Teasing Twins
by Unknown


FOREWORD 

The ropes burned deep into Rixie's wrists. She strained at the bonds. She 
pulled at her ankles but they would not move. The ropes around them were 
stretched too tight. 

Her legs were spread as wide as they would go. 

She was naked. Her ripe breasts quivered in pain and fear. Her father took 
careful aim, and once more brought the cruel whip down onto those firm 
globes of flesh. She shrieked. 

Across the room, her twin sister, Trixie, hung in a frame similar to the one 
to which she was bound. The girl was unconscious and now their father seemed 
determined to make her pass out as well. 

The whip fell again, and again, and again. The girl's screams echoed through 
the night! 

She sat up in bed. 

She was sweating. She began to cry. When, she wondered would the dreams end. 
How long would she have to keep reliving the tormented years of their youth. 

At least, she thought, it was just a dream. It wasn't real any more. 

Or was it? 

 CHAPTER ONE 

From the outside, there was nothing at all about the red-brick building with 
the walls heavily coated in the thick mat of ivy that would have 
distinguished it from any other building on the campus of Fenwood 
University. The path that ran in front of it was covered with the same snow 
that covered the rest of the campus. The students bundled tightly in coats, 
mufflers, scarves and gloves, and arms filled with books and briefcases were 
the same all over the campus. 

Had any of those students bothered to compare notes, they might have been 
surprised to realize that they'd never actually had a class scheduled in 
that building ... nor did any of them ever know anyone who had. 

What was it, an inquisitive one might ask, and if he was induced to search 
further for an answer, he would be politely informed that there were nothing 
but dusty old records stored there, of no consequence to anyone. A forgotten 
chapter in the otherwise prestigious history of Fenwood University, nestled 
away in the New England countryside, turning out its yearly quota of men and 
women well versed in the arts and sciences that were supposed to constitute 
an educated citizen. 

No one, it would actually turn out, had ever been inside the building. 

No one, it would become clear, with only a minimal amount of research, was 
ever encouraged to ask too many questions about the building. 

What, was it? 

What were the deeds performed behind its locked doors and shaded windows 
that required such secrecy? 

At that very moment, in one of the more centrally located rooms of that very 
building, a long legged red-head was carefully placing note pads and cups of 
coffee at six places around a circular table. 

The lighting in the room was soft. The lamps had been inconspicuously 
positioned in the various obscure corners in such a way that no matter how 
one sat, or held ones pencil, no shadow would be cast onto the actual 
writing surface. 

Everything was precise. There were neatly arranged rows of books lining the 
wood paneled walls, the furniture was old but in immaculate condition, and 
the atmosphere spoke of a kind of refined elegance, perfectly suited to the 
academic environment that lay outside, nearly hidden in the huge drifts of 
New England snow. 

At precise one O'clock, (for didn't all briefings begin at one o'clock?), 
the book-lined wall slid open. 

Yes, that's right, it slid open. Simply vanished into one of the cleverly 
fashioned corners of the room, and revealed another room behind it, one that 
was not quite in keeping with the refined elegance of the academic ivy 
league. 

If one stood next to the table at which the secretary had placed the 
notepads and coffee cups, they would have glimpsed a battery of lights, all 
blinking in astonishing confusion. 

They would have also seen white-smocked technicians, and banks of rotating 
magnetic tape assemblies. 

They would, in short, have glimpsed, if only for a moment, one of the 
regional nerve centers of our nation's intelligence community. 

Such a pleasant word, community. It suggests a quiet village, gentle people, 
pastoral activities ... not all that removed from the academic community, 
really. 

However, there was no one standing at the table to glimpse the computer 
center concealed behind the lavish wood paneled wall. 

The only ones who were there were in fact emerging from that room, and now 
they took their places around the table. 

"Gentlemen," said a white-haired man who could easily have headed a law 
school on the basis of his physical appearance alone, "I'm sure you know the 
reason why we are here. The alert was received this morning at eight-thirty, 
and thus far, we have had only unofficial confirmation. It is not known 
whether or not the team is in fact here in Serenity right now, or whether 
they will try to move on to Washington. This much is clear. The sighting was 
unquestionable the man we seek. Those of you familiar with this case, may 
refer to him as "The Wolf, others may have a different name for him. The 
fact is, the months of rumor are ended. He is here, and for all we know, 
there is a team already assembled somewhere to meet him. We don't know, We 
know only that if that is the case, we have to locate the team, locate "The 
Wolf, prevent them from linking up ... but before we arrest them, we have to 
somehow learn what their mission is." 

"Why is that, sir?" asked a thin man who might easily have been a math 
professor. 

"Because, Jack, we must know if this center has been discovered. It may very 
well be that they plan an attack on our operation here. It may just be that 
the President is addressing the American History Federation here next week, 
and they are the assassination squad that we've been expecting. We don't 
know. We have to find out, particularly if the cover for our operations here 
has been blown." 

"What suggestions do you have?" 

"None. Except that no one has ever seen "The Wolf and lived to tell about 
it. Our confirmation that he'd crossed the border from Canada came this 
morning from the reports of the two murdered patrolmen." 

He paused for emphasis. 

"Their throats had been chewed out." 

Across campus, a stunning blonde paused as she emerged from the student 
union cafeteria. 

The coffee that she held in her hand was steaming in the crisp air, and the 
cup felt good to her touch. She was freezing, and really bothered that it 
had been necessary to get up so early to help Mark finish his project, but 
that's what happened when you were a graduate assistant, and your professor 
was a nationally recognized authority. You did whatever was called for, 
because you didn't dare sever any possible connections that would otherwise 
help your own career. 

She knew really, however, what was going on in the back of his mind. She'll 
be tired, and her reflexes won't be as sharp, is what he'll be thinking, she 
muttered to herself. She had no doubts that before the morning session was 
over, she would be required to deflect several advances, some clumsy, some 
quite subtle and sophisticated. 

It was, in fact, a measure of pride for her that she'd managed to be his 
graduate assistant for this entire semester so far, and still maintained a 
working relationship with him, while also keeping her honor intact. 

Not that she was a virgin. She just wasn't all that hot about getting it on 
with Mark. 

She turned and began to walk towards the Psychology building when she 
noticed a tall male with a backpack on the ground beside him. He was 
stepping over to her. 

"Excuse me," he said, politely, "but I was wondering if there were any 
facilities for putting people up for the night, you know, if they're just 
passing through. I'm not a ass, I can pay and every thing ... seriously." He 
was cute. 

That was the first thing that Rixie Morgan thought. 

He looked like he needed a shave, but his stubble wasn't more than a day 
old, another good sign. 

There were the usual quantity of transients passing through the Fenwood 
campus, just as with any major college, and the student government had set 
up a reference board listing places that were available. She was about to 
direct him that way, when something made her pause. Damn, she thought, he 
sure is cute. His eyes were ... kind. That's the only way that she could 
explain it. They were kind eyes. And even though it was cold and his face 
was partially hidden by the scarf that he had wrapped around him, she could 
still see that he sparkled with humor. 

What the hell, she thought, explain it however she could, the bottom line 
was that she was attracted to him. 

"Um ... yes," she said, "how long are you going to be in town?" 

"Just a day or two. I'm going on to New 

York next week, but I've always wanted to see the campus here." 

"That sounds a little odd, if I may say so." 

"Not really. My father was a student here. I've heard stories about this 
place since I was a child. 

"Well ... " she said, pondering her options one last time before making her 
decision, "I think I might know a place where you can crash. It's got a 
comfortable couch, and it's free. And the heat works." 

He was looking at her with a quizzical look. "Tell me more." 

"Well, it's kind of a communal situation. There's five of us who live there. 
My sister, myself, and another girl and two guys. It's a big old house, and 
we split the rent, and it's a really beautiful place. If you want a place to 
crash, that shouldn't be too hard to arrange." 

Even as she spoke, she wondered, is this right? Or am I a fool? 

He too seemed to be a little puzzled. 

"Why are you doing this?" he asked. "You don't even know me." 

"I know." She debated whether or not to tell him the simple truth. "Call it 
intuition," she said. "You have kind eyes." 

He smiled, thinking it to be just another spacy-college student description. 
The truth was, Rixie's intuition was something out of the ordinary. She'd 
long ago learned that her first impressions were uncannily correct. Within 
the first ten seconds, a person's emotional aura would become something 
almost visible to her. She had no explanation for it. It never took the form 
of voices in her head or anything supernatural ... simply ... intuition. So 
far, it had proven a valuable guide in her treatment of people. And then, of 
course, there was that flight home one Christmas that she'd refused to board 
at the last second. Her sister Trixie had nearly left without her. 

"This is ridiculous!" her sister had berated her. "You're a fool! We'll 
never get home now! Never!! ! " 

But, in a way that identical twin sisters sometimes have of understanding 
each other, Trixie seemed to comprehend at a level beneath her conscious 
confusion that her sister's intuition was something of substance. When word 
had reached them of their flight's collision with another plane in a 
snowstorm, with everyone on board burnt beyond recognition, that conviction 
was dramatically reinforced, and at a much more conscious level. 

"My name's Rixie," the girl now said to the stranger about whom she felt no 
evil vibrations. 

"Dennis. Dennis Slade," he said, taking her hand. "That coffee looks great. 
Where can I pick up some just like it?" 

She directed him to the cafeteria, and told him that if he'd just wait there 
for a couple of hours, she'd be back. They agreed on a meeting time. 

"Hey, listen," said Dennis, as she turned to leave for her appointment, for 
which she was already late, "thanks. Thanks a lot." 

She smiled, and though still not exactly sure why she'd let herself trust 
him, felt confident from experience that her trust was well placed. She'd 
have bet the rent money on it. 

Trixie Morgan rolled over in her bed and looked out the window. "My GOD!" 

The crumpled mass of arms and legs beside her in bed mumbled incoherently. 

