy blonde hair and wept.
She could no longer feel the weight of hanging breasts, nor could she think about the flint tips. Her back ached from her dog-like position, her knees throbbed with resentment of the stone floor.
But she could feel nothing important but the horrible emptiness in her vagina, the screaming fire, the insistent gulping for another penis, a hundred penises, one as huge and as tireless as a tree trunk. The next dog was approaching, she could hear its toenails tying to dig in to hurry Joven's leisurely approach. She waited with bated breath; a dog's penis was better than no penis and this one might have a bigger one, a thicker one. He might not be so hasty, so ruthless in his ramming. Then she hoped he would be ruthless.
When the sudden weight and the furry gripping came, she wailed in pain and fright and wriggled her bottom back. Maybe Joven or Raphael would steer that hard prod into her rectum. She suddenly wanted it there to cool the burning The Kewpie's abuse of her bottom had begun. No, no, higher, in, in. And then a sigh of satisfaction was followed with a scream as the nudging penis dug into her anus. It wasn't large but it was sharp and not properly angled. The hound couldn't know, she reasoned, so she screwed her bottom down to receive the swiftly lengthening organ up her eager bowel. She could feel the loose, hairy skin of the plunging penis pressing to her rectum as the animal urged his lust. Then began the quick jabs as the dog felt his organ nested. When the head of his member began to swell, Gail went into a spasm of ecstasy and her senses faded to a single conception; climax and climax on the surging club that rocked her body and shredded her insatiable vulva. It went on and wonderfully on and she hardly knew when" the second dog gave out and the charging third came on. She wasn't even sure which aperture he had entered, so thoroughly had her desire for penis dulled her perception. Fuck, shit, asshole, jism, bump, hump, scream and cry for more.
The dog was gone. She whimpered in disappointment. She braced her toes and raised her dripping bottom, hoping Raphael or Joven or even the first dog would salve her misery. She felt the heat of sperm as it gushed from her vagina and a moment later, her rectum spouted a thick hot combination of dog-discharge and girl-excretion. As her underbody lost control, Gail lost her strength and she fell over on her left side, balancing between total darkness and the blazing light of desire.
She retched, her mouth filling with malodorous slime. It puzzled her because she could not remember having sucked a penis, but she swallowed it back, not completely sure she hadn't sucked a dozen organs. Finally she convulsed and rolled to her back, arms out, legs apart, a weary body and a blanked mind. The cool floor brought small speculations. Where was she? Who was she? What was she? A giant cunt, flapping emptily now, starving for meat, aching with need. Now a voice, vaguely familiar, but a hundred miles away.
"Poor kid," the voice said. "She's passed out!"
"Orgasmic coma," the rumbling added. "That last one got to her, though. Her cunt is trickling blood. Raphael! Here-dam her up with this orange. Then tie her to the rack and stretch her ass until the orange drops out! I don't like dames that shit on my floor!"
Gail couldn't stop. It felt heavenly to void her bowel because the nerves delighted in the passing of anything, in or out.
Trina awakened, momentarily frozen in her dream of forty, eager-eyed children sitting in her old classroom while she showed them her broad bare ass from the usually cluttered desk. The room was nearly dark, but the single mauve light showed her Gail strapped to the rack like a sculptured cross. She was motionless; dead? Then Trina saw how her friend's vagina was big and round and open because the orange had been replaced with a medium-sized gourd, the small protruding end waved sluggishly as Gail's tortured breath flexed her strained belly. Trina turned her head.
The Kewpie lay at her side, his body a flaccid sack of flesh. His penis was soft, but still formidable lying between his hairless thighs. He was purring softly in his sleep. He smelled of sweat and sex and he was uglier than she had ever imagined a human could be. Carefully, she raised her head and surveyed the room. She could see no one, hear no one. Raphael and Joven had apparently taken the dogs and retired for what was left of the hideous night. Trina fell back.
She remembered everything except one item-the something that had poisoned her mind and emotions so thoroughly she had allowed herself, not only to enter into the obscenities with The Kewpie, but to relish every moment of it. She remembered exulting as the three huge dogs mounted and remounted Gail. She remembered how she had silently cheered for Raphael as he had attacked the frightened Spanish cook. She shuddered at the ecstasy she had felt, being sodomized by Arden and watching him ply his huge organ in Gail's writhing crotch. Again she looked at Gail, bloated around a dried gourd, stretched until every cord and tendon stood out in utter agony. Her breasts were even flattened, made obloid by the cruel tugging of the rack. Horror.
