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The Silver Cock ....(89k)    by Ray Majors

"There is a darker side to sex. This mighty force, when thwarted ... is channeled into other, darker pathways, fur from that honest love of man for woman, woman for man, which is its true fulfillment. It becomes a compulsive force that can transform human beings into monsters. It bursts out, uncontrollable, carrying people to destruction." So writes L.T. Woodward, M.D., in Sex Fiend. And he could have been speaking of Vic Munroe, the complete stud, on whom the total force of the Silver Cock whorehouse was necessary to make him over into a more receptive image....

CHAPTER ONE

"Teddy, my boy," said Vic, "if you haven't been to the Silver Cock, you can't claim yourself to be a citizen of London." He drew the pudgy, apple-cheeked man closer to him in the taxi and lowered his voice. "It's got everything ... everything your bloody ancestors used to enjoy in old Queen Vickie's day, and I can't think of a better place for us to celebrate your tenth kill."

"What is it, a whorehouse? I say, Vic, we can't go in there in our uniforms."

"It's anything but a whorehouse. Whorehouses are a grubby, dirty invention of the Colonists. I'll show you some when this goddamn war is over and you visit me in Philly. The Silver Cock is-a refined palace of pleasure where a man can get anything at all he wants to take his mind off his troubles. And it's no sweat getting in in a uniform. Hell's fire, it's a help. We RAF types get special treatment over the Royal Navy and Army there. Trust me."

"What about Yanks? I reckon the bloody place is full up with Yanks. Remember, we've got to fly in the morning, and can't afford any, uh, altercations."

"Quit worrying, chum. My crass countrymen wouldn't appreciate a place like the Silver Cock even if they knew where it was and how to get in. Their tastes run to swilling ale and screwing gals while standing up on their front stoops while they bullshit them about marrying them and taking them off to the States. This place is real class, Teddy. Booze and food and broads, and you can have as much as any of 'em as you want."

"Now, Vic," said Ted, trying to look more stern. "There'll be no drinking. For all we know the flight tomorrow will be cover for the invasion of the Continent."

"Oh, we can have a little bubbly, but no serious drinking. But there's not going to be any invasion tomorrow, no matter how mysterious Monty and Ike move now. I don't look for that for another year. Relax. Enjoy yourself. It's not every day a twenty-year-old boy shoots down his tenth Jerry plane."

"Twenty-year-old man," Ted corrected him with a grin. "Nope. You won't be a man till you leave the Silver Cock."

"Really a wizard place, eh? How'd you find it?"

"Oh, I get around. A girl named Penny and I are very close friends ... very close. She's one of the hostesses there. Wait'll you see her. Cabby! Stop here. I think this is the corner, but with the fucking blackout, it's damned hard to tell."

They walked then, both men identically dressed in their RAF uniforms save for the rank they held, but each presenting an entirely different appearance. Ted Basset was short by any civilized standards, and his broad bottom filled the seat of his trousers tightly. He had to step quickly to keep up with Vic Munroe's long, easy strides. Two inches over six feet, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, Vic might have been the man the designer had had in mind when he first sketched the natty uniform. His face was lean and handsome, with a few locks of his curly blond hair showing beneath .the brim of his tilted cap, while Ted's face was fat and soft-looking, like that of the British schoolboy he'd so recently been, and a lank sheaf of straight, dark hair hung on his forehead. Yet Ted wore the two stripes of a Flying Officer, and Vic only had the one stripe of the Pilot Officer. Though Ted, the younger man, had more decorations for gallantry, it was he who looked nervously from side to side as they made their way along the narrow street whose sides were lined with gutted factories, their windows boarded up.

Ted jostled against Vic in the darkness when the taller man turned them into a doorway. Narrow, lined with sooty bricks, it held no hint of Vic's promised opulence. Vic had to strike a match to find the keyhole and fit it, and in the brief glare he saw the moisture on Ted's forehead. The brave little man was sweating with a case of nerves, for the May evening was a cool one. A very faint gleam of light could be seen as the door swung open and Vic drew Ted within. The closing of the door shut off the sounds of a distant air raid siren, and before them could be heard music, voices buzzing, occasional laughter. The sounds grew louder, the light a bit more bright as Vic led Ted down a flight of stairs.

Then, paused before a thick blackout curtain, Vic said, "Away we go, chum. A hundred years into the past. From 1944 to 1844 in one step. Come on."

The room was softly, warmly lit by flickering yellow gas jets in the walls and in an ornate cut glass chandelier. There was a bar along one side at which stood half a dozen uniformed British officers and an, equal number of very pretty girls, made even more fetching by their attire.

The girls all wore little bonnets from which their hair flowed down in showers of ringlets. Their puffed-sleeve blouses were cut very low, front and back. Their waists were nipped in by laced corselets of red, black or white. The skirts they wore were striped vertically, and very full about their hips, but they stopped abruptly high on their thighs. From under some of them peeped laced and ribboned pantaloons that came to their knees, while others apparently wore briefs. They were very gay, and their laughter tickled out regularly as they talked and teased with the officers.

There were another half-dozen of these costumed girls seated at the tables with other officers. With still other officers sat elegantly gowned ladies of obvious good breeding, some uniformed nurses, and a few young women as painted and bedizened as the lowest, most desperate of street walkers.

The walls of the basement room were done in busy, antique wallpaper and the floor covered with plush carpets. The tables and chairs were heavy, old oak. More costumed girls threaded their ways between the tables bearing trays of drinks, flirting as they went, laughing coyly when a hand went up under their skirts. The far end of the room was curtained off, and on the velvet curtain was a rooster, six feet high, embroidered in silver.

As they stood there, Vic smiling confidently, and Ted frankly gaping, one of the girls skipped over to them. Her breasts were very large, and at each of her steps it was made more obvious she wore no brassiere under her little blouse.

Radiantly lovely, with long, blonde, waving hair and a translucently pale complexion, her scarlet lips were curved into a sweet smile of welcome, her wide blue eyes directed straight at Vic Munroe. The red of her corselet matched her lips, and the garment nipped in her waist to a tiny dimension. Her hourglass shape was accentuated by her full, tapered legs, her widely-curved hips, and by those enormous breasts that now absorbed all of young Ted's attention. Dimples flashed in her plump cheeks as she came to Vic and took his lapels in her hands, smiling up at his eyes almost a foot above hers.

Sincere welcome vibrated in her mellow Lancashire tones as she said, "Vic. It's been an age."

"Only three days, Penny dear. I'd have come sooner but I've got to protect your tight little island. Darling, this is Ted Basset. You've heard me talk about him. My leader." Nothing but her continued adoration for the tall American in the Royal Air Force uniform registered for a few moments, then she turned to look at the nervously smiling man at his side with faint amusement. She said, "How d'you do?"

As Ted mumbled a greeting, Vic said, "I want you and all the girls to be very nice to Teddy tonight. He got his tenth Jerry today. They'll be putting him up for the V.C. soon."

Ted's cheeks reddened still more and he said, "Couldn't have done it without a wingman like old Vic. I get all the glory and he gets all the bloody bullets in the tail."

"Fortunes of war," said Vic. "So we're out to celebrate his tenth. Welcome him to the Silver Cock, darling."

She glanced from Vic to Ted and back again, then moved to the round-eyed Ted. Her breasts touched him first, then her loins as she molded her body to his. White mounds of flesh extruded up nicely as she pulled him to her, kissed one hot cheek, and then the other, then placed her full lips on his mouth. She worked her tongue in quickly, and when she backed away from his face, his tongue came out to lick his lips, to taste all he could of the residue of her kiss. He stared down into her cleavage as she toyed with the ribbons on his tunic.

"Mmm," she purred. "D.F.C. and Air Force Cross. A bloody hero. I'm so very glad Vic brought you." Her hands slid down over his hips as she said, "What is it heroes like?" As Ted's mouth tried to form words, Vic said, "Teddy likes it all, though he hasn't had much of it yet. He's lived a sheltered life, but it's time we ended that. I want him to have the full treatment tonight, Barclay Bench and all. Anyone who can shoot down ten Jerries deserves very special treatment."

As Vic pulled out his wallet and extracted a sheaf of banknotes, Ted said, "Here, Vic, old boy. Let me."

"Not on your life, chum. This is all poker winnings from my dear but innocent countrymen. Penny darling, these fivers seem to be stuck together. Get something I can wet my fingers with?"

With a look of coy exasperation for Ted, the lovely blonde turned from him to Vic. She raised her skirts, and Ted caught in his breath when he saw she wore nothing at all under them. He goggled as Vic reached down to wriggle a finger through the yellow curls of pubic hair and within the pink lips of her snatch as Penny shifted her shapely legs wider for him. He continued to gape there while Vic withdrew his hand and counted off several bills, then returned to thoroughly wet his finger again as Penny held her skirts up for him, smiling languidly, watching with unveiled admiration in her eyes.

When Vic had counted out forty pounds, he placed his wetted finger to his lips, kissed it, then transferred the kiss to the uppermost regions of Penny's exposed slit. He positioned it there carefully while he and the buxom blonde smiled at each other. Then he raised his hand to pull the front of her blouse forward and down. Ted could see the coral edges of Penny's aureoles as Vic tucked the money securely between her tautly-filled breasts. When Ted leaned forward for a dazed look at her erect nipples, the smell of her perfume dizzied him. It was spicy and cloying with a distinct undertone of animal musk that worked at his belly, repugnant but fascinating, making him even more aware of the bulge in his trousers.

With Vic's hands gone from her, Penny sighed and rearranged her clothes, saying. "What an awful tease you are, Vic darling. Shall we go in back straightaway, or catch the show here? It should start any moment now."

"Here by all means, with a bottle of champagne. It'll warm us up for things to come. Fetch it for us while we grab a table?"

"Of course. And I'll fetch a sweet young girl for Leftenant Basset, too."

"No, darling. You're for him, and I'm just along for the view. You see, Teddy's a virgin, and I want to see every step of the way while you make a man of him."

Penny's eyebrows raised as she looked with new appraisal at the pudgy flyer, by then blinking rapidly in his nervousness. She nodded, smiling, and left for the bar, and Ted stared after her as Vic led him to a table.

Seated, Ted said, "What the bloody hell kind of a place is this? I know that Brigadier over there saw when you diddled her twat, but he didn't bat an eye. And neither did that girl he's with. Is she a hostess, too?"

"Looked like his secretary. They've seen more interesting things than a little finger-fucking. They've been in the back rooms."

"Crimeny, this is a helluva place! What's the Barclay Bench you were talking about? Am I going to get to poke Penny? How many rooms are there back there?"

"All in good time, hero," said Vic. "Catch the show now ... the tame one."

With a fanfare then, the curtains parted to reveal a four-piece band, all clad in tuxedoes. Four of the costumed girls in the room emitted loud squeals and decamped from their companions to scamper to the stage, their legs flashing beneath their tiny skirts. As each girl arrived, she linked arms with the others to join in a high-kicking cancan. The music was loud and fast, and the girls shrieked and squealed as they kicked and pranced to it, wheeling about and falling to the stage in impossible splits, then leaping up to go on.

Ted was utterly absorbed by them' and their tightly clad crotches until Penny reappeared with a tray. Then his attention was divided between the raucous, libidinous dance on the stage, the soft warmth of Penny who sat by his side, and the champagne Vic pressed on him. When Penny's hand went to his thigh, he winced, then wilted, then emptied his glass.

Leaning across Penny, Vic said, Let's get on to the next room while we can still get a good seat."

Reluctantly, trying to unobtrusively shift his erect cock in his pants, Ted rose with his companions and followed along, still looking at the prancing, dancing performers.

Vic used another key on the door at the side of the stage and admitted them to a similar room of about a third the size of the first room. Its curtained stage, decorated with the silver rooster, was backed against the other stage on which the four girls and four musicians performed, and the tables next to the stage were already filled with people. They took a table behind these and worked on the champagne, Penny and Vic only laughing in answer to Ted's wide-eyed queries. Penny's warm, wet lips at his ear kept him from wanting to return to see more of the finale of the cancan in the first room.

After the concluding fanfare, there was a two minute pause while the room filled up with more laughing, drinking people. Then the curtain opened. The same four girls were there, smiling just as brazenly as they stood with linked arms. At the sight of them, Ted let out a low whistle, for their blouses had been pulled down to bare four sets of naked breasts.

"Whew," he whispered. "Never seen so many knockers at once. What a magnificent bloody place this is."

"Oh," cooed Penny. "They're not so much. You're sitting beside the best pair of tits in the Silver Cock, Teddy."

Nodding sagely, Vic said, "Show him, darling."

Ted's head swiveled as Penny slipped her blouse down over her shoulders, then pulled the front down till it was under the swells of her breasts. Much larger than any of those to be seen on the stage, they were still gloriously shaped. Their undersides were perfect spheres that altered in delicate contours to the conical tips. The rippled flesh of her aureoles was almost as broad in area as a man's palm, and the redder flesh of her nipples stuck out sharply, as impudently teasing as two tongue-tips. Her upper mounds were soft as ocean swells and white as foam. The size of her breasts pushed them outward from each other, but there was still a long, dark cleavage between them. She increased this and made her soft flesh bulge as Ted's eyes did when she brought her upper arms against the sides of them.

"Crimeny!" said Ted, and then his attention was jerked back to the stage as the music blared. He'd only meant to glance at the bare breasts ten feet away, then return to gape longer at those huge orbs so close to him. But he leaned across the table at the stage in great amazement and said, "Cooie! They've not got any drawers on. Y' can see their twats."

Chuckling, an arm about Penny, Vic said, "In my country, that's pussy. Does it look good to you? Pick one out. You can have any of them."

"Aw," said Penny, running her fingers over the back of Ted's neck and into his hair. "You're going to poke me first, aren't you? After that I might let you have some of them, if you're the hero those medals say you are."

"Penny girl," he said with a determined grin. "The way I feel right now, I could poke every gal in the place."

"Oh? Let's see how you feel."

With this, her hand went to his lap. When he tried to stop her, she brushed his hand aside and found his prick through the material of his pants. She exclaimed over its hardness and edged closer to him, saying, "Gawd, you ought to get a medal for this. It's not so big, but it's like a rock."

Vick said, "I told you about Ted and what a man he is. Tonight hell prove it again, in a different way then he does in his Spitfire."

"My hero," Penny sighed as she fondled him expertly. "Just watch the show, Teddy boy, and let me have my fun playing about with you and looking forward to things to come."

The girls onstage were sweating now, but their vigor was totally undiminished as they kicked and pranced and squealed delightedly. At each kick their breasts bobbed wildly and the pink flesh of their sex was exposed to Ted's glazed stare. When they linked a hand under a knee and rotated their calves, he could see their vaginas even more clearly, the heavy pink lips winking at him like huge, vertical eyes peering through exotic foliage. Even when they turned and presented their backsides to their audience, he could see their gashes, for then they bent over so far that it was all there to see, shaking and quivering, glistening with moisture.

They were perspiring much more heavily than he was, strands of hair now lankly plastered against their foreheads and necks and upper chests, and still they danced with unabated abandon. Now they turned so that they formed two discrete couples, hands on each other's waists, loins together, and shook their shoulders vigorously as they brought their breasts together. Flopping and bouncing wildly, the breasts of the paired dancers slapped wetly until they were merged into one mass of soft flesh. Still the girls came on till their pursed mouths found each other's and a louder cheer went up from their intimate little audience. "Girls kissin'," Ted breathed. "I've heard o' that."

"Lots more you've heard of that you'll see tonight, ducky," said Penny, still fondling him.

"Please," he said. "You better let me go.. I ... I don't have all that much control yet."

"You don't need control here," said Vic, refilling Ted's glass. "Whatever happens, Penny can get your cock up again. Enjoy. Watch the show. Want to join them?"

A lieutenant commander already had. Whiskey bottle in hand, he'd lurched up there to be met by all four giggling girls. They passed the bottle among them while the navel officer crouched to mouth hungrily at a pair of saucy breasts. One of the girls reached behind him to open his trousers, and a great shout went up from the crowd as his prick came out, hard and long.

The band continued to play as the man was borne down on his back on the stage, laughing wildly, trying to embrace the four girls all at once. Two of them at his feet caught his trousers and dragged them from his body while the other two cradled his head in their arms and slapped at his face with their dangling breasts. When he was bare from the waist down, those at his feet squealed louder than ever. As the crowd cheered them on, one of them came to take a step over his loins, the other to take a similar step over his face as the remaining two girls pushed him flat on his back on the stage. Their arms linked, they slowly began the splits, their stances widening as their slippers slid slowly over the floor, their bodies descending on him. With their free hands they held their skirts on high to show their naked loins, and the drunken naval officer tried to lift his hips and head simultaneously at their approach.

As they neared his penis and mouth with their hugely open crotches, they turned to face his head and in perfect unison flexed their knees and impaled themselves on him, one on his cock, the other on his tongue, and the cheers of the crowd reached the proportions of a din. The girls who'd been holding his arms now released them and he embraced the girl whose snatch he was so deeply kissing. Then they went to their sister performers, facing them, kissing their mouths while all four fondled each other's breasts.

Ted suddenly gasped and said in a strangled voice, "please Miss Penny. Lemme go."

"I won't," she said, her hand moving faster on his cock. "Come for me. Quickly. And kiss my tits while you're doing it. Come on hero! Ahh...."

With a sob, he'd let his head be drawn to those huge breasts, and now he mouthed and slobbered clumsily at the nipple she'd stuck in his mouth as he continued with the strangled sounds in his throat. He rolled his eyes once at the orgy on the stage, then shut them tightly as his body went rigid for a few moments, shooting his load. When Penny released him, he sank his head on the table, covering his eyes, trying to shut out the sounds of raucous laughter all about them.

They could barely hear him as he said, "Gawd, what a bloody ass I made of myself. I got to get out of here, Vic. I'm sick with myself and sick with the things those women did."

Vic said, "What's this, old chum? You can't quit so soon when everything's all bought and paid for already. Where's your fabled stamina? Come on. Have some more bubbly and we'll go to the next room. You might like that better."

Ted shook his head mutely, and Penny sneered down at his hidden face, then turned to Vic. Vic nodded determinedly at her and gestured to the back of the room with his thumb. Penny shrugged and returned her attentions to Ted.

Embracing him, petting him, she said, "Aw, Teddy. You can't quit on me now. Coming in your pants is nothing here. Now, are you going to be my hero tonight or not? Eh? You want some more of my tits, darling? You want to feel how hot my twat is for you? Leave now and you can't ever come back, 'cause I'll be mad at you. Stay with me, darling. Don't let Vic have all the fun tonight. Be my hero."

Ted sighed deeply and raised his head. He tossed off the glass of champagne Vic held out to him and nodded, saying, "All right. I'm with you. Never let it be said that I couldn't keep up with my own wingman."

CHAPTER TWO

Ted excused himself for the men's, looking for all the world like a chubby little boy who'd just wet his pants, and Penny turned to Vic to say. "What in bloody hell's going on? This is the same Teddy Basset who's gunned you out of all your medals, isn't it? Why in hell are we being nice to him?"

"Don't question me, sweetie. Just play my game like a good girl." Vic smiled and took two yellow tablets from his tunic pocket, dropped them in Ted's glass, and filled it with the last of the champagne.

As he stirred them into solution with his finger, Penny said, "He'll be able to go all night on those. That or a heart attack. What is it? Are you trying to see him screw himself to death?"

"Bosh. Teddy eats Flight Pills like candy. Take them away from him and it'd be me with ten Jerries and him with four. And I'm not trying to do him in, darling, no matter how I've talked about him in the past. I just want to see he makes a perfect ass of himself here tonight. Can that be arranged?"

"Nothing simpler. Did you bring us more Flight Pills? Harry's been screaming at me for them. He's almost out and he's in a terrible sweat that the girl's can't keep up with the trade."

Reaching inside his tunic, Vic took out a bulging manila envelope and handed it to Penny. He said, "There. That's enough to keep the girls fucking and prancing for a week. Take them to him now and bring us back another bottle along with my money."

"Yes, Vic." She rose, then bent over to say, "Vic, will we have time for a bit of fun, or must I he with that apple-cheeked schoolboy all night?"

His hand slid up her leg , disappeared under her skirt, and made her wince briefly before her eyes went limpid. He said with a chuckle, "Do a good job on Teddy and well have a bit of a fling, as you say. Scoot now, and be back with the bottle before Teddy."

Ted looked studiously composed when he returned, and Penny and Vic rose to meet him, to escort him to the door at the other end of the room. Vic used another key on this and Penny led Ted with her hand and her smile into a narrow hallway, lit only enough to be able to distinguish the erotic nature of the etchings on the walls. When they looked in at the first of the doors that lined the hall, Ted frowned and looked quizzically at Penny.

It was a small room lined with crushed-velvet covered couches on which sat four men and two women, the former attired in military garb, the later in evening gowns. Against one wall stood four young women, nude save for the Victorian style maid's caps on their heads, all elevated six inches off the floor by the long pedestal they stood on. Belly to belly with the second of these was a naked man. His hands were clenched tightly at his sides while hers played lightly up and down his arms. She was smiling wickedly, whispering words they could not hear, while his face was set with grim determination.

"Time," called a man on the couch with a stopwatch, and the naked man slowly and carefully extracted his dripping cock from the loins of the girl. He took several deep breaths, then went to face the third. She caressed his arms while he fitted himself into her, then pushed at her till his prick was no longer visible. When they were belly to belly, the man nodded and the other on the couch again announced, "Time," and punched the button on the stopwatch.

The only movement an observer might discern beyond that of the girl's hands and lips was an occasional twitch of a muscle in her flank. The only movement at all of the naked man was the constant trembling of his tightly flexed buttocks. They hung that way for perhaps thirty seconds, and all their audience watched in deep, respectful silence, when suddenly the man threw his head back and groaned. Uttering a curse, he clutched the girl's buttocks in both hands and heaved and pumped at her strenuously as she and all the others save Ted laughed gaily.

The man with the stopwatch called out through his guffaws, "Two minutes, twenty-two point three seconds, Petie. Not had, hut nothing near a record. That's a tenner you owe me. Jimmie boy, I'll bet you thirty guineas you can't stay three minutes."

Turning, hacking away, Ted said, "What the hell?"

Penny explained. "You see? Nothing so shocking about a bit of a come here. All us girls can use her twat like a wizard. Those girls didn't look like they were moving, but they were milking Petie's pecker for all they were worth. Believe me, no one can stay four minutes with any four of our girls ... except perhaps darling Victor. Come along. Let's pop into the next room and see what's what."

Casting Vic a look of wary respect, Ted followed Penny.

The next was a similarly small room, plush couches lining all four walls. Where the first room had been very quiet, though, this one was filled with sound. Those seated on the couches were leaning forward for the most part, shouting in encouragement or horror at the couple they watched. One couple on the couches ignored the performance at their feet, totally lost as they were in torrid, semi-nude embraces.

On the floor was a girl clad in the sorry remnants of safari clothing. The pith helmet was gone from her head and her red tresses were in disarray on the white carpet. Only the cuffs of her shirt were intact; the rest of it had been tom from her to reveal her virginal small breasts. Her britches had been torn down to the knees, and as she writhed, she tried to protect her crotch from her tormentor.

He was a naked black man of magnificent proportions, his body daubed with bright paints in bizarre designs, a necklace of animal teeth bobbing about his neck, his prick straight and long and hard. Even as they watched, even as Ted gasped in horror, he bent and caught the girl by her hair to mash her tear-streaked face against his cock. When with a shriek she turned away, he flung her back on the carpet and went to his knees before her. Tearing her legs apart, he fell on her, uttering savage, inarticulate words.

When he penetrated her with his cruel cock, she screamed at the top of her lungs. Some of those on the couches laughed and clapped their hands, and others held their hands before their eyes. Ted tried to surge forward, yelling at the black man to cease, but Vic's strong hands were there to restrain him.

In the hall, Ted was flushed, angry, as Vic laughed and Penny explained, "It's all an act, ducky. Sweet as she looks, the girl has the most well-used cunt in London, and savage as he looks, the man is quite civilized, a corporal in the Yank army who picks up a few bob working nights here. You see? It's all in fun here, no matter how it looks. Come. Let's go to the next room."

The door was locked there, but by sliding a panel in the hall aside, they could see into it. "Admiral Gainsford and his private navy," Penny said with a snicker.