"Steve, look, look, it's snowed! Look. Oh it's so beautiful!" 

From beneath the covers, a pained yawn could be heard. 

"Give me a break, will you. It's ... Christ, it's only nine-thirty. It's the 
middle of the fucking night!" 

"Oh that's your problem! I didn't ask you to get a hard-on so many times 
last night." 

"Yeah, well, you didn't ask me to get rid of them either. Now cut the shit 
and let me go back to sleep." 

"No! I want to go out and play in the snow! It's the first snow of the 
season and it's always the most beautiful." 

A hand emerged from the mess of covers and pushed the blanket back down the 
bed as if in slow motion. 

"Trixie, you'd think you've never seen snow before." 

"I'm from Florida! What do you want. The closest thing we have to snow is 
the sand on the beach. And somehow, it's not the same thing." 

"This is your third year here." 

"I'm still a tourist, all right! Now give me a break and come outside and 
play in the snow with me." 

He stared at her through eyes that seemed incapable of registering anything. 

"You're squinting Steve, stop it. It makes you look like a mole." 

"I feel like a mole," he said, burrowing once more into the covers. 

She pulled them back down. "Steve," she said, giving her body a petulant 
shake that caused her two firm breasts to quiver deliciously, "I'm not 
playing!" 

He opened his eyes again. 

"I know. That's what bothers me." 

She pouted, and then, realizing that he wasn't looking at her, she shook 
him. 

"Stevieeee ... " she said, instantly switching the tone of her voice, "come 
on. Play with me." 

A hand emerged from the covers and began to pinch her nipples. 

"Tell me when I can stop playing with you and go back to sleep." 

She started to slap his hand away, but then decided to let him continue. His 
fingers kept manipulating her nipples and both quickly became very hard. 

"Had enough yet?" 

"No," she said. He might be tired, but she'd never known him to turn down 
her body, at any time of day, under any circumstances. Ever. 

He kept working over her breasts, and then, he reached out with his other 
hand and brought both of them into the picture. 

She had breasts that would stop a truck. 

That's what Steve had always told her. Beautifully rounded breasts, with 
tight brown circles in the center, and nipples that seemed always to be hard 
and erect. Perhaps that was just the brisk climate, or at least that's what 
she'd always told Steve, but the truth was, she just had stiff nipples. 

Even so, touching them the way Steve was doing now only made them harder, 
and would cause them to swell in size. 

She loved to have her breasts played with, loved to have them sucked, loved 
to feel his teeth on them, loved to feel him bite her ... even to the point 
of leaving teeth marks. Sometimes, in fact, Steve proved too squeamish for 
her taste, too passive, not willing to be bold, daring, not willing to try 
and push her past her limits ... to force her into those realms of ecstasy 
that she knew she was capable of attaining, but which she herself did not 
have to courage to seek out on her own. 

No, it took a strong man. A brave man. A bold man.... 

Steve pinched hard on her nipple now, hard enough to hurt, but for some 
reason, she was not in the mood for his efforts in that direction this 
morning. Sometimes, it was so obvious that he was just playing games, that 
he really didn't have his heart in it.... 

"Just fuck me this morning," she said, smiling sweetly, "please. Just fuck 
me nice and slow and gentle, and make me come with your cock." 

She stroked said cock as she spoke softly to him, and saw that it had 
already grown quite stiff indeed. 

She let her fingers play around the head, squeezing it a little, and then 
she began to stroke the entire shaft, bringing her fingers up and down in 
long, lazy motions that she knew sent him out of his mind. Steve was a poet. 
Steve was a musician. Steve was (as he liked to say) sensitive as shit. 
Which was why he liked his sex to be refined, genteel ... almost polite, she 
would sometimes restlessly think. And yet, he was a nice guy, smart, with a 
good academic future assured, teaching comparative literature in some other 
liberal arts school, much like Fenwood. 

She once again ran through her conflicting feelings about Steve. 

Did she love him? 

She might. 

Did she like going to bed with him. Yes, she did. 

Could she imagine spending the rest of her life with him? Yes, she could. 

Was it a good life that she imagined? Well-Did she find him boring? Well-Did 
she find herself getting an itch that he just didn't seem to know how to 
scratch? Well ... yes, to all of the above. Conflicting. 

Just now, however, she was willing to shelve her confusion, letting it take 
a back seat to the sensations that were starting to bubble out of her cunt, 
as she watched his cock get stiffer and stiffer. He was so well hung! That 
was another major point in his favor, and she'd be a fool to deny it. 

If only she could coax him into being more adventurous with it. 

The surface of his dick was sticky, and a little shiny, from the layer of 
dried jism and pussy juice that remained on it from their marathon fucking 
session the night before. He never had any trouble getting it up. 

He never had any trouble fucking her for however long it took her to go 
crashing through several brain shattering orgasm before coming himself. 

What then was the trouble? 

She wouldn't let herself admit it ... not really. Ropes ... whips ... chains 
... handcuffs ... They were all just a little heavy for a small town girl 
from the Florida Panhandle to deal with at any sort of conscious level. 
Steve, on the other hand, had no trouble dealing with them. He simply chose 
not to. 

He was a meat an potatoes man. He like his sex good, solid, and straight. 

Fortunately, she was in the mood for it that way herself just now, because 
from the looks of this cock in her hand, that's exactly how she was going to 
get it. 

He sat up further in bed, and placed his hands behind her head, gently 
guiding her mouth to his cock. 

She wasn't sure how she felt about sucking it after it had already been in 
her so many times, but she wasn't about to tell him that. Instead, she just 
let her tongue start to lick over the surface and found the salty flavor 
kind of stimulating. It was a little kinky for her to know that she was 
licking up her own cunt juice. 

She opened her mouth a bit wider and let more of his cock slide down her 
throat. He never rammed his cock into her mouth, not wanting to hurt the 
membranes at the back of her throat. He let her take in as much as she 
could, and just lay back, while she sucked, slurped and nibbled him to a 
heightened state of arousal. 

Then she felt his fingers starting to crawl over her thighs, and as he 
gripped her legs tighter and started pulling her towards him, she tasted the 
first drops of his semen forming at the slit in the center of his glans. 

He began to lick along the inside of her thighs. 

"How do I taste?" she asked. 

"Like you've been fucking," he said to her. "How do I taste?" 

"Strangely enough, the same way," she replied. 

His tongue moved closer and closer to her pussy, slithering now along the 
ridge between her thighs and crotch. He licked lightly and lovingly, letting 
his tongue dart along the outer surface of her cunt lips, letting it wiggle 
through her pubic bush, letting it slip into her slit every now and then, 
but avoiding her hole, and avoiding her clitoris, two areas that he knew 
drove her crazy. 

It was his favorite technique, to move all around her most erogenous zones, 
without ever applying direct stimulation to the one part that she would be 
craving most. 

He kissed her pussy right on top of the slit. She was still soaking wet from 
the night before, although most of his jism had leaked out and left a dry 
stain on her sheets once more. Her membranes were swollen with an already 
deep-seated lust, and as he probed deeper and deeper with his tongue, it 
only increased the tingling sensation that was flooding her body. 

She finally had to let his cock alone, unable to concentrate any longer on 
his tool while he was doing such an expert job of eating her out like this. 

"Oh, Steve, Steve, Steve," she moaned, "oh, honey, it feels so good. So 
fucking good!" 

He said nothing, but she knew that he was well aware of the fact that she 
never faked her arousal. When he was successful in stimulating her, she 
became very, very vocal about letting the world know about it. 

She felt his fingers on her lips now, tickling lightly along the edges, 
letting his fingertips slip beneath the surface to press and explore her 
soaking flesh that lay under her lips. 

Then, he took each lip between his fingers and began to open her pussy. She 
looked down at him, and saw that he was studying her intently, like a 
scientist waiting for the results of an experiment. 

He pulled her lips wide, and then pulled them upwards. 

She could look down between her legs and see her clitoris at last pop into 
view, assuming its rightful place at center stage. 

She was starting to really ache, and she wanted it to be taken care of, 
immediately. 

"Oh, Steve, don't wait any more. Please. Suck it. Bite it. It feels so good. 
I need it so." 

He looked up at her and smiled. 

Then, without warning, he brought his teeth around it from top and bottom 
and clamped down with his jaws. 

Hard. 

Sharply. 

But only for a split second. He released the pressure almost as soon as it 
was applied, but it left a residue of warm tingling that filled her groin, 
and set all her muscles, particularly those in her legs, to a mad spastic 
dance. 

She was starting already to feel light headed and dizzy, to feel the world 
spinning slowly in place, or was it she who was spinning, while the rest of 
the world remained inert? 

Again she felt his teeth on her clitoris, but this time it was only to allow 
the edges of his top teeth to scrape across her bud of flaming nerves. 

Pulling her lips apart and up as he was doing allowed her clit to pop out 
from beneath its usual protecting hood of flesh. There was a lot of the raw 
organ exposed to his teeth. 

She jerked, feeling her stomach and hips drive sharply upwards. 

He had simply touched her clit with his teeth, but at the first scraping 
movement a reflex had triggered inside her that had been completely beyond 
her control. 

As her muscles triggered and shot her pelvis upwards, it forced her clit 
into sharp collision with Steve's teeth. 

It hurt this time, and it hurt badly. 

She screamed out. "OH! OH GOD! Oh God that hurts." 

Her hips were bucking wile as though someone had inserted two lit sticks of 
magnesium up her pussy. 

Steve's reaction was to immediately sit up. 

"Trixie, did I hurt you," he asked. 

"It's all right, it's all right. Honest, it's all right," she said, pushing 
his head back down between her legs. 

Come on, Steve, she thought, this is no time to be polite. 

He returned to her slit and resumed his treatment of her clitoris. 

