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I did not write these stories.
Most of the Animal Antics stories are incomplet, so don't ask me the 
missing chapters. Sorry.

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I did not write these stories.
Most of the Animal Antics stories are incomplet, so don't ask me the 
missing chapters. Sorry.

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Subject: Animal Antics 020 (01/08)
Date: Sat, 07 Dec 1996 23:25:47 -0500


ANIMAL ANTICS 020

Chapter 1

   The mall was crowded with students, all eager to take advantage of the
sunshine and the soft spring breeze that blew gently off the river.  Every
bench was occupied, and even the wide concrete borders which fringed the
flowerbeds were jammed with chattering teenagers, their spirits lifted by
the final departure of winter and the sight of thousands of daffodils which
heralded the approaching season.
   The clock on Old Main indicated eleven-thirty, and Suzanne glanced up
impatiently as she pushed her way through the throng.  Yvonne had said
eleven-fifteen.  Where was she?  Nervously, Suzanne turned and bumped into
a tall, blond young man, who grinned at her impudently.  "What's the
hurry?" he said in a lazy drawl, his eyes quickly scanning her figure
approvingly.
   "Sorry," she muttered, stepping back, then going on again.  Her ears
burned as she heard a soft whistle of appreciation before he became lost in
the crowd.  She smiled to herself; he had been rather nice-looking.  But
not as handsome as Sam.  No one was as handsome as Sam.  Oh, why couldn't
she have gone with him to Europe?  Almost subliminally she heard her
mother's voice: "Go to Europe with that young man?  Suzanne, you must be
out of your mind.  What would the neighbors say?  Of course, if you got
married first ..."
   Married.  who would want to get married at nineteen?  Maybe some kids
did, but then usually because they had to.  And Suzanne had decided when
she was fifteen that she was going to wait, at least until she was out of
college.  Of course, after meeting Sam, she had been sorely tempted.  Sam
was a very persistent suitor; it had taken all her will power not to give
in to him, not only to his proposal, but his propositions as well.
   She felt a tingling in her loins at the memory of his strong face above
hers, his hands gently caressing her body, and the suggestive bulge in his
pants.  That bulge.  Oh, how many times hadn't she wanted to reach out and
feel it, the way his fingers would feel her breasts.  But every time, her
mother's voice rang in her ears, and her mounting desires would suddenly
turn to guilt and self-recrimination, and Sam would again go home,
frustrated and disappointed.  No wonder he went to Europe; he was probably
sleeping with every available girl he met.  At least that's what Yvonne had
said to her.  Yvonne ... where was she?
   Suzanne glanced up at the clock again.  Eleven-forty.  She hated people
who weren't punctual, and Yvonne should know better.
   "Here you are, darling!"
   The throaty greeting penetrated above the noisy clamor, and Suzanne
turned with a smile of relief.
   "Yvonne, where've you been?"
   The angular face beamed at her.  "Right here.  Since eleven-fifteen.  I
guess I was too busy checking over the new talent.  Christ, I think these
kids get sexier each semester."
   Yvonne's overly large and overly made-up eyes followed two young men as
they walked past.  She gave a soft whistle.
   "Did you see the basket on that one?"
   Suzanne grabbed her arm, and began guiding her through the crowd towards
Woodward Avenue.
   "Yvonne, you're too much.  Can't you think of anything else?"
   Yvonne laughed, a thunderous bellow that had once been likened to the
blast of the tug-boats on the river.
   "Anything else, darling?  Oh, come off it, my little vestal virgin. 
Once you spread your legs for a man, you'll find there's not much else
worth thinking about."
   Suzanne bit her lip and remained silent.  Although she was rather proud
of her virginity, she had to admit the many moments when she had almost
given it away to Sam.  Oh, Sam, where the hell are you right now?
   "Believe me, Suzanne, I hope you do get laid pretty soon.  It's good for
the digestion, among other things.  Where do you want to eat?  Verne's?"
   They turned down the sidewalk and walked past the Maccabees Building. 
Suzanne kept silent, with her friend's words echoing in her brain.  Maybe
she would get laid after all.  No, no, no.  The little voice rose again, as
it always did; save it for Sam.  He's the only one.  He loves you.  And you
love him.  Let his shaft be the first one to break through into your
pulsating cavern.  Oh, Sam ... Sam ...
   She blinked her eyes as they left the sunlit sidewalk and entered the
darkened interior of the bar.  Yvonne led the way over to a corner table
and collapsed into a chair.  Suzanne seated herself opposite and smiled.
   "Good to see you," she said sincerely, looking across the table at her
friend, thinking again that she was indeed fortunate to have an older woman
to guide her through the first hectic weeks of classes at Wayne.  Not that
she was helpless; but after graduating from a high school class of only
sixty-two, she felt more than overpowered by the size of the student body. 
She remembered hearing that the total enrollment at Wayne State was over
twenty-five thousand.  No more personal touches from the teacher; she would
be merely a small insignificant cog in the educational machine,
   "What are you having?"
   The slender, pale-faced girl had approached the table, pencil and pad
poised.  Yvonne looked up and blew smoke in her face, unintentionally.
   "I'm having a hamburger, dear," she said.  "Okay for you, Suzanne?"
   Suzanne nodded.  "Yes, please.  And a large Coke."
   "I'll take a vodka and seven," said Yvonne, "I need a little something
this morning.  Last night just about wore me out."
   She gripped her cigarette firmly, and Suzanne noticed the fine lines
around her lips, matching those at the corners of her eyes.  Suzanne had
never asked Yvonne her age, but she suspected it was around thirty.  Yvonne
had been going to Wayne for over six years.  She jokingly referred to
herself as a professional student.
   "So, you excited?"
   Suzanne nodded.
   "Of course I am.  I've been looking forward to this for years.  Of
course, mother isn't very happy about my getting the apartment."
   Yvonne's throaty laugh echoed through the bar.  "Of course she wouldn't
be.  She's afraid you're going to start dragging in every male on campus. 
But then ..."  Yvonne's eyes twinkled.  "I guess there's not much chance of
that as long as you're carrying that torch for Sam, huh?"
   Suzanne nodded.  "Not a chance."
   "Well, you can always come up and spend those lonely evenings with me
and Carole."
   "Thanks, but I plan to do a lot of studying.  I'm also going to start a
little project of my own, investigating the poor families in the
neighborhood.  That's one of the reasons I'm moving into your building. 
It's close enough to that section up on West Forest.  I want to really find
out how those people live and what their problems are."
   Yvonne sniffed.  "Just watch yourself.  You might be able to walk down
the streets in Grosse Pointe at night without getting raped, but not in
this neighborhood.  So just be careful."
   "I will."
   "And ..." Yvonne giggled.  "If you do get in a situation that looks like
trouble, remember to go for the groin.  A swift kick in the balls will stop
just about anyone."
   "I'll remember," Suzanne said, flushing slightly.  She leaned back as
the waitress brought their drinks.  Yvonne lifted her glass.
   "Well, here's to it," she said, "And may he be hot, horny and handsome,
whoever he is."
   "Yvonne, you're too much," said Suzanne.
   "Never," was the blunt reply, "And take it from me, my girl, once you've
had a good hard cock up your innocent little pussy, you'll know what life's
all about."
   "Yvonne, don't talk like that," said Suzanne, her face turning scarlet. 
"It's not nice."
   "You sound like your mother," said Yvonne cynically.  "No wonder you're
an only child.  She probably let your old man in once, and that was that. 
Don't you make the same mistake.  There's nothing like a good fuck to keep
a girl in shape."
   The waitress returned with their food, and Suzanne breathed a sigh of
relief.  She liked Yvonne very much, but her incessant preoccupation with
sex made Suzanne feel uncomfortable.  She knew what Yvonne said was
probably true, but that was one area of truth she hadn't yet learned to
face without embarrassment.  Her mind fled back to the last night she had
spent with Sam before he flew to Europe.  They had attended a dance at the
Detroit Yacht Club, and afterwards Sam drove to a secluded spot on Belle
Isle, and they sat watching the lights of the ships on the river and the
distant skyline of Windsor, and Suzanne had wanted to cry her eyes out at
the thought of being without Sam for three months.  He had put his arms
around her, and their kisses were deep and prolonged.  She felt her loins
stirring with desire, and Sam's fingers caressing her breasts did nothing
to ease her mounting passions.
   Finally, Sam had taken her hand and gently placed it over his crotch. 
Before she jerked it away, she was conscious of the hard, throbbing bulge
there.  "Please, please," he had begged her, but she had turned away, her
face hot with anger, not at him, but with herself and her inability to do
what she really wanted to; but deep in her mind, her mother's voice still
rang out commandingly.  "I'm going to be gone some time," Sam said, "Give
me something to remember."  She shook her head and looked away.  She was
conscious of Sam moving, and she heard the rustle of fabric.  When she had
turned back, she saw in the dim light, the white outline of his cock
protruding from his fly.  His hand was around it, and he was gently
massaging it, up and down.
   "Sam!"  Her voice was tinged with terror.
   "Relax," he had said, "It won't bite you."  And he had taken her hand
again, and this time her fingers felt the naked flesh of his penis, firm
and thick and long.
   Almost with one movement, she pulled away, opened the car door and
stumbled across the grass, her dress tearing on the branch of a tree.  She
came to a stop at the edge of the beach, and stood there, staring out
across the river, her mind whirling, her breasts heaving, and within her
loins the incredibly sensation of sexual stimulation like she had never
known before.  She wanted to go back, to feel his shaft, to close her lips
around it, to feel it slide into her.  She wanted it, oh, how she wanted
it; but she stood there, alone, tears streaming down her cheeks.
   After a while, she heard a soft footstep, and turned to see Sam standing
behind her.  "I'm sorry," he said, touching her arm, "but I had to do
something about it.  I couldn't stand it any longer."  Something told her,
without her asking him, what he had done.  And within her heart, she didn't
blame him.  She sometimes masturbated herself at home.  "Come, I'll take
you home," he had said, and without a word, she let herself be guided back
to the car.  They kissed goodnight, and the next day Sam left for Europe.
   Oh, how she wished she had given in to his desires that night.  If only
she didn't feel the way she did about sex.  If only she could be like her
other girlfriends who admitted freely that they slept with boys.  She
wanted to; God knows she wanted to.  But she had yet to chase the
overwhelming specter of guilt and retribution from her mind, the feeling
that if she did she would be guilty of the greatest transgression.  "It's
sinful the way some young people carry on," her mother had said so many
times.  "I'm glad Suzanne is a good girl."  If she was such a good girl,
why did it make her feel so bad?