The man looked like a tough but steady old salt. In full dress uniform, he sat on a couch while his little navy worked at him. These were two young, plump girls, their hair tucked into sailor's hats, their curves mostly hidden in sailor's suits. While one of them lay on her side on the couch to fondle the admiral's flaccid penis with her hands, the other knelt on the couch at his other side. He'd pulled her bell-bottomed trousers down and was smoothing his gnarled hands all about her round white bottom. They could hear his words as he said, "Zounds! What an ass! I'd give up my retirement dole to have a pair of doxies like you ship on with me. Keep it up, Gloria. Keep it up. The old ice-cutter's getting up a head of steam. It won't be long now."

Penny said to the staring Ted, "Shocking, what? But a bit of a lark, too." She reached down and felt at his loins and rolled her eyes at Vic, saying, "My hero's reached a heroic size again. What an appetite."

Grinning now, Ted tossed off his champagne and held his glass out for the bottle Vic carried, saying, "I may have been a bit of a late starter at poking the ladies, but I'm ready to start now, and with a vengeance. When do we get on to it? Never felt so hard up, as Vic says, in all my homed days. I'm ready, Penny. Are you? Vic, could I pop her into one of these rooms and have a go at her now?"

"You need the Barclay Bench to get your appetite up enough to appreciate Penny. Come on, chum. It's at the end of the hall."

Ted followed willingly, eagerly. He passed the other doors without a look at them, to enter into the small room at the end of the hall, devoid of any furnishings but wardrobe closets and one chair. At his look of disappointment, Penny laughed and said, "You'll find your pleasure through that door once you've stripped. Now don't look like that. We're all friends here. If you're a shy goose, III just go ahead and rouse the girls. Vic, don't let my hero run off. I want him."

When she was gone, Vic had to prod Ted into undressing, saying, "You can't do it with your clothes on, old chum. Strip. Get bare-assed. Believed me, you'll love it."

Undressing, hanging his clothes up, Ted said excitedly, "She said 'girls'? Plural? I'm to poke more than one?"

"First time out, you're going to get all the sex you ever dreamed about. Undress and get in there, hero. It'll all go just fine."

Working slowly at his coat, Ted said, "You're not coming along?"

"Hell, no. You don't need anybody to hold your hand, do you? I'm going to have a few laughs with Penny, get her ready for you, while a couple of her friends get you worked up enough to take her on. Get in there and let yourself go. Take the champagne. I'll get another bottle and meet you out in the barroom when you've had some fun."

"Vic, this is bloody nice of you."

"Forget it, chum. Forget it."

When Ted tiptoed naked into the adjoining room, Vic slid one of the pictures on the wall aside and looked through the peephole it had hidden. A long bench, leather-covered, dominated the room. At one end of the lunch there was a short backrest, and near the middle of it there was a hole, about a foot in diameter. Leather straps hung down from the table legs.

Ted looked anxiously about, took a small, nervous sip from the bottle, and Penny stepped into the room from a door on the other side. Smiling, she said, "I just talked to Maggie and Heather, two of our best girls on the Bench. Jump up there now and I'll strap you down before they come."

"Strap me down? What's this now? Look, couldn't you and I just jump up there and have ourselves a time and to hell with Maggie and Heather?"

"We could, but Vic wouldn't like it. He's already paid for a very special evening for you and, much as I'd like it, I wouldn't want to disappoint him. And I wouldn't like to see you deprived of a really smashing time. You'd best get up there. They'll be coming right along."

"I don't know about this," he said, as he gingerly climbed on the bench and lay on his belly as Penny directed him. "What in hell are the straps for, Penny?"

"So you won't get carried away and ruin things before your big come-come luv. Just get your peter through the hole and hold still. There's a good boy. We'll put your champagne right here at hand. All set now? The straps aren't too tight? Good. Here come the girls."

He had to crane about to see them, and his face lit up at the sight of the first one. Naked, she was slender and very graceful in her movements. Her brown eyes were very round, and her honey-blonde hair was done up in pigtails. Her skin was immaculately smooth, her breasts finely uptilted, and her loins were entirely devoid of hair. Smiling shyly, she looked no more than sixteen.

The one behind her looked considerably older. She wasn't overly large, but the puffiness about her gave her the appearance of obesity. About forty, she had dark hair in disarray, there were bags under her eyes, and her cheeks sagged. Her eyes were heavily mascaraed and her mouth was thickly painted with lip-rouge. At one time, her breasts might have been firm and lovely, but now they sagged heavily on her chest, their weight distorting the brown nipples to long ovals. She had a bloated belly and her pubic hair was long and matted, the flesh of her thighs limp and flaccid. She bent to peep under the table at Ted's exposure and rose to leer at him and lick her lips.

Penny said, "Do you like to be sucked off, Ted?"

"Me? I never had it."

"Not even by the boys at school?"

"Never. Not me. I'm not one of those."

"Maggie's just wonderful at it. She's a real artist, probably the best in London at tickling it out of a man with her mouth."

"Is she now? That's why you've got me hanging down through this hole in the bench, is it?"

"Yes. Shell be under the table. Out of sight of you."

"Aha. Meantime, what am I doing with her?" He rolled his eyes at the lovely young blonde.

"Heather likes it the French way." She drew the girl closer to Ted's upturned face and his nostrils flared at the fresh, sweet odor of her body. "It's really very exciting for a man to do, and of course, it drives a girl simply wild when it's done for her. Have you heard about how it is?"

"I read some," he said in a tight voice, his eyes darting over the form of the girl. Her pubis was just at a level with his eyes and his gaze returned to that pink flesh time and again. The subtle valleys, the fresh skin, the upper edges of her slit were all there for him to gaze at. He murmured, "I dunno. I better not."

"Aw," said Heather, and ran her cool fingers over his cheek. "I think you'd like it, luv."

"I'll leave you two children to work it out," said Penny, and went to the door. "Bye, Ted. Have fun."

Maggie, the crone, took a pinch of Ted's soft, round bottom in her fingers and said, "I'm off to work." From a drawer in the bench, she took out a feather duster and got on her haunches under the table. "Ahh," she said, and took Ted's prick into her hand to guide it to her mouth.

He stiffened and moaned, panting, "Gor! That's a helluva feeling. But not those feathers. Quit that, will you?

I can't stand that. Ahh."

"Good?" said the blonde girl. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to kiss me just a little?"

From below, Maggie's voice said harshly, "Just jump up there on the bench, lass. 'E don't know what 'e's missin'."' She hesitated, then started up, brushing her smooth flesh against him as she went, and through his gasps and moans he said, "Easy now. All I want is a bit of a taste of it. Cooie! Would you leave off with those feathers down there?"

Heather took her position against the backrest, her knees up, her bare feet at his sides, her thighs open to accommodate his face. She held his head in her hands and smoothed his cheek against the soft flesh of her inner thigh, saying, "There. Doesn't that feel nice. Not so bad at all, is it?"

"Gawd," he said. "I never knew anything could be so soft and warm. Are my whiskers hurting you? I should have shaved closer. Damn me! That Maggie knows how to tease a man. Heather, I think I've had enough. Let me up now and we'll do it eh? Have us a screw. Come on, gal. I'm ready as I'll ever be."

"Aw, but we just started. And you haven't really kissed me at all."

"There," he said, and darted a peck on the taut pink flesh of her vagina. "There I've done it. Now undo me."

"Oh," she pouted, cupping his cheeks in her hands and cocking her head as she looked down at him. "That's barely a start, luv. Give us a little more."

His hips jerked up then, away from the tickling feather duster and the wet mouth, and he said, "Hey, you're drivin' me outta my mind down there. Heather, let me up. Let me poke you now."

"No," she said. "I want you to kiss me some more."

"There. Now, that's enough. Damn it, let me up."

Maggie left off kissing and tickling him then, and heaved herself out from under the table and up at the side of the bench. She said, "Heather, you're bein' too easy on this sod. Get off there and under the bench. I'll give the boy a taste fer twat."

"Here now!" Ted exclaimed as Heather moved to obey the older woman. "Let me up this minute. I've had my bloody fill of your games."

"Oh, no," said Maggie, moving to take Heather's place. "Ye've barely began, boy.

He tried to twist away as the old, sagging brunette climbed up there, but the straps held him firm. His voice shaking with rage and disgust, he shouted, "Get the hell away from me, you! Gawd, you stink! Get away, I say!

Back under the table. Vic! Penny! Get away, you reeking old whore."

His prick was wilting when Heather got to it, and she took it in her mouth to keep his excitement alive as she adroitly used the feathers on his testicles. As Maggie settled down opening her livid flesh with both hands, she said, "What is it, dearie? Don't like me perfume? Is that it?"

"I'll kill you if you touch me! I'll-"

His cries were cut off as she grasped two handfuls of his hair and jammed his face against her fetid flesh, cackling with laughter at his futile struggles. With her handholds, she burrowed his face harder at her hairy crotch, settled more snugly against the leather. The bench creaked and groaned with his struggles, and then Maggie's laughter was interrupted as she shouted with shock and pain.

Thrusting his face from her, she said, "The filthy beggar bit me! Heather! Hand me that crop from the drawer. I'll teach him."

Choking, spitting, he snarled, "You dirty, filthy whore. Let me up straightaway. D'you hear? Let me loose!"

Heather handed her the limber riding crop, and returned to beneath the bench as Maggie flicked his buttocks lightly with it. Maggie said in a wheedling voice "How's Heather? Good mouth, that girl. Feeling good now, little man?" Snarling, totally enraged, Ted tried to twist his face from the foul crotch, tried to twist his body from the soft, sweet administrations of the unseen girl. Then the crone struck him very hard with the crop, and he howled and his head shot up. She clenched his hair in her hand and jammed him against her again while she struck him a second blow. Under the bench, Heather caressed him even more warmly as the third blow made him flatten his hips as hard as he could against the leather, his head ceasing to twist now.

The two prostitutes worked in a pattern. Each time he'd struggle or try to bite, Maggie would place another long pink welt on his big buttocks. When he lay still and docile, moving his tongue against Maggie in the way she wanted, Heather would increase the ardor of her caress and the riding crop would merely brush softly over his back.

In the anteroom, Vic turned from his peephole and said, "He's off to a good start. Let's go."

Moving to the door with him, Penny said, "Maggie and Heather make quite a pair, don't they? Mother and daughter, and the hardest pair of harpies we've ever had here. Your Ted's in store for a long night."

"Yes, and he needs an audience now."

There were several couples in the hall by then, peeping into the rooms, embracing, laughing, and as Vic passed each of them, he said, "There's a boy at the end of the hall having himself a wild time. You shouldn't miss it." This advice was given to several others in the barroom, and then Vic said to Penny, "Well? Ted's taken care of. How about you:

She smiled and tossed her head, saying, "Private room or public."

"Private tonight. Lead the way."

The moment the door closed on their dimly lit cubicle, she was in his arms thrusting her body at him, her nostrils flaring with her breathing as she mouthed hungrily at his lips. She moaned ecstatically as his long, strong hands dug into the flesh of her back. When he reached down to dig his fingers into her naked buttocks under her skirt, she whimpered in the kiss, but stood on tiptoes in her effort to get closer to him.

He hauled their loins apart by pulling at a handful of her ass, then moved the other hand to clutch her crotch. Penny's left leg went up to grapevine itself about his thigh, and she lowered her head to his chest and gasped, "Easy. Easy, Vic. Oh! Get me ready."

"You're always ready, you whore."

"Yes," she moaned. "But only for you. Let me see it. Let me hold it."

She fumbled at his fly, her eyes glazed over with lust, her jaw slack. When she had his cock out, long and thick and hard, she moaned rapturously and pressed its length against her groin.

"Vic. Oh, Vic. Will I ever get enough of you?"

"You'll have a long time to try, kid, if I decide to let you hang around."

"Don't tease me now about marriage, Vic. Just screw me. That's all I want now."

"Get on your hands and knees," he said curtly.

She shuddered in a long breath, and said, "Yes! Yes, Vic."

In that position, her knees far apart, her little skirt pulled up over her big white bottom, she turned and looked up at him imploringly. He was undressing, slowly, and she wailed, "Vic, for God's sake, hurry up."

"What? And wrinkle my uniform? Use your hand on yourself to keep warm while I hang this up. Go on."

Her hand immediately went between her legs to rub herself vigorously, and she arched her head back and moaned, "Oh, hurry. I need you so bloody bad."

"Hot? Is that it?"

"Burning up. From the minute you came in here tonight. Give it to me. Please, Vic. Please!"

He chuckled and dropped to his knees behind her. Penny lay her cheek and shoulders on the carpet so she could use both hands to reach back and open her thoroughly lubricated labia, and Vic prodded the head of his cock within her. Gripping her by the hips, he continued without hesitation until the entire length of his prick disappeared inside her.

He backed out and slammed against her and she emitted a cry that might have been pain, might have been deepest rapture. Grunting with each of his measured, savage thrusts, Penny heaved herself up on her elbows so that her head hung down, her blonde tresses fanned out on the floor. She thrust her abdomen downward so she appeared very swayback so he could drive deeper at her.

"Is this what you want?" Vick said harshly.

"You know ... you know what I want," she gasped. "Give that cock to me."

"Soon. Soon," he said. "Sloppy cunt. Dirty whore."

"Yes. Yes, that's what I am."

"If you think I'm marrying you, you're crazy."

"Vic, don't torture me. Just screw me. Give it to me. Lover, please!"

"Say it. Beg for it."

"Oooh," she wailed, her head rolling back on her shoulders now. "Give that hard cock to me, Vic. Please. Fuck me. Fuck me in the ass."

She gasped when he rapidly withdrew his dripping cock from her cunt, then cried out as he pushed himself hard against her anus and entered her. Sneering, sweating, heaving at her, Vic rasped, "Whore. Dirty Whore. I'll never marry you, but I will dirty myself on you. Mmm. Coming now. Right in your asshole. Feel it? Do you?"

"Nnnnng! All over. I feel it all over. Oh, you dirty dirty bastard. There's not a man in the world as dirty as you, as right for me as you. Urrgh! Ohhh! Really coming hard. No more. Oh, Vic. I can't stand any more." He withdrew his soiled prick, dragging a last anguished cry from her.

Vic lay on the couch while Penny bathed his loins, and as she worked, he said, "How was it? Worth waiting for?"

"You left me limp as a rag. The more you treat me like dirt, the more I like it, it seems. All except for when you say you won't marry me. That frightens me."

"Does it? I shouldn't. You know I will when the war's over.

"Yes. I know." She kissed him. "Want to go see how Ted's faring?"

"No, I want to take a nap. Wake me when he comes out, will you? And until he does come out, make sure he had plenty of company and booze."

CHAPTER THREE

About him, officers of the royal service and officials in the government drank and sported with their women and with the whores while Vic slumbered peacefully behind a locked door. It was a good sleep. He'd had just enough alcohol to dull the anxieties built up from daily air combat, and he'd had the proper amount of sex to ease his body. Though he slept deeply, he was awake immediately when Penny shook him.

"What time is it?"

"Almost four in the morning."

"Goddamn it, I told you to wake me up as soon as Ted was finished," he said, grabbing for his clothes.

"I did. He only just now got out of there. Vic, he looks awful. They put him through every sort of perversion imaginable. He's half-drunk, too. He looks like he's going to collapse any moment."

"Did he have a good audience?"

"A grand audience most of the time."

"Good," said Vic, pulling on his tunic. "Where is he?"

"Down the hall. Getting dressed, if he hasn't passed out already."

Vic found Ted in the anteroom to the Barclay Bench, just knotting his tie with shaking fingers. His face was ashen and there were dark circles under his eyes. His fat seemed to sag, as he looked at Vic, his bloodshot eyes held the furtive look of someone suffering deep inner pain.

"Well?" said Vic, grinning, clapping him on the back. "Had a good time?"

"Where did you bugger off to?" said Ted, in a quivery ..!'c.

"Oh, I was having a ball with Penny and some of the other girls. I had a great time. How about you?"

"You didn't ... you weren't one of those beggars that were watching me?"

"Hell, no. I've got better things to do when I come here than watching you."

Ted's shoulders sagged and he said, "Thank God for that. Vic, those filthy whores bound me up and ... and made me do awful things. People came in and looked. Some of them ... God, I feel miserable."

"You'll be fine. What you need is a drink and then we'll head back to the squadron. Better yet, stay here and I'll report you in sick."

"Like bloody hell I'll stay here. I'll make it. Have you got a Flight Pill on you, Vic?"

"Not a one. They'll issue us one at the base. Well stop at the bar and have a shot or two of whiskey to last us back there. There's still over an hour to go till flight time."

"Crimeny, no more booze for me. It's to the base, a cold shower, then into my cockpit for a nap before we're off." Ted, you can't fly this morning. You're in no shape to fly-"

"I am if I can beg an extra Flight Pill from one of the lads. Come on. Is there a back way out?"

"Nope," Vic lied. "We'll have to go out through the bar, and if you don't want a fast shot, I do."

Ted's cheeks were mottled with red as they stepped into the main barroom, and he kept his face down and his hand over his mouth as he followed Vic to the bar. There was no escaping, however, from the eyes of the prostitutes who'd either seen him or used his body in the past hours. They clustered about him, laughing shrilly, trying to embrace him, tossing up his cap, buffeting him from all sides. From among the customers at the tables there were shouts of encouragement, laughter, rude reminders of the things they'd seen him do, drinks sent to him. Vic watched it all from down the bar, smiling, his whiskey untouched, watching Ted writhe in utter embarrassment as half a dozen briefly clad prostitutes, led by Penny, held him captive for twenty minutes.

They were silent for a time in the cab, slipping past the dawn-outlined buildings, the smoky piles of the night's new rubble. Then Vic chuckled and said, "Ted, did you do any of those things they were laughing about back there?"

"I did nothing," he said shortly. "They were all done to me.

"I'd have to see that to believe it."

"By God, it's true. I ... Vic, not a word of this back at the base. If the lads in the squadron ever found half of what they did to me, I'd be a bloody laughing stock."

"Oh, I wouldn't say a word," said Vic. "But you know how those stories get around. If you were going to do all that, you shouldn't have told them your right name."

"But I did nothing! They did it all."

"It takes two, you know. I've heard Group Captain Brighton goes to the Silver Cock. Lord, I hope he doesn't hear about it. You know how he gossips."

"He does? Keith? Crimeny, that'd sink me. If he blabbed it around, I'd ... I'd have to ask for a transfer. But he won't go there now. I hear he just got married."

"So what? There were lots of married men there tonight. Some with their wives. Haven't you ever had any discretion, Ted? Did you have to make such a complete ass of yourself?"

"But I didn't...."

"That's the way it sounded, chum, even though you didn't lift a finger to help them. That Maggie at the bar ... wow. Why did you ever pick her?"

"I ... oh, hell! What's the use? I'll see to a transfer today, as soon as the flight's over, before the bloody word gets around."

"If you think that's best. If your heart's really set on it, you could do it during the flight."

"Hardly. I'll be leading it."

"Ted, you can't fly today. Man, you're shot."

"I'm all right," he said grimly, and gazed fixedly out the window.

Vic and Ted parted at the barracks, met again at the flight line in front of the row of eight Supermarine Spitfires whose Rolls Royce Merlin engines whined with their eagerness to be off the tarmac and into the air. Even at engine warm-up speed, the sleek old camouflage-painted fighters strained against the chocks as morning mist was whipped back through the spinning props to blend with the haze of exhaust fumes. The poised, graceful craft made the men in their bulky flight suits, parachutes bumping behind, look awkward, clumsy. Here at last Ted Basset looked no longer the plump little boy, but the equal of the rest of them in their padded leather coveralls. The goggles concealed his bloodshot eyes and heavy gloves concealed the trembling in his hands, and the scarf masked the alcoholic fumes as he spoke to Vic.

"Sergeant says we re out of Flight Pills. Have you got one to spare, Vic?"

Vic shook his head in the negative, and Ted shrugged and started for the lead plane, walking an unsteady line to the cockpit steps.

They took off singly, one of the few times in the air Vic could demonstrate his skill as an individual and not a hanger-on. He banked over the city of London, woke up a few complacent air raid wardens with his roaring engine, then went into a very slow barrel roll. Upside down, he picked out the familiar landmark over the Silver Cock. If it weren't for the old water tower on the roof, the building that housed the Cock would look just as drab and featureless as the rest. The water tank made it distinctive. Black, its sides hung with long green moss, it never failed to put him in mind of a monstrous old cunt being held open, begging for a cock to be slipped into it. He'd be under that water tower that night, slipping his throbbing cock into a much prettier hole than that.

They formed up and Vic could already see the unsteadiness Ted showed on the ground was still with him. There was the slightest of tremors in the wingtips of Ted's plane, a trace of sluggishness in his turns. Small things, these, matters the others might not even notice. Vic noticed them. He'd followed behind that lead plane for too many hours, watched its infuriatingly faultless performance for too many miles not to notice. By the end of the flight, the others would see it, If they didn't, Vic would do something to call their attention to their leader's inept, hesitant performance in the air that day. And eventually, in their analysis of Ted's sudden transfer, they'd come to the conclusion that he'd lost simply his nerve, as many before him had.

They climbed over the cloud cover and went into formation again as they cruised toward Dover, and it was Vic who was the first to spot the twenty-eight other planes they were to join. The twelve Lancaster bombers and the sixteen Hawker Hurricane fighters were ahead of them, and he spoke crisply into the radio to direct Ted's eyes to them. Too long a pause, then the nose of Ted's Spitfire swung in their direction. Soon their faster, more efficient fighting machines had formed the top of the protective umbrella over the lumbering four-engined bombers.

The radio headset crackled and Group Captain Keith Brighton's indolent drawl came out, amused. "Thought you were flying right on past, Teddy. Welcome. Off till we reach target. Luck to you all, chaps."

They'd been told that morning that the target would be Antwerp, an easy one, if any of them could be called easy. Antwerp wasn't especially well provided for with ack ack, and there was to be an American raid on Koblenz that morning which would draw off some of the swarms of defending German fighters. Distance to target would allow them about twenty minutes of full speed, 362 mph maneuvering before they exhausted too much "fuel for a return to base.

The cloud cover thinned over the coast of France, and almost immediately dark puffs of anti-aircraft explosions formed in front and above them, only to slip by at lightning speed.

It left no doubt in Vic's mind that they'd be followed by spotters and radar, and that Antwerp would be ready and waiting for them. He reached in his pocket and took out one of the Flight Pills, chewed it and swallowed it. Ted's news that the squadron was out of Flight Pills that morning was amusing to him. If the shortage kept up, he might be selling some of his inexhaustible supply to the squadron as well as to the Silver Cock. He decided to raise his price on the next sale, no matter how Harry at the Cock screamed.

Other thoughts claimed him then, the thoughts of surviving the morning. Antwerp could just be seen as a smudge on the horizon when the Jerry planes picked them up. There were twenty-four of the stocky, ugly ME 109's swooping down from out of the sun, and again it was Vic who saw them first. He signaled the warning by waggling his wings, and three seconds later Ted was leading the Spitfires and Hurricanes up to meet them. As Vic throttled up, the mixed flight spread out in pairs, and he stayed dutifully beside and two paces to the rear of Ted's plane. The logic of this tactic was not to be denied, for the tandem arrangement made for a formidable fighting machine. Wing to wing, they presented sixteen Browning .303's to the enemy, with one pair of eyes looking forward, seeking a kill, another set of eyes watching for attack from behind. The lead plane did most of the shooting, for it took almost all the wingman's concentration to serve defensively and still keep up with the rapid maneuverings. Ted often said it was Vic who had the hardest job of the two, but it was still Ted who got full credit for the kills the team made.

The ME's were headed straight at the Lancasters, and the first task at hand was to spread them out, to reduce the awesome concentration of firepower presented by their wing-mounted 7.9 mm machine guns and their fuselage-mounted 20 mm cannon. They came together with all guns blazing, making Vic blink and go very tense in this first heat of battle. Someday he knew the Jerries wouldn't be turned, but that wasn't one of those days. Two of the lead ME's were hit, one smoking, one exploding, and the formations, precise as a cavalry charge, disappeared into a twisting, turning ballet in the sky.

The ME's soared and arced and plunged like ugly, angry black bees while the Spitfires and Hurricanes, in pairs and singly, pursued them. With awful determination, the bees sought to penetrate to the Lancasters which continued to almost placidly go about their business, opening their bomb bays now, spitting sporadically with their matchstick guns from the sides of the fat fuselages. For the most part, the ME's hewed to their goal of reaching those bombers, and only occasionally would one of them be so angered as to turn from this attack to try to sink its cannon projectiles into the teams of fighters that pursued them from every side.