He placed his lips around the entire area, and then puckered them slightly, 
creating a powerful suction around her clit as he did so. 

This drew the loose flesh, her clit included, up into his mouth where he 
could chew on it at length. 

She began to moan wildly now, feeling the pressure of his mouth surrounding 
her clit. 

If hot wax has been poured into her crotch, it couldn't possibly have felt 
any hotter than his mouth felt. 

"Oh, my God! Oh my God, oh my GOD!! ! " 

She was moaning and rolling her hips now. 

"Harder, Steve, please, harder." 

He sucked with a little more, intensity, but for the most part kept his 
mouth at a delicate balance between really squeezing her clit, and gently 
massaging it. 

"Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, it feels so good," she moaned. 

She felt sharp bolts of electric energy shooting back through her body, 
filling her with an overwhelming sensation of falling, as if she was 
sinking. 

She felt a pit seeming to open up right there on the bed, and felt herself 
being sucked right into it, the same as her clit was being sucked into 
Steve's mouth. 

"Oh, please, fuck me now," she moaned at last, wanting to feel something to 
counter the powerful ache in her cunt. "Please, stick your hard cock into my 
pussy." 

She reached for his cock and wrapped her fingers around it, squeezing it 
hard as the tension in her cunt mounted. 

"Yes ... yes ... yes ... yes ... yes ... " she cried, feeling her pussy 
beginning to sputter into an orgasm. 

She was close, so very close, she felt all she'd have to do was close her 
eyes and concentrate just a little, and she'd spill right over the top. 

She began to beat his cock up and down, as though she was masturbating him, 
but her real reason was that she simply needed something to do with her 
hands. He was bringing her closer, closer ... she could feel the juice 
flowing out of her pussy like water from a leaky faucet, but still, he 
managed to keep her poised there, not really falling in, not pulling back, 
simply hovering there in that torturous limbo. 

Then, he gave her clit two solid bites with his teeth, and as her body 
exploded and she began to scream and quiver through a massive quaking 
orgasm, he quickly reversed the position of his body, and brought his cock 
right up to the lips of her pussy. It was sopping wet, and he needed no 
lubrication whatsoever to allow easy entry to the inner depths of her body. 

She felt him pushing the glans in past her lips. Penetration was perhaps the 
most delicious moment of fucking, the point when everything, more or less, 
came together. 

She loved the feeling of Steve's cock as it crept deeper and deeper into her 
body. 

She felt her lips opening wider and wider as the glans pressed past. The 
full shaft was wide, very, very wide, and she could feel the rim of her 
pussy hole opening up to receive him, and could also feel her membranes 
being pulled back in the direction that his cock was moving as the dry 
surface scraped over her soft mushy tissues. 

She held her breath, and even though she felt herself come to another orgasm 
while he was entering her, she only allowed it to jolt her body with several 
jarring muscle spasms. She kept quiet, wanting to focus totally on the 
feeling of his cock as it slowly moved down her cunt channel and at last 
pressed against the back of her pussy. 

"I feel you in me," she said to Steve, "and you feel so big, and so long, 
and you fill me up so much, and...." 

Whenever she got a cock in her, she would start to babble like this. It was 
true that Steve's cock felt good, and that it was amazingly long and thick, 
but she was susceptible to cocks in general, not just Steve's. That it was 
his cock that was in her at this moment, was the reason that she was in love 
with his cock. 

He kept his cock at rest between the walls of her cunt, and shifted the 
position of his body to make his angle of approach more accessible. 

Then, suddenly, without warning, he jerked his hips back and pulled his cock 
almost all the way out of her body, leaving only the swollen glans to rest 
between her lips, still flowing a full current of juice from deep within the 
depths of her cunt. 

He let his cock rest there for perhaps five or ten seconds, (she really had 
no way of measuring time now ... she was simply floating on pure physical 
sensation), and then, as rapidly as he'd yanked it out, he plunged his cock 
back into her. 

She once more felt the head plowing a straight course to the bottom of her 
pussy and press harshly against the back wall, but this time, he was 
viciously ramming it through her, and she felt as though her body was being 
split open. 

"Steve, Steve, Steve," she moaned, unable to think clearly enough to form 
any phrases that were more complex. 

He pulled his cock back out of her again, this time moving slowly and 
gently. 

She held her breath, waiting to see what he would do. 

Once more, he plowed back into her, but this time he came to a sudden halt 
when he'd buried his cock only halfway in her. 

Instead of pulling back out again, he this time, left it there, and began to 
move his hips in broad circular motions. 

The head of his cock was set against the walls of her cunt at an angle and 
as he moved his hips, rolling them in ever widening circles, the head began 
to press all around against the walls inside her pussy, stretching them even 
further than they had already been stretched. 

She started to moan, and to slam her hips back against his body. 

Every time he move his cock around, she could feel the shaft pressing 
against the membranes that surrounded her clitoris, and slowly, steadily, 
she was brought closer and closer to another orgasm by this indirect 
stimulation of her bud. 

Steve then surprised her by sticking his hand down between their bodies, and 
seeking out her clit with his fingers. 

She could feel him pressing through her wet membranes, and then it was as 
though someone had set off a flashbulb in her brain. 

Every nerve ending in her body fired at the same time, and a massive jolt of 
current hit her from all directions at once. She felt like a dried leaf in a 
hurricane. She felt like a speck of dust at the vortex of a tornado. 

She felt like she had melted. 

Her brain rapidly approached critical mass, and when combined with the 
sensations already pouring through the rest of her body from her pussy, she 
knew that her orgasm was close. 

And then, Steve began to move his hips faster and faster against her, 
plunging his cock in and out of her. 

Faster and faster! Harder and harder! 

In and out! 

Out an in! 

She felt him slam the head against the back of her pussy with every harsh 
stroke no matter how fast he was able to move, and she wrapped her thighs 
around his back to enable him to plow even deeper into her. 

"Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, my GODDDDD!!!" 

When it hit, she suddenly had a good idea how Hiroshima felt on that fateful 
day. 

She too was suddenly blinded by the light, the pure white heat of sexual 
release. 

It sent a shock wave rippling all through her body. If she'd been a 
building, she'd most certainly have come down. 

As it was, she was simply afraid that she'd come apart. 

As she began to scream louder and louder, Steve simply increased the tempo 
of his thrusts until he was moving so fast in her that it was impossible for 
her to keep up. 

In and out, in and out, out and in. 

Deeper and deeper. 

Harder and harder. 

He was relentless, he was persistent, he was dogmatic. 

In the end, he was devastating. 

She crashed to a peak, and then, riding his cock like a surfer rides a wave, 
she soared all the way at the height, like catching the curl all the way 
into the shore. 

She felt heat, and for a moment thought it was the sun on her back, that she 
was once again on one of those deliriously white Florida beaches. 

But no, she was in Serenity, on the campus of Fenwood University, and there 
was snow all over the ground, and she sure missed her parents sometimes and 
wasn't that a strange sound that she could hear ... what was it? 

She sat up. It had been the sound of her breathing! She'd fallen asleep for 
a moment, fucked into a catatonic stupor by Steve's cock, still inside her, 
still a little hard, although he too seemed to have nodded off once more. 

She wondered if she'd be able to move out of the bed, without waking him. 

She doubted it. 

Trixie sighed. 

It had been nice. It was always nice. But it wasn't enough. 

Why, she wondered, knowing all the while, exactly why. It was the same with 
Rixie. They both knew it. They both knew the reason. It had been several 
years now, since their Daddy had.... 

But she wasn't able to think about it. The events themselves were still too 
bizarre for her to cope with. Only the residue, the echoes they'd left in 
her brain remained. 

But deep in the smoldering embers of her cunt, and deep in the dim shadows 
of her mind, there remained the images, the desires, the wants ... the 
ropes, the bound wrists, the legs splayed across the bed ... and the whip, 
the whips hovering always over her, sometimes nearly vanishing in the 
shadows of the past, but never fully. Always some trace of them remained, 
something that nagged at her, saying, it's not enough. It's not enough. You 
need more. You need more. You need to feel ... ' 

She wondered now, as she often did, what ever happened to her daddy. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

In the room with the soft lights, the old man was arguing. 

"I assure you Jack, I've studied this man's methods. I know what he is 
doing. I know how he works. It's him." 

"But we don't know that! Christ, if you go and start showing all our agents 
around here, that'll be as much of a give away as anything else. I say we 
wait. Wait until we have more proof. There's no reason to suspect that "The 
Wolf, if that's even who it is, will come here. No reason to suspect that at 
all. For all we know, this is just a mad killer." 

"Precisely. "The Wolf is a sick, deranged, mad killer. I assure you, he 
killed those two men, and he'll kill again. Although he usually reserves 
such brutal treatment for his female victims." 

"Exactly! This is a deviation from his standard procedure!" 

"Not really ... it had all the indications of an standard killing of his." 

"But it makes no sense! Why would he endanger himself by senseless murders 
that will only bring attention to himself." 

"Perhaps that the point. Or maybe it's the thrill. Remember, he's been at 
this for over a decade now. And the pattern has always been the same. 
Psychopathic homicides that baffle the local police, accompanied by an act 
of unexpected political significance." 

"It's a computer projection! We don't know for sure that there even is a 
Wolf." 

"I know. And so do you," said the old man softly. He turned to the window. 
"Oh, look, Jack, it's snowing again. I've a feeling that we should alert the 
local authorities to expect some kind of trouble tonight." 

The man he called Jack walked over to the window and stared outside for a 
long time. 

Rixie Morgan opened the door to her house and then stood aside while Dennis 
walked in with his enormous backpack. 

"Hey, nice place you have here. Real nice. You say five of you live here?" 

"Um-hmmmm. It makes the rent a lot easier." 

"Yeah, I'm sure." 

"Here, can I put that some place for you," said Rixie, indicating his back 
pack. 