*     *     *

   Suzanne followed Yvonne up the steps to the blackened, time-worn
apartment house on Hancock Street.  Just a few blocks from the campus, the
building would be most convenient, not only for school, but for her
intended research into the slum area to the west, peopled by white and
black families who formed a major portion of Detroit's economically
deprived population.
   Yvonne pushed open the door, and the smell of stale cooking odors
greeted their nostrils.  A slovenly looking woman was mopping the tiled
lobby.  She looked up and grinned.
   "Hi, Yvonne," she said, and then her beady eyes fastened on Suzanne. 
"This must be your friend, Suzanne?"
   Yvonne introduced her as Mrs. Sansome, and Suzanne shook hands,
conscious of the dampness of the fingers that enclosed her own.  She wanted
to reach into her purse for a Kleenex to wipe the stickiness, but she
decided to wait.
   "You'll be renting 8B," Mrs. Sansome continued.  "It's on the third
floor, just above Yvonne and Carole.  It's a nice place, and it has a nice
view from the balcony."  She gave a loud cackle, and Yvonne sniffed
deprecatingly.
   "View?" she snapped.  "You call Hancock a view?"
   "S'better than looking into the alley," retorted Mrs. Sansome with some
spirit.  "Come, Suzanne.  I'll show you."
   They climbed the stairs, their footsteps echoing hollowly through the
building.  Mrs. Sansome was breathing heavily by the time they reached the
third floor.  Her stooped shoulders shrieked of years of drudgery and her
emaciated frame looked like it could blow away.  Suzanne made a mental note
to talk to her landlady about her background; obviously she was one of many
poorer persons who supplemented their income by taking care of apartments. 
Yes, that would be another aspect of her studies: the exploitation of the
poor by rich real estate tycoons.  Detroit was notorious for slum
landlords, and while this building wasn't exactly a slum, it had obviously
not been well cared for over the years.
   "Well, here it is," said Mrs. Sansome.  "It ain't elegant but it's clean."
   They walked into the living room, sparsely furnished with a well-worn
couch and chairs, a small desk and two lamps.  Through a hallway Suzanne
glimpsed the kitchen and bathroom, and off one end of the living room was a
small alcove with a double bed.
   "Same as ours," said Yvonne.  "Only cleaner, maybe."
   "Sure," snapped Mrs. Sansome.  "Yours was clean when you moved in."
   Yvonne snorted.  "That was five years ago," she said.  "It hasn't even
been painted since then."
   "No, and I wonder if it's ever been cleaned," retorted Mrs. Sansome.
   Yvonne raised her eyebrows and glared.  "Another crack like that and
I'll report you to the Board of Health," she said icily.  She turned to
Suzanne.  "Don't mind us, dear.  Mrs. Sansome and I have been friendly
enemies for years.  She's just jealous because I have more boyfriends
staying overnight than she does."
   Suzanne walked into the kitchen and looked around.  The room was small,
and the stove very old, but there was an air of warmth about it that
appealed to her.  She thought for a second of her father's beautiful home
in Grosse Pointe, with the lavish display of built-in appliances, formica
counter tops, hand-rubbed cabinets and a brand-new dishwasher and trash
disposal.  But that was his home.  This apartment was going to be hers; at
least for a while.  She turned to Mrs. Sansome with a smile.
   "It looks fine," she said.  "I'll start moving in right away.  I have
some things in my car outside."
   Yvonne moved to the door.  "See you later, darling.  I have to get
ready.  I have a date.  'Bye now."
   Mrs. Sansome grinned, and turned back to Suzanne.  "She's a card," she
said in a raspy voice, "but I like her.  Oh, the rent's payable in advance. 
Eighty-five a month."
   Suzanne fumbled in her purse and took out her checkbook, wrote a check
quickly and handed it over.
   "There."
   Mrs. Sansome handed over two keys, and walked downstairs with Suzanne. 
In the lobby she paused and smiled.  "You known Yvonne a long time?" she
asked curiously.
   Suzanne nodded.  "About a year," she replied.  "We met socially.  Why?"
   The old woman shrugged.  "Nothing.  You just seem a nicer type of girl
than she is, that's all.  Nothing against her, of course, you understand. 
But I can tell you come from a nice family."
   Suzanne smiled.  "Thank you.  But I think Yvonne's pretty nice, too,
even if she is a little rough at times."
   Mrs. Sansome nodded.  "Most dykes are," she said.  "But then it takes
all types.  See you, Suzanne."
   She waddled off down the hall, her body swaying beneath the weight of
the bucket and mop she carried.  Suzanne stared after her, frowning. 
Dykes.  What did she mean by that?  She'd never heard that word before. 
Maybe it referred to the section of town where Yvonne had been born.  Like
Hamtramack, where the Poles lived.
   Brushing the thought from her mind, Suzanne walked out of the building
and down the steps to her MG parked at the sidewalk.  She unlocked the
trunk and began unloading the boxes of things she had brought over.  She
was busily stacking them on the sidewalk when she heard a voice.
   "Hi.  You moving into the neighborhood?"
   She turned to see a young man standing behind her.  He looked very
young, possibly not more than sixteen, she imagined, with a shock of blond
curly hair and an engaging smile on his face.  He was dressed in blue jeans
and a torn T-shirt, and had no shoes.
   "Yes, I am," she replied.
   "Here, let me help."
   He came forward, and started lifting one of the boxes.  Suzanne
hesitated, then smiled.
   "Thank you, that's very kind.  But it's a long haul.  I'm on the third
floor."
   "That's okay," said the young man.  "I'm used to stairs.  We live on the
fifth floor."
   "In this building?"
   He laughed.  "Oh, no, nothing as nice as this.  We're way up on Forest,
the other side of Third.  Hey, what's your name?  Mine's Donald."
   "I'm Suzanne," she replied.
   In silence they climbed up to the apartment and deposited their loads on
the floor of the living room.  Donald stared around, then stood back,
looking at Suzanne with appreciative eyes.
   "This sure is nice," he said enviously.  "I wish we had a nice place
like this."
   "You live with your folks?" asked Suzanne.
   "Uh-huh.  My mother and my older brother Ted.  Say, I clean apartments
real cheap.  You want me to help you up here?"
   Suzanne laughed.  "Well, let me think about it, okay?  Maybe when I get
settled I'll have some chores you can help with.  What do you charge?"
   He laughed.  "Oh, not much.  Maybe a dollar or so.  I also run errands,
like to the store.  I only charge fifty cents to go to the store."
   "Oh."  Suzanne realized she would be needing some milk, coffee and
sugar.  "Donald, how about picking up some things for me now while I finish
unpacking?"
   "Okay.  I won't charge you this time.  Sort of a bonus for a new customer."
   They both laughed, and Suzanne stared at him.  He was really such an
appealing boy, with a fresh, innocent quality to his face.  And he seemed
courteous and respectful, with no hint of the roughness that she imagined
would characterize a boy growing up in this neighborhood.
   She made out a list, gave him a five-dollar bill, and he ran down the
stairs, whistling.  Suzanne walked to the balcony of her apartment and
stared down at his figure, running quickly up Hancock Street and
disappearing from view.  She turned back inside, humming to herself.  Only
a half-hour in her new home, and already she'd met someone from the
neighborhood, someone that she knew would provide valuable research for her
social studies.  Yes, she would certainly have to become better acquainted
with Donald and his family.  They could be her first case history.
   With a sigh, she flopped into a chair and surveyed her new apartment. 
She felt she was going to be very happy here.  For the first time in her
life, she would have a place that was entirely her own.  For a split
second, she wished Sam were there with her, and the sign on the door read
"Mr. and Mrs." instead of merely "Suzanne Delacorte."  She made a mental
note to write to Sam that evening and tell him of her move.