Vic's headset filled his ears with staccato bits of conversations, warnings, curses, cheers. Outside his Plexiglas bubble, thousands of gunshots were exploding, but all he could hear were the quick words and the high-pitched whine of his thousand horse motor as he spun and twisted through the hail of lead that Ted brought them into. Streaks of smoke, bits of debris both large and small filled the air and were left behind to dirty the sky as the Lancaster droned on to their target, dragging the fighters with them. Then, quite suddenly, the ME's were pulling away, back up into the sun, and the Hawkers and Spitfires could breathe again as they went to their places over the mother Lancasters.

Now there were only nine Lancasters to protect, and only twenty-one fighters to do the job. But fighters were no protection for the ack ack explosions that blossomed about them as they neared target. One of the Lancasters was rocked by a shell burst, and black smoke belched back from an inboard engine. With no hesitation, its nose was pointed down and it left the formation.

Keith's voice said, "Rum go, Kennie. Can't keep up?"

A pause, then a voice that was studied in trying to match Keith's calm tones said, "Kennie's already bought it, Cappie. And we've got a bit of a fire amidships. Best we make a lower run at target. Bit chancy staying in close formation as we are."

As unruffled as ever, Keith said, "Dump your load now, Jack, and rejoin us."

"Can't, Cappie. Our dropping mechanism's in a mess. Perhaps we'll have it fixed by the time you're on target."

"Luck to you, chaps. Join up with us as you can."

The lone Lancaster was a thousand feet below them, to the side of them, when four ME's swooped down, lazy and confident, for their first pass at the cripple.

Ted spoke then, saying, "Stay where you are, lads. Close up on Vic now. I'm going down to hold Jack's hand for a bit."

"Like hell you are," said Keith, even as Ted's Spitfire pulled out of formation. "Ted, you're ordered to stay where you are. Ted!"

There was no answer from Ted as he swooped down at the tangle below them. Vic caught only glimpses of the action as they neared target, the ack ack thick now. He missed the explosion of the Lancaster, turned to see it falling to earth along with two of the ME's, while Ted stayed on with the other two, circling, looping, firing, then smoking.

Turning for home, their target erupting under them, Ted's plane was to be seen streaking vertically for earth, a plume of smoke trailing behind, when the ME's hit them again. Now they were after the fighter escort as well as the bombers, and in this battle, fighting as an individual at last, Vic stood out like a tower of strength. Again and again his Brownings spoke as he flew through the tangle, entirely free of the fetters that had bound him to the apron strings of fat Teddy Basset. His freedom was doubly sweet, for Ted's last words had been spoken in turning the squadron over to him. It would be hard to keep from grinning, laughing aloud back at the base while the others mourned the demise of poor old Ted.

CHAPTER FOUR

Three Jerries shot down in one day rated a celebration, as far as Vic was concerned, under any circumstances at all. But all he's received at the base was a few "Well dones." Now, at the Silver Cock, he was getting more of what he deserved'. Seated at a table in the main bar room with Penny, he was sipping champagne and retelling her of his exploits as she listened with adoration shining in her eyes.

As he toyed with her under the table, she stopped other girls going by them to tell them of Vic's achievement. From the looks, the words he got, he knew he could have an orgy of magnificent proportions that night if he chose. He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't glut himself with sex and lose his fine fighting edge. He wouldn't exhaust himself with screwing and lose his life as Ted had done.

Penny clucked when he told her Ted was dead, but then her reaction was, "And that makes you Squadron Leader?"

"Unofficially right now. My promotion should come through any day."

"Vic, how wonderful."

"Yep. I'll be Group Captain by the time this is over. Back home there'll be thousands of flyboys from the U.S. Air Force looking for a way to the easy life. I'll have an edge over them. I'll have it made back in the States.""

"You're right," she said. "We will," and squeezed his loins nicely. "Speaking of Group Captains, there's Keith Brighton coming in."

"Oh?" said Vic, not turning. "What's he doing here? I thought he got married. Looking for variety already, eh?"

"No, he's got his wife with him. Gads, she looks young enough to be his daughter, doesn't she?"

Vic turned then and was held there by the sight of her. She was of medium height and very slender. Very light brown hair was piled high on her head, probably in an attempt to make her look older. Her face was shaped like a heart, with the wide brown eyes of a fawn, a straight nose barely tipped up at the end, a generous mouth with pink lips that were moist and parted. She was dressed in a simple, clinging gown of white satin in the fashion Jean Harlow had popularized, sleeveless, with a long vee leading down to her bosom. It showed she had a delicate, almost girlish figure, and Vic wanted to peel away that layer of cloth and see if she wore anything at all under it, see what there was about that body that was so very appealing to him. She clung to Keith's arm, her body bent forward slightly as her wonderfully big eyes darted about the crowded, buzzing room. She did indeed look like a daughter of the lean, graying, mustachioed RAF officer-a daughter who was fascinated by being allowed this glimpse of the wicked world in which her elders played.

Still staring at her, Vic said, "What's her name? Where'd that old bastard get hold of a girl like that?"

Pulling at him, Penny said, "It sounds as if I ought to be jealous."

"Don't be silly, baby. Tell me about her."

"Her name's Dawn. I understand she's his second cousin, that he's taken her under his wing since her parents were killed in a bombing. She is a pretty thing, if you like them skinny."

"Fathering her, is he? Bullshit. He's got his horny old hands all over her every night. The famous hero of the Battle of Britain might be too old to fly a Spitfire any more, but he's not too old to try to take that one on." Vic patted Penny's leg and rose to wave across the room to the couple. Keith waved back, spoke to his wife, then threaded their ways through the tables to Vic, stopping to chat several times and picking up drinks along the way. By the time they got to Vic's table, he'd studied the slender, timid girl in white from every angle, his palms were moist.

Introductions were made and the Brightons sat down. Keith said, "Congratulations on your triple today, Victor."

"That wasn't much compared to what we lost." Next to Vic, Dawn was wearing perfume that reminded him of sweet peas climbing a rustic fence on a hot spring day. "Ted was like a brother to me."

"Mustn't allow yourself that close a friendship, Victor. They can be too painful."

"I guess so.". Looking away, looking sad, Vic found a fast view of the swell of Dawn's breast in the vee of her bodice, young, pure white, virginal. "I can imagine how many close friends you lost when you were flying Spitfires day and night over London."

"Yes. Now I lose only acquaintances-like Kennie and Jack and their boys. Sorry about Ted, though. I really am, Victor. But enough of the sentimental rot. We're out for a bash tonight. Dawn's heard my mates blathering about the Silver Cock long enough. She's going to see it once, be thoroughly shocked, then have done with it."

"The back rooms, too?" Penny asked.

"Lord, no," Keith laughed. "The parlor here is more than enough of a shocker for her."

"Back rooms?" Dawn queried, her wide eyes growing huge now. "There are more rooms than this?"

Grinning wickedly, leaning close, Vic said, "Ah, yes. And much too wicked for you, little one. They're for old lechers like Keith and I." He confirmed she was wearing no brassiere, that the points of her breasts were only covered with the thin, caressing satin. "And for whores like Penny." Dawn stifled a gasp, then looked with furtive interest at Penny. Keith laughed and said, "There, Dawn. You've had your shock. You've had a drink with a prostitute. Ready to go now r

"Mayn't we stay for the show, Keith?"

Before her husband could answer, Vic said, "She's got to see that, Keith. There's nothing so bad about the show."

"It's just barely decent, darling. And I only promised you one drink here."

"Please, Keith. After all, I'm an old married woman now," she said. Vic knew that if she asked him like that, he'd have given her anything in the world.

"Old?" said Keith. "It's years, not marriage, that makes a girl an old woman. And with only nineteen of them behind you, you're still a girl, I fear. We'd best drink up and go, darling."

"No need for that," said Vic. "Dawn's safe from what goes on in back. Stay for the show, Keith."

"Yes, do," Dawn implored, her dainty hand going to Keith's sleeve.

"All right, darling. You win. But say, there's Air Marshall Groves over there and I've got to have-a word with him. Would you think me a boor if I left you here with Victor and Penny? I'll be back before the show starts."

Vic's luck, excellent all day, continued to run as Keith became more and more involved in the conversation across the room, as his own' easy conversation drew more and more warmth from the lovely girl at his side. He divided his time between Penny and Dawn, and with Dawn he'd never been more charming in his life. When the show started, Keith looked in their direction, and Vic waved the sign that all was fine at the table. Then, with the noisy cancan music as a cover, he was able to lean very close to Dawn with every word he spoke.

"Wild, isn't it?" said Vic, able to brush her hair with his lips.

"Unbelievably wild," she said, in obvious awe.

"You should see it in the next room. Same girls, same dance, but much, much better-if you're inclined toward wickedness."

Her face turned to him, very close, and he was able to smell the fresh fragrance of her breath as she said, "Really? What do they do in there? How could it be any wilder?"

"For one thing, they're dressed differently. For a start, they pull their blouses down. And, like you," he said with a pointed look into her bodice, "they don't wear any brassieres."

Her hand started to go to the vee between her breasts, then stopped. She said, "That must be wild, indeed."

She'd reacted well to that, and now he said, "That's not all, of course. In the next room, they don't wear any pants."

A faint blush of color came to her cheeks and she turned to study the girls on the stage, prancing, kicking high, doing the splits. Softly she said, "I don't believe you, Vic. No woman could do that."

"I disagree. Any woman could. After all, Penny's not wearing any pants."

Now her eyes went to Penny, again reappraising her, glancing down at the short skirt that covered her loins. Unable to hear their conversation, Penny looked inquiringly at Vic. He grinned at her and reached down to draw her legs apart. He lifted her little skirt high and ran his fingers through her soft blonde pubic hair, turned to look for Dawn's reaction.

Her eyelashes were fluttering and the color of her cheeks was higher. She wet her lips and swallowed, her hand held at her throat. He could see a pulse beating at her temple.

Still leisurely stroking Penny's bare, open loins, Vic said to Dawn, "You see? This way, Penny's always ready for sex. Are you, Dawn? Or is that necessary when you're married to a man as old as Keith."

"Lieutenant Munroe! Please! " she said, but continued to stare at Vic's hand moving over Penny's loins.

Vic moved in. Concealed by the table, he touched his fingers high on her satin-covered leg. She flinched, but didn't move away, and he slid his hand over her till it was cupped on that slim, firm thigh. She hissed, "Stop that. Don't be a cad or I'll call Keith."

"All American are cads, Dawn. You'd better call him, 'cause I'm not going to stop. I want to find out if you wear panties. I want to see if you're always ready for sex." He slid his hand higher, over the incredibly warm, delicate juncture of thigh to abdomen, across the boyishly flat belly, down to the warm, shallow vee of her loins. He said, "I don't feel any panties. You're ready for sex."

"I am wearing them. Damn you, stop it."

"Sorry, Dawn. I can't. Better look at the show. Keith might look this way."

She glared at him with utter loathing in her eyes, her small white teeth set in a grimace between her barely parted lips. He ran his hand back, his fingers tracing the top hem of her panties under the satin as he felt of her pert, round backside. There were two spots of pink on her cheeks when she turned to look at the stage.

Slowly pressing his fingers into the soft flesh of her buttocks, Vic said softly, "I'd like to take you into the back rooms, Dawn. I'd like to show you all the things you dream about when old Keith is trying to excite you. Then I'd like to do all the things he used to be able to do, and more-much more."

"Damn you," she said, lips barely moving. "Leave me alone."

He moved his hand to her belly again, watching the show with her, acting as if that claimed his attention rather than the two cunts he was fondling. A little, mewing sigh escaped Dawn as he moved his fingers through the warm hollows of her lap. He said, "Get rid of him. Put him to bed and come back and meet me here."

"Vic, this is insane. Stop. Please."

"When can we meet? Where can I call you?"

"Never! Nowhere! For the love of God, stop. Here he comes."

Vic trailed his hand from her, made her start when he took a last little pinch of that delectably firm bottom, and was smiling congenially when Keith sat down with them again.

Keith said, "Sorry I was gone so long, darling. The war takes me away from you far too much. Ah. You're blushing. The show was a bit too much for you."

She stammered once, then said, "Its a very exciting dance, the cancan. I've always heard so much about it."

"And now you've seen it and now it's time to go.

"Good night, Penny. Good night, Victor. Try not to get in the dumps over Teddy."

As they moved away, Vic grinned and felt a tingle of deep excitement course through him at the sight of the , small wet spot on the seat of Dawn's dress, just under the juncture of her loins. Penny spoke to him as she pulled his hand harder against her sodden cunt, and he had to ask her to repeat her question.

As Dawn disappeared through the door, as Vic turned to Penny, she said, "What in hell were you talking so chummy to the girl about?"

"The war, my dear. The war."

"Balls. Vic, were you making a play for her? With Keith right here? With me right here?"

"Don't be bitchy, Penny. She's too cool and innocent for me. I like my women hot and hard as nails, like you." He pinched her clitoris till the slippery little organ was darted from his fingers.

She gasped and said, "Gawd, I am hot. Let's go for a room, luv." She groped his lap, found his cock rampantly hard, and her eyes were pleading as she said, "I need this."

"All right. I'll give you some of it. Let's go."

She dragged him through the doors and down the hall, expressing her vexation in curses when she found room after room occupied. At last there was a vacant room, and now she gushed over him with lavish affection as she drew him down to the couch, pulling his hand to her loins again as she worked at the fastenings of his clothing. As he stroked her sodden flesh, he looked her over. There was a coarseness in her face, not just in that whorish look she could never quite conceal, but in the very texture of her complexion. It was smooth skin, but the smoothness was due mostly to cosmetics. Her pores were too large. The lines around her mouth were too deep. There was nothing really delicate in her femininity. In just a few years that face would be puffed, bloated, given over to fat that no amount of cosmetics could conceal. Those tits of hers would be dragged down by their own weight, shapeless, enormous dugs, hanging to her waist before long. It would be a thick waist then, one that the red corselet couldn't be closed over. Her hips would broaden and her buttocks would enlarge to great masses of quivering flesh. If he ever seriously considered actually marrying her and letting her share in his successes after the war, this look at her made him secure in his resolve to leave her far behind when it was over.

She crooned over the sight of his burgeoning cock, and he said, "Kiss it a while, baby. Get me in the mood."

"What a beauty. What a frigging beauty I got," she said, and bent to take the cockhead in her mouth.

She was good at this, but it could be taught to anyone, just as it had been taught to her. Any woman could learn to apply that perfect amount of pressure with their lips, that teasing manner of moving the tongue, the proper suction, the appropriate movements of the hands.

He wondered if Keith ever got Dawn to do that. No. That was inconceivable. Their marital relations consisted of nothing more than his assuming the male superior position over her. Keith Would get himself aroused by such things as buying her revealing negligees, watching her prepare for bed, listening outside the bathroom door while she made water. When he put his hands on her, it wasn't to excite her for their intercourse, but it was to bring the blood coursing through his tired old veins.

Ah, what music Vic would make with her. That was a body that could be stimulated in a thousand new ways. It was a body that would respond, this he knew from the juices that had leaked out from her when he'd touched her. It was an ageless body, one that wouldn't go to fat, one that a man would never grow tired of. It was a body he had to have, a woman he had to have, and he knew there had to be a way to have what he wanted. He'd think of it. He always did. But he'd think of it later, for just then the sensations Penny was creating with her tongue were too good to be denied.

She started to lift her head and he held her where she was. His deeply trembling loins he relaxed, and the surging, soaring feelings of his ejaculation began. She made a noise of protest, but he held her still, closed his eyes and summoned up a vision of radiant, blushing Dawn as the good feelings spread throughout him, running in great spurts from his cock into her mouth.

He sighed deeply and released her head, saying, "Sorry, baby. You were just too good. It sneaked up on me and I couldn't stop it."

Wiping her mouth, trying not to look hurt and doing a bad job of it, she said, "It's all right, luv. I like you that way, too. But I'm really hot as blazes now. Would you let me get you up again now?"

"Penny, I'm beat."

"Then give us a kiss on the twat, dear. Eat me a little bit."

"I'm tired. It's been a helluva day."

"Aw, luv," she simpered, petting his cheek with one hand and reaching for his wilted prick with the other. "It'd only take a mo. Jesus, I'm in an awful state for it."

"There's a couple dozen eager young British officers out there, all glad to come to your rescue. As for me, I couldn't do you a hit of good."

"Lemme suck you off a bit. That'll get you up again."

"Penny. I said, no. I'm too tired."

"Well ... well, finger-fuck me then. I could come that way. I could have out at the table, but I wanted to wait for you.

"How noble. If you're that hot, you ought to be able to come by yourself."

"What's that supposed to mean, luv? Is that a joke?"

"No, Penny. I want to see how you masturbate. And don't tell me you've never done it."

"Not since I was a girl, but ... Jesus, I can't think ... but touch me, Vic. Come on." Here she went back on her bottom, opening her legs wide and spreading the lips of her big cunt with the fingers of both hands, smiling at him, thinking she was making herself attractive, sexy.

Firmly, he reached down and took her by one wrist, thrust her hand against her thoroughly wet flesh, moved it there, then took his hand away. "Go ahead," he said.

Her hand had stopped, but now as she looked for a sign in his face and saw none, she began moving her fingers. She turned her head away, burying her chin against her shoulder and more rapidly massaged her most sensitive flesh. Smiling, he took her chin in his hand and lifted her face till she was looking at him, then said, "You're doing fine, Penny. See? You don't really need me at all."

"I do, Vic. I love you, Vic. Finish me now. Please."

He chuckled, then abruptly grabbed her wrist and jammed her fingers harder against her crotch, moving her hand very rapidly. As she cried out in anguished delight, he pushed her over backward on the couch and she rolled about on it, gasping and squealing, doubling up on her side and closing her quivering thighs on their hands.

Vic jerked his hand free and brought his palm down with tremendous force on her buttock. Penny shrieked, her hand, jabbing at her hidden vagina, gasping, coming, saying at last, "Vic, vie. I love you so. No matter what you do, I love you for it."

CHAPTER FIVE

In the weeks that followed, Vic watched for Dawn nightly at the Silver Cock. Though Keith appeared a few times for drinks with the small band of cronies who had survived the early years of the war with him, he always came alone. When Vic asked him one night why he didn't bring his wife along, Keith's reply was anything but hopeful.

He said, "She's perfectly content at home. That's where I'd be now, too, but the lads I flew with back in '40 seem to think they have a claim on a bit of my time. I'll say hello to her for you, though."

From then on, each time Vic was called to escort Keith's flight, he glared malevolently down at the lead bomber while visions of Keith's home life flitted through his head. He could see a snug cottage, a fire crackling in the grate, Keith reading a book, stroking his mustache, smoking a pipe, while Dawn curled at his feet on the floor, her cheek on his knee, looking ethereally beautiful in the firelight. She had a far-off, adoring look on her face, for she was thinking of Vic and of the excitement that was missing from her life. She was thinking of the bright, dizzy times she could be having with Vic by the simple device of lifting a finger and calling him.

There'd be all those gay times and more, in the States as well as in London, and there'd be good, quiet evenings at home, too, times when they drew even closer to one another, times for their love to deepen. Even children. For the first time in his life, Vic Munroe was thinking about having children. And all that stood in the way was the man at the controls of the fat Lancaster, the man whose calm voice was said to put steel into the spines of those who flew behind him, the living, breathing falsehood who'd never been a tenth the man Vic Munroe was.

There were times, on the longer flights, when Vic became so inwardly angered by his thoughts that the impulse swept over him to turn his plane down and ram his prop through the cockpit of the ugly, complacent Lancaster.

There were times on the ground when he got too drunk, and it was one of these times he telephoned the Brighton residence. He knew Keith was attending a meeting of the Air Ministry, and as the phone rang, he couldn't breathe, in his anxiety to hear Dawn's voice.

It came, sweet and clear. "Hullo. Are you there?"

"I'm here," he said. "And I wish you were, too."

"Who is this, please?"

"You know who it is. It's Flight Lieutenant Victor Munroe, called to see if you'll join me for a celebration of my promotion. Dawn, will you? Just for a little while?"

"I'm sorry Keith isn't here just now. When he comes in I'll see if he's in the mood to celebrate with you."

"Dawn, I want you. Not him. Not that old man who doesn't deserve to kiss your feet, let alone kiss you like I would. Dawn, meet me. Please. I have a room. I ..."

"No! Vic, I've got to hang up."

"Wait! Just meet me to talk then. Dawn, I'm madly, wildly in love with you. I-I want to marry you."

It didn't seem to stun her at all. She only said, "But I already am married. Had you forgotten? I really must go now. We're having friends over for dinner and I've a million things to do."

"You rotten cunt," he snarled into the phone. "Making me beg. I ought to go over there and rape you, but that's just what you want, you dirty whore, and III be damned if I'll give you that satisfaction!"

Her drawl was amused, infuriating to him as she said, "Yes, it really is Lieutenant Munroe, back in character again, drunk and spouting of whores. You'd best see your blonde friend. What was her name? Penny? She'll know how to take care of you. Ta-ta."

When he slammed down the phone, he'd turned and put his fist through the side of the phone kiosk, vowing to put her out of his mind then and forever. He'd used Penny very badly that night, but at the end, through her tears, she'd restated her love for him in even greater, ever more disgusting ardor. The next time he'd been drunk, he'd called for Dawn again, only to have to hang up when Keith answered the phone. That night he'd walked the streets, hands in his pockets, head down, kicking through the rubble. When the air raid signal came, he'd not even made a start for a shelter. An old, one-armed Air Raid Warden had challenged him, and without a word, Vic had felled him with one blow to the face. By dawn he'd walked clear back to the base and was sober, smoldering with anger, raging with futility.

He came to hate the times he was assigned to protect Keith in the air, and yet look forward to those times, for riding over him, his inner wrath could build to enormous proportions. When the air battle came on those days, Vic distinguished himself as a fearsome, almost foolhardy fighter.

He had fourteen kills to his credit and was up for promotion to Squadron Leader in June, when the invasion at Normandy took place, when their air sorties were increased to pave the way for the muckers on the ground. He was thoroughly sick of flying to the same areas, day after day, and welcomed the selection of his squadron to accompany a bombing flight to a place called Peenemunde in the Netherlands. It was an important mission, something to do with the destruction of the site of a secret weapons factory. Not surprisingly, Keith was in command of the bombers who were supposed to do the job.

Vic had little time to indulge in his silent fuming against Keith, for they were picked up early. Minutes after they altered their course north, a dozen Focke Wulfe 190's flung themselves at the flight of thirty-eight planes with the fury of a tornado. Encumbered by the extra wing tanks they'd been fitted with, the Spitfires and Hurricanes were hard pressed to turn back the furious, persistent assaults of the interceptors, and when the air cleared, with only two of the Jerry planes left to streak homeward, one of the Lancasters, four of the Hurricanes, and two of the Spitfires were gone from the formation. In the other planes, Vic knew the fliers were sweating as hard as he was, fighting to swallow the lumps of fear, the panic that had risen in them.

The silence was broken by a chuckle, then the velvet tones of Group Captain Keith Brighton as he said, "Chaps, I'm in a bit of a spot. Got to use the water closet ... always do after a show like that ... and Jerry's shot up the relief

tube. I say, chaps, any suggestions?"

Laughter drummed at Vic's ears from everywhere as the tension was broken, the frightened men became fighting machines again.

"Piss in Y'r 'at, Keith," one cried.

"Do it in Funston's ear," said another.

"Did you say rear? Funston? My word! " said a third. They all tried to chime in. It would have been a flying gabfest had not Vic drowned them all out by shouting into his mike, "Radio silence, damn it! Radio silence."

"Of course," said Keith, when the babble died off. "But Jerry knows where we are and where we're going. See up ahead? They're already test-firing their ack ack. We're in for a daisy of a time this day, and we may as well keep the mike's open. Anyone hit badly?"