"Oh ... no," he said, looking just a little uncomfortable, "I'll just keep 
it with me. Unless ... unless it'll be in the way, or something." 

"No, I don't suppose it will...." 

He seemed very nervous about the idea of her even touching his bag. She 
frowned a little, but let it pass. She wondered once more, what was it about 
this man that had produced such a feeling of trust. She didn't even feel 
alarmed by the fact that he'd sent up no warning signals inside her at all. 
That was strange. 

Once again, she thought about the way she'd evolved her life, her growing 
acceptance, and then reliance on a kind of intuitive assessment of people, 
that really, when you got right down to it, made no sense at all. 

She looked back at Dennis. 

Kind eyes, she thought. Kindest eyes she'd ever seen in her life. 

"Would you like some breakfast?" she asked. 

"Sure. Um ... like I said, I don't want to mooch or anything. I mean, I've 
got money." 

"Okay. Maybe you can take me out to dinner tonight. How's that sound?" 

He gave her a long, appraising look. 

"If I can be perfectly candid, I think it sounds absolutely splendid." 

Splendid. 

She hardly ever heard guys use that word. It was like the word 'marvelous', 
or 'divine'. 

But when he said splendid, she had a feeling that he used the word with full 
appreciation of all the linguistic echoes that it called up. Grand, 
gorgeous, sumptuous ... he had said it without any emphasis, letting the 
word fall easily from his lips, as though he was quite used to using exactly 
the word that was called for, and no other. 

He was looking at her again. 

"Tell me. Why did you really let me come over here?" 

She felt just a little annoyed. 

"I'll tell you why," she said, giving him an even glance. "I'm a low slut 
and a slimy whore and I'll fuck anything that moves, so long as it's male. 
You were available. All that shit about the eyes and stuff. Forget it. I 
figured I'd get you to fuck me, and in exchange, I'd give you breakfast. 
Seemed like a good trade off to me. You looked easy." 

She was walking over to him as she spoke, surprising herself by her words. 
Even though she was saying them with a broad, exaggerated tone, she hadn't 
exactly planned to get quite so blunt with him, He grinned. 

"Well, it sounds all right ... but if you just wanted to take things a step 
at a time, I'm thinking more and more about that breakfast you talked 
about." 

She relaxed, they stood there a moment longer, and then she said, "If you 
want to know the real truth ... I just liked you the moment I saw you. Don't 
ask me why ... why does anybody feel the way they do? I just felt like you 
were an okay dude." 

"Well, Rixie, I certainly hope your experience bears out your expectations." 

And then, he leaned over to her and kissed her on her cheek. It was a 
polite, fraternal kiss, but held forth no indication that things would 
necessarily remain platonic. 

For the first time that morning Rixie openly confronted the fact that she 
was very physically attracted to the man. 

"Come on," she said after another moment, taking him by the hand, I'll show 
you where the bathroom is, and you can take a shower." 

"Now that would be fine. Truly fine," said Dennis, scratching the stubble on 
his chin. 

He went back to his pack and rummaged through it, producing a towel, soap 
cup and a razor. 

"Silly," said Rixie, "I'd have been glad to give you a towel." 

"I told you, I'm no mooch," said Dennis. "I travel with everything that I'll 
need to stay civilized." 

"I can see that. That's one hell of a big pack," she said, examining the 
aluminum frame that was supported by straps to his back. 

"Yep. like I said, everything I need to remain civilized." 

"Bathroom's this way," said Rixie. 

Suddenly, she saw him holding back, if only for a second. 

"What's the problem ... oh, I see. Look, I'm afraid you're just going to 
have to trust me the way I'm trusting you. I promise you, I don't want to 
get at your pack." 

He frowned a little bit, and then seemed to relent finally. 

"Sorry. I don't mean to be a shit about it, but...." 

"Hey, it's all right," she assured him. 

She led him upstairs and showed him the bathroom. 

"There's good pressure too, and plenty of hot water." 

"Hot water," he said, reverently. 

"Has it been awhile?" asked Rixie. 

He smelled under his arms. "You couldn't tell?" 

She smiled. 

But as she walked downstairs, the more she thought about it, the more she 
wondered. The truth was, he didn't look like someone who'd been on thy road 
for a while. His shoes weren't caked in mud the way you'd expect ... wasn't 
that reason for warning bells to be going off? No, she told herself firmly. 
She wasn't sure what his story was, and she didn't know for sure if he was 
telling the truth, but he was a good person. She knew it! She was certain of 
it! God help her, she suddenly wanted so much for it to be true. 

"Rixie, who the fuck is that dude in the bathroom?" 

Trixie had burst in on her sister as the bacon was just beginning to turn 
crisp and the coffee was percolating nicely. She turned to Trixie and asked, 
"What's wrong, you look like you've seen a ghost." 

"Not quite. But he was certainly fresh. Didn't you tell him about us?" 

"Not yet. But I'm sure that by now he's probably figured it out." 

"I don't know. He looked a little hurt." 

"What did you say?" 

"Well, I didn't hear anyone in there, and I didn't think you were coming 
back, and Kurt and Valerie always use the one downstairs ... so how was I to 
know anyone was in there?" 

"I agree. It's all right. He's an okay dude. What did he say?" 

I walked in, and there he was naked as a jaybird, just getting out of the 
shower, and he just smiled and said, 'Couldn't wait, huh?' So, I just stared 
at him, and then I said, 'Sorry, you've got a wrong number.' Boy, you should 
have seen his face fall. It was like the Stock Market in '29." 

"Oh . ... " said Rixie, a little angry, and a little concerned, and more 
than a little amused. 

At that moment, Dennis walked into the kitchen, looking far more concerned 
and quite apologetic. 

He stared at Trixie, and then at Rixie, and then back at Trixie again. 

"I get it," he said. 

"You catch on quick," said Trixie. 

"I was just a little confused, I must admit." 

Trixie was eyeing him up and down, hard. Then she turned to Rixie. "So 
sister, who's the stud?" 

Dennis laughed and held out his hand. 

"Dennis Slade." 

"Trixie." 

He nodded, still looking from one to the other. 

"Well," he said, "this seems to have been an eventful introduction. Maybe a 
little of a letdown too, to be honest." 

"Don't worry about it," said Trixie, "she's still hot for you. I was the 
wrong number, remember." 

Rixie felt a little uncomfortable at the way her sister and Dennis were 
talking so freely with each other, and the fact that they were talking about 
her didn't help one bit. 

"Trixie," she interrupted, "would you like some breakfast? I only made 
enough for two, but I can put on some more bacon if you'd like." 

The sisters looked each other over. "No thanks, sis," said Trixie. "I think 
Steve and I are going to go get something down at Nat's Cafe." 

"Oh. Well, it's no problem if you want something." 

"Don't lose any sleep over it, sister." said Trixie. 

Then she turned back to Steve. "So, were you here all night, or what?" 

"Trixie, why don't you and Steve go on down to Nat's Cafe!" 

Trixie arched her eyebrows, saying "Okay, okay, take it easy honey. Don't 
get yourself upset. I was just wondering, that's all." 

Dennis wisely decided to keep quiet during this example of sibling rivalry. 
He figured that this was fairly common. 

Trixie got up, looked from Dennis to Rixie, seemed like she was about to say 
something, but then thought better of it." 

She walked out. 

"Wow," said Dennis after a moment, "was it my imagination, or does she 
really dislike me?" 

"She's overly protective, that's all. She's just ... I don't know. Don't 
worry bout it." 

Rixie continued to prepare breakfast, not looking at Dennis or saying 
anything. Finally he spoke. 

"Rixie, is there something the matter." 

"No." 

"It seems like something's the matter." 

"That's ridiculous. What could be the matter?" 

"Well, it doesn't seem like anything should. That's why I asked." 

"I'm sorry, Dennis. I just get upset at her sometimes...." 

"I can see that." 

She nodded, placed a plate of fried potatoes, eggs sunny-side up and five 
slices of crisp bacon in front of him. 

Then, she poured him a cup of coffee. 

"Do you have any idea how good this looks?" 

She smiled. I hope it looks real good. And I hope it tastes as good as it 
looks." 

He piled into the plate and said nothing for a few minutes. During that 
time, the five slices was reduced to a half slice and some crumbs, the three 
eggs to a few pieces of white coated with yolk, and the potatoes vanished 
altogether. He also drained his coffee in a single gulp. 

"I don't believe it," she said to him. "I've never seen anyone eat that 
fast. You must have been starving." 

"Um hmmm," he said. 

"When's the last time you ate?" 

"Huh? Oh ... uh, in, uh Maine. When I was up in Maine. My friends up there 
gave me a hell of a send off, and I never took the time to eat anything but 
a donut and coffee on the way." 

"When was that?" 

She realized that she was trying to catch him in a discrepancy, and was 
praying that he wouldn't be caught. She couldn't shake the feeling that he 
was inventing his answers for her on the spot, however. 

"I left Maine the ... God, what is today? Wednesday? I left Maine on Monday 
night." 

"Why'd you leave at night?" 

"Because they were splitting for Canada," he said, off-handedly, as if he no 
longer considered the subject worth discussing. 

She wasn't sure how that hit her. Was he lying to her? Or was she just 
prying into an area that was none of her business. 

She watched him as he finished the last of his breakfast. Well, she thought, 
one thing was true. He certainly ate like a man who hadn't had a good meal 
in a couple of days. 

"You must be tired," she said. 

"Sure am. You said something about a couch?" 

"Sure, but there'll be people in and out all day long, and things can get a 
little rowdy down here." 

She paused, feeling a little self-conscious. "You can sleep in my bed, if 
you'd like." 

He smiled. 

"Are you going to share it with me?" She blushed. 

"If you like," she said, at last, openly acknowledging to herself, what he 
must have suspected long ago. 

He looked at her for a long time. "You're a fascinating lady, you know 
that?" 