Hardly two feet away was the swing-away desk. In the drawer would be the letter opener poor Gail had mentioned. To her left was the fat neck, relaxed, unsuspecting. Trina lay quietly. It was something she had to think about in this rare time of silence and no agitation. Through slitted eyes, she looked at Gail. If not yet dead, surely dying. Or if not dying, then consigned to a life of misery and degradation, if Millbum had not lied. She felt of herself, her mauled breasts, her tender, wide-open vagina and finally her swollen anus. She'd had it easier than Gail-up to now. Gail had bitten The Kewpie's penis. And she had intrigued the fat man with her seeming inability to restrain or control herself once stimulated by the sight, sound or feel of sex. But Trina held no illusions about Jan Arden. He could turn from a thundering lover to a sadistic fiend without a full breath between, nor a reason to order immense cruelty.
But to shove a letter opener into the fat neck was murder. What was worse, it was sure death for herself and probably Gail. Sure death might be infinitely more acceptable than the fate he obviously had in store for them, but while there was life there was hope.
Reasonably sure that such a ponderous man who had fallen asleep after hours of orgy would sleep soundly, Trina contemplated another situation. If she could slip off the Throne and somehow free Gail, she might have enough stamina left to use the opener. This would not change the ultimate, unless they could manage some escape together. Trina hadn't the slightest idea how or where exterior doors were located, but she felt there had to be an exit for the cowering Spanish servants. The problem there was that Raphael and Joven might also be quartered close to the service exits, and she shuddered as she remembered the fierce Spanish hounds. She began to weep softly, knowing it was a useless feminine subterfuge for lack of courage. The drawer, the opener und one swift thrust. Then Gail moaned and Trina shivered as she envisioned the kind of punishment The Kewpie might invent if the thrust weren't true and the neck skin was tough.
Then Trina had a selfish thought. She hadn't been hurt. She had been brought to life, new life for every inch of penis her nubile flesh had accepted. With one ruthless ram, the Spanish seaman had wiped out her years of academic uselessness and turned her into a passionate woman. She raised her head again and stared at the long thick tube jutting from The Kewpie's groin. Fat cock, lovely prick, source of joy and sweet despoiler of her sterile past. He had been rough and ruthless, but not unkind. He hadn't seemed to care that she wasn't pretty; she wasn't sure she cared that he was pulpy, odorous and obscenely naked. Wake up, dear mountain, and fuck my mole holes. She giggled.
Shit on the New York school system, let Gail take care of her own ass, and hurry up morning so he'll wake up with a hard-on. Friendship and loyalty and moral indignance were one thing but life on an insatiable prick was another. Anyway, who gave a good goddamn about Avis Garden?
Trina turned over against the bale of fat, thrust her nose in a wrinkle and let her hand go to the thin-skinned penis. He stirred, farted noisily and laid a heavy arm on her quivering back.
I love you, man.
Jan awakened at six, his usual time for the day. He came instantly to full awareness because his mind was never sluggish. He turned his head and Raphael was waiting, his ugly face impassive. Jan made a signal toward the motionless body on the rack, then did a forefinger circle and dipped it. Raphael moved forward, tripped a lever then unstrapped the body. He grabbed the gourd and jerked it from the distended cunt. It snapped half closed, the lips bunching, the hairy flesh around it shrinking to assist the tortured tissues. Then he loaded Gail's body over his bony shoulder and left the room.
Jan looked down at Trina, curled around his massive curves. Her tits were not as full as they had been yesterday. The nipples were soft, relaxed. Her big hips lay in graceless weight. Asleep, she was just a middle-thirty cunt, not pretty, not very shapely but over-shaped. He had enjoyed her eager asshole and her inexperienced cunt. He'd even gotten a kick out of her willingness to abandon her friend. No tears, no cries of supplication, just a wild-eyed panting while she watched Gail Brown suffer the degrading extremes. He shrugged her away and she rolled to her back, her mouth dropping open in a moderate snore.
Thursday. He'd drop a hundred thousand in the pound markets and buy gold to the tune of a half million dollars while the French banks hesitated in astonishment at the British pound strength. Then he'd call Captain Juan Fernandez and see what pretty flies the handsome Spaniard had caught with his various kinds of honey. Also, he'd give Millbum instructions about Gail and Trina.