The reports trickled in, the unfortunates reluctant to admit to their injuries. Finally, when they were flying through the hail of ack ack, zigging and zagging, changing altitude constantly, Keith said, "We've lost a few instruments as well as our precious relief tube, and I'm afraid to say old Funston's bought it. We'll make it though. Head on me, lads. Not much farther now. Well make it." They lost a Hurricane to the anti-aircraft fire. It exploded in a fireball just before they reached the cloud bank that Keith led them to. There they dispersed to prevent collisions, and when they straggled out of the cloud four minutes later, they were met by a flight of new, twin-engined Messerschmit 262's. Only four of these, but with their vastly superior speed, the aircraft could do the work of twice their number of conventional planes. They accounted for two bombers and four fighters, losing three of their own before the last of them turned away. An awesome display of anti-air-craft fire burst at them as they neared the target at Peenemunde.

Keith s voice was cheerful as ever as he said, "Victor, you may as well hike your boys above the flak. Pick us up on our return. Well...."

His last words were cut off as the Lancaster on his right took a hit, lost a wing, zoomed briefly toward Keith's plane, and slipped off in a fiery spiral.

"Let's go," said Vic, and led the remaining fighters in a zooming climb.

Even altitude held little safety, for it was there the fresh German interceptors would be waiting. But those would be more easily faced than that withering hail of flack that was spreading out from the angry little black clouds bursting all about the eight remaining bombers. Vic felt very alone up there. Anxiously, he scanned the skies all about him, checked to see his wingman was there to protect him, had a vague urge to rejoin the flight of bombers below. Of those, one was smoking badly, falling behind, and now Keith's starboard outboard engine was being feathered.

A frantic call from Scotty, and Vic saw the two v's of ME 109's zooming out of a cloudbank and down toward the bombers toward their own anti-aircraft fire. He clung to the controls, paralyzed for a moment at the thought of facing that awful barrage of mixed shrapnel and cannon and machine gun fire. All about him, Spitfires and Hurricanes were diving down, their pilots yelling into their mikes. Vic was the last to come, going down in a shallow dive, awed, frightened by the enormity of the battle that stretched out before him.

Four cubic miles of air was filled with twisting, turning planes, spitting deadly fire, zipping through the bursts of anti-aircraft fire, smoking, burning, going down. The bomber formation was scattered and Keith's Lancaster could be picked out from the rest, for it was lumbering along in slow mockery of a fighter's maneuverings, turning about to offer better targets to the gunners, twisting to evade the snarling guns that sought it. Vic felt very numb to it all, a spectator instead of a participant in this, the largest, most ferocious air battle he'd ever known.

"Join up with me now," said Keith. "Watch it, Bunky. They're onto you. Stay with me to target, lads. Then it's each man for himself. Good show, Carlisle. Bloody good show! Victor, are you there?"

Vic swallowed and said, "Right behind you, Keith old chum." His stomach felt very cold, very empty, as he eased the throttle forward to join the fray.

As usual, once he was into things, his fear left him and he performed well. As the bombers formed up, the pattern of the German interceptors became more predictable and Vic was able to down one of them as it came in, centered on Keith's lead bomber. As the Messerschmit nosed down in greasy black smoke, Vic's gun sights swung about to come to rest on the cockpit of Keith's plane. One touch of the electric trigger and it would go down. Just one touch of his finger and his way would be cleared for Dawn. But then he was flung into complete intimacy with the battle, for a burst of flak erupted at his side, flinging his plexiglass canopy away, filling his head with sound and pain. Hands to his head, screaming against the wind, feeling his lifeblood oozing out through his fingers, Vic was unaware that his plane was bearing him to earth.

Instinct made him pull up at rooftop level, made him turn from the battle overhead and start a slow, labored climb for the cloudbank. Hunched in his cockpit to avoid the idly, tearing wind, knowing full well he was blinded in one eye, he'd be of no help to those who struggled so fruitlessly above him. Even as he watched, six planes were heading down, straight down, and the smoke and flames they trailed behind told him they'd not pull out of their dives as he had. A scant dozen planes were left in the air, and of these, only two were the precious bombers. Now they made a little leap as their bombs dropped away, and as Vic found the safety of the cloud.

He could barely hear Keith's voice above the roar of the wind, and now, even in the extremity of his present situation, it remained calm and reassuring. "We've done it, lads. We've brought it off. Now for home. Briggs, below you! Run for the clouds, lads. I can't keep speed just now. Grand shot, Smitty! Simply grand. Go on now, boys. I'll bring up the rear. Anyone seen ... Andy! Coming in high! ... Run, lads! Run for it. Smitty, no! Oh, God help you.

On and on he spoke, urging his men to leave him, warning them, a tragic quality emerging from time to time in his voice until he was calling, "Carlisle? Samson? Bristow? Anyone? I say, is anyone there? Is anyone there? Someone, even if it's a bloody Jerry, someone come out of this bloody cloud with me."

Vic obeyed him. He came out high, on his back, just as the smoking, riddled Lancaster plodded out of the fluffy mass of clouds. It was the last order he would have to take from Group Captain Keith Brighton. He grinned, hunched closer to the gun sights, centered his swooping Spitfire on the Lancaster below him, and poured eight streams of lead directly into the cockpit.

Zooming out of a long dive at treetop level, he looked back and laughed as the Lancaster went down in a slow, flat, uncontrolled spin, its radio forever silenced.

Going home was easy. Buoyed by elation, with the aid of a Plight Pill, he sped along at an altitude so low his altimeter didn't register. He went on a deadline for home, hut by the time he was only midway over the Strait of Dover, his fuel gauge was down to zero. At the first cough of his engine, his elation left him. It couldn't happen. After all he'd been through, the prize that waited by a snug fire had to be his. Frantically, he switched from tank to empty tank, while the Merlin engine continued to splutter and gasp, then fell silent. The white cliffs of Dover were in view as he glided silently in and impacted with the water.

It was a good ditching, and he was allowed a full minute on the wing to inflate his May West before the Spitfire sank under him. Then the water was icy cold, seeping into his leather suit from every angle, chilling him. He paddled awkwardly toward the shore, hut could feel the current dragging him backward. When he was exhausted, he lifted his eyes heavenward and said, "Get me out of this one. Please."

Not a plane, not a boat appeared.

He looked down into the murky depths of the sea and said, "If you're down there, get me out of this. Don't let me die like this."

His voice choked them and his body was racked with sobs. A minute later, the drone of a PT boat stirred him, warmed him. He looked up, past the approaching boat, smiled, looked down at the water and said, "Thanks, old chum. Thanks much."

CHAPTER SIX

Lying in a hospital bed wasn't bad at all, especially when the bed was in a room all to himself. Since they felt Vic's injury was more neurological than physical, they'd put him in a small clinic for a few days observation. The warm spot in the heart of the public which he'd won overnight made it only natural that he should have the best room in the clinic. And, practically speaking, the room he had was just right for receiving the interviewing reporters whose job it was to let the public know more about the personality of this tragically heroic figure whose name was on every tongue.

Vic reached over and selected an apple from the basket of fruit that had been sent him unsigned save for the sketch of a rooster on the card. He settled comfortably back into the pillows and read the article in the London Times again.

YANK BEARS UP AS RAF RAID'S SOLE SURVIVOR

Squadron Leader Victor Munroe, the only surviving member of a 98 man flying force that met huge enemy opposition, continues to improve at Ghent Clinic. Though first reports feared for the vision of the intrepid airman, physicians report Lt. Munroe is in no danger of losing his sight. Their major concern, they say, is in confining the lieutenant to his bed, in convincing him that others can fly his missions while his body mends.

What makes this handsome young man crave to risk his life yet again? What made him join the R.A.F. to begin with when he might be flying with the U.S.

Air Force? What tenacity, determination, and extraordinary flying ability combined to allow him to live through the highest casualty bombing raid in the war? When these questions were put to Lt. Munroe, he replied, "Somewhere up there right now there's a bomber that could use a little more protection. It's being flown by a guy very much like Keith Brighton, our Group Captain. I'd like to go up and help the fellow, just like Cappie helped me and so many others so many times. If it wasn't for Keith...."

The article rambled on and on, quite shamelessly repeating the maudlin patriotic drivel that he'd spouted off at the reporters. Articles like that would never hurt him. After the war, a modest scrapbook of his clippings would make him stand very tall in the eyes of the business community. If he never stepped into the cockpit of another Spitfire, he'd achieved his long-range goals in the war. His short range goal, Dawn Brighton, would be a simple matter to achieve once he was out of the hospital. He hoped that would be soon. He'd do what he could to get out of the hospital and then do even more to keep out of the fighter airplane for at least a few weeks. He felt very pleased with the way everything had worked out.

And that afternoon, his immediate goal came to him. Dressed in simple black, her eyes red from weeping, Dawn looked tragically stricken ... and more desirable than any woman Vic had ever seen. With her hair down, she looked very young.

They greeted each other somberly, and then she said, "I had to come to thank you for all the things you said about Keith."

"I spoke the simple truth. It's him who ought to be lying here instead of me."

"He-he wouldn't agree. He said he should have been killed a hundred times over. He considered himself a dead man already."

"No, Dawn. He wouldn't have married you if he felt that way.

"That was because I was so ... alone. When my parents were killed, I .

"She broke off, covering her mouth with her handkerchief, sobbing into it.

Vic rose from the bed. In the short hospital gown, he took a straight-backed chair to the door, he propped it under the doorknob, securing the room against an intruder, and went to Dawn. Very gently, he placed his arms about her and guided her head to his chest, saying, "Dawn, you're not alone now. There's no need for you to ever be alone again." She felt small, supple, magnificently good against his body.

"No," she blubbered. "All you want is to take me to bed."

"I want much more than that, Dawn. But I want that, too ... just like you want to come to bed with me." He guided her in that direction.

"No. Vic, I don't want that."

"You do," he said gently, pulling her down to sit with him on the edge of the bed. "You want it just as badly as I do. You've wanted it ever since that night at the Cock." Distraught, shaking her head, her lovely features twisted with her anguish, she said, "I'm only a widow for a few days, Vic. It doesn't matter what we think we want."

He took her hand in his and held it. With his other hand he lifted the skirt of his little gown. She was compelled to look from his grimly set face to his lap, and she gasped at the sight of his organ there. It was rigid, throbbing, pointing at her like a huge, accusing finger. Without a word, he pulled her hand toward it. Resisting, her open hand trembled like a leaf in the wind, and she shook her head helplessly as it drew nearer and nearer. He inhaled sharply when her cool, soft skin touched him, and she emitted a little cry at the hot hardness.

Sobbing, she closed on him, squeezing his cock with all her strength while he took her in his arms. Her free hand shot about his neck and they strained together in a kiss, mouths mashing, tongues searching while the tears streamed down her cheeks and she clung to his prick as if she'd never release her hold on him.

Vic bent her back on the bed in the kiss, ran his hand down over the front of her to draw a shudder from her.

By the time his hand reached her loins, her legs were open wide and her hips were off the bed, thrusting, writhing against his hand.

He massaged her small, perfect breasts with his chest, buried his mouth in the hollow of her throat, and she pulled his enormously swollen cock toward her as she sobbed, "I've got to do it. I've got to."

"You don't have to, Dawn," he said, running his hand down her leg, then up it, pushing her skirt along as his hand knew the texture of her firm, silken thigh. "You want to. Isn't that the way it is?"

"Yes. I want to. Hurry."

Smoothly, he drew her panties down over one hip, then the other, then slid his hand down into them to peel them farther down her thighs. Up again then, to ease three fingers against the softly tangled fur between her quivering legs. He dipped a finger into her cunt, thrilled at the moisture that he encountered, exulted in the way she arched higher and moaned out his name.

Confident, smiling, he took her hand from his cock and lifted her in his arms, repositioned her in the center of his bed. It was fitting that he was on his knees as he lifted her skirt to look at her that first time, to gaze in reverent awe at the beauty of her trim, naked loins as he drew her panties down and over her feet. There was beauty in form and color there, and beauty in motion, too, for each of her twistings and thrustings spoke volumes of her deep need for him, spoke of the fact that the love she felt for him was just as deep as that within him. He bent and placed his mouth against her fur, inhaled her fragrance deeply. "I love you," he mouthed against her. "I'll always love you."

Her hands went to his hair, caressing him, pulling him up, and she pleaded, "Love me, Vic. Love me with all of you. Oh, how I need you."

Between her legs, he moved slowly to fit himself into her. This was not easy for him. Burning with desire for her, his impulse was to plunge his cock in her, to know all of her at once, to claim her as completely as any woman had ever been claimed. He exerted enormous will to stay himself, to go slowly, and with each fraction of an inch he penetrated her, his being rose on wings of ecstasy to a state of bliss that no man could ever have known before him.

Her legs yawned open, her hips thrusting to help him, he buried his prick in her to the hilt. That moment he knew he would never forget. The sheer joy that surged in his every fiber was reward for all and more of the torments he'd gone through in past weeks. For this, any man would cheat or lie or even kill, just as he had done.

He began to come. His ecstasy exploded throughout his body, and he groaned at the intensity of it, thrilling at it and yet raging at himself for his total lack of control over his huge ejaculation. Though he could not control that, he could control his body in its need to pump and hump as if he was a bull and his woman was a cow in heat. Strangling, every muscle in his body tense, he forced himself to draw out and into her again with lovely, adoring, tenderness.

"Beautiful," he sighed against her fevered face. "That was beautiful."

"No," she moaned, close to his ear. "You're through."

"Through?" he said, kissing her eyes, new strength surging in him. "I'll never be through with you. I've barely begun with you. I love you, Dawn."

Vic withdrew his cock from her and she shuddered and arched even more beautifully in the disappointment she felt at its leaving her. But he had no intentions of leaving her for long. Back in a crouch, on his knees between her legs, he ran his hands down her inner thighs and under her buttocks. He lifted her easily, presenting her dewy, dripping sex for his mouth.

He pressed against her, burrowing his face between the sodden lips of her vagina, burying his tongue in her to taste the sweet pungency of his own still-hot come and his woman in need of him. She cried out and her hands came down to push at his forehead, and he dug his fingers deeper into her softly resilient buttocks, pulling her squirming vagina harder against his avidly working mouth. When she sucked in her clitoris and smoothed over it with his tongue, she cried out more loudly and her hands stopped pushing him away. They were in his hair again, tangling in his curls, pulling him to her even harder.

It had been only moments since he'd come, but now, looking up at the uncontrolled thrashings of her fine body, he felt his dick stirring again. Yes, he was barely beginning with her. With Dawn, he'd know all the sex any man ever knew, and he'd share that knowledge with her. He lifted his head only long enough to rapidly say, "Open your dress. Show me your breasts, my darling."

"Yes," she hissed, and her hands left him to tear at her dress. In a thrilling frenzy, she pulled at her widow's weeds, jerked her brassiere up, and emitted a gutty groan as she squeezed her perfect white breasts, extruding the coral nipples through her fingers for him. He lowered his mouth to strain his tongue out to the limit, probing deep within her, mashing his nose against her clitoris.

"That's it!" she gasped. "I'm coming! Oh, so hard!"

He at once returned his kiss to her clitoris, and slid one hand up under her to bury his thumb in her vagina as deeply as he could, to plunge it in and out, to massage the walls of her flesh very strongly.

"No! Nng! That's too much! Nng! I can't stand it." Rising then, he held her legs apart as she tried to weakly close them. He moved in, and his cock slid into her gushing body with the greatest of ease. She arched back, then up at him as he impaled her fully as before, and he said, "I'll never be able to give you too much, Dawn. I'll never be able to give you enough in showing how I love you."

"Gahh," she said. "Gaah. I'm still coming. I'm going to ... Urrgh. Poke me, Vic. Poke me hard!"

Teeth clenched, grinning, he drew back and slammed into her, drawing another animal cry from the lips of the young widow. Again and again he drove, and she stifled her outcries by burying her mouth against his throat, sinking her teeth into him in the deep throes of her ecstasy. He welcomed the pain. It served as the perfect counterpoint for the total pleasure the rest of his body was experiencing, and he knew his next orgasm would come at the time of his choosing.

Close to her ear, he murmured, "Nobody ever kissed you there before, did they? Nobody ever made you come like this before. Not Keith, not any man."

"No," she moaned. "Don't talk. Not about him."

"About what, then? About sucking your pussy? About my hands on your butt, digging in? About the way you couldn't get enough of my tongue in your gash, sucking you off? Hmm? About how hard I can make you come? What?"

"So good. All so good. But ... but I can't stand any more. Come, Vic. Come with me."

"I will. Very soon. Did any man ever eat you before?"

"No. Never."

"Will you let me do it again?"

"Yes. Oh, yes. But come now."

"Any time I want will you lift your skirt and let me kiss you between the legs till you come?"

"Vic, come now! Oh, it's so very strong now."

"Answer me, Dawn."

"Yes! God, yes! Whatever you want. Whenever you want. But come. Come."

"Here it is. Filling you up. Ahh. Ahh. Oh, how I love you, Dawn. I love you!"

She couldn't answer then. At his first spurting in her, her hips went wild under him and no articulate sounds came from her twisting, turning throat. At the expending of his last drop of sperm, the breath went out of her and she wilted.

He relieved her of his weight and lay beside her, holding her in his arms, feeling the flutterings of her body for a long time until the peace he felt settled over her. He kissed her tear-stained cheek then and she gave a start, pushed his hands from her to sit up. She pulled her twisted brassiere down and tugged at the straps of her wrinkled, sweat-stained dress, pushed it's hem down to cover her naked loins. Her hair was in wild disarray and there was the look of an inebriate in her eyes. Her lips were kiss-swollen and her breath was still a little labored.

Looking her over, Vic chuckled and said, "I'd say you've been thoroughly poked."

"Disgusting. Revolting. I don't deserve to live."

"What?" he said, astounded, turning her to face him. "What the hell's wrong with you? We love each other, Dawn. There's no sin in what we did."

"It was the worst, the absolute worst thing I have ever done in all my life. If I had the courage, I'd throw myself out that window."

Bitterness rose like gall in his throat, and he choked it back and said, "You loved every minute of it. Just as much as I did. Hell, more than I did! Admit it, Dawn. Admit we fit together like a glove and a hand."

"Let me go, Vic. Let me go crawl under a rock and die."

"Shit! I ought to throw you out that window. I would if I didn't love you like I do. As it is, I'm going to make you see the light, baby. And whether I talk you into admitting you liked it, or if I beat you into it, you're going to do it." She opened her mouth to speak, anger on her face, when the doorknob's rattling made her blanch.

"There's someone there. Vic, I can't be seen like this. Let me go. Where can I hide?"

"No place to hide in here, Dawn," he said with a grin, releasing her wrist. "You could jump out the window, but for the bars on it. Or, you could ask me for some help in saving your reputation as a sweet young widow in mourning. Well? What'll it be?"

She rolled her eyes from the window to the door to Vic, and said, "Help me. You've got to help me."

"I will. Will you join me for dinner, drinks, and laughs this Friday night? No talk about Keith. No talk about sinning. Only having a good time, doing what we like to do. Will you?"

Knuckles rapping at the door drew the answer from her. She said, "Yes. But hide me now."

Smiling, he rose from his bed, beckoned her to follow him to the other door in the room, the one obscured by a dressing screen, the one leading to his lavatory. With Dawn inside the lavatory, Vic stood at the door and called out, "Come in."

"Can't," came the muffled voice of a doctor. "door's jammed. I say, Munroe, are you all right?"

"Yeah. I'm in the tub. I'll be out in a couple minutes and fix the door."

"Should I call the building superintendent?"

"No, it's stuck before. I know what to do. But for Christ sake let me finish my bath. I'll see you later."

"Cheers, Munroe. Later it'll be."

When he turned and smiled at Dawn, already partially done with her repairs, she said, "You lie so easily."

"Necessity," he said, then his grin faded. "But everything I've said to you is the truth. And I can still ruin your reputation if you change your mind about Friday night."

"I won't," she said, using his comb to straighten her hair. "I don't lie at all."

Later, after dinner, he lay back in his bed and gloated. He touched the lump on his temple and smiled at how much the doctor had made over it that afternoon. The lump could be far worse, the doctor had said, than the tiny shrapnel particles that had penetrated his skull. Those would heal over and he'd never be troubled by them, but there existed the possibility that there was optic nerve damage from where his canopy had struck him in leaving the plane. The doctor feared that Vic's fuzzy vision, his nearsightedness might be a permanent thing. He'd reluctantly told Vic he might never fly again, and Vic had reacted properly, with stunned silence. When the doctor had somberly left, Vic had gone to the window and looked down the block at the newsstand, fully a hundred yards away. He read the headlines and the sub-headlines, chuckled, and went back to bed.

Why fly if he didn't have to? He'd achieved all his goals. He was an authentic war hero, a provable one once his medals were presented. There was no need to prove himself again. He could take a cushy job till the end of the war, and then consider the job offers that would be his, both in England and in the States.

Dawn would probably want to stay in England, but she'd be a big asset to him in the States. With her refined manner, with her smooth British brogue, she'd be an admirable little wife to have as he moved through the circles of high finance in New York. Too bad she didn't have a title, but a man couldn't have everything. Then again, there'd be old Brighton's estate, and from what Vic had heard, it was a comfortable one, enough to give him a good start after the war.

The opening of his door roused him from his reveries, and then Penny's blonde head, elegantly coiffed, was popping into his room, her bright red smile was illuminating it.

"Penny! Great to see you. Come on in. Pull up a chair."

"Beds are more my style," she said, and swung those spacious hips, smoothly clad in black silk, over to him. Perched on the bed, skirt up, shapely legs crossed, she took his hand in hers and kissed it, then held it in her lap. "Grand to see you, Vic. I'm so proud of you."

Whore she might be, but there was nothing phony about this one. She knew what she liked and she made absolutely no bones about expressing herself about it. He'd miss her. "Good to see you, baby. How're things going?"

"Terrible without you. I've been frantic these last few days, reading about you in the papers and not being able to see you. You are all right?

"Perfectly all right," he said, and she lifted his hand to kiss it, to press it to one fine, big tit.

"Tell me all about it. Everything."

"Read the papers, luv. It's all there. Our radio conversation ... the way poor old Keith kept calling for me ... how I arrived too late to save him ... how they thought we were all lost. It's all there."

"Yes, and it tells how you shot down the Jerry that got Keith, plus half a dozen more."

"Only four, but they're unconfirmed. Enough of that, though. How's business?"

"Booming. As always. Almost out of Flight Pills again and all the girls are dragged out."

"Aha. That's why you came here," he said with a grin.

"To see if I could get you any more Flight Pills."

"Vic, don't be a tease. I came to bring you a present. A gift of love." Her hand went to slide over the covers at his loins. "If you're well enough," she added, licking her lips.

He hesitated, thoughts flashing through his brain, then said, "Always ready for your pretty mouth, baby."

She didn't even glance at the door, but drew the covers down and worked with her hand at his prick till it was hard, saying, "What a dick you've got. How I love to cop this knob of yours."

It was in her mouth then, against the soft wet flesh of her that knew just how to please him. He settled back and enjoyed it. This was something he'd never get enough of, a thoroughly knowledgeable mouth working for his pleasure on his cock. Only the pros knew how to blow a man like this. He'd have to find one like Penny once he and Dawn were settled in New York. Of course, if he stayed in England after the war, he could always visit Penny. And until the end of the war, there was no reason for him to deprive himself of her loving services.

The door suddenly opened and a nurse hung there, paralyzed by what she saw. Penny turned her head at the sound, looked at her, and continued uninterrupted to suck Vic off. The nurse left, and Vic chuckled all the while he was coming in Penny's mouth.

Fully relaxed, they chatted then, with Vic stalling her about when he'd be back as a steady customer at the Silver Cock. Then she said, "You know, we could use some more Flight Pills if you can get them. And you can always use some more money, can't you?"

"Always. As soon as I'm up, I'll go around to my pals in USAF Supply and see what I can do."

"Grand, Vic. Harry says that from now on. anything you want at the Cock is free. Anything at all."

"A generous man."

"And I'm a generous woman when it comes to you. Vic. I love you. Do you still love me?"

"Of course I do, baby."

"Would you say it once?"

"I'll say it a thousand times, baby, once I'm out of here."

"Just once. Now."

"I love you, Penny. I love you with all my heart and soul."

CHAPTER SEVEN

When Vic came to call for dawn that Friday night, he was taken aback by her appearance. She was wearing a bulky tweed suit, low-heeled Oxford shoes, and her hair was pulled back in a severe bun. She wore no make-up and her eyes were covered with dark glasses. She swilled a pink gin in her hand, sipped from it, and gazed haughtily at him.