"Why do you say that?" 

"I don't know ... I guess for the same reason you trust me. I like your 
eyes." 

He stood up and took her hand. "I'd lead the way, but I don't know it." She 
looked back at him. "Follow me," she said, shyly. 

Trixie left the house with a strange feeling of uncertainty. She wondered 
what it was. Surely, she wasn't that upset about her sister picking up a 
stranger and bringing him home, was she? After all, she herself did it all 
the time, and so did Marjorie the other girl who lived there. And as for 
Jack and Chet, you never had any idea what they'd drag home. That was the 
nice thing about that kind of life style. You could be loose and not worry 
about anything. She wondered if it was possible anywhere but a college 
campus. Probably not. Things, somehow, were different on a college campus. 
It was a plot of land that seemed to have been insulated from the perils and 
pain of the real world that was constantly trying to close in around it. In 
the same way that the four or five or six or however many years that were 
spent there were a kind of free zone in your life ... a reward for making it 
through high school, a respite, when all you had to do was work your mind 
before the real world set in and you had to work your body as well. 

She trudged through the thick blanket of snow, feeling once again the thrill 
that the first snowfall always produced, even in seasoned New Englanders. 
There was something so pure, so cleansing ... so virginal. 

Nothing was evil with such a purifying coat draped over the world. Nothing 
could produce pain. Even the wicked memories seemed somehow less severe on a 
crisp morning such as this. 

She thought of Florida, of her childhood.... 

As she often did, she wondered where their father had gone. Mother had said 
nothing about him, although he'd left them financially secure. 

"Don't ask," she'd told them, when word came that the police investigation 
had been halted. "It's better this way. Safer. Your father has gone, and he 
won't be back. Just accept that." 

Accept it they had, both she and her sister. 

But forgetting was another matter. They'd never forgotten, although each of 
them managed to purge their private demons in their own special way. She had 
become the aggressor. She had been the one to seize control of a 
relationship before it had the chance to seize her. She had been the one to 
embrace the past, to somehow try and force it to make sense in terms of her 
present. There were times, in fact, that she was grateful for her past, for 
the abuses their father had perpetrated on them. In a way, it had prepared 
her. It was doubtful that she'd ever be overwhelmed by anything again. 

Of Rixie, however, she was not so certain. Rixie had remained a fragile, 
frail creature, never really seeming to be able to manage her relationships. 
Several particularly bad affairs had caused her to become even more 
withdrawn, retreating to the safety of her books and her grades, which were 
quite high. But she had become skittish, like a dog that's been kicked by 
too many strangers. She had a flinch reflex that made this liaison with this 
Dennis character all the more strange. It just wasn't like Rixie.. 

She watched as her breath formed a heavy cloud, watched the vapors dissipate 
into the cold clear morning, and turned towards the student union complex on 
the Fenwood Campus. Most of her friends would be there. 

* * * 

Rixie shivered a moment in her bedroom as she let her shirt slide down her 
arms and fall to the floor. 

Dennis was lying back on the bed, observing her with a quizzical look. 

Rixie felt a little self-conscious about turning towards him as she disrobed 
and so she had her back to him. It was silly, she knew, but she couldn't 
help it, and she was grateful that he didn't make a big point of it. 

The heat was on; she knew because she'd checked the thermostat on their way 
upstairs. Nonetheless, she was cold, and as she pulled her pants down her 
legs, she grew even colder. 

Clad now only in her skimpy panties and her knee-socks, she turned back 
towards Dennis, blushing all the while, and piled into bed and under the 
covers in a single leap. 

"What's the matter," Dennis laughed easily, "are you afraid I might see 
something that I've never seen before?" 

She felt her blush deepen in her cheeks, but at the same time, his easy 
approach to her self-consciousness made her feel a corresponding warmth 
start to build between her legs. 

"Hmmmm ... " Dennis persisted. "Tell me, is that it? Are you trying to 
protect my moral standing?" 

"No ... " she said, shivering almost uncontrollably now, even though she was 
underneath the covers. 

"You're cold," Dennis observed. "Come here and snuggle up to me. That's what 
body heat is all about." 

She felt him pressing his stomach and crotch against her back and her 
buttocks, and even though the warmth was comforting, her shivers continued, 
even increased. 

He slipped his hands around her breasts, cupping them tightly in his palms. 

She felt her nipples stiffen. He began to rub her breasts with his hands, 
letting them slide lightly over her flesh, and she felt it respond even 
more. 

"Oh, that feels nice," she said to him, her voice scarcely a whisper. 

"Are you warming up some?" he asked. 

"A little," she replied, although her teeth were still chattering. 

"Come on, relax," coaxed Dennis. "I don't think you're cold so much as 
you're nervous." 

"I am," she admitted. 

"What's the problem? You don't have to do this you know. We can just lay 
here and get comfortable." 

"No ... I want to. I really do." 

She pressed further back against his body, and through the material of her 
panties and his jockey shorts, she could feel the bulge between his legs, 
pressing now against her body, against her buttocks, against the crack in 
her ass. 

She beat down her instant reflex to bolt, to jump out of bed. 

This was something that she was not going to let get the better of her. 

She had developed a seemingly hopeless case of jitters over sex, and she 
wasn't interested so much in its causes as in its cure, which she was 
convinced could only come through a decided head-on approach. Trouble was, 
she kept getting frightened at the moment of truth. 

Dennis had produced such a good reaction in her, that she'd managed to get 
much further with him, much faster, than was usually the case. But now, here 
she was in bed with him, and the very fact that she seldom got this far with 
any boy left her with a big blank. What should she do next? 

She felt his arms, wrapping around her body and her breasts ... strong arms, 
enclosing her, protecting her, holding her. 

That's what she wanted to feel. Strength. Control. She was frightened. She 
didn't know what to do. Help me, she thought to herself, wishing she could 
simply say the words to Dennis. Help me, because I'm frightened. 

He pinched her nipples gently, and she felt a sudden rise in the temperature 
at her crotch. 

It was starting to feel moist and mushy down there, and as she pressed her 
thighs together, she could feel them slipping and sliding over each other 
like well oiled parts to a precision instrument. 

His cock was hard and stiff by now, and it seemed to have grown an inch or 
two from the time that she'd jumped into bed, but he refrained from forcing 
it on her. Instead, he simply began to press it against her ass, not hard, 
just enough to let her know that it was there. 

She felt the pressure of his cock at first with a mixture of uncertainty and 
outright fear, but as he pressed it against her more and more, she felt her 
hips begin to push backwards, almost against her control, as if she had 
nothing to do with it and was instead being guided by some external force. 

In a sense, that's sort of the way she'd been the entire morning with 
Dennis. She'd been reacting to stimuli that she couldn't quite recognize, or 
was even completely aware of, without thinking about it. She was simply 
doing. For the first time in her life, it felt like that was the correct way 
to deal with her situation. 

"Oh, Dennis ... " she finally allowed herself to moan. 

"You don't feel like you're quite as cold," he said to her, softly 
whispering the words in her ear as he began to nibble around the edge of her 
ear lobe. 

"Oh ... " she moaned, and then suddenly, as he hit a particularly sensitive 
nerve, she gasped deeply, taking a large quantity of air into her lungs, and 
then holding it. The touch of his tongue was exquisite torture. He let the 
tip glide easily around the perimeter of her lobe, never pressing in hard on 
her, never forcing himself, always, if anything, holding back to the point 
where she would shift positions to increase the pressure. 

He brought his tongue down to the inner part of her ear now, still licking 
lightly and gently. He blew a soft stream of air over the opening of her 
ear, and she felt the hairs all along the back of her neck stand up, and 
felt waves of tingling sensations float all up and down her spinal column, 
like echos reverberating in a canyon. 

Suddenly, she lurched her hips backwards, seized by an overpowering desire 
to feel him violating her body. She wanted him to ram that cock of his right 
up her hole, hard, swift, and painfully, if need be. She felt the heat in 
her clit, and felt the glow in her pussy, deep in the inner chambers, 
wanting only for them to be filled. Filled with his cock. His stiff, swollen 
cock. 

"Dennis, stick it in me, please," she said, and to hear the words being 
articulated and actually coming out of her mouth was supremely strange to 
her. 

But once said, they couldn't be taken back. And to say them again was 
infinitely easier. 

"Please ... " she said again when he did not respond. "Please fuck me...." 

She hardly ever used the word fuck, unlike her sister who would spit it out 
at the slightest provocation. To use it in its proper place was even more 
alien. She felt like she was having to learn to speak a foreign tongue, 
which was almost true. 

Dennis did not immediately respond to her pleas, but then she felt him 
sliding back to put a little space between them on the bed. 

He moved around, shifting position a little, and then she felt him drawing 
first one leg and then the other leg up to his body. 

When he pressed his body against her once more, she felt only the material 
of her panties between her flesh and his naked cock. It was like a rock, 
like a railroad spike, like a Saturn rocket aiming for the moon of her 
ass-hole. 

But no, she had no desire to be poked in her ass. She needed it in her pussy 
more. But she felt certain that Dennis would know that. She just wished he'd 
get to it. 

He took his time though. He had no desire to rush things and then come on 
strong when she wasn't ready for it. With someone like Rixie, uncertain, 
inexperienced, the best course was to be deliberate, even to the extent that 
they feel you're going to slow. That way, when you finally have them reduced 
to aquivering mass of sexually heated flesh, and tears are streaming down 
their eyes as they spread their legs wide and beg you for it, beg you to 
"stick it in, please, stick it in my cunt,' you know they mean it. That 
they're genuinely ready. 

He let his fingers begin to toy with the elastic band of her panties, 
pulling it back and then snapping it against her skin. 

"Ouch! That hurt," she said, not really meaning it. 

"I just wanted to make sure you could feel." 

"Oh, believe me, I can feel. I can truly feel." 