Chapter 3a

   Slowly Suzanne opened her eyes and gazed around her bedroom.  She
stretched her arms above her head and yawned.  The early morning light
filtered through the blinds, casting a soft glow around her.  For a split
second she began to smile, looking forward to another day; then the memory
of the experiences with Donald and Ted came flooding back, swamping out the
happy anticipation and replacing it with a tide of renewed horror.
   With great care, she lowered her hands to her crotch and felt her mound,
probing inside with her fingers where the still-tender folds of flesh told
her it had not been a dream.  Her finger touched her clitoris, and a hot
sea of sensuality swept over her, reminding her of Ted's penis as it
penetrated her.  She touched her clitoris again, and once more the feeling
gushed through her loins.  She really wasn't hurt, she told herself.
   With a sigh, she relaxed, letting her fingers coax her sexuality into a
rising wave of ecstasy.  Slowly she gripped the shaft of her clitoris,
massaging the end with her fingers while her passions rose, and she began
moving her hips slowly, her mind filled with the memory of Ted's swollen
organ plunging in and out of her vagina.
   With her other hand she caressed her stomach, sliding up to her breasts
and tweaking the nipples gently, bringing them to a state of erection,
their hard little nubs so sensitive as her fingers brushed over them.  She
drew saliva from her mouth and rubbed around her nipples, making them slick
and reminding her of the hungry mouth that had enclosed them and the
ravenous tongue that flicked back and forth, exciting her beyond words.
   In her mind she recalled the heavy breathing, the excited hiss of his
words as he muttered obscene comments on their union, and with each "Fuck
me, fuck me," she found her loins quivering with additional eroticism as
her finger rubbed quicker and quicker around her clitoris.  Her hips were
moving faster now up and down, just the way they had when she finally began
getting with it and knew that Ted's massive phallus was the first thing
that had really brought her knowledge of true satisfaction, a mind-blasting
experience that shattered all her previous ideas of ultimate ecstasy.  Yes,
she thought, it is good, this is what I've always wanted; I've wanted to be
taken, to be ravished, to feel a man on top of me, doing whatever he wanted
with my body, giving himself all the sensations he could get from her hot,
snapping cunt that clung greedily around that magnificent shaft as it slid
into her, fitting so perfectly all the way into her vagina, its flat, wide
head titillating the opening of her womb.
   Her fingers pinched harder at her nipples, and her fingers pushed deeper
into her canal, and in her mind it was Ted's organ there, propelling her
faster and faster towards her own climax.  She felt her insides begin to
convulse, and her body was no longer heaving but trembling, shaking from
head to toe, and she stifled the urge to scream out at the top of her
voice, "Fuck me, you big-cocked stud, give it all to me, every goddamn inch
of that big thick wonderful thing, jam it right up my cunt as far as you
can and shoot your jism into me!"
   She saw Ted's face above hers, and heard once more the giggling of his
brother, his face glued between her legs, watching every movement while his
hand manipulated his own throbbing cock.  She could almost swear she could
smell his earthy, male odor around her, filling her nostrils with extra
stimulation.  Then she felt her vagina quiver with its final orgasm, and
her finger seized her clitoris as her other hand squeezed her breast and
she felt her juices flowing and she cried out softly, moaning and twisting
on the bed as she felt herself being lifted high up on a cloud of heavenly
ecstasy.  Then, just as she felt she had reached the peak of her climax,
she heard a voice, "Suzanne ... please ... please ..." and in her mind she
saw the outline of a penis in the dim moonlight, and it was Sam's voice
ringing in her brain.  Her mouth opened and she screamed out, "Sam ...
Sam."  Then all images disappeared from her imagination, and she opened her
eyes to see the sun streaming through the venetian blinds, striping the
carpet with a bright glare.  She withdrew her hand from beneath the sheet
and stared at her fingers, still slick with the juices from her vagina. 
With a shudder she threw back the covers and walked quickly to the
bathroom, turning on the shower and stepping into the stinging spray even
before it had warmed up.  She closed her eyes and stood, her skin flinching
beneath the chilly stream, and only opened her eyes again as the warm water
began.  In the distance she heard the clatter of heels on the stairs, and
from below on the street the scream of tires mingled with the blast from a
car horn.  As she stepped out of the shower and began toweling herself, she
bit her lip and once again pictured Sam's face before her.  "Oh, Sam," she
whispered, "Where are you, where are you?"