"What the hell is this?" he said. "Are you drunk?"

"No, but that would help. I'm dressed like this, Lieutenant Munroe, because I don't care to be recognized with you."

"Fine," he said, bristling. "Then you won't care if we go to a place where some of your late husbands friends might be. Your disguise is very good."

"I don't care a damn where we go."

They went to a place off Kensington Square for dinner and dancing. She ate little, acting very bored. There was no need to ply her with liquor, for she worked steadily at the drinks he bought her, never thanking him, never offering him anything of herself as he drank. She moved leadenly on the dance floor, listless in his arms. Through it all, he remained the perfect gentleman, though inwardly he was fuming at this shabby welcome after five days spent in the hospital. Several people recognized him as the hero he was from his pictures in the papers, but their congratulations were empty and hollow to him as Dawn sat at his side, yawning while he was being fawned over. When they were alone at their table, he caressed her legs and bottom as he'd done on that first night they'd met, but now her only reaction was a look of amused contempt. Still he contained his inner anger, still he acted the role of the gentleman.

She'd had enough liquor to be tipsy by ten o'clock, but showed only a slight flush in her cheeks as a sign of this. She was cool and reserved ... and thoroughly unattractive ... when he ushered her out to a taxicab.

In it, she yawned and said, "I suppose you're going to get at your assault in earnest now."

"Oh, no. The evening's young."

"Go on. I won't stop you."

"You wouldn't help me, either. Dawn, I want to tell you again ... I do love you."

"Ripping news. Absolutely ripping news."

"Driver," he said. "Do you know of a private club called the Silver Cock? Take us there."

The ruddy-faced little man rolled his eyes at them and turned to lean forward, peering through the windshield to follow his blackout headlights.

It was eerie going through the darkened streets of the city, and even more eerie padding down the narrow, warehouse-lined alley that led to the Silver Cock. It made the impact of the place all the more warm and intimate as they stepped into the first room where onstage a girl in an evening dress sang.

Vic didn't stop there. He led Dawn directly to the portals of the second room and entered in to escort her to a table just next to the empty stage. She shifted nervously, glancing about for a sign of someone who might recognize her, and Vic smiled inwardly at this, her first show of emotion that evening.

All the regular hostesses waved and called to Vic as they'd entered, as did many of the patrons, but it was left to Penny to wait on their table. In her abbreviated costume, a catty smile on her pretty face, she ran her fingers through Vic's hair as she said, "Look who's come to see us. Our hero and his sweetie."

"And his nurse," Vic said. "Miss Prim here took such good care of me in the hospital I'm taking her out to show my gratitude."

Warily, Penny looked at Dawn for a moment before she took their order for drinks, then switched off to the bar. Laughing, starting to feel his drinks, Vic said, "Don't worry. No one will recognize you dressed like that. Not unless I tell them who you are. Come closer, Dawn. The show's starting."

The curtains parted to reveal the girl they'd seen outside, a flaming redhead of almost six feet tall in her heels, generously built, dressed in a slinky green evening gown. She smiled languorously at the spatter of applause that went up from the small audience, then began moving in time to the slow beat of the music.

Grinning, looking slightly drugged, the movements of her legs were stiff, awkward. Her steps were halting, and after each dozen or so of these, she'd halt in her tracks and grimace as she ground her hips and mashed her upper arms against the sides of her big bosom. Her head thrown back and her hair rippling as she shook her shoulders, she'd pump slowly at the air with her loins. Then, with a lascivious grin for the audience, she'd shiver and start her awkward walk again.

Soon her breathing was coming harder and there was beads of perspiration on her upper lip which she licked at. Her hands moved hard over her belly, down to her thighs, then clutched at her loins as she stopped and ground her hips, her lovely features registering great erotic enjoyment.

Sipping her drink, Dawn frowned at her, then at Vic. Vic grinned back and rubbed his hand over the small of Dawn's hack. When she tried to squirm away, he drew her closer.

The redhead faced their table, her countenance twisted with lust, as she arched her bottom up and ground her thighs together, clawing at her skirt, dragging it up her silk-sheathed legs. Dawn stared in horrid fascination as the woman's heat obviously rose. She shot Vic a hateful glare as his other hand went to her thigh, but she didn't try to move away.

When the redhead's skirt was high enough to show her pale flesh over the welt of her hose, She reached one hand under it and let out a long sigh as she pushed at her crotch, and Dawn whispered, "It's all an act, isn't it?"

"Is it?" answered Vic. "There are all sorts of women. They need all sorts of sex. That one, she's a sergeant in the WREN's. Watch her."

Dawn's gaze couldn't be dragged away as the redhead dropped to her knees on the stage. The undulating woman hiked her gown up over her hips, her hand continuing to mash against her crotch. They could see she wore no panties now, only a black garter belt to support her silk hose, and her hose were already laddered where she moved her knees on the wooden floor.

As the drumbeat pounded louder, slightly faster, she kept time with it, humping her hips, grinding herself against her hand, laughing occasionally in her solitary pleasure. She rolled her eyes at her audience, tossed her mane of red, and a naval lieutenant shouted at her to take her dress off. She made a mouth at him and pulled it over her head, then rose and faced them all. Arms akimbo, legs spread, she humped at the air and they could see the trickles of moisture running down her inner thighs. Also to be seen was a thin strap that disappeared into the thick red bush of her pubic area.

Still staring, Dawn leaned closer to Vic, and there was incredulity in her voice as she said, "She's got something inside her."

"Yes," he murmured back, breathing deeply of the clean, warm fragrance of her hair. "Wouldn't you like to have something inside you?"

She glared at him, then turned back to the show.

The redhead squatted, knees outspread, and looked down between her legs to work at the strap. Pulling at it, grinning, she drew something white and thick out of her body and into her slit where she could grasp it with her hand. More of it came out, and a plump matron at the next table rose to her feet and leaned toward the stage, not to miss a thing. Her escort, a young man half her age, moved his hands under her skirt at will. Dawn was being drawn to lean forward, too, an expression of disgust on her face, fascinated nevertheless as the object in the redhead continued to slowly emerge.

Eight inches of the shaft was out of her, and this was fully four inches in circumference. Its emergence was slow, for she repeatedly put it back inside her snatch, accompanying this was lewd comments, grunts, sighs. Vic continued to work at Dawn's skirt, and was able to draw down the zipper in the back, then reach in and massage her more directly. At this time he unbuttoned his trousers and removed his cock under cover of the table.

With a smacking noise, all twelve inches of the artificial penis came out of the redhead's gash. She held it triumphantly on high, then cradled it to her bosom, hugging it to her breasts. Dawn gasped and involuntarily clutched Vic's thigh when the redhead lifted the slime-coated phallus to her lips and kissed it, then rose to her feet and made a mincing circuit of the stage, the glistening wet device dangling from its strap. When she dangled it before the standing matron, the woman's hand raised, hesitated, then squeezed the thing. Others in the room laughed, and she turned to her young companion and hugged him to her breast, bent and spoke rapid words in his ear.

The redhead came to Vic's table and when she dangled the thing before Dawn, the young widow turned away, toward Vic. He put a protective arm about her, turned to face her more, and drew her hand up close on his rigid dick.

With the dildo swinging gently near her flushed face, she said, "Where can we go? Quickly."

They rose, and with Dawn holding her skirt up, with Vic's prick still out, he guided her to the door leading to the back. As he drew her inside, the matron was mounting the stage, her young escort in tow, while the redhead lay on her back and moved the dildo in and out of her body.

In the hallway, Vic knelt and pulled Dawn's heavy skirt off. She stood silent, trembling while he reached under her slip and stripped off her panties, then bunched her slip about her waist. He embraced her, rubbing his cock against her belly, and held the panties before her eyes, said, "Don't ever wear these again."

When she nodded, he cast them on the floor and thrust her slip in her hands, then turned her and started her down the hall. The first door they opened held a silent, writhing tableau that spellbound Dawn. Two couples were on the floor, nude, head to sex and head to sex in daisy chain. As she stared, he rubbed his hard flesh against the cleft in her backside and murmured in her ear, "See some of the sights you've been missing? There's no end to what I could show you, what we could do. Come."

He gently pushed her before him down the hall, her buttocks looking very white in the dimness as she obediently continued to hold her slip up. Muffled shrieks came from the next room, and Vic guided her past this one without opening the door. In the following room they found a buxom brunette on her elbows and knees. Behind her, a man slowly dragged his cock in and out of her body, while under her another man lay, smiling while she sucked him off.

Rubbing himself against Dawn's back, fondling her breasts, Vic softly said, "You could handle two men. Would you like that some time."

She looked over her shoulder at him. "You'd ... share me with someone else?"

"I'd do anything to make you happy ... anything. Come on."

The next room was empty, and they entered it and Vic bolted the door. When he turned to embrace Dawn, he found she was already stripping, tearing her clothes off. He smiled and undressed and they embraced naked. As they kissed, with Dawn clinging to him desperately hard, he reached up and loosened her hair, shook it out till it streamed down her back. He stroked her delicately molded body warmly, reveling in this first touch of her. Then he led her to the couch and sat her down with her bottom on the edge of the cushions. He went to his knees and began kissing her open loins.

Through deep, rushing breaths, she said, "You've done it again, haven't you? Broken me down again, you dirty sod. Do you always get what you want? Always?"

"Yes," he said, rising, smiling, placing his dick at the portals of her body. "And I'll always give you what you j want, too, Dawn."

"Go ahead then. Go on."

Her hands moved from clutching the cushions to clutching his hips, pulling him at her. He stayed rigidly where he was, a scant inch of cock inside her, and said, "I love you, Dawn. Do you love me?"

"Put it in me. For God's sake, put it in me."

Her legs went about his hips, and in the strength born of her need, he couldn't resist her. He was drawn forward, then he plunged forward till his prick' was deep inside her. Sighing, groaning, pulling at him, she writhed like the most wanton whore under the heavy assault of his thick weapon. Looking at her thus, forcing the thought of her frail, cool beauty from him, he was able to keep good control over himself.

He stroked her deeply, saying, "Good, isn't it? It couldn't be so good unless you loved me. I know you do, even though you're ashamed to say it. Mmm. I make you feel good all over. I give you everything you need, and that's a very great deal, Dawn. You're a damned hot woman, Dawn. You love me."

Sweating, rotating her hips, dragging at him with her heels, she moaned, "I love you ... love you to fuck me. I love you to make me come like this. Nnng. So hot. Harder now. Hard as you can. Ow! Oh! Yes, that's it! Hurt me!

Tear me up inside! Come!"

Digging his toes into the carpet for more purchase, Vic drove furiously at her, slamming her up on the cushions, then dragging her back with his hands on her ass for another lunge at her. Head rolling from side to side, face horribly contorted, she didn't look at all like the girl he'd so often pictured curled at his feet by a fire. He grinned and thrust faster as he spewed and gushed his come into her hot, streaming pussy, reaching down to squeeze her tits hard enough to make her cry out.

Spent, he pulled his slick cock out, knowing he;-body would be sore enough the next day so that each movement would remind her of him, and of her overpowering need for him. When he was free of her, she cupped one hand over her crotch and closed her legs on it as if to hold in her residual good feelings.

"Was it good for you, my love?" he asked.

"Marvelous. But I need more. Just a little more. Kiss me there? As you said you would?"

Now the thought of it revolted him, but he smiled and said, "I'll do even better than that. But first, some champagne. I'm parched."

He rose and went to the intercom, watching Dawn in her writhings as he pressed the buzzer and spoke his order in. As much as he'd given her, she was feverish, almost delirious in her need for more. He'd heard that once the reserve of a woman such as her was broken, there was no stopping them in their need for sex. It would take some doing to make their needs equalize. He unbolted the door and went to her, arranging her on the edge of the couch as she had been before.

The moment her legs were open, she grabbed at his head, begging, "Kiss it. Ah, you're going to kiss me there."

"Something better," said Vic, and slipped one long finger into the hot, wet folds of flesh.

She sighed in minor content, but said, "More than that. I need more than that."

"New things all the time," he said, and drew his finger out, replacing it with his thumb.

She stiffened when he placed the ball of his wetted finger against her asshole, and he repeated a soft command for her to relax. As she did, as his finger slowly slipped beyond the tight ring, a look of perplexed wonder came over her reddened, sweating features. "Oh," she said. "Oh, don't do that."

Persisting, going beyond the second knuckle, he said, "It's very nice once you're used to it. You see?" He halted further penetration as he wriggled the finger in her, rubbed her vagina with his thumb. "Something new. Isn't it good, darling?"

"Good," she gasped, relaxing further. "It's all good. The dirtier the better."

The door opened and she covered her face, working her hips now against the twin penetration. Vic looked over his shoulder and saw it was Penny who carried the champagne and glasses.

Smirking, she came in and sat on the couch to pour, saying, "A little reward to your nurse for services rendered, eh?"

"Something like that. Mind?"

"Not at all. I've seen you with others before. Gad, she's a hot one. We could use her here."

"Not her line of work, I'm afraid. She doesn't like an audience. You'd better just leave the bubbly and go, Penny. I'll talk to you later."

"I will," she said, and fed him some champagne. As Vic continued to move his finger in the moaning girl, Penny turned to her with the glass and said, "Have some refreshment, dearie. You can't keep up with Vic for long without it."

Dawn started to shake her head, then her body stiffened as Vic's caress brought her to another orgasm. She clutched the couch again, rolled her head back and forth on the cushions, squealing, "Kiss it! Suck me off! Please do it, Vic! Eeee! Harder with your hand! Ahhh...."

Penny looked from the girl to Vic and back again, amused disbelief registering on her lovely features. As Dawn began to wilt, Penny said, "Lord love a duck, that's Keith Brighton's wife. What was her name? Cooie, Vic, you've outdone yourself this time. What a little prize this one is for your collection."

Withdrawing his fingers as Dawn shuddered and sighed, unhearing of anything about her, Vic chuckled and said, "Her name's Dawn, and she's not a bad lay, and someone had to take her under their wing."

"Cute as a button, too," said Penny, and smoothed her soft hand gently over Dawn's heaving breasts.

Dawn winced at the first contact, then thrust herself up at the gently, moving hand, murmuring, "Yes. That's better. Don't hurt me now."

"Aw," cooed Penny. "We wouldn't hurt a pretty thing like you, ducks. Did he pinch your pretty little tits?"

"Mmmm," Dawn murmured, and Penny winked at Vic. When Vic smiled back at Penny, she said to Dawn, "Such nice little titties to be pinched. I'll make them feel better, dearie. Would you like that? Hmm?"

"Better. Make me feel better."

Vic sat back on his haunches with the champagne bottle and watched while Penny emptied the glass into and over Dawn's lolling mouth. As the champagne dribbled over her chin and onto her breasts, Penny bent and followed its course with her tongue. Dawn sighed and relaxed further, and Penny settled closer to lick and kiss her breasts very gently, very sweetly. Lifting them with a very soft touch, she brought one, then the other to her mouth. As she slowly sucked in a nipple to lave it with her tongue, Dawn moaned pitifully sweetly, and Penny turned to wink at Vic. Vic winked back and drank from the bottle.

Penny kissed at Dawn's breasts till she was sighing almost constantly, moving her hand lightly over her body as she did. She went low on Dawn's abdomen, but stopped at the edges of her wet, tangled pubic hair, and soon Dawn was lifting her hips each time the gentle hand approached her there.

Penny looked to Vic for another sign of approval, and when he nodded, she elevated her kisses to Dawn's slender throat, reaching behind her for the bottle. Vic handed it to her and she drank deeply from it, then held it to Dawn's lips. The sighing, all but swooning girl drank from it and Penny handed it back to Vic, nestling closer to Dawn and toying with her fingers closer to Dawn's loins.

Her mouth close to Dawn's, Penny purred, "My, you're warm all over, ducks. I'll warrant you'd love to have your twat kissed now. Real slow and gentle, eh? Would you like that?"

"Slow and gentle," Dawn repeated, as if from a dream.

"Like this?" said Penny, and covered Dawn's mouth with hers.

Vic continued to drink as Penny slowly made the kiss deepen. He could see Penny's fair cheeks concave as she sucked Dawn's tongue into her mouth, and he smiled at Penny's artfulness in getting Dawn to slide her hand about Penny's neck and draw her closer.

With Dawn secure in the kiss, Penny moved her hand to Dawn's loins, and now she gently inserted one finger into her gash and moved it slowly against Dawn's clitoris. She moved her mouth about to whisper in Dawn's ear. Dawn's face was immobile, her mouth open, her nostrils flared, eyes closed, and brows slightly knitted. Now her lips as well as her breasts were tinged pink from Penny's lipstick.

Vic said, "What're you saying, Penny?"

Turning, speaking against Dawn's mouth, Penny said, "I was just asking her if she'd like to have her twat kissed. Would you mind that, Dawn? I'd love to do it for you."

"Yes," Dawn murmured. "Go ahead."

"And you'd not mind if I slipped out of my clothes, would you, dear?

Be all naked, like you? Ah, you're so pretty. We'd be so pretty together naked."

"Naked. Yes. Anything, but kiss me there. Please."

"I will, sweets. Relax, luv, and hold yourself open for me while I get out of my things. There's a good girl."

Penny stood up, leaving Dawn on the couch. Her eyes were closed and there was a look of expectant rapture on her sagging face. With her slender legs spread very wide, she held her labia open with both hands and wiggled her bottom against the cushions for a more solid position.

Penny gestured at her, looked at Vic inquiringly. Vic smiled and shook his head, made a sweeping gesture of presentation to Penny. He sipped the wine as Penny quickly stripped. No matter how she undressed, Penny always had the facility for making it an erotic little tease. Vic appreciated this, and he appreciated the full-blown magnificence of her body. With those huge breasts and bountiful curves, she made Dawn look more than ever like a little girl.

Turning her back on him, flouncing her big buttocks at him, Penny knelt between Dawn's legs. "Get comfy," she said, and hooked the girl's heels on the edge of the cushions. She tickled her fingers over the sensitive flesh of Dawn's inner thighs, then followed the ticklings with her mouth as Dawn squirmed and moaned, pleading in a tiny voice for her to hurry.

Dawn sighed deeply when Penny made contact. A beatific expression came over her face as she reached down to caress the head between her legs. From the position of Penny's head, Vic knew she was devoting herself to Dawn's clitoris exclusively, and very gently at that.

Penny moved her hands out of sight beneath her chin, and Dawn gasped and opened her eyes. She gazed down in wonder at the mass of blonde curls moving gently between her legs, and said, "It's a woman. No."

Vic took the bottle to her, put his arm about her to stop her feeble struggles. He tilted wine into her mouth as he said, "Sure it's a woman, baby. It's Penny. She feels good, no?"

"She's drunk," Dawn slurred. "I'm drunk. Let me up ... out of here. Ahhh...."

"Go ahead and come, Dawn. I told you I'd give you all the sex you wanted, and I'm doing it. Relax."

Lifting her face, Penny frowned at Vic and moved to slide her arms about the slowly struggling Dawn, saying, "Oh, leave her alone now, Vic. I know what's best for her now. Isn't that right, Dawn?"

Vic shrugged and moved aside as Penny drew Dawn down to straddle her lap. Dawn's head was lolled back as Penny mouthed against her face, and though Dawn still continued to push weakly against her, her hips undulated forward against Penny's belly. Penny steadied Dawn's face with both hands on her cheeks and brought their mouths together. Slowly, the girl's hands slipped from Penny's shoulders and went about her neck to pull them closer. In moments, Dawn's mouth was working on Penny's wet mouth as if she were trying to devour her.

Separating, turning Dawn about and laying her on the floor, Penny murmured, "Good, isn't it? Always wondered how a woman tasted, didn't you. Here. Taste more."

Penny crouched on all fours over her, one hand moving very slowly between Dawn's legs, and lowered one massive breast over Dawn's face. Dawn turned her head and the big nipple followed her mouth. Then she sighed and opened her mouth and the nipple disappeared.

Penny purred, "Bite it a little, duckie. Don't be afraid. Ah, that's just fine. Mmm. You want me to come, too, don't you?"

She turned and smoothly placed a leg over Dawn's belly, rubbing her crotch against the girl's flesh, and beckoned behind her for Vic to come and administer to Dawn's flaming twat. He came, tickling her very softly, enjoying the unfolding scene of Dawn's perversion. As he tickled her, Penny withdrew her nipple from the suctioned mouth and moved up on Dawns' body. Still straddling her, she presented her blonde-fringed sex inches before Dawn's slack mouth.

Dawn gazed at it dully, writhing, and as she began to lift her face, Penny drew away, saying, "Come along with me, ducks. Ah, you're so pretty and you want it so much. Come, dear. Let's be comfortable."

Like an automaton, Dawn followed till Penny was flat on her back on the floor, her knees flexed. There Vic helped Dawn to her hands and knees, and Penny took two handfuls of her hair and pulled her face against her sodden vagina.

"Ahhh," Penny sighed.

"Is she any good?" Vic asked, chuckling.

"A bit of a fumbler, but shell learn. She's eager enough, but she'd be more eager if you gave her a poke or two. Could you manage that?"

"I suppose," said Vic with a grin.

At the first touch of his thumbs on her, she settled her knees more widely apart, and her back arched as he pushed his cock into her.

"That's it," said Penny. "Now she's fairly flying with her tongue. You like that, ducky? You like some jabbing while you're licking me off? Sure you do. Give her a bit more prick, Vic. I wonder what she'd do with it in her bum."

"I wonder," said Vic, and withdrew it from her cunt.

When he pressed against her asshole with his cockhead, Dawn stiffened. She might have risen up had not Penny tightened her hold on her. Vic held her slim hips firm and pushed on, quite caught up with the tightness of this area where he'd have Dawn as a virgin. When just the head popped inside her, she gave a muffled cry of pain, but still he drove on, wanting her to experience that pain, hoping she'd never forget each new sensation he was bringing to her.

"Come on, girl!" Penny said. "Don't flag on me now. Vic, get some life in her."

"Anything for a friend," he said, and reached below to finger Dawn's cunt as he sawed his cock in her. "How's that?"

"Fine. She's waking now. She knows, doesn't she? Knows as well as any of us whores how to use her body. Ah, thatta girl. Make me come, girl, and then you'll come. Stay with it, dear. Yes, that's so good. Give her more of your prick, Vic. Give her all she wants. Now, girl! I'm comin' for you. Come with me! Do it! I say, Come!"

Fallen forward with all the full weight of her torso supported by her face on Penny's crotch, her hips jerking, it seemed as if every nerve in Dawn's body was discharging. Never had Vic seen a woman lose control so utterly, and he reveled in all he'd brought to the girl as he drove his cock on, expelling his hot sperm into her soiled, sweating body. Yes, she would never forget this.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Penny stretched out Vic on the couch, pecked him a kiss on the forehead, and left the room. Two minutes later she was back, bearing a tray. The few strands of hair that had been misplaced were in neat order again and her make-up was repaired. Freshly powdered and perfumed, she sat naked beside him. With the tray at her feet, she poured him more champagne from the new bottle and then proceeded to use the basin of warm water to bathe his genital area.

She said, "That was fun, wasn't it? We haven't had us a three-way party for ever so long. D'you want a cigarette, luv?"

"Good. Can you reach them?"

"Yes. Just lie still. There you go, Leftenant. Now I'll just splash a bit of cologne on your pecker, take a bit of a snooze if you like, and well be ready for a real night of it."

"I'd like to, but I'd better get Dawn home."

"Her?" said Penny, grinning and thumbing over her shoulder. "What for? She's happy."

Vic raised on one elbow to look down at the crumpled form of the sleeping girl. She was on her belly, her legs outspread and twisted had formed under her loins, still open and lividly red. Her cheek was against the carpet, mashing her features. Her mouth hung open and swatches of her hair were lankly plastered over her face. She snorted a snore, her body twitched, and she settled back into her slumber.

"Penny tittered and said, "Happy as a bug in a rug. She's right at home in a place like this."

"Penny," he admonished. "She's not a pro and never could be one. She's just had too much to drink."

"She really takes to cock, doesn't she? If Keith hadn't been downed, she'd have screwed him to death."

Vic lay back and took a long pull from the bottle, said, "From what I gather, her sex life with Keith wasn't all this ... complete. Hell, nobody had even gone down on her till I came along."

"She's the kind who learns fast, and then there's no satisfying her. How long have you been poking it to her, Vic?"

He looked into the smiling, trusting face of the prostitute who was stroking his brow and said, "This is only my second time."