"Yeah? Then, can you feel this?" 

He slipped his fingers down the back of her panties, and began to press them 
between her legs. 

She let out a deep moan and opened her thighs to allow him more room ... all 
the room he needed ... all the room he wanted. 

Anything, in fact to insure that those delicious sensations that were 
boiling out of her pussy now would continue. Indeed, increase, grow more 
intense. Drive her mad. 

She wanted that, to be driven mad. To be pushed out of her mind, past all 
limits. She'd never had the faintest idea of how to ask anyone for it ... 
the last person who had done it to her had not needed an invitation ... he'd 
simply taken her and used her body for what it was worth. And then, when 
he'd been spent, he vanished.... 

She shook her head. She didn't want to think about it, but the rising lust 
in her pussy could only remind her of it. For hadn't she enjoyed it? Hadn't 
she felt this same moistening of her thighs, this same tingling in her clit, 
this same gathering passion all through her body when her father had taken 
her, opened her, tied her, whipped her ... hadn't she? 

"Oh DENNIS!! " she screamed without warning, "fuck me. Fuck me! Please, fuck 
me. 

She jammed her hips down onto his probing fingers, trying to force them up 
into her pussy, but he was not to be rushed. 

She heard him chuckle lightly in her ear, and at the same time, he zeroed in 
on her aching clitoris, pressing it hard, like a button. 

The President's button to launch Armageddon could have been no more 
effective. 

Her brain went totally boobs, like a pin-ball machine that goes TILT in 
every circuit at the same time. 

He arms shot outward, seeking something to grasp on to, and finding nothing, 
setting for her nipples, which needed further stimulation anyway. 

She cried, she moaned, she groaned, and she shook her hips to scrap her clit 
back and forth over his fingers, which he simply kept in a near stationary 
position. 

As her orgasm built momentum, she pinched her nipples harder and harder, 
pulled on them and otherwise abused her beautiful globes of quivering flesh 
in a most delicious fashion. 

She made noises, none of them recognizable as coherent speech in any 
language, but still, the message seemed to get through to Dennis without any 
difficulty, because he managed to keep the pressure of his finger, and its 
position, perfectly suited to her body's response. 

She continued to come, felt her muscles go into spasm after spasm, one wave 
subsiding as the next was already gathering steam. 

She was shuddering now, much more so than when she'd first taken her clothes 
off, but there was no question now about whether or not she was cold. She 
was hotter than she'd ever been, and felt her body temperature shooting 
higher and higher. 

And he was only using his finger! 

"Dennis, I want your cock," she said, gasping for breath. 

She reached down between her legs to try to remove his hand, and at the same 
time she reached for his cock to try and guide it between her legs instead, 
but he would not move. 

Instead, she felt his fingers starting to creep up her cunt canal, two ... 
three ... four.... 

She couldn't tell. She only knew that her body continued to feel more and 
more full, and she felt the membranes of her cunt starting to stretch, a lot 
more than they were used to under ordinary conditions. 

She began to babble as her body hit a second wave or orgasms. 

This time, every muscle went rigid, and she literally blanked out a moment, 
her brain overwhelmed by the sheer force of the blizzard of signals flooding 
her nerves and bubbling up out of her pussy. 

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," she finally managed to moan, 
repeating the word again and again as if to stop would cause the sensations 
to stop. 

He was sitting up now. 

She remained on her stomach, legs spread wide, and he had his hand inserted 
up inside her pussy, entering her from behind. 

She felt him sliding his other hand beneath her stomach now. 

He pressed upwards gently, then harder. 

"I ... I don't understand ... " she said, not wanting it to end. 

"Up ... " prodded. "Up on your knees." 

"Huh ... ? " she said, not knowing what he had in mind. But she followed his 
instructions, and raised her ass up into the air as she supported her body 
on her knees and elbows. 

"Higher," he said, "stick it up in the air higher. I want to look straight 
down and be able to see your entire cunt." 

She tried to obey him and stuck her ass up high. It felt awkward, and she 
still wasn't sure what he had in mind, but she wasn't about to resist. 

"Ummmmm ... beautiful," he commented. Then, she felt it. The moment she'd 
been waiting for. 

He started to run the head of his cock up and down through her wet slit, 
working it particularly over her clitoris. 

"Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," she moaned, feeling 
the same sensations start up all over again. 

Then, he gradually increased the pressure, until she could feel each time he 
passed the head over the hole to her inner cunt chamber. The mushroom-shaped 
glans would 'fall in' every time it passed, stretching the rim of her hole 
just a little, but more importantly, sending a wave of tense ecstasy 
shooting down her legs and up her back. 

Finally, he pressed hard enough that when his cock slipped into her hole, it 
went in far enough that it didn't come back out. 

She cried out. 

And then, he began to get serious. It was buried only about two inches in 
her to begin with, but Dennis placed his fingers on either side of the 
fleshy spear, grasping her buttocks, and began to spread them wide. 

As he did so, she felt her cunt lips opening more, and felt a little more 
room for his cock to enter her. 

He pushed with his hips. 

She moaned. 

The glans of his cock probed deeper into her pussy. She felt the membranes 
of her cunt spreading open more and more. 

He pushed with his hips again, and then pulled out. Immediately, he shoved 
forward with his hips again, this time burying his cock at least four or 
maybe five inches. 

Again he pulled out, coating more of that portion that was already buried 
with her thick oily juice, so that when he plunged back into her a third 
time, she felt his initial entry a lot more smoothly, and the head of his 
glans plunging almost to the bottom of her cunt well. Instead of pulling out 
again, he let his cock rest there a moment and then he jammed forward with 
his hips once more. 

She felt him touch bottom, and gave a loud, awesomely passionate moan. 

She squeezed the muscles of her cunt around his cock and felt his body 
respond. 

He moaned. He actually moaned! The sound excited her, because up to this 
point, it had seemed like she was doing all the yelling and noise making and 
he was doing all the work. It made her feel good to know that she could 
produce pleasure in his body too. 

He pulled back out, plunged back in, this time not pausing a second before 
the next stroke. He moved with confidence and precision, pulling his cock 
out of her body and sending it crashing back into her, again and again and 
again. 

In and out! 

Out and in! 

He slammed the flesh of his abdomen against the small of her back and the 
top of her buttocks, harder and harder, the sweat that both of them produced 
making sharper and sharper cracks as the two of them thundered against each 
other again and again. 

She felt the sensation rising higher and higher, filling her cunt, her 
breasts, her thighs, all over her body. 

She felt herself drifting, felt herself growing both large and small, and 
felt herself flowing rapidly through an uncharted black void, a object 
charged beyond comprehension, blasting through a force field beyond measure. 

She felt his jism pour out of his balls at the same time her whole body went 
rigid. She screamed, loudly, and then, she was silent. No more sounds could 
slip past her lips. 

She was aware of nothing, except for the relentless pounding of his cock, 
again and again, filling her with its sticky white discharge, filling her to 
overflowing.... 

Gradually, he slowed, his cock lost some of its stiffness, but at the same 
time, she was sinking into a kind of peaceful, oblivion, her brain finally 
pushed beyond its limits and giving up, recharging its cells. 

He continued to move his cock in her, and as she finally drifted off, not to 
sleep but to an unconscious state of peace much more relaxed and deeper, 
that was the last thing she felt, the glans of his cock slurping in and out, 
in and out ... in and out.... 

 CHAPTER THREE 

She opened her eyes, some time later, and felt Dennis's cock still limply 
resting inside her. 

It felt good. He felt good. The hairs of his chest scratching over her back 
felt good. 

She felt the wet spot on the bed where her cunt had leaked all over the 
sheets, and even though she shifted her legs so that they wouldn't be 
resting right on it, even it felt good. 

The day was a brilliant mixture of a cloudless sky, and bright yellow and 
green hues as the sunlight struck the pine trees, all of it made all the 
more brilliant by the backdrop of clean snow. 

She looked up at the sky and saw the arthritic bones of leafless oaks, 
maples and birches, and not even they had the usual pallor of death about 
them that she often felt. 

Damn, she thought, fucking really was therapeutic. 

She turned around to look at Dennis, and saw the he was asleep. 

She brushed the tip of his nose with her fingers, and although his face 
scrunched up, and he looked like he might even sneeze, his eyes remained 
closed. She smiled and lay back down. It was a good morning. 

From downstairs, she heard the front door open and close, and heard 
footsteps on the stairs. It would either be Chet or Jack ... Jack most 
probably, from the heavy sound of his footsteps. He ran the last several 
steps, bounding what sounded like three at a time, leaped onto the second 
floor landing with a hard thud, and let out an exuberant yelp. 
"YEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOWWWWW!!!" 

"YEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOWWWWW!! ! " he screamed. 

Dennis was out of the bed almost before 

Jack had started his scream, having reacted to the noise of his footsteps on 
the stairs. 

It all happened so fast that Rixie wasn't sure exactly of the sequence of 
events. 

She felt his cock rip out of her cunt, and felt the bed give a mighty heave 
as Dennis shot out of it. 

By the time she'd rolled over (no more than a second later), he'd already 
made it across the room and had his hand inside his back pack, eyes wide 
with shock and fright. 

"Dennis!" she called, "what's the matter?" 

He seemed dazed, and then, slowly, seemed to wake up, although his eyes had 
already been opened. He looked around. 

"I'm ... I'm sorry ... " he said, giving his head a shake. "What the fuck 
was that?" 

"That was just Jack. He makes a lot of noise sometimes." 

She felt a little apprehensive. Not so much that he'd been shocked ... 
anyone would find it shocking to be shaken from a sleep by that animal-like 
scream. But what she found unsettling was the lightning rapidity of his 
response, his reflexes ... his almost killer-like instincts. She looked at 
his hand still inside the back pack. 