Raphael was back. Jan grinned. Even his hunchback was weary of the blonde teacher. His pants showed no bulge. "Yes, Mister Arden?"
"Dump her with the other one. Then send for Consuela and Hortensia. I need a good scrubbing."
"Yes sir."
As Raphael laid irresistible hands to Trina, dragging her from her sleep, Jan half-closed his eyes. She screamed, kicked, but was subdued by the hunchback's arm, encircling her waist so tightly she could hardly breathe.
"No, no, Jan, dear!" she gasped. "Don't let him take me, don't send me away! Jan! I love you, I need you! I'll do anything you want, wash you, love you, suck your prick, anything! Oh, no, no!"
The last was almost lost as Raphael carried her out of the Throne room and down the corridor to the cellar stairs. Jan sighed. Maybe two hundred thousand in the pound market. He'd have to check the International Bank; he'd been too deep in a couple of assholes yesterday to act like a financier. He smiled fiendishly as a last wavering scream echoed through the hacienda.
He pushed a button. "Millburn? Get our good buddy, Jefe Garcia Mendoza on the short-wave. Tell him we've got a pick-up, but to bring two sacks. Then bring me yesterday's market reports. Pop to!"
The clang of the heavy door brought Gail to partial sensibility. She blinked. It was the same cold stone cell, the same beam of morning sunlight, and the familiar cot. Only the day was different and her body seemed somehow detached from her mind. Then she looked at Trina, lying naked on the damp floor, her body wracked with furious sobs. She was cursing and moaning. Poor Trina. Gail drew her pain-taut body into a curl and looked down at her friend. It seemed unfair that she should suffer so.
"Trina, dear?"
Her friend seemed to leap in surprise. She stared at Gail, then with obvious cringing, surveyed the miserable cell. "Oh God!" she breathed. "Where are w-we, Gail?"
Gail wasn't sure. She too looked around the dank chamber. Then she saw the wall beside the cot, and her fingers went to the erratic scratching. "We are at the end, I think. Look, Trina!"
The white body with its huge swaying breasts and the full hips moved hesitantly forward. Gail reached out and put one arm around her friend's waist to pull her close so she could read the tragic but somehow unexciting message Avis Garden had left. Trina gasped, resting one knee on the cot as she pushed her face close to the wall. As her lips painfully formed the hopeless words, Gail laid her face to Trina's big warm breasts. Her encircling arm dropped and her hand curled under Trina's bottom to feel between the plump cheeks. Her other hand went under Trina's belly and the open lips of the startled woman's vagina.
"Gail, what are you d-doing?"
Gail giggled. "I just felt lonely-deserted, I guess. As long as we are together, we'll be all right, won't we, Trina?"
"She says-goodbye! Oh, I wonder what became of her-she was so very, very beautiful!"
Gail put her lips around the pulsing nipple of Trina's breast. Her tongue kissed it, her saliva quickened. What became of whom?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
She had once been pretty, perhaps beautiful in a sulky brunette way, but some nearly forgotten man had opened the corners of her mouth an inch on each side to cure the sulk. The slits were prominent and if she opened her mouth, the mask of ugliness was almost awe-inspiring. She lay now on her back, naked, her bloated tits hanging right and left, jiggling slightly as the frenzied Algerian lashed and smeared his tongue and mouth into her hairy crotch. Her legs lay out listlessly; she was tired and indifferent to the skinny wharf-rat who sucked voraciously at her cunt while he masturbated with deft vigor. They were a goofy lot. Hot for a white woman, stupid as dogs and as talented as a Methodist minister.
Now the Algerian thrust his face into her hugely distended sex and bit into the finger-sized clitoris. She barely winced. Her blood raced with the pure gum opium she had taken with her evening food, and her sex had long ago lost its sensitivity. The cheap brute humped his back, sending his cock forward to spurt in yellow globs at her splayed out ass. On his own chin, the fruiter. She waited until his teeth parted and his humping faded. Then she pushed the man away and got up while he lay panting out his fifty pesetas.
Ignoring his adoring eyes, she slipped into a dirty robe and stepped through the curtained doorway into the dingy hall. A few feet away, a drunken Negro sucked his black thumb and fondled his huge cock. Waiting for Ella, she thought. She stepped over his legs and went on to the back sala. Black Maria would get the Algerian into his rags and clean up the bed. She was beyond doing such work.
In the girls' waiting room, she poured herself a water glass of cheap Spanish wine and faced Garcia Mendoza. Elegant motherfucker. Fine duck suit, waxed mustache and a ten-pound palma hat. A four-inch cock, hardly balls at all and half the money in Spanish Gibraltar.