*     *     *

   Suzanne found it difficult to concentrate on her classes that day. 
Mechanically she went through the motions of greeting her friends, of
taking notes, of listening to her instructors, and eating a steerburger and
a Coke at Verne's for lunch.  Yvonne was in the bar, playing pool with
Jeff, a young medical student whose youth and virile appeal had given him
quite a reputation around town as being a ladies' man.  Suzanne watched
them both as they pranced around the pool table, Jeff exhibiting a boyish
enthusiasm for his prowess and Yvonne doing her best Bette Davis
impersonation as she studied each shot before lowering her practiced eye to
the pool cue and sent the ball lazily across the green felt.  Suzanne
watched, thinking how their way of playing matched their personalities. 
Jeff took a few seconds to decide, then shot fast and hard, and usually
made the pocket he aimed for; he probably picked his sleeping partners the
same way, Suzanne thought.  Yvonne took her time, considered all the
angles, and then played slow and safe, her ball usually trickling across
the table and dropping in the pocket almost as its momentum ran out.  But
then Yvonne was probably quite a bit older than Jeff; or would it be better
to say Jeff was quite a bit younger than Yvonne?  What difference did it
make?  It's not the age of your men, Yvonne had said once, but how well
they can age you.  Suzanne wondered how many years Jeff had put on Yvonne
since they had met.  She knew they had been going together, at least that's
what the campus gossip had said.  But then Jeff went with just about
anyone; rumor had it he had donated his penis to the Smithsonian Institute
upon his death to be enshrined as a national monument.  After all, there
were still quite a number who hadn't seen it, let alone had the pleasure of
its company.  Penis ... cock ... Suzanne shook her head and tried to finish
her steerburger, but found herself chewing without enjoyment; tasting
without taste.  She pushed the plate away in disgust, staring at the meat
between the bun and again remembering another piece of meat she had chewed
on, a hard, throbbing member with a broad flat head, and again Ted's
obscene words rang in her ears.
   Yvonne's husky guffaw echoed through the bar, and Jeff threw the pool
cue on the floor.  His explosive "Shit!" caused several customers to turn,
look and grin.  The regulars at Verne's were well used to Yvonne's prowess
at the pool table; her feigned concentration and naive approach concealed a
pool shark from way back.  She picked up her glass of beer and sashayed up
to Suzanne.
   "Well, darling, did you see, did you see?" she gloated, and then as Jeff
walked up behind her, his handsome face frowning, she added, "You're really
not mad at me, are you, baby?"
   Jeff grinned at Suzanne, and slumped into a chair, sucking his teeth. 
"Mad?  At you?"  He grunted, and winked at Suzanne.  "It'll take more than
a pool game to get me mad."
   Yvonne laughed loudly again, drained her glass, and rummaged in her
oversized purse for a cigarette.
   "Well, you two be good," she said.  "I have to run.  See you later."
   Suzanne sat, toying with her glass of Coke, conscious that Jeff's eyes
were fastened on her.  Finally she looked at him almost defiantly.
   "Well?"
   "Well, what?" he countered.
   "I know you've been staring at me."
   "Sure.  I always stare at groovy chicks." 
   Suzanne flushed.
   "I am not a groovy chick," she snapped, sorry for her words the moment
she uttered them; she knew she sounded pompous and puritanical.
   Jeff laughed and stood up.
   "You said it," he murmured, and wandered off back into the pool table
area of the bar.
   Suzanne bit her lip and wanted to burst into tears.  She knew how
idiotic she must have sounded; but she couldn't help it.  She was conscious
of his sexuality across the table; she was aware of his reputation, and
something in her responded.  She knew that she wanted him, she wanted to
find out if those rumors about his penis size were true, she wanted him to
fuck her.  Fuck ... Fuck ... yes, she wanted that.  She wanted him to ...
   With a toss of her head, she rose and made her way quickly out of the
bar, knowing that if she stayed she might either burst into tears or spend
the afternoon, get drunk and go home with Jeff and ...
   Her mind was a mixture of frustration and self-loathing as she walked up
Woodward Avenue and turned down Forest Avenue to the campus, suddenly
realizing that unless she hurried she would be late for her sociology
class.  Damn.  What was wrong with her today?  She knew what was wrong, and
the slight tenderness in her crotch reminded her with every step she took. 
Oh, God, what if those little bastards came back?