"What were you reaching for?" she asked. "Oh ... urn ... nothing," he said. 
"Look, Rixie, I didn't mean to react so bad. It's...." 

He looked suddenly embarrassed. Unable to continue. 

"Dennis ... " she coaxed, "tell me. Please. What's the problem?" 

"Well," he said as he stood up, "you may think it's a little strange ... 
then again you may ... oh hell, I don't know what you'll think." 

He frowned, and there was a genuine look of pain on his face. "You see, I 
was in Nam." 

"Really? During the heavy fighting?" 

"Heavy enough. I lost seven very close buddies there. It's ... something I 
don't talk much to people about ... but seeing as how you just made the most 
exquisite love to me that anyone's ever made, I feel I should explain ... a 
little at least." 

She waited for him to continue. "People don't like Viet Nam veterans. They 
think we're all crazy. In a way, I guess we are. You saw what that noise did 
to me. It was like being woken up out in a fire base, hearing the first wave 
of a VC attack rushing over the perimeter. I ... can't always control it, 
though I'm a lot luckier than some guys I know." 

She looked at him, and felt sorry for him. 

"I wish I could help." 

"Don't. There really isn't much you can do. Not that I can't do a lot better 
on my own. I'm working on it. But, moments like this can be embarrassing." 

"What were you reaching for in your pack?" she asked again. 

"Urn ... would you believe ... " he said as he pulled out a pair of socks. 
"Hey, what can I tell you, you gotta be prepared to defend yourself, you 
know what I mean?" 

She started to laugh, and was glad the moment had passed. 

He came back to the bed, and put his arms around her, drawing her body close 
to his, and once more, she felt good, warm, and strangely secure. But as 
they lay there in silence, savoring the contact of their bodies, that look 
in his eyes returned to haunt her. That had not been the look of a man 
possessed by demons beyond his control. That had been a fierce look, a look 
that spoke of control, the look of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, 
and why. For just a brief second, it had been the most cold-blooded look 
she'd ever seen in her life. 

* * * 

The sun moved to the top of the sky, and then began its steady descent 
towards the western horizon. Days were shorter now. Much shorter. The true 
time of light, brilliant though it could sometimes be, was nonetheless a 
short one. 

Therefore, people tended to get as much done as possible, because when 
nighttime fell, it did so with a frigid vengeance. When night fell, it made 
sense to do nothing else except find a nice fireplace and preferably a nice 
friendly body to share it with, and curl up before it. 

Even though the shadows had not lengthened much yet, the man found it easy 
to conceal himself. Blending, after all, was his stock in trade. He knew 
what people looked for, he knew what would trigger recognition. He made 
certain that nothing about his appearance triggered any of those responses. 

He knew, for example, that the human brain simply cannot retain the myriad 
of impulses that reach it, particularly when the majority are repetitive; 
crowds, automobiles, windows of buildings, streets and houses. After a 
while, the similarity makes them all invisible, unless something causes one 
to jump out and make itself noticed. A man walking with a limp, a woman with 
a peculiar accent, a car with a large scrape on one side ... these are the 
items that the brain retains, and he knew that there was nothing peculiar 
about him. Nothing that the brain might focus on, remember, nothing to stand 
out. 

He felt like laughing. He wanted to scream aloud. They were such fools! They 
had no idea how he worked, or why he'd been so successful all his life. But 
wasn't this the key? 

Didn't this explain why? He could become invisible. He would be the one 
figure that no one would recall, save for a vague shape over there, 
somewhere in the corners of the vision, a shadowy shape receding back to 
nothingness, like a voice remembered from a murky dream.... 

The girl was most likely stunning. Her coat was the stylish, expensive kind 
that one did not bother spending the money on if their figure was hopeless 
to begin with. She would be careless. She would not suspect anything on such 
a crystal clear day. She would be thinking perhaps of a date that evening, 
or maybe a paper due the following day.... 

It would never occur to her to wonder who it was who was trailing, behind 
her, arms heavy with books. It would not occur to her to turn around to see 
who was coming closer and closer. It would never occur to her to consider 
this side entrance to the Diffenbaugh Building dangerous, even though it was 
between classes and there was a long hallway before the stairway to the 
upstairs physics lab descended. 

It would never occur to her to suspect that even now ... a gloved hand was 
reaching out, coming down ... NOW!! ! . . .around her mouth, clamping it 
shut, pulling on that frail fragile neck, pulling, pulling, pulling ... 
pulling.... 

Trixie came into the house and listened for the usual chatter, the usual 
noise of college students letting off a little steam in the afternoon before 
homework and studying began in earnest. 

But the place was silent. 

Strange. She walked into the kitchen and saw the washed dishes from the 
breakfast that Rixie had prepared still stacked in the dish rack. 

She cocked her head and turned her ear upstairs. Usually there was a stereo 
blasting from Jack or Chet's room. But there was nothing. 

Oh well, she thought. Everyone must have had other things to do, although on 
a day as cold as this, you would expect to find people indoors unless they 
absolutely had to be outside. 

She walked upstairs, saw the door to Rixie's room ajar just a little, and in 
spite of herself, peeked in. 

She turned away after a few long seconds, frowned, and wondered whether she 
was happy or sad at the sight she'd just witnessed. 

One thing she had to admit, however, was that Rixie's taste in men, from a 
purely physic?. ! standpoint, was flawless. So was Dennis's body, or at 
least that portion of it that she'd been able to see. 

His ass had seemed like two well shaped bricks placed side by side as it 
rose and fell against her sister's body. His back had literally been an 
explosions of muscles, all rippling merrily up and down his back. 

His arms had seemed to have been chiseled from granite. 

His cock ... well, she had a feeling that if she herself had been lying 
beneath her sister, she'd have felt the head slamming into her clit every 
time it reached the bottom of Rixie's cunt. 

She was staggered by the dimensions of it. She wondered, in fact, if Rixie 
had even had enough experience with boys to know what she had on her hands 
there. Or in her cunt, as the case may be. 

She walked back to her bedroom, took off her jacket, and wondered if they'd 
been fucking all day long. Hell! She'd left them at ten thirty this morning, 
and here it was three in the afternoon, and they were still fucking! 
Amazing! 

She slipped into her shorts and a sweatshirt and walked down the stairs to 
the living room. 

There she met Jack, one of their male roommates. 

"Hey, Jack baby, what's going on?" 

He glanced upstairs. "You mean with Goody-Goody Two-shoes?" 

"Now Jack, she's my sister after all." 

"Hey, I love her as much as anyone, you know that, but it's a little strange 
to walk past her room and hear those noises coming out." 

"So ... have they been fucking all day?" 

"No ... I met him earlier when they were coming back in. But they went right 
upstairs and started going to it again. And I mean, it's been about an hour 
since they got back." 

Trixie shook her head. "I don't know what to say. It's so unlike my sister 
... but you know, I think it's good for her." 

"Hey, fucking's always good for you. Always." 

He was staring at her shorts, particularly the way they rode up into the 
crack of her snatch. "Say, which reminds me, I've got some heavy Columbian. 
You want to uh, you know ... smoke a little, and uh ... whatever ... ? " 

She smiled at him. Both she and Marjorie, the other female roommate, had 
gone to bed with Jack and Chet, but never as a steady habit. They were good 
friends, and all four had long ago agreed that sex would never interfere 
with that friendship. 

By mutual, unspoken consent, they'd all more or less fallen into a pattern 
of just not bringing it up, and when it happened, well, it happened. 

Trixie considered letting it happen this afternoon, and was almost tempted, 
but she had been feeling a little strange all day long, and felt that she 
needed most of all to just be alone. 

"You're a dear, Jack, and if you ask me tonight, I might not only take you 
up on it, I might rape you. But not now. I have a few things to think about, 
and when I've got a cock in me, I don't do my best thinking." 

"Wow, such talk. You're really a filthy woman, you know that?" 

"Oh, silly me. I'm sorry Jack. I forgot. You don't have a cock. How cruel of 
me to make such a careless crack." 

She had to duck to avoid the sofa cushion that Jack nearly beaned her with 
as she bolted from the room. 

Upstairs, she fell onto the bed, and through the walls, she could hear the 
muffled moans of her sister, apparently getting a fucking like any lady 
would give a year of her life to get. 

She saw that big cock of his, slurping in and out, with its thick blue veins 
clinging to the sides like heavy vines.... 

She wondered how it would be if she suggested a threesome to Rixie. She 
doubted it. It had been years since they'd been involved in threesomes, and 
back then, they hadn't been given a choice of any sort. They'd been told to 
merely cooperate ... or else.... 

"Mommy," cute, precocious, twelve year-old Rixie Morgan said, interrupting 
her mother as she prepared dinner for the family, "I don't want you to go 
away this weekend." 

"Well, dear," said Mrs. Morgan. There really isn't anything I can do about 
it. What's the problem?" 

Her mother looked Rixie square in the eyes, but if she saw any indication of 
her daughter's distress, she didn't act like it. 

"Now, you and Trixie and daddy will be fine here by yourselves, and I'll be 
back on Monday, and everything will be fine. But I really have to make this 
trip, Rixie, so you'll be doing Mother a big favor if you don't make trouble 
for me. I really can't deal with it right now." 

At that moment, Trixie came into the kitchen. 

"Hey everybody, what's going on." 

"Oh," said Mrs. Morgan, "Rixie's just acting-" 

"I am not!" said the girl, emphatically. Her mother gave her a long glance. 
"Rixie...." 

"There's nothing wrong!" she said, sounding a little hysterical now. 

"Gee, what's got into you?" asked Trixie, raiding the ice box for whatever 
was there to be consumed instantly. Once that had been taken care of, she'd 
go on to whatever could be prepared in under five minutes. Then, her mother 
intervened. 

"Nothing to eat, Trixie! It's too close to dinner." 