"Consoling the poor widow. Good for you. Think she'd be interested in a job here?"

"Really, Penny, she's not that way."

"You've got yourself a real fondness for her, haven't you," said Penny, and looked down at Dawn, chuckled.

Vic glanced at Dawn again and said, "Nothing serious. Just a pleasant little interlude. Nothing serious, like you and I have going."

She smiled at him, cradled his face to her breasts, and he inhaled deeply of her warmth and fragrance as he put an arm about her to hug her.

She purred, then gently pushed him away, saying, "Why don't I call some of the girls and have them take her away where she can sleep it off?"

"No. I really should take her home."

She looked speculatively at him and said, "Then I'D clean her up a bit. Just sit back and drink your wine, luv." He watched while Penny flopped Dawn over on her back and gave her a reassuring pat on the cheek when she started to stir. She started bathing her genital area with the cloth from the basin, and as she worked, she talked.

"Yes, we could have a time tonight if you didn't have to run her home. You'll be back afterward?"

"I don't know. After all, it is my first night out of the hospital."

"Pooh. With a Flight Pill or two, you could go all night. And just think, no reporting for duty in the morning. How long is your hospital leave?"

"Till my vision gets better," he said, drinking again from the bottle.

"And that might be quite a while, eh?"

He had to laugh. He had to say, "Penny, you know me too well."

"Why not? Were two of a kind, you and me," she said, now smearing soothing cream about Dawn's nether orifices. "Stay, Vic. We could have a bit of sport with her, too."

Vic looked at Dawn, limp and formless, all the cool and vibrant life gone from her body. It wouldn't be good, he decided, if she woke alone in her bed, the bed she'd shared with Keith, and was racked and torn by her conscience. Foolish things, consciences, and the sooner Dawn lost hers, the better off both of them would be. And what better place than the Silver Cock for losing one's conscience.

He said, "I don't think she could take any more."

"Vie, you shock me. You, of all people, ought to know how much a gal can take. Watch me."

From under a towel on her tray, Penny produced a dildo. It was of moderate length and thickness, fitted with straps and a leather base plate that would fit snugly against the clitoris and labia of its wearer. Penny placed its end between the sleeping girl's labia and moved it gently up and down the length of her slit, watching for a reaction.

Dawn stirred, tried to close her legs, but Penny cooed soft words to her and held them open. Gradually, very gradually she worked the thing in, then worked it in and out till Dawn was moaning softly, smiling in her sleep. She put it all the way in then and fitted the straps over her groin, between her legs, about her waist, and buckled them there. She took Dawn's limp wrist in her hand and placed her palm over the base of the dildo. With a wink for Vic, Penny then pushed Dawn's inert hand harder against the leather. She kept this up for perhaps four minutes until Dawn was moving her legs and working her hips, murmuring inaudible words in her sleep. Carefully, Penny removed her hand, and Dawn continued to move as she had been.

Penny chuckled and said, "Having some pretty dreams now, I'll warrant."

"What's she mumbling?" asked Vic, then came to lie beside the girl and listen intently.

It was all a jumble at first, and then he distinguished the word, Darling. He held up a finger at Penny and listened more closely still.

"Darling, Darling ... love you ... leave me ... so dear to me-Keith ... Keith...."

Vic's flesh crawled. His smile fixed rigidly on his face, he continued to stare at Dawn while deep in his belly the sour taste of bile rose to his gorge. The champagne was at hand to wash it down, and he drank very deeply of it now, head back, eyes closed, wishing for numbness.

Penny's tinkling laughter was no relief, and her gaily delivered words made him want to all but strangle Dawn, for the blonde prostitute said, "Can you imagine? Still mooning over that old fart when she has you."

He summoned up a laugh to go with hers and said, "The only part of me she ever had was my dick, and that was strictly lend-lease. God, look at her. Give a lady a little cock and she turns into a pig."

Sliding her hand up Vic's leg, Penny said, "It's a woman you need, Vic. Not a lady."

"You're right. You're so right."

"Come, luv. Let's leave her to her wet dreams and have us a bit of serious drinking over at my place."

"I'm with you, Penny. But I've been cooped up in that hospital too long. Let's do our drinking here, and have some kicks with her while were at it."

He put a Flight Pill in Dawn's mouth and poured the last of the wine down her throat, and she choked on it. They helped her up, slapping her on her back, and she was still coughing when she got to her feet. When she could speak, she said, "What happened? Was it real?"

"You know damned good and well what happened, Dawn," said Vic. "You had yourself a good time, just like I said you would. But that was only a start. There's more going on here ... lots more."

"Got to go. Got to go home," she said, swaying, frowning down at the straps about her. "What's that on me:

"Something to tickle you, ducks," Penny said. "Come along now. We re out of wine and need some more."

They drew her by her arms to the door. She was trembling all over. In those few steps, she'd started panting, trying to clutch at her belly with both hands, trying to push the straps away. Fuzzily, she said, "There's one of those things in me. Did you put it there?"

"Of course we did, Dawn. Feels good, no?"

"No. Get it out. Got to get it out."

"What for?" said Vic, and took her in his arms.

He clasped her naked body to his, put his mouth on her throat as he writhed his hips against hers. When she tried to move her hips away from him, Penny was there at her rear to press her loins against Dawn's backside and push her harder against Vic.

As the two older people smiled at each other, Dawn moaned, "Please, no. Stop it. Turn it off. Get it out of me. Oh, I can't stand it."

"Why?" said Vic. "It's just as good as my cock, and you remember how good that was. You remember how you came with my cock in you."

Behind her, Penny purred, "Good as my kissing you there. Better maybe. Good as you kissing my twat. Ah, that was absolutely wizard, wasn't it?"

"No," Dawn pleaded. "No." But even as she pleaded, her hips were falling into a rhythm of their own. Forward they'd press against Vic's hard cock at her belly. Backward they'd press against the warm and softness of Penny's voluptuous form.

They murmured to her, they buzzed words into her ears, while both of them used their hands with great expertise to stimulate her superficial nerves as the movement against the dildo was stimulating her internal nerves. They continued till her hip movement had reached a tempo that could only lead to orgasm, and then they nodded to each other and took their places at her sides, supporting her by her arms. "Time for a drink, ducks."

"Hey, I'll bet you're parched."

"Right down the hall."

"Come on, Dawn. We'll help you."

"Yes, help me. I need help. Help me come. Oh, let me touch it."

Holding her firmly by the arms they took her into the hall, and there they encountered Heather, just turning into the next room with a bottle of champagne on a tray. Penny scooped it off, and it was passed around, to Vic, to Penny, and then to Dawn.

"Here," said Heather. "Who's paying for that?"

"On my bill," Vic said. "Tell Harry it's for me." He hugged the lovely blonde to him and bussed her soundly.

Laughing, Heather said, "Ah, you're in fine shape. Your girl's not doing bad, either."

"They won't let me come," Dawn whined.

"Poor thing," said Heather, and gave her a playful hug. "You like to come, do you?"

"Love it," said Dawn, and as Vic and Penny released her arms, she embraced the sweet-faced blonde whore and kissed her on the mouth, mashing her against the wall with her body, heaving against her.

Vic and Penny pressed in on her, with Penny whispering in her ear, "We want you to come, darling. And we've already made you come more than a few times. Poor Heather hasn't come at all tonight. Give her a bit of a good time, sweets, just like you did me. Remember that? Remember how you came when I did?"

Still clinging to Heather, Dawn threw her head back and breathed, "Yes. Oh, how that hurt. How good it was."

She dragged her hard-tipped breasts along Heather's body as she sank to her knees, searching with her hands as she went, then fastening her mouth on Heather's loins, sucking and licking greedily under her little skirt.

Heather laughed and tried to push her away, saying, "Here now, I've got my work to do."

"Don't go," Dawn pleaded. "I need you."

"She loves you, Heather," said Penny. "Stay with her a bit. Heather'll stay, Dawn, if she knows you love her."

"Love you," murmured Dawn through her mouthings.

Heather shrugged and gave in to their urgings. She allowed herself to slide down the wall a little way, spread her legs father, and settled back to enjoy the avidly passionate kisses of the girl. Dawn's eagerness was such that within just a few minutes Heather was on the brink of a climax.

Penny knelt by Dawn's side and fondled and caressed her as she said, "It's coming now, ducks. Heather's going to come, and you're going to feel it when she does. Feel it starting? Do you. So good. So very good. Just what you want."

Grinding her bottom against her heels, Dawn redoubled her efforts till Heather was gasping and squirming against the wall. Dawn writhed and moaned in an orgasm of her own as Penny loosened the straps of the dildo. When they dragged her to her feet, she tried to kiss Heather, but with a laugh, Heather turned away. Dawn took a step after her, and then emitted an anguished cry as the slimy dildo slipped out from between her legs and rolled across the hall carpet.

At once Heather was forgotten and she fell to her knees to scramble for it. With one sideways step, Vic barred the way. He reached down and lifted her head by the hair so that she was looking past his rigid prick at his face. Her mouth was open and she was panting rapidly, and her eyes darted several times to his cock so close to her.

He said, "You told that whore you loved her. Do you?"

"I don't know," she whined. "Did I say that?"

"You did. Do you love me?"

Penny spoke first, saying, "She loves your cock. Isn't that so, Dawn?"

Now Dawn's gaze was devoted exclusively to Vic's prick. She licked her lips and said, "I'd love to ... to have it in me. Could I?"

"O' course you could, sweets," said Penny.

She turned Dawn's face toward Vic's crotch with one hand, and with the other grasped him and moved the head of his cock over Dawn's eyes and mouth, leaving streaks of seminal fluid to trace its path. "Go ahead," said Penny softly. "Pop it in your mouth. It's a wonderful feeling, isn't it, Vic?"

"Wonderful," he said. "It's just what you want, Mrs. Brighton."

At that, Dawn rolled her eyes about, as if to look for help, but Penny held her firm while Vic opened her mouth and thrust his prick in. Her eyes closed and she began nursing at it, settling under him to rock her haunches on her heels.

"Use your tongue," Penny instructed. "And suck him nice and slow. Your hands, too. Just feel of that wonderful man who's lettin' you suck him off. Ah, that's grand, isn't it? Just as good as it is with a woman, eh? Here. Your Penny will give you a tickle while you're tending to Vic." Head bobbing, hands stroking, Dawn hunkered her legs wider apart for the admission of Penny's hand between her legs. In her throat she was making deep growling sounds, and her face had a rapturous look on it, a look that filled Vic with disgust. That disgust, however, was not enough to dampen his growing need. Enflamed by his power over her, further strengthened by the amphetamine he'd taken, he felt as if his testicles were swollen to bursting. He held back till the swollen feeling was distinctly painful, then relaxed and shot his sperm into her mouth.

Dawn's body stiffened. She tried to pull away for a moment. Then she was sucking and stroking more wildly than ever, while with one hand she frantically pushed Penny's hand deeper between her legs. When Vic backed away from her, she tried to follow his cock and sprawled forward on the floor. He kicked aside her reaching hand and rolled over on her back, reached both her hands to her bush.

There she lay, rolling on the floor as she clutched at herself, and Penny went to Vic's side to slip an arm about his waist and say, "We ought to get her to bed now and let her sleep it off."

"Yeah. She's about had it."

"Give us a kiss first, Vic."

The kiss was long and tender, very luxurious as Penny warmed Vic's lean body with her soft form. It was interrupted, however, by a drunken voice that boomed loud in the narrow hall, a voice that was unmistakably American.

"Hey, Howie! Look at this. One broad layin' on the floor, waitin' for it, and another broad givin' it to a guy standin' up. I think were in the right place."

Irritated, Vic looked up to see two American Navy captains, one with his arm in a sling, the other on crutches, rapidly approaching with looks of great eagerness on their faces. The one in front whistled as he looked down at Dawn clutching at her loins, and he began opening his trousers.

Vic started to intervene, but Penny said, "Why not? I do believe Mrs. Brighton could use just a bit more. Give your countrymen a treat."

He shrugged and stepped back against the wall, his arm about Penny as they watched.

When Dawn first saw the officer's prick, she gave off in her frantic masturbation and reached out for him, positioning herself with her legs outspread, her hips off the carpet. His pants about his knees, he dropped between her legs and clumsily tried to penetrate her with his one good hand. She helped him. She gripped his cock quickly and made the penetration herself, sighing ecstatically as it went into her snatch, wrapping her legs about him so there was no escape.

As he thrashed and churned at her, she crooned with delight, and when he surged to a climax, she cried out, "Oh, I love you. I love you so."

Laughing, backing away, he said, "Hey, Howie. She's in love with me. You want her to fall in love with you, too." The one on crutches said, "I want to shop around first."

"Please," said Dawn, weakly rising to a sitting position, trying to offer up a winning smile. "I'll love you, too, Howie. Just put your cock in me now and I'll love you."

"Let's go," said Vic, abject hatred rising in him. "Let's deliver some Flight Pills to Harry and then have ourselves a time. As long as there's a hard cock here, Dawn won't be running off."

CHAPTER NINE

Vic Munroe worked hard at enjoying his hospital leave. By the fourth week of it, though, there were less and less people with which to enjoy it. Amazingly to him, the invasion of France continued to go well, and this drained war-time London of great numbers of troops that had staged there in preparation for the assault. Among his many acquaintances that were shipped across the Channel was the supply sergeant from whom he'd obtained so many amphetamine tablets, and thus his former source of supplemental income was gone. Try as he might, he hadn't been able to cultivate another similarly scrupled supply sergeant.

It seemed as if every one of his friends had deserted him. Of course, many lay dead on the continent. Others continued to fly, usually in the newer, faster American planes, but their air fields were being shifted to France so that they could more easily reach Berlin. When he went into the Silver Cock now, its customers were mostly Americans with a smattering of the old guard British officers who'd been taken from their cockpits or bridges and given desk jobs. He was well known to all of them, for he was the Cock's most regular customer, even though Harry had revoked his edict that Vic could pay for nothing there during his visits.

Vic spent a good part of his days there as well as most of his nights. There were always young American officers there during the day to drink beer with while he told them the way things were in London when times were rough, fuzzy-cheeked youngsters who were awed by his newspaper clippings. If the graying British officers disapproved of him now, it made no difference to him. There was no need to impress them further, for he'd won his medals, done his deeds, and had no intention of helping the Union Jack any further.

He felt secure in the Cock. It was only there, it seemed, that he could get a good night's sleep. There were no more Jerry air raids of the old style, when sirens blared to give a man enough time to scurry for a shelter where he could huddle in comparative safety while the bombs fell. The Germans were far too busy, too distant for their planes to reach London. Now the only warning of impending doom was a whistling, rattling scream just before the huge explosion of the Buzz Bomb. In a taxi, walking the streets, Vic was constantly looking over his shoulder, continually cocking his ear to the sky. When he heard one coming he dived frantically for any cover, knowing full well that even a near miss would destroy him. When he heard a Buzz Bomb explode in a distant part of the city, his bowels went weak with the knowledge that only fortune had kept him from being another of the diabolical weapons random targets.

Rumor had it that Peenemunde was the original site of the robot bombs, and when Vic was in the safety of the Silver Cock, he recounted in detail how he'd been the soul survivor of the raid that had almost wiped out the threat of the bomb. The accompanying rumor was deeply disturbing to him. They said that the Germans were almost completed with the development of a newer, much larger Buzz Bomb, one that would rain destruction down on London in a manner that would make the great air raids of the early forties seem puny. Outwardly he scoffed at the rumors, but inside he wanted nothing more than to spend his leave outside the city.

This was impossible. The nature of his leave was such that he had to report regularly to the hospital for examination, and transportation was such that this could only be done by living close by. If he didn't continue to hoodwink the doctors it meant a return to the air, and this was totally out of the question. All too many nights he'd spent in sweating, thrashing nightmares of flak bursting all about him, German planes knifing in at him, and his own bullets pouring into a defenseless Lancaster bomber.

He knew he shouldn't worry about being returned to duty because it was easier and easier for him to feign poor vision, but he couldn't help but worry some. The sight in his right eye was fuzzy occasionally. This was due, he knew, to the repeated suggestions of the doctor in part, and in the main, to the amount of liquor he was drinking. The doctor knew of his increased drinking, for he'd lost over fifteen pounds during the time of his leave, but there was nothing the doctor could do to stop him. Vic explained that he needed liquor to get to sleep at night, and the doctor could understand this. He was given sleeping pills as an alternate to the booze, and these were easily traded at the Silver Cock for some of the Flight Pills he'd sold them in balmier days. He hoarded the pills for the nights when he felt in the need of a great debauch, and as his boredom and anxieties settled in these nights became more frequent. Between his Squadron Leader's pay and what he earned through Dawn Brighton, he couldn't quite afford all the revelry he deserved, and he dipped into his savings to maintain his standard of living. This he did without Penny's knowledge, for she'd badger him if she knew he was using funds that had been ostensibly put aside to start their life as man and wife once the war was over.

Dawn was working regularly at the Cock. It would have been simpler for her to live there as many of the other girls did, but that would have endangered his relationship with her. As it was, Vic took her there on the evenings she was sober enough to work, thus identifying himself as her protector. In this way, he split her weekly wage of one-hundred pounds. He took her home on the mornings she was still conscious, but left her to fend for herself when she was too blotto. Harry didn't like her drinking, didn't like the idea of Keith Brighton's widow working there, but in his continual need for more and more wanton females, he kept her on.

When Vic went to pick up Dawn on a Wednesday night, he found her morosely staring out her window, a glass of pink gin in her hand. He took it from her and stood her up, looking for signs of drunkenness. Her lipstick was a little too heavy and the pancake make-up she wore didn't quite cover the dark circles under her slightly bloodshot eyes. Her clothing had been carelessly selected, but that didn't matter. She'd be in uniform soon. She was only a little drunk, and she'd put in many evenings like this before, with the aid of a Flight Pill or two.

She smiled in what she thought was a winsome way and said, "Mayn't I even finish my drink?"

"I think you've had enough. There'll be more at the Cock."

"Please, lover," she cooed. "Just let me finish that one." He drew her closer and said, "Love me today?"

"With all my heart," she replied earnestly. "I love you with all my heart."

"That's my girl. Here. Have one more sip and let's go." He held it for her briefly, then took it away from her following lips.

At the Silver Cock, they each had a champagne with an amphetamine dissolved in it, then Dawn kissed him on the cheek and went to change. As Vic was having another champagne, Penny came up to him dressed in her usual abbreviated working attire.

She said, "I see our little Dawn made it again."

"Right. We need the money she brings in."

"What you need is a nice steak and kidney pie. Why don't I slip into my clothes and well go have a bite?"

"Goddamn it, don't try to mother me."

She smiled and said, "Better get used to it now. I'll be doing a lot of it once we're married."

"Yeah. Well, we're not married yet."

"Yes, and we should be. There's no reason to wait, is there? We could be married here, now just as well as later in the States, luv." "Don't start that again. That's settled. Now get me a bottle of champagne and put it on my bill. I feel like having some fun tonight, not talking about marriage."

In the outer room he struck up a conversation with two American flyers, but found them to be more interested in the girls than in his stories. He got another bottle of wine and entered the second room for the first show, and sat all the way through it without anyone coming over to talk to him, not even Penny.

He'd seen the show several times before, and each time it had interested him less. In catering to the crass tastes of the American patronage, Harry had dispensed with the cancan dancing. Pornographic movies imported from France before the war were shown continuously, and the only live performers were in the back rooms. While those around him either laughed or watched raptly, he sullenly sipped, knowing all the moves on the screen by rote. When the cartoon came on for the second time, he rose and unlocked the hall door, carrying his bottle with him.

June was performing in the first of the back rooms, and though her act never stirred him greatly, he stayed to watch it. Besides Vic, June's audience consisted of about six American officers, two of them nurses, and a pair of older British officers. June, a somewhat overweight brunette with a rather coarse face, did a perfunctory strip tease as she simpered and replied to the comments of those about her. When she was naked, she got on her shoulders and bicycled with her feet in the air while her big tits lolled down at her face.

On her hack then, she spread her legs and massaged her crotch with her hands, asking any of those present if they thought they might be able to please her. There were several volunteers, but none who had the courage to rise and take her in the presence of the others. On cue, the other door of the room opened and a St. Bernard dog loped in, glanced about at the spectators, then came to sit between June's open legs.

She clucked at him and said, "Come, Georgie. Show the nice people how to please me."

He came forward and buried his muzzle in her loins, his huge tongue flashing. June sighed contentedly and reached down to scratch his ears and address him in endearing terms. The brute went at it avidly, and as he did one of the nurses bent low to the floor and peeped under him. Rising, she whispered to her companions, and they all burst into gales of giggles.

June called the dog again, and now he came over her body, dragging his shaggy belly up between her legs and grasping her about the waist with his big paws. The audience couldn't see when his dogcock penetrated her, but she made it known by her squeals of exaggerated delight, and then the dog was humping at her with lightning rapidity. In less than a minute, the dog was backing out of her and using his tongue on her crotch again.

As Vic left, the audience was rising, commenting on the baseness of June's performance, moving toward the door to look for another diversion,. They dispersed through the other doors along the hall with some of them following Vic into the door at the end. This was where Dawn performed, and her little show never failed to please him.

Chairs and couches lined the walls of the room, and the Barclay Bench was no longer used for its intended purpose. Dawn was sitting on it now, along with Maggie and two men, soldiers who'd been approached on the street that day. Vic sat down to watch while he drank.

All four were naked on the bench, and Dawn sat between the two men. With their kisses and touches, they competed for her attentions, ignoring Maggie as she fawned over them. Dawn was very aroused, and she was happily drunk at the same time. She turned from one of them to the other, embracing them and kissing them, fondling their rigid pricks. As she paid homage to one of her admirers, the other ran his hands over her body, squeezing her breasts and inserting his fingers in her snatch. Even with the heavy make-up she wore, she looked pretty and delicate, fresh and young compared to the other girls who worked at the Silver Cock, and Vic heard the usual comments on this youth and beauty, so unexpected in the notorious whorehouse.

She had a fine color developing under the twin assault of the man, and her comments and caresses were driving them on to new heights in trying to gain her undivided favors. The men, Vic knew, were a little drunk, too. They'd been given just enough liquor to free them of their inhibitions and to increase their staying power to match Dawn's.

Now she clung to the black-haired one in a long kiss while the brown-haired one sought to envelop her nipple in his mouth. Maggie was impeding him in this by pulling at his arm, trying to turn him toward her. Ending the kiss then, Dawn leaned across the brown-haired man and said, "He may not want you, Maggie, but I do. Come and get me ready, honey."

The slattern slid off the bench and came around in front of Dawn. She went to her knees between Dawn's dangling legs, parted them with her hands, and put her mouth against Dawn's pubic area.

The two men looked down, dumfounded, and Dawn embraced them both, saying, "What's wrong, boys? She's good at it, and it takes a lot to please me. Ahh. She's getting me good and ready for you. Are you ready for me?"

She grasped each of their pulsating dicks as she said this and looked inquiringly at each of them. Her flat belly was pulsing in and out with her heat, her uptilted breasts bobbing with each pulsation. There was a wild, wanton look in her eyes, a very expectant look. The men looked at each other and nodded, and Dawn kissed them each in turn while below her Maggie continued at her cunt lapping.

Dawn lifted her legs to push Maggie away with her feet, saying, "Enough for now, luv. Give us a hand, will you? And don't run off then."

Dawn chose the larger of the two men, the black-haired one, to lay on his back on the bench. With Maggie's assistance, she then climbed up on the table and, facing his feet, lowered her body on him. Grinning at the audience, winking at Vic, she grasped his upright prick and carefully fitted it against her asshole. As the man gripped the edges of the bench with both hands, Dawn slowly lowered herself down on him til his cock had disappeared completely inside her.

A buzz went up from the people in the room as Dawn, panting and grinning, eased herself back until she was lying on top of him, on her back. She-exhaled as if she'd found great relief, and held out her arms for the other man.

Maggie helped him up to the end of the bench, then guided his cock as he came gingerly forward. With no little difficulty, the aged prostitute got the cockhead into Dawn's gash, then slapped him on the bare buttocks, and he forced his cock the rest of the way into Dawn's tight snatch, greatly diminished in size by the hard flesh already in her bottom hole.