*     *     *

   She sat through class hardly hearing a word, her mind filled with the
memory of the night before.  Ted's words again rang in her ears: "You're a
good lay.  Good enough for a second helping."  Did he mean that, or was he
just trying to scare her?  She finally decided he was only trying to
frighten her enough to keep her mouth shut; obviously they wouldn't be
back.  It had been one of those rare opportunities, and even they would
realize that she wouldn't even open the door to them again.  So it was just
an experience; and even though her ravenous mounting sexuality kept hinting
that it had been wonderful, that she had felt it was something she would
want again and again, she deeply regretted that it hadn't been Sam who bad
been the first.  She had always wanted to go to her marriage bed a virgin;
now it was impossible.  She'd have to make up some story for Sam; maybe she
could tell him she'd done a lot of horseback riding and broken her hymen
that way.  Or maybe at gym class, or riding a bicycle.  No, he'd never
believe that.  Or would he?  She knew Sam loved her; at least, she felt he
did.  Oh, please, let him love me.  I need him so much.  Sam ... Sam ...
   "Suzanne, is something wrong?"
   She looked up to see her instructor standing next to her, a look of
concern on his kindly face.  She started, and then realized the class was
empty, and she had been sitting there, tears streaming down her face,
unaware that the others had left.  Embarrassedly she wiped her cheeks,
tried to smile, and stumbled to her feet.
   "No, no, nothing," she said quietly.  "I'm all right.  Honest.  I was
just ..."  She paused, and then fled from the room.
   She hurried back to the apartment, and climbed the stairs with her pulse
racing.  She knew Donald and Ted would be waiting outside her door; she
knew it.  She stared as she turned the top of the stairs and saw the empty
hallway.  With a sigh of relief, she unlocked the door, entered, and locked
it behind her; then she collapsed into a chair and sobbed for ten minutes.
   She finally composed herself, went to the bathroom and washed her face. 
She stared at herself in the mirror and tried to smile.  She was being
ridiculous, she knew; nothing could change what had happened, and she was
just thankful that she had not suffered any grievous harm.  She remembered
reading of rape cases where the woman was beaten, her face scarred and her
body slashed; at least all they did was have their way sexually, and
looking back, she knew it hadn't been as bad as she had thought at the
time.  She knew she had enjoyed it, really and truly enjoyed the act; but
then she knew that was only normal.  After all, what girl wouldn't enjoy
having intercourse with a young man as well endowed as Ted?  Any young man,
for that matter.
   She patted her face dry, put on some lipstick, combed her hair, and
decided that she was feeling much better.  She went into the living room,
got out her notes, and began studying.
   She had her writings about the family she had been studying, Donald's
family, Ted's family; oh, God, how could she possibly continue on that
subject?  Every time she thought about it, she would remember.  Maybe the
best thing would be to destroy that project and start another.  There were
plenty of families in the area that she could investigate without being
plagued with unpleasant memories.
   She was just about to rip the pages into pieces and put them in the
wastebasket when she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs and her
heart jumped.  She knew those footsteps; they had the youthful ring of a
young boy, and she knew it could only be Donald.  Petrified, she froze at
the desk, waiting.
   The footsteps grew louder, and then stopped outside her door.  A second
later, the gentle knock sounded like a thunderclap to her ears.  She
dropped her pencil and whirled around in her chair, facing the door.  Her
heart was beating unnaturally loud, and her hands began to tremble.  She
knew if she remained quiet, he would probably go away; but what if he had
been watching the building and had seen her come in?  What if he knew she
was there?  He might continue banging on her door and there might be a
scene, and he might say something which ... Oh, God.
   "Who is it?"  Her voice was nervous and quavering.
   There was a second of silence, and then she heard Donald's voice.
   "It's me, Donald.  I want to talk to you."
   "Go away."
   "Please, Suzanne.  I have to talk to you.  It's important."
   What on earth could there be so important to this boy?  She knew it was
a trick to get her to open the door.
   "Donald, you go away and leave me alone or I'll call the police."
   She heard him laugh softly.
   "You wouldn't do that; you know that.  Come on, I mean it, Suzanne.  I
got something to tell you."
   She rose from the desk and walked over to the door, pausing a moment,
her handle on the knob.  She could hear his heavy breathing on the other
side.
   "What is it?  You can tell me from there."
   "No, I want to come in and talk to you.  I want to tell you how sorry I
am about what happened."
   There was a note of contrition in his voice, and she pictured his fresh,
youthful face, his large innocent eyes.  Maybe he did want to talk; maybe
he was sorry.
   "All right, Donald, but if there's any trouble, I'm going to call the
police.  I mean it."
   There was a click as she unlocked the door, turned the handle and
pulled.  Donald was standing outside, and as their eyes met, she saw that
he must be sorry; there was an expression of abject sorrow on his young
face.
   "Come in."
   Slowly he walked in; she shut the door, and stood staring at him,
somewhat defiantly.  He shifted from one foot to the other awkwardly, and
grinned at her.
   "Well, what do you want to talk about, Donald?"
   He moved over to the couch and looked at her.
   "You mind if I sit down?"
   She shook her head and walked over to the large chair and slowly sat
down, staring at him curiously.
   "I want to say I'm sorry about yesterday," Donald began, looking down at
the floor, and playing with his hands.  "It was Ted, you know that, don't
you?  He's a real horny one, and once he gets going, nothing stops him."
   Suzanne sniffed.  "Obviously you've been with him before when he's ..." 
She paused, not wanting to say the words.
   He nodded.  "Sure.  We've screwed girls together before, but he always
starts it.  He's been around longer'n I have, and I really don't think
about it as much as he does.  He told me that's all he likes to do: fuck
girls.  I guess he does it every day."
   "And what about you?"
   Donald grinned.  "I do it now and then, when I can."
   "When you can," Suzanne repeated the words, her voice dripping sarcasm. 
"Why don't you admit you screw around just as much as your brother?  I've
heard stories, and I think they're true.  All you kids in this neighborhood
do is screw.  No wonder there are so many little bastards running around."
   She amazed herself at the venom in her voice.  But she felt if she
showed him she was still angry, he might not try anything; or did she
really want him to try something again?
   Donald looked up at her and smiled.
   "I know you're mad, and I don't blame you.  But I did want you to know I
still like you a lot, and I'm sorry.  Can we still be friends?  Can I still
come up and help you sometimes?"
   Suzanne's eyes widened.
   "Still be friends?  What do you mean?  You're goddamn lucky I haven't
called the police and had you and you brother thrown in jail.  No, Donald,
I think you'd better leave now, and don't bother to come back."
   Donald's eyebrows rose slightly, and his mouth curled into a sneer.
   "Don't be that way, Suzanne.  I said I was sorry."
   "Well, saying you're sorry doesn't help any.  And I know if you keep
coming around, maybe your brother will, too, and then ..."  Suzanne's words
trailed off, and she became conscious of Donald's gaze, shifting from her
face down to her breasts and over her body.  She could sense the aura of
desire in his manner, and she recognized the look on his face.  "Donald, I
mean it.  I want you to go now."
   His eyes came back and fastened on hers, very steadily.  It was a most
mature look for a young boy, and a very knowing look.
   "You don't want me to go, you know that, Suzanne.  And I don't want to. 
I want to stay here with you."  He rose quickly and came across, kneeling
in front of her, and staring up at her earnestly.  "Please, Suzanne, I like
you a lot, I really do.  I don't want you to think I'm real bad or
anything."  He put out his hand and touched hers.
   Suzanne felt a prickle of apprehension, but at the same time she felt a
demanding warmth flood her groin.  The boy's closeness, his sexuality, his
earnestness, all combined to arouse her and bring back the memory of the
day before, not with shame or fear, but with perverse desire.  She
remembered his penis, jutting out from his pants, almost as large as his
brother's.
   "Donald."  Her voice was weak, and she began trembling.  "Donald, please
go.  Now."
   His hand gripped hers more strongly, and his other hand came up on her knee.
   "Suzanne, I don't want to go.  Please let me stay here."
   With a sudden movement, he raised up, brought his head forward, and
kissed her on the lips before she could move away.  The softness of his
skin against hers, his male animal smell, his forceful approach, all this
and much more swept the final vestige of resistance away.  She didn't have
to say anything; the boy knew.
   Still on his knees, he put his arms around her shoulders and pulled her
to him, embracing her and kissing her passionately, his tongue forcing
itself between her lips.  She felt the sensuous warmth of his chest against
her breasts and his hands gripping her tightly.  His mouth rubbed back and
forth over her own, and she felt her passions rising to fever pitch. 
Desperately, she broke away.
   "No, Donald, no.  This is ridiculous."
   He looked at her for a moment, his mouth quivering.
   "Ridiculous?  Ain't nothin' ridiculous about me wanting you.  I want
some of the same stuff Ted got yesterday."  His eyes flamed, and he bent
his head down to hers, forcing his mouth against her lips and pushing her
head back violently while his hands held her tightly.  Suzanne felt a wave
of nausea rise, to be quickly replaced by her bubbling desire, the slow
surge of wetness in her vagina and the trembling in her loins.  Oh, God, it
was going to happen again; she mustn't let it.  She mustn't.  But stronger
than that, her sexuality screamed out: Yes, yes, I want it, I want this boy
with his strong, pulsating cock pushed right up into me.  I want it.
   Desperately she beat on his back with her fists, and then realized how
strong he was.  His muscular arms held her firmly, and his chest was
pushing against her breasts, rubbing her nipples into hardness.  Finally he
released her and stared into her eyes with a mixture of warmth and
defiance.
   "Okay, who's kidding who?" he said softly, taking her hand and pulling
it down to his crotch where his rising hardness told her he was almost
ready; and within her heart, she knew she was never more ready.
   His fingers caressed her breast, and she sat immobile, hardly believing
what was happening, and numbly aware that her own desires were screaming
out for the same thing he was after.
   "You gonna get undressed so we can do it proper?"
   The impact of his words brought her plummeting back to reality.  She
stared at him for a second, and then quickly pushed him backwards and rose
to her feet, making a rush for the front door.  Her hand was on the handle
when she felt his fingers close around her ankle and jerk her backwards
viciously.  She tripped and fell, breaking her fall with her arm.  A stab
of pain shot through her, and she whimpered.
   He was on top of her in a flash, and his weight pinned her down.  His
mouth began biting her neck and her ears while his hips ground his
hardening sex into her.  Through their clothes she could feel its demanding
pressure against her vulva.
   "Donald, please, please, oh, God, no, not again."