"What's with you, pig-fucker?" she demanded.
His rage was instantaneous. "Someday, you weel go too far! I weel cut your feelthy t'roat!"
She threw her head back. "Be my guest, shit-face! Right here!"
He slapped her; she hardly jiggled. "Some more?"
He became serious. "Two. Fine girls. Expensive, but they will make me mucho dinero! Come, we will inspect them, companera!"
She followed his arrogant stride to the windowless room at the back of the brick and cracked plaster building. There was no lock on the door because there was no need for one. The two bodies lying on the floor under the single yellow light possessed no apparent life. Except that the sleek one, the mouse blonde with the pretty face, lying with her tapered legs akimbo, showed sticky come oozing from her swollen-lipped cunt. The heavier one seemed older, but she had the kind of frame and the volume of meat that made a profitable whore for the skinny Spanish studs who came to the Rosa Amarillo with fifty pesetas and their monkey cocks.
"You see?" the whoremaster gloated. "Delectable, si?"
"That's your short Portuguese prick talking. The blonde looks light-if she lasts six months, I'll suck your prick until your nose bleeds! The ugly one may go a year." She leaned down and ran an experienced hand under the blonde girl's ass, feeling for the asshole. Her eyebrows raised. "He tamped her good, didn't he?"
The words came without definition because her split mouth wouldn't pronounce vowels and consonants very sharply. She made the same inspection of the heavier, older woman. Nothing surprised her because she knew where these two women had come from, and she very well knew the kind of treatment that they had endured. She also knew that their apparent lifelessness was due to a big dose of morphine, no doubt needled into them by the hunchback, whose name she could not remember. Now she turned to Garcia Mendoza who was sweating and wetting his overly red lips with a tongue that had wet redder lips and a few black ones, all below the navels of sundry females.
"Up the ante?"
"Yes," he breathed. "For a while, si. Seventy-five for the blonde one. Sixty for the meaty one. I weel send Raimundo. He weel make many peectures of thees ones weeth el perro, mi burrito-maybe weez los negritos, no?"
"How about a few of you sucking them bloodless, asshole?"
"Ahrgh-hh!" he snarled. Then he held a fist up in front of her deformed face. "You mind yourself, my ugly one! I have been good to you, bitch, but my patience ees like the cheap wine-thin!"
She matched his snarl with one of her own, showing her inner face from molar to molar. She had beautiful teeth because the cap-job was hardly four years old and had cost five thousand dollars in Hollywood. "Beat it, crumb-bum! I know how to run your goddamned kind of a whorehouse and I don't cheat you very much! Without me, you're back to running it by hand, although I think you'd like to do it that way! Your fat-assed wife had any good rousing doses of clap, lately?"
But he held his temper, his eyes narrowing in restrained fury. She was an excellent madame, and she made him money, and it wasn't every whoremaster on the Mediterranian who could boast of having Avis Garden as his slave. Besides, full of good wine she was a fine fuck.
She lay on the lumpy mattress, one hand raised to grip the tarnished brass of the bedstead, the other resting at her side. The room was hot, heavy with tobacco smoke and the pungent sweetness of hashish. She loved hashish, and after a while, Avis would give her a cigarette or two, especially if the men applauded loudly. Gail looked up at the cracked and water-spotted ceiling. The single light wire with its dangling globe held some weird fascination for her. She slowly rolled her head, the brightly bleached mass of her hair caressing her rouged and powdered cheeks. She was the most glamorous and desired whore among the nineteen white, black, yellow and brown girls Avis ruled. One of whom was dear Trina, who had gonorrhea and therefore was only permitted to suck pricks until the stink left her cunt. Pricks, cunts, assholes, jism of varying shades and amounts and smells.
How many today? It didn't matter. The Spanish pimps hustled constantly, sometimes a room full of derelicts, sometimes only a few. It didn't matter to Gail. Charley always acted exactly the same. She heard him now and her blood raced. Avis was bringing him from his pen on the roof. He weighed one hundred twenty pounds and his fur was exciting, almost wiry. He was nine years old, which was old for a baboon, and he had to wear a muzzle because sometimes he reverted to jungle ferocity and she had been told about her predecessor, who had lost half a tit to his dog-like jaws and incredible teeth. But Gail wasn't worried. From the first, he had seemed to like her. He had pinched her flesh and nuzzled her tits and mauled her with his cool paw-fingers until she writhed with eagerness. How many today?