Now Dawn's breaths were coming in short, widely spaced gasps, as if she was in great pain. But the look on her face was unmistakably one of great lust, base ecstasy. Her legs trembled and jerked, as if they longed to encircle the man's hips over her. She didn't move them though, for fear of losing the penetration of the man's cock beneath her. She put her arms about him, hugging him tightly to her, mouthed her lips against his shoulder.

With Maggie at the side of the bench to steady them, Dawn started the human sandwich into motion. She ground her hips downward, further flattening her buttocks on the loins of the man below her as she sought for more of his cock, then thrust her hips up to feel more of the man's over her. Her actions were slow and deliberate, obviously very enjoyable to her as she sought all she could from the treble union.

Very soon the man on top got her rhythm and began movements of his own, and Dawn's hips ceased their motion. Her .eyes closed and she ceased kissing his shoulder as her head rolled toward Vic's direction. Brows furrowed, smiling with open mouth, she gave her body up to the sensations she was feeling. At each of his strokes in her, the friction she felt was two-fold from the more than one foot of cock inside her, and it made tremors run through her body. Cautiously, with Maggie there to Steady him on the narrow bench, the brown-haired man increased his tempo, and now Dawn sighed and groaned more loudly, while under her, the black-haired man's neck and bicep muscles knotted.

With a loud grunt, the man on top was suddenly heaving at her, his cares about tumbling to the floor forgotten. The man underneath groaned, too, and then Dawn was heaving with her hips as before, but much more strenuously as she dug her claws into the man's back, snarling, "More! More! Eegh! Harder! Harder! Oh, how I love you!"

His thrusts did go harder for a time, but then they abruptly stopped, and he was dragging himself up and pulling his empty cock out of her, dragging a mournful wail from Dawn as he did. As she groped for him, the man under her pushed her violently away, and now she tumbled off the bench to sprawl on the floor.

Her audience laughed as the spent men jostled each other going to the door, and as Dawn reached out for them, pleading, "Wait, boys. I'm sorry. Don't leave me yet. Well have another go round straightaway. Boys! Damn you, don't walk out on me! You sods, come back! You bloody sods, come back here."

The people in the room, still laughing, began to file out-all save Vic, Maggie, and a couple on the couch busy undressing each other. Dawn glanced at them all, then crawled to Vic, reached up at his knee, and said, "Lover, give me a little poke, will you? Those beggars just gave me a good start, and there's nobody like you to please me. Come on, Vic. You haven't given me a ride for days and days."

"Not in the mood," he said, brushing her hand away and drinking from the bottle.

She pleaded, "I love you, Vic. Does that help to get you in the mood?"

Stoically, he shook his head, pushed her hand from his knee again. She started to snarl out an epithet, then turned to the couple on the couch. She crawled to them and placed her hands on them, saying, "Ah, what lovely people. Move over a bit and give us some room, eh?"

The woman flinched from her and the man said, "No thanks, tootsie. We're all set with each other. Come on, Helen. Let's find a private room."

"Wait," said Dawn. "No need to go. How'd you like to see Maggie and me put on a little show for you? Maggie?" The couple settled back and Dawn opened her arms to Maggie, the lustful light rekindled in her eyes. Maggie came, leering, and Dawn tried to pull her down, saying, "Come on, luv. Eat me up a bit more for the people."

"Your, turn now," said Maggie, and opened her legs, spread the flaccid lips of her sex for Dawn.

"Will you do me later then?"

"Maybe. If you do a good job on me."

Dawn went at it then with no hesitation, noisy and hungry at her work. She didn't turn around at the sounds of the couple on the couch leaving, and she didn't notice when Vic got up to go. Maggie grinned and winked at him, and he lurched out the door and down the hall.

Vic went to the front room of the Silver Cock to work on the next bottle of wine. Penny served him, and she did this with obvious exasperation as he sullenly and solitarily drank. He followed Penny around with his gaze as she flounced from table to table with her tray, pausing to flirt, caress, casting him disgusted looks while she sat ensconced on the lap of any man with the price of admission to the Silver Cock.

It was quite late and the crowd was thinning when he called for another bottle, and then she argued with him that he'd had enough. Fixing her with an angry glare, he repeated his order for more wine.

When she brought it, he took her by the wrist and sat her down at his comer table. He said, "You know, you're the cause of it all."

"You know you're drunk ... drunk as a lord."

"Hell I am."

"And how many pills have you taken tonight? Vic, you're going to kill yourself at this rate."

"So? So didn't I almost kiss myself every time I flew? So what do you care? What does anybody care?"

"Now don't get maudlin. You know I care. I'm your fiance, aren't I?"

"You're my whore. That's all you are and that's all you ever have been. Dirty, stinking whore who fucks up young girls ... makes whores outta them."

"Damn, you are drunk! What in hell are you talking about? Dawn? She's a lower whore than any of us by a damn sight. And if anybody's to Marne for bringing it out of her, it's you! Now go to my place and sober up. You can apologize tomorrow."

"Apologize? Apologize to a whore? Instead of that, I oughta kill you. I oughta kill you for doing what you did to Dawn. I was gonna marry her. I mean, really marry her with a wedding and everything. And you turned her ... you turned her into what she is. Your fault. All your fault."

"Vic, it wouldn't have worked out," she implored, trying to pry his tightening fingers from about her wrist. "It's you and me what's good for each other, Vic. Vic, stop. Please."

"Show you what you're good for," he said, and lashed out at her with the champagne bottle.

It crunched against her mouth but didn't break, and she slumped to the floor so quickly that not a head was turned in their direction. Vic got Unsteadily to his feet and stood swaying over her.

She was bleeding heavily from her mouth and he could see that at least four of her front teeth had been knocked out. But she wasn't knocked out. Her eyes were filmed over and she was very groggy in her attempts to rise, but she was indeed conscious. Her elegant coiffure was tousled from her fall, and one of her big breasts had fallen out of her blouse. Her skirt was up and her loins on display as she moved her legs and tried to get up.

Sneering down at her, he opened his trousers and took out his prick. He began to urinate, the first of it missing her in his swaying, and then he laughed aloud as the yellow stream was directed to her face. It matted her hair, splashed against her eyes, changed her scream to a gurgle as it hit her mouth. He continued, spraying it on her bosom, then glowing with satisfaction as it coursed directly against her loins.

Her screams brought patrons and hostesses alike, and they might have pummeled Vic badly had not Harry and the bartender intervened. Bustling the laughing, alcohol-sodden lieutenant to the-door, they kept the others away from him by shouting, "No trouble. For God's sake, no trouble."

At the top of the stairs, they threw him out into the street, and Harry said, "Come back here, and I'll see you dead."

CHAPTER TEN

Two days later Vic awoke in a sleazy hotel room near Soho. His uniform was tom and dirty, his head ached an echoing hollowness, there were sharp pangs that clutched his stomach. Next to his bed was a half-full bottle of whiskey, and he turned to this for rejuvenation. He stripped and summoned the porter, and after a long wait, turned his clothes over to him for repair. Then he climbed into a tepid tub of water, the hottest that was available, and with the remnants of the whiskey at hand, tried to ease the queasy anguish that threatened to engulf him.

He'd blown things completely with Penny, but he told himself he didn't care. She was nothing but a whore, and he had no further use' for her. He had no further use for anyone or anything about the Silver Cock, and he'd never set foot in its direction again. All he needed was a little time to straighten himself out, to get away from the booze and the pills and the base, disgusting sex-life they led. He lay back in the water, breathing deeply, while he planned his immediate future.

He'd go to his doctor that very day and demonstrate the remarkable recovery of his vision. It was still blurred, but he felt sure he could pass the test. Then he'd go to his Commanding Officer and request return to duty. He massaged the neck of the bottle as he mused over it.

Perhaps, he thought, he'd better wait a day or two. His vision was a bit blurred from his recent weeks of excessive drinking, and he'd have an easier time with the test after a time of abstinence. Then, when he saw the C.O., he might request different duty. They had cushy jobs for pilots who admitted to a temporary loss of nerve. That was no disgrace, even for a hero like him. It might even be the time to take that transfer to USAF and a fresh start. Either way, he'd get his life sorted out in a hurry, before he became so mired in the life he'd known around the Silver Cock that he'd sink as low as Dawn had.

Feeling content with his plans, with the slow warmth of the whiskey, he pushed the bottle away from the side of the tub. As soon as his uniform got back, he'd....

He froze at the familiar rattling whine of a Buzz Bomb, louder than he'd ever heard before, coming directly at him. He opened his mouth and screamed, sloshing water out of the tub as he tried to cower into a corner of its smooth porcelain. His scream was cut off as the bomb exploded with an enormous roar, and the room shook while shards of plaster showered down on him. Vic scrambled out of the tub and sprawled on the floor, still shouting. On all fours he slipped and slid across the tile floor to his room while the rain of sand and pebbles continued. He wailed at the sight of the smoke pall just outside his window that rose even as the sounds of the explosion died, and at last he found sanctuary under the bed, gripping the brass legs with quaking hands. Outside sirens wailed and Vic's voice rose tremulously with them. He knew the building was afire, but he was powerless to rise and flee, unable to stir closer to the danger that lay in any direction he turned.

He could see the bottle on the floor of the bathroom and he cursed himself for leaving it. Though it was fifteen feet away, he stretched out a hand for it, groaned when he couldn't reach it. Stealthily, he crept out, looked about, then scrabbled across the floor like a big white lizard and got the bottle. He found the courage to halt crouching in the bathroom and drink deeply of it.

The knock at his door made him spill some of the whiskey, then he darted to it, knowing it was the call to evacuate the building. He flung the door open to find the ancient porter, looking unperturbed as ever as he held up Vic's clean uniform.

"What is it?" Vic burst at him. "Are we on fire?"

"Fire? Nossire. Bloody bangoe struck the movie house.

Nobody in it."

"Good, good. Get me a bottle of whiskey, will you?

Anything."

"Oo, guv'nor, there's no whiskey to be 'ad."

"Yes, there is," said Vic, and gave the porter ten pounds. "Hurry back with it. And bring me a paper."

With shaking hands, he finished his bottle and dressed, then paced the floor waiting for the porter's return. Going back to the doctor the next day was out of the question. He'd have to get hold of himself before he did that, and with an experience such as he'd just gone through, that would take a few days. As his steps took him by the window, he couldn't help but look down at the smoldering ruins so close by, then up at the sky as he cocked his ear for another of the awful black weapons that struck so indiscriminately from the sky.

He snatched at the bottle when it came, tipped the porter with a curse, then sat down with it and the newspaper to get some calm back in his nerves. Unfolding it, the headline screamed at him.

CAPTAIN KEITH BRIGHTON SAFE!

Captain Keith Brighton, V.C., D.F.C., has just been returned to London after being missing in action over the continent for the past five weeks. A hero of the Battle of Britain, Capt. Brighton's bomber was shot down during a daylight raid at Peenemude, the German missile base in the Netherlands, a raid in which all but Lieutenant Victor Munroe was thought to have perished.

Vic skimmed it rapidly, chewing on his lip as he did, then picked out....

... Dawn Farleigh Brighton, a bride of only a few months when Capt. Brighton's plane was shot down is suffering from shock at his sudden emergence from the grave and is recovering in a hospital.

Further on, the article held Keith's statement....

"The flak, the interceptors were heavier that day than ever I'd seen them. It was a matter of the gingham dog and the calico cat ... we literally chewed each other up. All the way back to England I feared I might be the only survivor, for there were no British planes to be seen when I parachuted out at low level. I'm saddened, deeply saddened at the loss of so many of my companions, but I'm overjoyed that good old Vic made it back. I'm looking forward to seeing him, though our meeting will be a somber one.

At this writing, Timesmen are seeking the whereabouts of Squadron Leader Munroe, now on hospital leave, and....

Vic put the paper down and chuckled, then laughed out loud at his ability to chuckle. Where minutes before he'd been in a cold sweat of fear at the sight of Keith's name in print, now he exulted in it. Where he'd felt despaired of, now he knew he was a hero reborn. Keith suspected nothing of his perfidy in the sky over Holland, Dawn had obviously said nothing about her affair with him, and best of all, the public still cared about him. With Keith's return from the dead, his own name would once again adorn the front pages of the world's newspapers. He had a congratulatory drink and went downstairs to telephone Keith at his home.

It was late that evening and Vic was more than a little drunk when he at last established contact with Keith. Keith's mellow British accent was warm in his welcome tones as he suggested they meet at the Silver Cock for a reunion.

"No," said Vic. "I had too much to drink and got in a little trouble there last time out. Tell you what. Let's meet down at the London Times office. You know, Keith, sooner or later they'll want to interview us together. Might as well get it over with."

"But they're closed at this hour, old boy. I've talked to them at the Cock, and Harry says all's forgiven."

"He did? Did you see Penny?"

"She's off somewhere for her health, so says Harry. Sounds like she picked up a bug, what?"

"And Harry's not mad?"

"He was, but I smoothed the way. Shall we say ... an hour from now at the Cock?"

"Okay, old chum. I'll see you then." Vic hung up and rubbed his hands together. Things were going better than he'd anticipated. His luck was still running good.

He set off to work to the Cock, wanting to breathe deeply of the early September air and clear his head. But the ruins of dozens of bombed and gutted buildings with their weirdly distorted shadows were too disturbing. He looked for a cab, and by the time he found one he was irritable and on edge. He was deposited on the familiar corner, in the same place where he'd begun so many other evenings of fun and games, and set out down the dark alley that led to the Silver Cock.

Halfway down it, two men in uniforms identical to Vic's stepped from a doorway behind him. They followed him for no more than half a dozen paces before the slimmer one busted him over the back of the head and he sagged to the pavement.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Vic awoke naked, flat on his back, under a bright overhead light. There was a buzz of conversation, low laughter about him, and he turned his head to see the room he was in, lined with middle-aged British officers, some of whom he knew, some strangers. When he tried to move, he found his ankles were tied to one end of the table he was on, his wrists to the other end. At his backside he felt a large hole in the table, and it was then he realized he was tied on the Barclay Bench.

He snarled and hauled at his bonds, and those about him slowed in their conversations and turned their attentions to his struggles. "Get me off this thing," he cried. "Goddamn it, cut me loose."

One of them, Roberts, turned to the man at his side and said, "Should be a jolly good show. He seems quite strong and fit."

"Let's hope so," said the other. Turning, he said, "Hi, Chips. Give the door a rap and get Keith and the ladies in here, will you?"

As Keith entered, looking gaunt but well, Vic raised his head and said, "What the hell's going on, old chum? Is this your idea of a reunion?"

He came and stood over Vic, smiling benignly down at him for a moment before he replied. "It's quite a treat, a workout on the Barclay Bench. I'm sure Teddy Basset enjoyed the time you showed him here when you stood treat. Tonight it's my treat."

He turned to go and Vic cried, "Wait a minute, Keith. Ted came in here of his own free will. Sure, I paid for everything, but he only got what he wanted."

"Not according to Penny," Keith said.

"Penny? I thought ... you said she was gone."

"She's come back. Penny! Would you step in here?"

She entered nude, and behind her came Maggie, a many-thonged whip swinging from her hand. Penny's nude form was as lovely as ever, but her face was lopsided with the bandage on her cheek, and black stitches criss-crossed her swollen, purple lips.

Keith said, "It's difficult for her to speak with that mouth you gave her, but we got the story out of her. We know you had her and the others wear poor Teddy down to a frazzle so he no more belonged in his plane than a five-year-old. Do you deny that?"

"I do. Sure I told her to see he got a good workout on the Bench, but that was only for a gag. To embarrass him. He was a virgin you know, and I thought ... Yow!" He shrieked as Maggie brought the whip down across his loins. It took all his strength to fight back the nausea that rose in aftermath of the pain, to go on and make a cogent defense of himself. "That's all it was, Keith. I swear. It only started out as a gag. I wanted to embarrass him. I hoped he'd ask for a transfer, but ... OWW! ... but I didn't for a minute dream he'd get killed that day. Keith, you were there. You saw I had nothing at all to do with it. OWW WWW."

"I believe you," said Keith. "You couldn't have known what he did. Still and all, this little informal court of inquiry doesn't think you acted in the best interests of Teddy, a senior officer but a junior man. I'm sorry, Victor, but it's been decided you're to get a taste of what he had."

"Keith, don't do this. I warn you, I'll ... Yaab."

"Heavens," said Roberts to Keith. "I hope Leftenant Basset didn't carry on so."

"Gi' 'e the 'ip," Penny said, reaching to Maggie.

"No!" Vic wailed. "For God's sake, don't let her have it, Keith. Please. I beg of you. She'll kill me."

"We've decided she deserves a crack at you, old boy." Sorry."

"Wait, Penny," said Roberts. "We can't have him howling like that. It positively grates on the ears. Maggie, would you put something over his mouth?"

"I won't yell! Please, I ... Nnnng! Penny, don't hit me like that. I'm sorry. I ... Yaaah! My cock! My cock!" Roberts said, "Keith, give Maggie a hand would you?" Vic gazed down in horror as Keith assisted Maggie with all the aplomb of a gentleman. Already there were flecks of blood oozing out of the mass of pink welts that had risen on his belly and thighs, and at his side, he could see Penny anxiously awaiting with the whip. Her big bust rose and fell heavily with her breathing, and though her battered mouth couldn't grin, he could see the deep pleasure she felt in her burning eyes.

He twisted away, not wanting to see it, trying to avoid those flaccidly quivering thighs that were nearing his face. Maggie pulled him by his hair and he caught a glimpse of her flesh, flabby and pink, fringed with long matted hair, her external genital organs distended exaggerations of womanly parts. The flesh was cool but the odor was rank as she settled against his mouth.

The whip fell on his belly and he screamed at the top of his lungs. All that could be heard was a muffled roar, but the forceful expulsion of the air from his lungs helped ease the awful, smarting pain that had laced across him like a filigree of fire. He drew in a breath through his nostrils, coughed through his nose at the smell of the woman, and could only choke out a gasp of pain as the whip fell again. He had to breathe to scream, and this he did, fighting for his life's breath through the waves of nausea that surged in him. He wanted to vomit, but knew if he did he'd strangle on it before the crone would let him up. The searing pain fell across his thighs, where he hadn't been expecting it, and his gurgling howl was louder in his ears, reverberating through his skull. Air. He needed more air to scream louder, and to this end he tried to push the enveloping flesh from his face. He used the only lever he had, his tongue, to push at the oppressive weight. The flesh moved, slithered against him, and for a moment he thought he was succeeding. Then the whip fell again on his belly and he desperately raised his face to push with it as well as his tongue.

Warm and slimy, he tasted her juices. They were unbelievably foul, and he tried to turn from them in vain, then closed his mouth to try to stop them. Two more blows of the whip that shook his entire body, and he silently howled again while the rank juices flowed into his mouth.

For a moment, blind rage overcame him. He strained and heaved harder than ever at his bonds, felt them cut into his flesh, but didn't feel them yield. Like an animal, he curled back his lips and bit at the offensive flesh.

He could hear again, and the sound he heard was hugely satisfying to his needs. Maggie jumped her body up from him and shrieked in pain while he gasped for air.

"Bite me, will you, you filthy beggar! Here!"

He was shut off from all hearing again as she descended on him, higher now, covering his nostrils as well as his mouth with her wet, fetid flesh. He heaved his hips off the bench, surged his body in his elemental need to breathe for sustenance of life. In seconds, blackness was descending on him and, pain or no, he had to live. With all his failing strength, he concentrated on lapping Maggie's cunt. She settled back to where she had been, feeling his nostrils, and though he coughed and spluttered through his nose, he continued to lick her as soothingly as he could.

Even when the whip fell now he didn't desist in his efforts to please the flesh. He could stand it better now. Was the wielder of the whip growing tired or was his tormented body becoming inured to it all? He didn't know. He wasn't even sure which woman in the universe was whipping him. All he knew for sure was that he had to continue licking at the cunt and swallowing whatever life-giving foulness was secreted by it.

And then he was being delivered. Through the fog of his pain and hate, he was still able to recognize woman's flesh at an orgasm. He redoubled the efforts of his tongue, searching for new areas to caress the flesh, more stimulating movements of his tongue to please her and then be rid of them all. Surely he'd be freed when he made the woman orgasm.

But, oh!, it was slow in coming. The flesh oozed and poured at him, very hot now, and though it moved rhythmically against his mouth, it didn't release him. Below on his body, the lash clung to him after each flow, plastered against him by some wetness, the same wetness that was cloying his throat as he tried to keep up with it. When the whip thongs were jerked away from him, it was almost as painful as when they fell. But what was most painful now was the capriciousness of the blows, the irregular lag between them where he hung and waited on the whim of the woman who wielded the primary instrument of his torture.

And then he was released. The sodden flesh was taken from his face and he could sob and blubber as he drank in great lungfuls of clean, sweet air. Voices sounded very loud about him.

"Have a good come, Maggie?"

"Two of them, thank you, once he stopped tryin' to use his teeth and remembered he ad a tongue."

A man's voice, it was Roberts, said, "Your turn now, Miss Penny. Give her a leg up, Keith."

"No. He's going to get my backside."

Vic's eyes were stuck closed with slime, and he had to work to get the lids up. When he did, he saw Penny's full, creamy thighs over his face, the two big moons of her white buttocks coming down at him, the dark valley of her ass directly over his slack mouth. He turned away, but his aching neck muscles were no match for the two powerful hands that came to hold his head steady. He closed his eyes as Penny unerringly found her mark.

Vic's body lurched as Maggie flogged the whip at him. Her blows were entirely different than Penny's, and he was by then a connoisseur of that whip. Where Penny had laid the full force of her blows in bringing the full length of the thongs across him, covering as much of his flesh as she could, Maggie used only half the thongs. The noise that reverberated up through his body was louder, the pain much more excruciating as the knotted tips bit into his tortured body. He pushed his tongue out as his only defense, unable to even try to scream.

With the major pain coming in great, exploding bursts, there was another pain that was with him constantly now. It was his chest, on his nipples. They felt as if they were being slowly torn from his body with red-hot pincers, and the only thing that temporarily alleviated that sensation was when the whip came to give-him even greater pain. Through it all, he kept thrusting and licking with his tongue, for there was nothing else he could do. He continued until he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Warm but burning water was flowing in a small torrent over his face, and he eagerly opened his mouth to lap at it, no matter how stingingly salty was its taste. It poured about his face, into his eyes and mouth, and over his ears, and he managed to lift his head to seek more of it as it diminished.

His head fell back and he licked the stuff from his lips as he became aware of the voices around him.

"Look at him. He liked it."

"Why not, Penny? He must be very thirsty. May I help you down?"

"Bloody fool. I should've crapped on him."

"Miss Maggie. Would you give him the enema now?"

"Sure thing, Cap'n Roberts. Got all me tools right here." Vic thought he was too weak to move his body in any way just then, but at the first touch of the hard, slim object between his buttocks, he got his hips up off the bench. It followed him and then he tightened his sphincter against it. Inexorably prodding, the thing entered him and he sighed and relaxed to it. Warmth flooded into him and he made one more feeble attempt to resist it, then gave himself up to it all. His abdomen swelled to bursting and he sought frantically to relax further, to expel it. The suddenness of it filled him with horror and he lifted his head, rolling his eyes in horror as he visualized his bloody, striped belly exploding before his eyes.

He sighed and his head fell heavily back when the flow was stopped, the hand pinching his buttocks together was gone, and the fluid inside him rushed out to rattle in a basin somewhere below him. For a moment, he could have slept then, but again he was being filled, stretched, brought to the bursting point where he cried out for release, and again it came. Three more times he suffered the flow, the swelling, the stench, and then he fainted once again.

He awoke to faint smarting on his belly, vastly overwhelmed, however, by the soothing cool feelings there. There was a mint odor in the dimly lit room, and when he tentatively licked his parched lips, he found them sweet and clean. He could see the faintly luminescent white form of the person who worked over his bruised flesh, but he wasn't sure if the chairs and couches in the room held people in them or not.

"You're awake," said the man.

"Uh-huh. Are they gone? Is it over?"

"No, Victor. It won't be over for a long time. But perhaps the worst is over. Oh, your poor little teats. She pinched them so cruelly."

"She hurt me. The women hurt me."

"Yes, Victor. Because you hurt the women."

"Keith? Is that you?"

"Here. Drink this. Nicely chilled champagne."

His head was tenderly lifted, the glass brought through the darkness to his lips, and he drank. "More," he said, and it was immediately forthcoming.

"Now what do you say, Victor?"