Chapter 2

   Within the following week, Suzanne settled down to her new routine of
classes at Wayne and studies in the evening, and she found a growing sense
of satisfaction over her situation.  Mr. and Mrs. Delacorte came over one
night to visit, and stayed only about an hour.  Mrs. Delacorte was
horrified.  "You're living in a slum," she said primly.  "It's a wonder
this building hasn't been condemned.  Honestly, Suzanne, I don't see how
you can be happy here."
   Suzanne was thankful for her father's understanding.  "You do your
thing, little girl," he said with a twinkle in his deep blue eyes.  "Would
you believe I lived in an apartment just like this before I met your
mother.  That was before I made it big, of course."  Suzanne remembered the
many times her father had told her about his struggle to succeed and his
eventual emergence as one of Detroit's leading parts manufacturers. 
Despite his affluence, Mr. Delacorte still retained his earthy quality, and
his lack of interest in the Grosse Pointe social scene was a constant thorn
in his wife's side.  "Your father just doesn't realize the importance of
mixing with the right people," Mrs. Delacorte would often tell Suzanne. 
"Birds of a feather, you know, and all that."  And Suzanne would exchange a
conspiratorial look with her father.
   On her third day in her apartment, Suzanne asked Donald if she could
come and visit his mother.  He had checked in with her after classes to see
if there were any chores she needed done.  He was very thrilled at her
interest, and together they walked up to West Forest Avenue, across the
expressway and down several blocks to an apartment building which, in
comparison to Suzanne's, was almost ready to fall apart.  Suzanne repressed
a shudder as they climbed the stairs, every step creaking from their weight
and the walls grimy with years of filth.  The air was stagnant and smelled
of stale cigarette smoke, liquor and urine.
   They entered an apartment on the fifth floor, and she sank immediately
into a chair, panting heavily.  Donald shouted out for his mother, and a
few seconds later, a short, plump woman came ambling into the room.
   "Hey, ma, this is Suzanne, the one I told you about," Donald said,
proudly showing off a new social conquest.
   The woman stared at Suzanne and grinned.  As her thick lips pulled back,
her bare gums were revealed.
   "Howdy," she said.  "S'cuse me.  I weren't expectin' company.  Wait a
minute.  I'll go put my teeth in."
   Suzanne looked at Donald, and in her mind wondered how such a handsome
young boy could have come from such a woman.  There was hardly one
redeeming physical feature about her.  Her hair had obviously not been
combed in weeks.  The loose dress she wore was covered with food stains,
and Suzanne could tell she was not wearing any underwear.  Her pendulous
breasts swayed in front of her, hanging down almost to her navel, bumping
out against the dress with obscene movements.  She wore no shoes, and her
feet were black.  Suzanne repressed a shudder, and thought for a moment of
her mother, always so elegantly groomed, so beautifully dressed, so
exquisitely well-mannered.
   "Hey, Ted, you home?" Donald's voice rang out, and a moment later a
young man entered the room.  "This is my brother, Ted," Donald said.  Ted
looked down at Suzanne and grinned.
   "Well, Donald said you wuz something else," he said, his eyes sliding
slowly over her.  "I'll say you are."
   Suzanne blushed and laughed.  "You're pretty good-looking yourself,
Ted," she replied, "but then, so's Donald."
   "Hey, how about that?" said Ted, moving over, and sitting on the couch
next to Suzanne's chair.  "Donald says you wanna find out how we live and
all that shit."
   Suzanne nodded.  "Yes, I'm majoring in sociology.  I'm planning a
project based on the living conditions of people in this area."
   Ted laughed coarsely.  "Stick around, you'll learn plenty," he said. 
"We bin here 'bout two years.  Me, I'd rather be back in Kentucky.  Least
we could go rabbit huntin' there.  Here all I hunt is girls.  There's
plenty, too."
   "That's nice," said Suzanne, momentarily out of her depth.  She was
uncomfortably aware of Ted's penetrating glances and the sensuous twist of
his mouth.  He was slightly taller than Donald, and obviously well-built. 
His arm muscles rippled under his shirt, and his belt wrapped tightly
around his slim waist.  For a passing flash, Suzanne caught herself
glancing at his crotch, which bulged temptingly.  But then, she remembered,
so did Donald's.  And so had Sam's ...
   "Well, I feel better now, with my teeth in."  The woman came through the
door and grinned at them.  She had made some effort to comb her hair, and
her teeth gleamed between her lips.  She still looked like a grotesque
mockery of motherhood.  "You like somethin' to drink, Suzanne?  We got some
Cokes."
   "Yes, thank you.  That would be nice.  I'm a little out of breath from
climbing those stairs."
   "You get used to it," was the calm reply.
   "You got you a boyfriend?" asked Ted, his eyes still on her breasts.
   Suzanne laughed.  "I'm too busy.  I'm a student, remember.  I don't have
much time for anything but books."
   "Hell, that ain't no way to live," said Ted.  "You got to get out and
have a little fun.  Maybe you'n me could take in a movie some night."
   "You shut your goddamn mouth," came the raucous voice from the kitchen. 
"Don't you go messing round with Suzanne.  She ain't your kind of girl, and
you know it."
   Ted grinned and made a face in the direction of the other room.  "She
don't know nothin'," he said in a low voice.  "I go with plenty of chicks. 
All kinds.  You ask Donald."
   Donald grinned, looking slightly shamefaced.  "He's got lots," he said,
"but ma don't like him screwing round."
   "You damn right I don't."  Heavy footsteps and the clatter of Coke
bottles signaled her return from the kitchen.  "Here, Suzanne.  Hope you
don't mind drinkin' from the bottle.  We're kinda short on glasses."
   "That's fine, thank you," Suzanne said.
   "Okay, so Donald says you wanna ask some questions.  You jest fire away."
   There was a slight shake to the floor as the woman subsided into a
rickety chair.  Suzanne reached into her purse and took out a small notepad
and a pencil.  As she readied herself, she was grimly aware that Ted's eyes
were still on her, and his face held a leering, sensuous quality that
disturbed her.