She turned her glazed eyes around the room. Arabs, Algerians, Spaniards, Lascars and the poor pickings from the docks. Black men, grinning, waiting, exchanging murmurs with the Egyptian stevedores. Men, with cocks they delighted in exhibiting in anticipation of the show. She tired of counting after twelve. What did it matter? Avis had led Charley to the bed and she slitted her eyes, looking at the huge gray beauty that was nine years old and a full, full grown baboon. His cock was already out. Sweet prick. It was almost as long as her forearm. It was red and thin-skinned and hardly larger around than two fingers-until it sleeked out a full nine inches to the head. Like a fat umbrella, flaring hotly. Harder than the head of man's cock, as if there were a bone ring under the tongue-red skin. He had big balls in a hairy sack and a red bottom she could cup to haul him in tight in the critical seconds. A short tail. When he was tired, she could fuck herself with the furry stub because he got lazy and didn't care. He wasn't lazy now. She held out one hand and Avis released the leash. Gail hated the muzzle and the leash, but Charley was dangerous as well as dear. How today? It depended upon how large the house was. She spread her smoothly tapered and well-powdered legs.
Come on, Charley, my sweet. Fuck mama good.
"On your hands and knees, baby," Avis said. "Good house and it's up the turd chute. Baby, is he steaming!"
"Charley," Gail muttered. "Is he greased?"
Avis laughed through her mutilated mouth. "You ask me that every time! Gail, baby, you haven't needed any slippings since the day you got here!"
Gail rolled and came to her hands and knees. "I know. But it feels better at first if he's greased. There's something about a slick prick-"
The words were lost in the ascending murmur of the twenty odd men clustered around the bed. Gail knew without looking. Tense men, openly fondling their cocks, some knotted with old chancres, others dripping with unattended gonorrhea. Clap was like water, everywhere the Mediterranean kissed the filthy land. Avis was sweet. Her supply of penicillin was constant and her technique with the needle was almost professional. The men would be looking up her ass now, straining to see deeper in her open cunt, admiring the pucker of her asshole, wishing they had the seventy pesetas to taste the fire of her white body.
She felt Charley. He was reaching, grasping, not like a man, but like the animal simian he was. She squirmed her ass back; dear Charley, today the crowd is big and mama wants to be corn-holed.
She felt his cock at her pucker. It had been instantaneous and painful the first few times, but Charley had learned to like the monkey business of wheedling his prick up her bung. He always drooled first, his nine-year-old, often exploited balls didn't close tightly it seemed. What would a baby look like, half Gail and half Charley? She giggled. Avis had told her that if it were possible, they'd all get rich in one pf the Egyptian traveling circuses. Oh, Charley.
Listen to them. Ohs and ahs and grunts of surprise. A baboon fucking a golden blonde woman. In the asshole. I'm coming. I come and jerk and keep on humping so no one knows. Charley is fucking me very fast. He likes to fuck fast, like an animal. I like his cock. The head is very big and makes my guts ripple. His shaft is small and doesn't make my asshole hurt. Burn some, because he fucks very fast and a long time. But he doesn't hurt me like some of the North African niggers who save up for a seventy peseta fuck. Go, Charley.
"Keep your hands of! of her!"
Sweet Avis. But Gail liked those furtive fingers, plucking at her tits and digging under to see how her cunt was working as Charley pumps. They caress her; men are silly goofs. They fall in love with a whore because she kisses their cock before she sucks it. Avis tells them how and they go crazy.
I'm started now and I'll keep coming and coming until Charley squirts his little jism in my ass. Fuck, fuck. Hands. Avis didn't really mean for them to let rqe alone. They get hot, watching Charley bang me. They sometimes jack-off on the bed, or me, but most uj them stagger out and buy one of Avis' cheaper girls. I'm expensive. I'm choice. Charley, honey, not so fast. Deeper, but not so-so nice fast. Oh. Squirt, Charley, squirt. Fuck, fuck. Now is the time we need the muzzle. He always tries to bite my back when he comes. Sweet old fucker. I love his smell, too. Ah-hh-aha.