"Thank you. Thank you."

He settled back in slumber while the gentle, gentle hands worked soothing cream into his flesh.

It might have been an hour, it might have been a day before Vic woke up. He was on his stomach and the front of his body glowed with warm, dull pain. He was enormously aware of his penis. It throbbed and felt very swollen, very heavy, dragging from his body. When he tried to move, he slid greasily for a fraction of an inch on the leather, then knew he was still bound to the Bench, his arms at his side now, his cock down through the hole. Would they never be done with him? He began to cry.

The rustling of paper at once cut off his sobs, and he turned his head to see Keith and Roberts and the others sitting about him, reading magazines and newspapers. He turned away again, trying to wipe his wet cheeks on the leather, snuffling.

Keith and Roberts came to him, and Keith lifted his head and held a glass of champagne to his lips while Roberts said, "Still think that's a mistake, old man. We'll get what we want of him the sooner if he's a bit parched."

"Victor's got to have some liquids in him, and he's got to have some strength."

Victor gulped thirstily, rolling his eyes up at Keith to show his gratitude. The empty glass was set aside and Keith laid his head down, brushed the hair from his eyes, then kept his hand on Victor's shoulders in a comradely, comforting manner.

Victor said, "Look, fellows. I know I did a terrible thing by not keeping better care of Ted Basset." A hand went to his buttocks, moving lightly over them, causing him to flinch. "Now, wait. Penny, don't beat me again. Please."

"What makes you think that's Penny?" said Roberts sharply.

Two hands were behind him now, spreading his buttocks though he tried to resist, smoothing something greasy on him. "Because ... because she hates me. I hit her with that bottle. I was drinking and I ... Stop that, goddamn it! Nnnng. Don't touch me like that. Penny, if that's you, I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry if it isn't her?"

"Yes, but ... Cut that out. Get your stinking fingers out of me."

Keith said, softly, "Best relax, Victor."

"I can't," he whined. "It feels too ... I can't relax and let them do that to me."

"Try, Victor. It'll be much, much easier for you."

He started sobbing again at the futility of resistance. He did as he was advised and felt the fingers smear more of the stuff on him, stretch his asshole wider.

"All right," said Roberts briskly. "You contributed to an RAF officer's death and you disfigured a whore. What else have you done."

"Nothing. Nothing."

"What about the Flight Pills you pilfered?"

"I didn't steal them. I bought some and sold some. That was all."

Roberts sighed and said, "Keith, gentlemen, he's not cooperating at all. Best get on with things."

"Wait! Don't beat me again. I paid him to steal the pills. It was my fault. But Harry bought them from me. It's as much his fault as mine."

Now there was something very hard and round, much larger than a finger, pressing against his anus. Jerking his head around, he could see a naked man standing at his side. Clenching his sphincter closed, he snarled, "Queers. Bunch of limey queers."

The man smiled at him and continued to push and worm at him with the hard object. Victor was sweating, trembling with his effort to keep it from entering, to close his buttocks to the strong hands that moved there.

"Relax," said Keith, and Victor whined with his effort to hold it out. The pain was searing. There was no question that his flesh was being invaded. He began sobbing as he felt himself losing, and he groaned terribly when the knob of the thing passed into his body. His torso shook with sobs as he went limp and exhausted from the waist down. His nose was mashed against the leather as he shook his head helplessly while the thing was moved slowly within him, at least a foot, he felt.

They left him that way. They returned to their chairs, some reading, others watching while he lay penetrated by a dildo that had probably known dozens, hundreds of women's bodies. He tried to lie still but its presence was awful. The pain was gone, replaced by another sensation, one he'd never known before. It was a loathsome sensation and he shuddered at it. The shudder moved the dildo. It had come out a fraction of an inch. Trying not to move his hips, he tightened at it again, and again he felt some of it slide out of him.

It was a great effort using these muscles he was unfamiliar with, but the effort had to be made. The alien thing had to be removed from him. He worked very hard at it, with a slight panting being the only sign he'd given them that he was fighting them and winning. As he worked, his task became more difficult. By the time he felt he'd expelled half of the thing, the weight of the shaft shifted the rest of it in his body. It's pressure was against new organs inside him, and he cautiously had to move his hips to keep the shaft straight in the air. Each slight movement made him aware of his swollen, lacerated prick dangling under the table. But by great concentration, he perseverance, he was able to work the thing out of him till it had reached a point where only the knob was inside his ass.

Those of his tormentors he could see were busy with their papers and magazines, and Victor ventured to shake his hips to dislodge the last of the dildo. Weird, awful sensations quivered through him, emanating outward from his anus, and he had to stop and pant.

"Bunk," said Roberts. "He's losing it. Nip up there and slip it back in like a good fellow, will you."

"Gladly," came the syrupy voice, and Victor moaned as the hands came to him to touch him while the dildo was inserted to its full length once again.

He sobbed, "What do you want me to do? What do you want me to say? I'm sorry? God, I am. I am sorry. Keith, I did the worst thing to you. I ... I had intercourse with your wife while you were gone. She told you, didn't she? Keith? I'm sorry. Forgive me."

"I forgive you, Victor."

Victor sighed and started working to get the dildo out of his body again.

It didn't matter if they saw him now. He simply had to get it out. He wriggled his hips to help it along. He looked over his shoulder from time to time to gloat at the progress of the thick silvery shaft emerging from between his white buttocks. It seemed like only a few minutes before he had it out as far as before and was wagging his hips to throw it completely out of his body.

"Bunky," said Roberts, and Victor watched glumly while the smiling man came to slide it in again.

"Keith," he said.

"Yes, Victor?"

"I shot you down that day over Peenemunde. I was blinded by blood, half out of my head. I saw a plane in front of me and I thought it was a Jerry. I shot you down."

"I forgive you, Victor."

"Ahhh," said Victor, and began anew on the dildo in him.

This time Roberts let him waggle and twist for a full minute before he summoned Bunky, and this time Victor made no effort to resist when the thing was slid into his bowels again. He was sweating, panting, but not tired at all with his strenuous efforts. It was something he had to do, and he'd do it.

"Could I have a drink, Keith?"

"Surely, Victor."

The wine was very cool and refreshing, trickling new strength in his body. Keith gave him two glasses of it. The man's smile was so good, so forgiving. Victor thanked him with his eyes, then returned to his work.

Oddly, he could feel very little pain as he wriggled against the leather. An anesthetic in the salve? Perhaps, but not likely, for he could feel the sensation of slippery leather on his chest. He could feel his nipples like hard buttons sliding against the leather. Though his penis still throbbed, it didn't ache so as it swung under him. He was very keenly aware of all these sensations as he arched and wriggled and squeezed at the cock in him. When it was all out save the knob, he turned his head and looked in triumph at Roberts, looked for a sign of approval at his accomplishment from Keith. Keith smiled at him as he felt Bunky slide the silver cock into him again.

This time Bunky stayed with him, lightly touching his back as he worked, and the others set aside their newspapers to nod and comment on his adeptness at his job. He felt he got it out in record time, then lay still to enjoy the sensations tingling in his nipples while Bunky slid it in again.

Keith said, "I say, Roberts. Victor's working himself into a terrible lather with this."

"What d you suggest at this point? A bath?"

The others chuckled, and Victor chuckled with them.

Keith said, "Perhaps if Bunky helped him. Would you, Bunky?"

"Gladly, Cappie," said the man behind Vic, and pushed the dildo in, then pulled it out.

The most delicious, most relieved feelings coursed through Victor, and he thanked Keith, then craned about to say "Thank you, too, Bunky."

He relaxed, settling into a wonderful euphoria, as the cock was slid in and out of his body. Since Bunky Was helping him, he had to help Bunky, and he did this by forcing his legs wider against the bonds, arching his bottom up to meet every slow thrust of the cock, then sliding back to the leather each time it was withdrawn.

"Better?" Keith asked.

"Wonderful. Mmmm. I'm sorry for what I did, Cappie. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You're forgiven, my boy."

"Wonderful. Could you ... would you ask him to do it more?"

"More?"

Victor grinned and said, "You know. Faster."

Roberts chuckled and said, "You ask him."

Turning, smiling, Victor said, "Would you, Bunky?"

Bunky's grin was teasing as he said, "Ask me nice, Victor."

"Poke me nice and fast. Please, Bunky."

Still Bunky moved the cock with the same devilish slowness as he said, "I could do it much better with my own cock."

Bunky turned now and Victor's eyes were drawn to his loins. His prick wasn't entirely hard, but Victor could see a pulse throbbing in it slowly, not nearly so fast as his own, but much faster than the leisurely pace of the artificial cock that was spreading those good feelings in him, taking the pain farther and farther away.

"I shouldn't," Victor said, and Bunky moved to bring his member against Victor's hand. He flinched from it, but it followed, pressing warmly against his fingers, throbbing against him. He couldn't see it and that made it easier for him to touch it, hold it, squeeze it and feel it grow larger in his hand. When it was fully hard, he sighed rapturously as the artificial cock was removed completely from his body. It left a strange, empty feeling, but he knew that would soon be banished.

Victor settled snugly against the warm leather as he felt Bunky climb up behind him. Each contact of the man's body with his was a separate and distinct pleasure that was a prelude the far greater pleasure he'd waited so long for and that he'd soon know. He wanted to see the entry, but didn't have the strength to rouse from his languor and could only lie there and smile contentedly at Keith and Roberts as his void was slowly filled by a real, throbbing cock.

Bunky settled warmly against him, flattening his sensitive titties against the leather warming his buttocks with his body. He smoothed his hands along Victor's sides and very slowly and gently drew his cock in and out of the well-oiled asshole. His wasn't as large as the silver cock had been, but the warmth of it was much more pleasing. In Victor's state of acute perceptivity, it seemed as if he could feel every vein, every ripple in the cock that moved so satisfyingly inside him.

"Is this the way you like it?" Bunky breathed in his ear. "Beautiful. But faster ... please."

"Yes. If you'll do something nice for me later."

Victor said nothing, settling deeper into his glorious feeling of well-being. It wasn't till Bunky slowed to a stop, his beautiful cock at the apex of a stroke, did Victor answer. Threatened by the departure of his pleasure, Victor said, "Yes. I'll suck you off later."

The cock was immediately given back to Victor, given back in a gloriously hard, wonderfully satisfying thrust. Again it was withdrawn, and now Victor arched back to meet the next thrust. He moved faster, in perfect time with the cock, his own cock bobbing with throbbing but delicious heaviness at each movement. He felt very light-headed, detached from his body yet feeling every wonderful sensation as Bunky slid his beautiful cock into him again and again.

Bunky blew sharply into his ear and when his body involuntarily flexed, he had to squeal at the even more delightful feelings he experienced. They were mingled with pain, but the pain was as nothing compared to all he felt. He squeezed Bunky again, and again the good feelings increased. Eyes closed, cheek rolling against the leather, he squeezed and squeezed the cock, played with it with his ass muscles, gasping at the wonder of all he felt. It was far, far better than he'd known sex could be. Even when he returned from a flight, still slightly high on Flight Pills, he'd never found this deep pleasure with a woman. He felt pure sensual delight from the tip of his toes to the roots of his hair, and he wallowed in his pleasures to the fullest extent.

"Want me to come in your ass?" Bunky murmured.

"Yes. Oh, yes!"

What would that be like? Could anything exceed this pleasure he now felt? In his anticipation to know it, he squeezed the cock with all his might, moaning and keening in his mingled pain and pleasure. Fingers dug into his sides, hurting him yet giving him more pleasure, the deep pleasure of knowing that he was pleasing the one who'd given him such pleasure. He wriggled like a fish in his efforts to give the man even more pleasure, to seek and find the dregs of his own pleasure. The cock-flesh was now magnificently hard in him, and he knew from Bunky's sighs he was orgasming, and thus he himself was coming with him. It wasn't that familiar, drawn-out burst of searing pleasure he felt, though. It was a long, shuddering pleasure that seemed to go on and on, rising to meet the peak of Bunky's pleasure, then staying there in deepest ecstasy while Bunky s meager pleasure faded.

Even when the cock was withdrawn from him, he still felt it. It was a continuous orgasm that he could amplify and experience by the ridiculously easy act of tightening his sphincter. This-he did over and over as Bunky climbed down from the Bench.

Victor was all but lost in his raptures and could only dimly hear them as they spoke over him.

"He's coming along fine, Keith. Much faster than I'd anticipated."

"Yes, but he has a way to go. Bunky. Have a quick wash and come here, will you?"

"Gladly."

"How much time? They'll miss him soon."

"I don't think so. He could always have gotten lost in a raid, hit by a Buzz Bomb."

"Best go easy on the amphet. Hate to see him croak too soon. Feed him from that other bottle."

When his head was lifted, Vic drank deeply, then settled back to his solitary rapture. A warm nudge at his shoulder, and he opened his eyes to see a distended but flaccid prick lying on the leather before his face. It smelt of sweet soap, and he didn't have to know it belonged to Bunky, his dear friend.

He opened his mouth and tried to reach it, strained his neck forward in his efforts. At a soft command, the straps binding his wrists were being loosened. He licked his lips as he waited, wondering how this could possibly be better in his mouth than it was in his ass, yet knowing that it would be. What fools they were to think they were torturing him. He could barely suppress a grin as he reached out and touched the wonderfully pleasing flesh and brought it to his hungering mouth.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Hoskins had shaved Victor and now Bunky sat astraddle his lap to apply the make-up. They were both, of course, naked, and it felt very nice, very warm to sit like this. He was used to Bunky's weight in many positions on him, and now lie was being allowed to fondle the prick against his belly while Bunky worked.

Bunky said, "You'll have to look up at me, darling. We've got to get you right."

The lengthening cock, getting hard, was such a lovely sight that Victor was hard-pressed to obey. He did, as always, for obedience meant rewards, and the rewards they'd promised him that night were said to be large. He said, "Do I really need all this make-up?"

"Of course you do, darling. You want to be pretty, don't you?"

"I think so. Will there be many men there?"

"All your old friends and more."

"Women too?"

"A few."

"You'll keep them away from me, won't you?"

"We will. I personally promise they won't even touch you. Hoskins, would you reach the wig, please? Thank you. Hold still, Victor, and we'll slip it on. There, Oh, Hoskins, do come here. Isn't he adorable?"

"He?" said Hoskins with a good-natured laugh. "Victor's almost a she. You're very pretty, Victor. Very pretty indeed."

"Thank you," Victor said, smiling nicely at him.

"Up with you now," said Bunky, rising.

Victor followed the prick that had slipped from his grasp, wetting his lips, tasting the pleasantly cloying sweetness of his lipstick. Together, Bunky and Hoskins helped him dress, and their giggling reassurances did little to quell his growing nervousness. Something told him he'd never pull it off, no matter how artfully they prepared him. And yet they said it would go fine, and this should be all he needed.

Bunky gave him a glass of champagne to sip, and this he did as Hoskins cinched the garter belt about his hips. Black shirred, it didn't look at all bad against his pale skin. Bunky thought otherwise and insisted on applying more powder to cover the faint red weals on Victor's stomach and thighs. The hose were next and they felt marvelous slithering up his legs. Drawn taut, they gave his shaven legs an elegant look.

The padded bra came next, and though it was a bit uncomfortable over his wide shoulders, he admired its fullness, stroked his new breasts with one hand. Then came the blouse and skirt and shoes, and he was facing the long-awaited donning of the corselet.

"It's such a pleasure," Bunky had said. "Wearing it will make you feel womanly as well as look womanly. You'll be stunning."

It was uncomfortable when they laced it up all the way, but Victor felt the reward of his buttocks being more prominently pushed out under the little skirt. He felt embarrassed at the way his dick hung below the hem of the skirt, and Bunky fixed that, too. He chose red panties that matched the corselet. He turned them about so that a two-inch diameter hole was at the rear, then helped Victor step into them. He stayed on his knees to snug them up, completely obscuring Victor's prick, and lingered there to smile and wink at Victor as he found his lubricated ass through the hole with his finger. Dancing slippers with low heels went on Victor's feet while Hoskins stood on a chair to put his little Victorian maid's cap on his new head of long blonde curls.

They stood back to look at him and he struck a pose for them. Bunky said, "Beautiful. You're just beautiful, darling. Are you ready to go on."

"A little more wine would help. I'm so nervous."

They looked at each other for a moment, then Hoskins shrugged and said, "One more glass wouldn't hurt him at this stage of the game."

Victor sipped it, then carried it along as he followed Hoskins to the wings of the stage, Bunky helping him along. There he peered out through a crack in the curtains and saw they were there. All his good friends were at the tables in their shining uniforms, many of them sitting with the doxies who already worked at the Silver Cock, just as he'd soon be working there if his performance went well. Peering farther he saw Keith and Roberts at a table in the comer. A woman in a dark dress sat between them. She was wearing dark glasses, and though she was familiar, he didn't recognize her. A bustle beside him and the two girls who were to appear with him were there.

He said, "I hope I do all right. I wish we could have rehearsed."

Barely able to control their mirth in the convivial atmosphere that awaited them, they said, "Oh, it'll go just fine."

"Sure, honey. We'll carry you through the first part."

He toasted them with the last of the wine, handed the glass to Bunky, and said, "I'm ready when you are, girls."

They took him to center stage and put his arms on their shoulders. He raised a knee as they did, the band struck a note behind them, and the curtains parted. He stood there poised, breathless, smiling, and then the first hush was broken by applause, gay laughter, shouts of his name. It was going to be all right, just as they'd said.

He felt he was terribly awkward and heavy-footed in the dance, but the girls assured him sotto voce that he was doing fine. Nevertheless, he was glad when it was over.

They took a bow together, then Victor stayed on as he'd been directed and took another bow, blew kisses at his audience. He turned to the wings then and clapped his hands, and the shaggy St. Bernard lumbered out and frisked with him. He got on his knees to hug the big dog, then went down on all fours and called, "Here, Georgie. Nice Georgie."

As the dog mounted him, he turned his face to the audience and began to sing in a quivery falsetto, Oh where, oh where has my little dog been, Oh where, oh where has he gone?

With his ears cut short and his cock cut long, Oh where, oh where can he be?

He repeated it several times, stumbling over the words as the dog clamped his paws more tightly about his waist and jammed his wonderful cock up his greased ass at a wonderfully furious rate.

As far as Victor was concerned, George finished far too soon. But it was his audience that was to be entertained then, not him. His face was flushed with desire as the dog lumbered off and he lurched to his feet for a final bow. He only saw a few people actually clapping, but all of the girls were laughing uproariously and the din was totally intoxicating to him. Bowing and curtsying, he made his way off the stage, feeling giddy with .his success.

As he strolled his way through his audience, avoiding Penny, he paused and asked several of the men if he could please them in any way. All answered in the negative, saying they'd be happy to see him lately, directing him on to the table where Keith and Roberts sat with the woman. By the time he got there, Bunky had joined them in his uniform, and Victor curtsied to all four and said, "How was I?"

"Magnificent," said Keith.

"May I cop your knob now?"

"No, Victor. We have to talk. But you may cop Bunky's knob."

"Thank you," said Victor, and went to his knees for the first of his rewards.

Keith said, "You've done a remarkable job on him, Dr. Roberts."

"It was a joint effort. Many of your friends are to be thanked. And what do you think now, Dawn? Do you see bow anyone can be turned into anything at all?"

"I wouldn't have believed it."

Keith said, "Just as I couldn't believe you'd turned into what you were while I was gone. As Dr. Roberts has been trying to explain to you, under certain circumstances, surrounded by stronger-willed people with a definite goal in mind, an individual's personality can be altered into almost anything. Witness Victor Munroe, a sadistic, traitorous, thoroughly masculine man now busy at performing fellatio, dressed in women's clothes, enjoying himself thoroughly."

"And he's ... gone. He's another person now. Just as I'm another person from the woman you married."

"Yes you are. But if you'll accept Dr. Roberts' help now, he can have you back to normal. It takes understanding of the problem, realizing you're just as easily influenced as the next person, before you can be helped."

"Can he be helped?"

"Do you care if he is, Dawn?"

"No. I have no feelings about him. I don't care if he's dead or alive. But could he be gotten back to normal? Or something close to normal?"

Roberts said, "In time he will be. Were setting him loose soon in his uniform. It won't be long till he's picked up by the Military Police. It won't be long after that till he's gotten to a psychiatrist. With a great deal of therapy, he'll be altered back to a normal creature. The intensive work we've done with him to prove a point for you won't leave him entirely. Hell never be the same man he was. Hell probably always have strong homosexual tendencies. But he'll be able to lead a normal, productive life."

"And what can I hope for if I ... when I accept your help?"

"You'll probably be mildly over-sexed, may have a roving eye for the men, but I seriously doubt if you'll be in the least promiscuous. Can you handle that?"

"Yes. I think so."

"And I," said Keith. "When will you start with him, darling?"

"Is tomorrow too soon?"

"Not at all. Keith, better get her home and to bed. She'd need to be rested. The treatment won't be easy or fast." Victor was aware of chairs being pushed back, people rising. He wanted to rise courteously and bid them good-bye, but had to content himself with gazing up at them, so loath was he to give up the cock in his mouth. He still didn't quite recognize the woman as she looked down at him, saying, "He's being repaid for what he did to me, Keith, but not for what he did to you."

"Having you back with me, whole and sound, is all the repayment I need for anything, darling. Come. Let's go home."

Victor wept as he wandered the dark streets before dawn. His uniform chafed horribly on him, each step reminding him of the comforts he'd been forced to leave behind. His friends had left him, thrown him out into the night, and he couldn't understand how he'd so displeased them as to deserve such treatment.

For a long time he'd tried to find his way back to them, but he'd given that up what seemed like hours ago, and now he was simply letting his feet carry him where they would. There were few people on the streets at that time of the morning, and those few were all in uniform. He'd gone up to several of these, thinking they were friends, but had always been rebuffed when he made his request. One of them, an American Army officer, had threatened to strike him when he'd offered his services. Since then, he'd shunned contact with anyone as he trudged along.

Houses were getting sparser when he began to recognize his surroundings. He wasn't sure just where he was, but he felt there might be friends up ahead in the low buildings beyond the barbed wire. He quickened his pace to the gate where he was met by a man he knew, a corporal who knew him and saluted him. Feeling very awkward, feeling like giggling, Victor saluted him back.

The corporal said, "What're you doin' 'ere, sir? I thought you was still on 'ospital leave. Have ye come to ferry one o the old Spitfires to the new base? It's a bloody shame to see this one close up, but the birds just can't make it to where the fightin's at no more. The WREN's are s'posed to be here at six to ferry the planes over. Are you goin' to lead the women?"

"Yes. I'll lead the women." He started off for the buildings.

The corporal called after him, "Good luck on yer last flight from 'ere, sir. Make it a good one."

The flying suit, the parachute, the goggles, they were very familiar. It was puzzling, but it felt reassuring to get into them. The cockpit of the plane was familiar, too, but it held nameless terrors. He ran his hand over the controls, trying to recall the origin of those terrors, trying to recall his own origin.

He pressed a button and, with a cough and a whine, the engine turned over and caught. Looking out of the cockpit, he saw heavy wire leads connected to the plane and knew they shouldn't be there. They'd hold him to the ground and prevent him from finding out about himself. By letting out the throttle, he was able to bump the Spitfire over its chocks and watch with satisfaction as the cables snapped free of the craft. He knew to cock his eye at the windsock and taxi to the proper place. Then, knowing what he sought was in the air above him, he eased the throttle out more and picked up flying speed along the tarmac runway. He felt exalted as he became airborne.

And as he became airborne, another craft was taking to the skies. It left the ground in a torrent of belching fire, with agonizing slowness at first, one hundred ninety miles away, at Peenemunde. As Victor made lazy turns over the familiar city of London, the V-2 missile accelerated enormously into one long, purposeful turn. As Victor picked out the cavernous cunt of the water tower that marked the Silver Cock, the missile was already flashing down from the zenith of its arc.

The big, black, evil cunt fascinated Victor. He circled it, all manner of confusing memories flashing through his brain as he flew lower and lower. He could see its crusty edges, its foul, greenish pubic hair.

A glint caught his eye and he looked heavenward to see the great, blinding light rushing down. The huge silver cock, biggest in all creation, was heading unerringly at the foul black cunt, and he turned his plane down, throttling full out, barely intercepting it before it made its penetration.

THE END
The Silver Cock ....(89k)    by Ray Majors




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