*     *     *

   The next day, Suzanne settled down to go over her notes on her first
case history.  The details amazed her.  Donald's mother confessed that she
had been married when she was fifteen, and only because she had become
pregnant by her husband.  She had Ted, and two years later Donald, and then
shortly afterwards her husband had been killed in an airplane crash.  She
received a pension and also assistance from the state.  But her income was
barely enough to keep body and soul together.  She decided to move from
Kentucky to Michigan in the hopes of getting employment.  Also, she said,
the schools would be better for her boys.  Unfortunately, her poor
educational background precluded her from getting anything but the most
menial work, and she felt she would just as soon stay home and subsist on
her pension and welfare checks.  The boys dropped out of school and earned
occasional money as best they could.  Ted worked sometimes as a busboy or
as a messenger, but he seldom stayed in a job longer than a month.
   Suzanne promised to see what she could do to get the woman situated in a
position that she could handle and which would bring in some more money for
her.  She seemed grateful, though not overly enthusiastic.  She apparently
no longer seemed to care, as long as she was able to feed herself and her
sons and pay the low-cost housing rental.  Suzanne decided that she would
make the family her project: try to get the mother situated, and work on
the boys to instill some sense of responsibility and ambition in them.  She
mentioned her plans to her sociology instructor, who listened attentively,
then said, "Lotsa luck!"
   She related this to Yvonne, who laughed loudly.  "Little Miss Do-Good,"
she said cynically.  "Just wait till you've talked to a few more families
around here.  You'll realize you're wasting your time."
   Suzanne was indignant.  "No sincere effort to help others is a waste of
time," she retorted.  "Maybe all these people really need is to know
someone cares about what happens to them."
   Yvonne became deadly serious.  "Look, my girl," she said, "I've lived in
this area for seven years.  I know these people.  They'll take the handout,
but they'll never settle down and work.  But if you get your kicks, fine,
go ahead and try.  But don't be too disappointed.  And above all, don't
leave yourself open for a pass.  Those two kids'll probably just as soon
screw you as look at you.  They've probably been fucking since they were
old enough to get a hard-on.  I know these Kentucky hillbillies.  They'll
fuck anything.  So watch out, my girl, unless you want to lose that prize
virginity of yours."
   Suzanne remembered Ted's glances at her, and his casual reference to
going out.  But then, she thought, he wouldn't try anything.  He knows I'm
not interested.  Besides, she reasoned, if they did, she could always
scream.  She'd read somewhere that nothing scares off a would-be rapist
quicker than a woman's screams.
   She put her notes away and went into the kitchen.  She planned to make a
quick meal and settle down to studying.  She took out a saucepan and filled
it with water.  As she turned the faucet, she heard a click, and the water
continued gushing out even after she had turned the handle off. 
Impatiently, she walked to the door and down the stairs to Mrs. Sansome's
apartment.  She knocked, but there was no reply.  She went back upstairs,
and as she reached the third floor, she saw Donald standing at her door.
   "Hi," he said, smiling broadly.  "You want anything done?"
   With a sigh of relief, she nodded.  "My faucet's leaking," she told him,
"and Mrs. Sansome's out."
   "No problem," he said cheerfully.  "Ted's home, and he's done plumbing
work.  I'll go get him.  We'll fix it in a jiffy."
   He ran down the stairs, and Suzanne walked back into the kitchen and
began peeling some potatoes.  Within ten minutes, Donald and Ted were back,
armed with wrenches and a washer.  Ted greeted her affably, and went to
work.  Within minutes, he had stepped back triumphantly.  The faucet had
been fixed.
   "Thank you so much," Suzanne said.  "How much do you want?  A dollar?"
   She had learned that almost any chore Donald did was a dollar.  Ted nodded.
   "That'll be fine," he said.
   Suzanne went to her purse, took out the money and handed it over.  As he
took the bill, he closed his hand over hers and pulled her to him quickly,
kissing her on the lips.  Suzanne jerked away, her eyes flashing.
   "Don't get mad," said Ted lazily, still holding her hand.  "Nothin'
wrong with a little kiss, now is there?"
   Suzanne disengaged herself and moved away, her heart beating unnaturally
fast.
   "I think ... I think you'd both better leave now," she said as calmly as
she could.  "I have to get supper ready, and I have studying to do."
   Ted laughed and leaned up against the sink.
   "Maybe you'd like a change tonight," he said.  "Like maybe studying
something more interesting."
   He slid his hand down to his crotch and adjusted his genitals, bunching
them up suggestively.  Donald broke into a giggle.
   "Ted, thank you for fixing the faucet," Suzanne said, desperately trying
to cope with the situation, which she felt was getting completely out of
hand.  "And now, if you don't mind."
   Ted walked forward, put his hand around her waist, and pulled her
violently to him.
   "Come on, I'm a good lay.  Ask Donald.  He's seen me in action."
   She struggled ineffectually, conscious of a growing tension in her loins
and a terrible fear in her heart.  She heard Yvonne's words in her mind. 
"Those two kids'll probably just as soon screw you as look at you."  Then
she felt Ted's lips on hers, and his tongue pushing into her mouth.  She
struggled, and her hips felt the pressure of his body with its suggestive
bulge between his legs.
   She managed to break away, and she gasped out a strangled plea.  "Ted,
please, let me go!"
   His arms continued holding her, and his eyes narrowed as they glared at her.
   "I ain't lettin' you go," he drawled.  "We're gonna have a little fun,
just you, me and Donald."
   Suzanne felt the tears come splashing down her cheeks.
   "I ... I'm not that sort of girl," she stammered.
   Ted laughed loudly.
   "You mean you don't screw around?  All you rich bitches from Grosse
Pointe fuck.  I know.  I've had plenty of 'em.  And they always come back
for more, because I got what it takes.  Here, you feel for yourself."
   He grabbed her hand and pulled it down between his legs.  Her fingers
touched the growing hardness there, and she struggled even more.
   "Donald, please help me," she begged, turning to the younger boy, and
then her eyes widened with horror.  Donald was standing, his fly open and
his erect penis jutting forth, held in his hands which massaged it gently
up and down.  "Donald!"  Her voice rose almost to a scream, and Ted's hand
clamped over her mouth in a flash.
   "Now don't you do anything stupid like screaming," he said
threateningly.  "You got a real purty face.  It wouldn't look too good all
beat up now, would it?"
   Ted began pulling her over to the alcove with the bed.
   "Come on, baby brother, you know what to do," he said, his voice
chuckling evilly, "Start with her skirt.  I want to see that nice hairy
pussy of hers."
   Suzanne couldn't believe it was happening.  This was a nightmare, she
knew.  Donald was a nice boy.  He wouldn't do anything like that.  He
couldn't.  She stared disbelievingly as Donald came over, his penis jutting
from his pants, a long, thick organ that she could hardly believe was
possible on such a young boy.
   Ted held her tightly, and Donald's hands searched for the zipper on the
side of her skirt.  Her entire body was trembling.  She felt him fumble,
and then the zipper slid down, and her skirt slipped to the floor.
   "Wow, look at them legs!"
   Donald's hands grasped her underwear, and pulled down, and she felt the
cool rush of air against her crotch.  Ted bent her over backwards, and
pulled her down on the bed, still holding one hand over her mouth.  He
lifted his head to get a better view of her naked thighs and hips.  Donald
was already kneeling between her legs, staring hard at her, while his hand
caressed his penis.
   "Jeez, that's eatin' stuff.  Go at it!"
   She felt Donald's hands come forward, run up the inside of her thighs
and come to rest on her cunt-lips, pulling them open with a sudden
movement.  She heard him whistle, and then his head came forward and his
mouth closed over her mound, his tongue licking her ravenously.  She felt
his flesh hot upon her own, and the tip of his tongue flicking across her
clitoris.  A flash of fire went through her loins, and she struggled.
   "She likes it, don't you, Miss Rich Bitch?" hissed Ted softly.  "Well,
you're gonna git it, so you may as well quit all this struggling.  And one
peep outa you, and I'll let you have it, right across the mouth."
   Suzanne's mind was reeling.  She could not believe what was happening to
her.  Mentally she cried out for Sam, for her parents, for Yvonne, for
anyone who might come and rescue her from this terrible predicament.  These
two vile kids were going to rape her; she knew it, and she knew she was
powerless to prevent it.
   "Okay, you've had a taste," snapped Ted.  "Now get her top off.  I wanna
see those tits."
   Donald raised up, and after a few seconds manipulating the buttons on
her blouse, he pulled her blouse away, and then undid her bra.  As her
things fell away, her breasts lay exposed to their lecherous eyes.
   "Oh, wow, that's what I call tits!"  Ted's voice was filled with
admiration and lust.  "Now you settle down, and remember, one peep, and
you're gonna be sorry."
   He released her, and swung around, his mouth closing over her left
breast.  Donald came forward and began sucking on her right nipple, while
his hand pushed into her crotch and his finger began playing with her wet,
warm pussy.
   She stared down at the two young men, conscious of the waves of sensual
desire that were flooding her body.  She had never in her life experienced
such sensations.  From the fingers in her crotch to the lips on her
breasts, electric tingles were coursing through her, and she felt the
depths of her vagina responding, a tumultuous wave of erotic desire, and
over it all an all-consuming fear that made her tremble from head to toe.
   Ted raised up and fumbled with his fly.  A moment later, his own massive
organ sprang into view, and Suzanne gasped audibly.  It was even thicker
and longer than Donald's, with a large, flat dark red head pushing through
the folds of foreskin, angrily pointing at her.  Ted laughed softly.
   "Told you I had what it takes," he said, "Go down and say hello to him. 
He won't bite you, but he'll sure spit in your eye if you kiss him right."
   His hand came behind her neck, and pulled her down.  She felt the end of