Trina put her fingers to the massive cock and stripped it from balls to glans. Her ass still tingled from the second shot; another dose of clap she didn't need, especially in the tonsils. Funny. No tonsils for twenty-five years. This nigger would have surely liked her at the age of ten or eleven. He sat, his ugly face drawn into a wide smile, his black eyes eating her from kneecaps to forehead. He wore whites; a second cook on a cotton freighter. He had boasted about being an Egyptian. Cleopatra's ninety-fourth cousin. Nigger. She looped her tits around his prick and jiggled him. It wasn't required, but Trina had learned to play some small games of her own. Cock was all anybody ever offered her. Sometimes some petting and often some slaps and once in a while, a blow. Men were funny. They paid their pesetas, but after that, they felt something had to be proved. This one had big balls, the lusty savage. He smelled like a week old fish, with the strong waft of an unwashed asshole coming up warm between his muscular thighs. She pushed the saliva to the front of her mouth and began to suck his cock. His big hands came to her head and his fingers buried in her hair. Steer the white woman. Hold her onto his rigid rod. She knew. He had it in his half-wit brain to make her swallow his jism. Hold her onto it, make her drink it or bloody well drown. She couldn't have cared less. Jism was as sweet as the stinking food old split-mouth fed them.
She sucked and mouthed and tongued, her mind trying to go back. He had never cared at all. He had shoved his huge prick up her asshole, into her cunt and wiped the dribble on her belly. He had confided in her, shared mirth over what was happening to Gail but he had only been passing time. This nigger's belly is flat and hard, his face is like a man just having won the Irish Sweepstakes. She could have been the principal's pet for half the lip-service she was giving this black motherfucker. If the discharge didn't show tomorrow she could go back to fucking these ignorant hulks. Modem science. Penicillin in a Spanish Gibraltar whorehouse. He's going to come in about ten seconds. Six years in college with her hand over her crotch to save it for this.
I think I'll surprise this nigger. I'll take his load and then make love to him. Avis will never know if it fits my ass.
She changed her mind because Avis knew everything. And what she didn't know, she soon found out, one way or another. It didn't really matter to Trina, nor for that matter, to any of them. A world of their own, bounded by the usually guarded doors of the stinking old building. A drunken Lascar sailor could go in and out as long as he'd paid his way. The girls were never allowed to leave. Leave to go where? Mendoza's men would grab them if they appeared on the street. Help wasn't available because the trade couldn't help anyone.
And after a month or so, the will to go, to escape, was gone. Values changed. In a world made up of dirty, ugly men, you were grateful if one wasn't quite so dirty or quite so ugly. You argued over the cheap clothes the peddlers brought to the joint, and you fought for your share of the strongly spiced and not always palatable food the slatternly cook put up. You slept late, took a spit bath because the one shower didn't work and you listened to a dozen other girls who told stories and laughed a lot, if nervously.
But it was all there Was and Trina had ceased to look for anything else. Through all the dirt and dis ease and violent times, there was always a stiff cock sticking up to be petted, sucked or sat on.
Like this black boy. He had a big clean prick and he laughed throatily. She went to the door-less square and tipped the curtain aside. She could hear Avis down the hall, arguing with some bum about the price for Kim Yan, the Chinese kid. She turned around to the Negro. "Hey, baby, you likum bang white mama in bung hole for free?"
Strong boy. His prick was up before she was settled on the couch, her hands and knees braced for the charge. She ducked her head, thinking while he fondled her ass and played nudgy with his black meat. She didn't always think too well. Thinking made her dizzy. All she really wanted was to feel, and he was starting it in and she began to feel. Good.
Hurry, big boy. Avis will beat the shit out of me if she catches you up my ass for free.
She screamed for a long time and finally the injection Joven had given her began to soften her anguish. Jan looked down at the girl writhing on the floor. In Spanish, he told Raphael to hold her while Joven reset her hip joint. They knew how to do it because they had done it before. He didn't even blink when the joint cracked going back. She'd be an invalid for a few days and she'd probably walk the rest of her life with a limp. Her own fault.
She'd been riding his cock, her fifteen-year-old legs out around his belly and at the come, she had dug her fingers into his face, trying for his eyes. So he had just held her and rolled and this had driven his prick in another couple of inches as his weight crushed down on her slim body. He had heard the pop and she had begun to scream so he just finished fucking her to teach her a lesson. Women were number one on his list of fools.
The Kewpie punched a button and told Millburn to get through to Garcia Mendoza in Gibraltar. "Tell him to get his Portuguese ass up here in a hurry. She's going to need a shot about every six hours and morphine costs money! I'm already in three hundred bucks for this doll and money doesn't grow on trees."