his penis touch her lips, and a wave of nausea wracked her.  She struggled,
and felt the warm organ slide between her lips and into her mouth.
   "Suck it, you bitch, suck it!"
   In sheer desperation, she began rubbing her tongue along the underside
of his shaft, tasting for the first time the musky firmness of his sex and
the sensuousness of the skin around his rod.  He began humping, and she
felt it slide in and out, ramming all the way into her throat and then out
again.
   Oh, God, she thought to herself, how long does this go on?  Why can't
they leave me alone instead of making me do all these obscene things, and
then ... would they want more?
   Would they want to take her virginity?
   Suzanne tried hard not to burst into hysterical tears, but merely kept
on sucking at the massive organ that was being pounded into her mouth with
mounting speed and firmness.  She heard Ted begin to moan, and his hands
came around the back of her neck, holding her in position.
   "I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come," he cried out, and she was conscious of
his fingers digging into her neck while his penis seemed to flex and grow
thicker as he rammed it into her throat, almost choking her.  It seemed to
pulsate, to throb even more as it was driven quicker and quicker in and out
of her mouth, sliding between her lips like a fiery lollipop, almost too
big for her to lick comfortably.  Then he cried out, "Here she comes, oh,
suck it, you cunt, suck it good.  Oh, woweeeee, shoot, shoot, shoot, you
big dick, shoot into this cunt.  Give it to her, baby."  And then, with a
flood, he ejaculated into her mouth.  Suzanne tasted the hot, sweet-salty
semen spurting forth from the wide end of his rod, and automatically she
gulped and swallowed the thick, warm fluid that kept on coming, load after
load, while his hands held her head and his fingernails sank into her skin. 
Vaguely she heard Donald's excited giggling mingled with Ted's orgasmic
groans of pleasure.
   Then, mercifully, it was over.  She felt his penis soften and slowly
withdraw.  His hands released her head, and he lifted himself off and sat
down on the bed, still breathing heavily, and grinning at her.
   "For a rich bitch, you do pretty good," he said grudgingly.  "That sure
felt good.  Okay, baby brother, your turn."
   Suzanne's eyes opened wide again as she stared at Donald, his penis
still projecting menacingly from his pants.
   "Go on, suck him off, too, you cunt," snapped Ted.  "He wants a little."
   Before she could voice her protests, Donald had straddled her chest and
pushed his penis towards her mouth.  Again she felt the firmness of male
flesh in her mouth, and she began sucking.  Donald began groaning
immediately, and moving his hips, thrusting his firm organ rapidly in and
out of her.  She realized he was not as large as his brother, for which she
was thankful.  At least it was easier to cope with, and subconsciously she
knew he was almost at the peak of excitement.  She brought her hands up and
began fondling his testicles, pulling on them gently, her fingernails
trailing through his pubic hair.
   "Oh, oh, oh," he moaned.  "Jeez, that's good.  Oh, take it, take it all."
   Then with a convulsive shudder, she felt him push his organ deep into
her throat and hold it there as it throbbed and flexed, shooting his seed
into her while she gulped and swallowed.
   He went soft almost at once, and withdrew, climbing off her and lying
down on the bed, panting, and saying how wonderful it had been.  She heard
Ted laugh softly, and then his hand was in her crotch, his fingers probing
greedily into her dripping canal.
   "Okay, bitch, you ready for some real action now?"
   She stared at him wordlessly; she felt defiled, degraded, with her mouth
still tasting of the hot come and her body aching from the effort and the
weight of their bodies on her.  She looked down and saw that Ted's penis
was hard once again, its slick surface gleaming from the saliva that still
clung to it.  He had pulled the foreskin all the way back, exposing the
wide, red head which shone angrily like a cobra ready to strike.
   "Spread your legs, baby, poppa's coming in for a landing!"
   Ted crawled over, and just as he positioned himself between her thighs,
Suzanne became suddenly galvanized into action.  She raised up from the
bed, trying desperately to scramble away.
   "Oh, no, you don't," snapped Ted, pushing her back.  "You grab her,
Donald.  Hold this bitch while I fuck her."
   Donald quickly tied her ankles to the bedpost, using her stockings, then
moved above her head, his knees pinning her shoulders to the bed and his
hands holding her head.
   "Please ... please ... not that, please not that.  I've never done that
before.  Oh, please, Ted ... Donald ... I'll do anything, but not that."
   They both stared at her, their faces disbelieving.
   "Whaddya mean, you ain't done that before?" rasped Ted, his face
sneering down at her.  "You ain't cherry, is you?"
   She nodded.  "Yes, yes.  I've never done that with anyone."
   Ted looked at Donald, and they both burst into loud contemptuous laughter.
   "Now I've heard it all," said Ted.  "This bitch comes from Grosse Pointe
and she says she's cherry.  Shit, baby, the chicks I know from Grosse
Pointe start fucking when they're six or seven.  Don't hand me that shit."
   He leaned forward, lowering his erect penis between her legs and sliding
it slowly up towards her vagina.  Suzanne felt the tears start again, and
she sobbed uncontrollably.  Across her mind flashed an image of Sam, lying
next to her, and she knew it could never happen; she would never go to her
wedding night a pure virgin.  It was happening now, and with someone who
was coarse, rough, and didn't care for her at all as a person; to him she
was just a sex object.  There was no love involved, and to her sex without
love was meaningless.  Oh, Sam, Sam ...
   She felt the end of his penis push aside her vulva, and penetrate.  She
felt the wide, slick surface brush against her clitoris, and she cried out,
her body convulsing with the rising tide of her own sexual response.  Then
she felt a sharp pain, and he stopped thrusting, pausing a moment; then
with a vicious jab, he broke through and his entire length slid into her. 
The exquisite feel of his enormous organ within her vagina overcame the
pain she felt, and as he began moving his hips, withdrawing, then plunging
back in again, she found her own body joining his in a smooth rhythm.  Ted
moaned, and heard him speak.
   "Oh, yes, baby, yes.  She's gettin' with it, Donald, she's gettin' with it."
   Donald was kneeling on the floor, his head level with the bed, his eyes
glued on the sight of his brother's penis entering her dripping crack,
ramming home so hard that his balls slapped against her bare buttocks every
time.
   Suzanne found her arms going around Ted's back, clawing at his shirt,
digging into his flesh beneath.  Her breath became deeper and louder; she
realized she was no longer crying, but moaning with sublime ecstasy.  The
moment she had waited so long for had finally happened, and it was better
than she had dreamed it would be; more wonderful than her wildest
imagination had told her; more stimulating than her momentary masturbation
had ever been.  She finally had a big cock in her, and she was riding it,
taking it all the way up to the hilt, and feeling it probe her depths. 
Despite her feeling of degradation, she wanted to scream to the rooftops:
"Look, I'm fucking.  At last, I'm fucking!"  She wanted her mother to walk
in at that second so she could cry out, "Look, mother, I'm doing it and
it's wonderful.  He's got the biggest dick in the world and I'm getting
fucked by it!"
   She moved her hips faster and faster to match his growing excitement,
and then she heard him grunt and ram his rod deep into her and hold it
there.  His body shuddered and she felt the warm rush of his come within
her, discharging into her and running down between her legs.  Then her own
insides convulsed, and she cried out as she felt wave after wave of supreme
delight wash through her, and she felt herself being lifted, like she was
floating on clouds, drifting high above the bed, suspended on the end of
his magnificent cock that was buried deep inside her.
   "You're a good fuck, baby, I'll say that."
   His words brought her back to earth with a rush, and she felt him roll
off her, his penis withdrawing from her.  He knelt between her fettered
legs, and stared down at her.
   "Jesus, you really were cherry!"
   Ted's eyes widened as he saw the telltale bloodstains on the bed and the
smears around her pubic area.  He frowned down at her, and fumblingly
untied her.
   "How come?  How come you wuz cherry?"
   "Because I was, that's why," Suzanne replied, her voice quavering with
the sudden return to reality and the horror she felt within her.  "I told
you ... I told you ..."  And then the tears cascaded down her cheeks, and
she rolled over on her stomach, sobbing loudly and almost out of control.
   She felt the bed move as Ted got up, and there was the rustle of
clothing as he and Donald zipped themselves up.
   "Hey."
   She heard his voice, but she remained face down.  Then she felt his hand
on her shoulder, pulling her over.  His face glowered down at her.
   "We're gettin' out of here, but you'd better not say anything about
what's happened, you hear?"
   She stared mutely up at him, biting her lips.
   "One word out of you, and I'll call your ma and pa up and tell them
you've been putting out, you understand?  So you keep your goddamn mouth
shut."
   He straightened up, and she looked dumbly at him and Donald as they
moved towards the door.  They paused and looked back at her.  Ted grinned
evilly.
   "You're a good lay," he said grudgingly.  "Good enough for a second
helping.  So maybe we'll be back."
   He opened the door and they left, slamming the door behind them.  As
their footsteps clattered down the stairs, Suzanne rolled over and buried
her face in the pillow and her body shook with sobs.  Slowly she subsided,
and was conscious of the chill on her skin.  Slowly she eased off the bed
and walked into the bathroom.  For a moment, she stared at herself in the
mirror, at the swollen lips, her red-rimmed eyes, the finger marks on her
breasts, and the red smears around her vagina.
   Almost mechanically, she reached for the faucets and let the hot,
steaming water run into the tub, and after adjusting the temperature, she
slowly lowered her aching body into the warm depths.  She stretched out and
closed her eyes.  Oh, God, she thought, I pray I don't get pregnant. 
Please, God, don't let me be pregnant.
   In the dim recesses of her mind, she heard the voice of her sociology
instructor: "Lotsa luck!"

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