"Aw Mom ... " Trixie began, and during the discussion, Rixie managed to slip 
out, unnoticed. It wasn't hard. She had the feeling more and more that she 
was unnoticed. Except by her father. She didn't have the faintest idea what 
she'd do about that. 

"Remember," he'd told her the last time. 'You say one word of this to your 
mother, and I promise you, you'll be sorry. Do you both understand that?" 

Rixie had nodded her head, out of fear, but Trixie, effusive affirmation was 
actually quite cooperative. 

"Daddy," she had said, "we wouldn't do anything like that. Honest. We love 
you, don't we Rixie?" 

Rixie, confused, and uncertain about what was right and what was wrong, knew 
only that she was frightened, but she didn't know how she could get around 
it. 

She really did love her Daddy, and some of the things that he did to her 
really did feel good. And Trixie seemed to love them, and accept them 
without question. 

But then, last week, he'd brought out the whip, and she wasn't sure at all 
what she thought about that. But she knew that if their mother left them 
alone with their father for three days, he'd sure take advantage of the 
situation. 

Daddy was a strange one. 

"Does your father ever work," Mandy Principal had asked her one day as they 
were walking home from school. It was a good question. One that she didn't 
know how to answer. Her father was home for long periods of time, and then 
he would be called away on unknown business for longer periods of time. 
Once, something had happened, and they'd had to visit him in the hospital. 
Another time, they'd gone to live in another country when Rixie and Trixie 
were too young to really know what was going on and something else had 
happened and they'd had to leave again, really fast. 

She didn't know what her father's job was. She didn't know even if her 
father had a job. She did know that her father had money. He seemed to have 
lots of it. They were old enough by now to know the difference between those 
that were well off and those that weren't, and furthermore, to know where 
they fell on the spectrum. 

They were well off. 

They owned the entire set of Barbie dolls, along with all their friends and 
the paraphernalia at age seven. 

They'd each owned Italian racer bikes at age nine. 

They'd received the best in musical lessons from their earliest years. 

They'd always worn the best of clothes. 

But they did not live in a mansion. 

They had a nice house, one that was quite adequate for a family of four, but 
it was not lavish. 

They'd more or less learned through example that their money was not 
something that was flaunted or spoken about. 

They'd also learned that their father had a special feeling towards the two 
of them. 

Rixie had learned it first. 

When she was ten, she climbed up on her father's lap while he was watching 
TV, and sat right down, on top of the paper he'd been reading. 

He managed to pull the paper out from under him, but he'd left his hand 
there. Under her. 

Her legs spread over his fingers. His crawling fingers. His gently probing 
fingers. His curious fingers. 

Rixie had giggled. "That feels funny, Daddy." 

Daddy had smiled, but said nothing. He looked kind of funny. He looked a 
little bit the way he did some nights when he'd come home late and seem to 
be under lots of pressure. He looked a little like he had a headache. 

"Do you have a headache?" Rixie had asked, squirming a little bit, not sure 
if she really liked Daddy doing that to her. 

Daddy didn't answer. 

Daddy was touching the wet spot on Rixie's underwear, between Rixie's legs. 

That wet spot was something that Rixie had been growing more and more 
embarrassed about, and when she'd mentioned it to her mother, her mother had 
gotten all embarrassed about it and didn't seem to know how to answer her. 

So she had kept quiet about it. 

But now here was her daddy touching her right on her wet spot. It was 
terrible! 

She felt like crying. 

"Honest daddy," she finally said, afraid that he'd discipline her, "I didn't 
wet my pants. Honest I didn't. I don't mean to. I try not to make my pants 
wet, but they keep getting wet anyway." 

Daddy smiled. It was a nice friendly smile. "Rixie darling, you don't have 
to worry about that. It's all right. There's nothing wrong with getting your 
panties a little wet. It's the most natural thing in the world. All young 
girls do it. It shows that you're growing up." 

Rixie was very relieved by that comment. But she was starting to get a 
little uncomfortable with her daddy's fingers pushing further and further up 
between her legs. 

She didn't think that it was the kind of thing that her daddy ought to be 
doing. 

"Now Rixie," her daddy told her, as if he could read her mind, "this is 
something that you can't do with everyone. I'm your father, and it's all 
right to do it with me, but you can't do it with everyone, you hear. It'll 
"be our little secret. Does that sound all right?" 

"Yes Daddy." 

"And don't talk to your Mommy any more about the way you make your panties 
wet, because she doesn't understand that kind of stuff. You just talk to 
me." 

Rixie felt a little uncomfortable even after this, but her daddy had managed 
to make her feel awfully good between her legs, and so she'd right away run 
to Trixie to tell her about it. 

Trixie's reaction, of course, was, "Daddy did something with you that he 
didn't do with me? That rat!" 

"Well, I don't know, Trixie," said Rixie, "I don't know if he should have 
been doing it." 

"What was it? "Well, he was ... touching me." 

"What do you mean." 

"Well ... down there." Trixie's eyes widened. "Really?" She looked between 
her legs. "You aren't serious." 

"Oh yes, he did it." 

"What did it feel like." Rixie paused for a long time. Then she said, "It 
was neat." 

"Yeah...." 

"Yeah. It felt really good." 

"Wow. Where'd he touch you?" 

Rixie sat on the bed. "Right here." 

She pulled her dress up and, even though she felt a little funny, she 
started to touch her young little cunt on the outside of her panties. 

Trixie's eyes widened appreciably. "You mean it?" 

"Yeah ... it felt ... well, like I said, it felt pretty good." 

"I know." 

"How do you know." 

"Because I know, that's how I know." 

"I'll bet you touch yourself there too, and that's how you know." 

"Well, what if I do? Don't you." 

"Yeah. But Daddy did it better." 

"How?" 

"Come here, and I'll show you." 

"No! That's dirty." 

"Are you saying that Daddy was dirty?" 

Trixie mulled this over in her mind a while and then she hopped up onto the 
bed with her sister. 

"Show me," she said, defiantly. 

"Well ... " said Rixie, contemplating the thin strip of material that 
stretched between her sister's thighs. 

"What's wrong, are you afraid to?" 

"Afraid to what?" 

"Afraid to touch me." 

"NO!" 

"Well, go on. Do it. Show me." 

"Here," said Rixie, and reached out and touched her sister, not directly 
between her legs, but more to the front, though still in the center. 

Trixie watched Rixie's fingers moving towards her crotch, and she said 
nothing as her fingers made contact, but then she looked up. 

"Ooooooo ... that's strange. I was always...." 

She stopped, embarrassed now, herself. 

"I'll bet you were touching yourself right where you always get wet, weren't 
you." 

"Mmmmm hmmm," she nodded. 

"And sticking your fingers up your hole." 

Trixie's eyes widened. "Oh GROSS!! You don't have to talk like that." 

"Well, that's what it is, isn't it? And that's where you put it, isn't it." 

"Well ... yes." 

Rixie thought about it a second and then she pulled her panties down. 

"I want to see what's inside there," she said. 

"Oh GROSS, are you going to look at it." 

"Well, it's not dirty. That's what Daddy said." 

"Oh, yeah." 

She spread her legs. 

"Come on, you do the same." 

Trixie thought about it for a second and then she decided that her sister 
was right and that this was a situation that needed investigating. 

She pulled her underwear off too, and the two young twins sat there on the 
bet, each with their dresses pulled up to their waists, and they began a 
close examination of each other's young little twats. 

Rixie pulled her lips apart. 

"Gee, no wonder there's always a wet spot," said Trixie, "it's always wet." 

"Yeah ... I wonder if you can ever dry it off." 

"I don't know." 

"Daddy said that's what made us women." 

"You mean the wet spot?" 

"Well ... the fact that it's always wet." 

"I wonder how he knows so much." 

"I don't know, but he said we shouldn't ever ask Mom anything." 

T believe that," Trixie laughed. 

"Look," said Rixie as she pulled her cunt even further apart, "you can see 
right there ... it's like everything comes to a point underneath the lips." 

"Lips!! " Trixie hooted in a mocking tone. 

"Well, that's what they're called because I saw it in a book that Mary June 
Balosky had." 

"Lips., .lips, lips, lips," Trixie said, still making fun of her sister. 

"Well, you just look at them and tell me what you think they should be 
called," Rixie challenged, whereupon Trixie relented. 

"Yeah, I guess they do look a little bit like lips, don't they." 

"Urn hmmm ... " said Rixie, already examining herself further. "Let me see 
if you have one." 

"One what?" 

"One of these," said Rixie, a little impatiently, pointing to the peak of 
flesh buried beneath her lips. "That seems to be where it really feels 
good." 

Trixie seemed a little uncomfortable and so Rixie said, "All right, I'll 
look for you if you're such a chicken." 

"I am not." 

At which point, Trixie placed her fingers on either side of her naked pussy 
and pulled the lips apart like they were petals on an unopened blossom. 

Her young flesh was pink and shining beneath her outer lips, and as Rixie 
drew near to examine her, she could see the same figure of the soft ridges 
of flesh coming to a point. 

"See," she said, bringing the tip of her finger right down on top of the 
point. "It feels really good." 

"Oh!" said Trixie, surprised, "it really does, doesn't it?" 

"Yeah...." 

Rixie kept pressing on Trixie's clit, although neither girl knew to call it 
that yet. Then, she took Trixie's hand and placed it on her own clit. 

"Press like that ... kind of light ... yeah," she said. 

She could feel the small hard nub of flesh beneath her sister's loose pink 
membranes rolling around under her touch, and as she continued to manipulate 
it, she felt it grow steadily harder and harder. 

"Mmmmmmmm," Trixie said, after a while, and Rixie could feel her own pussy 
getting wetter and wetter as Trixie's finger played with her clit. 

They worked on each other for a while, each of them getting more and more 
aroused, and then, suddenly, Rixie got a frightened look on her face, and 
cried out, "What's that?" 

"What's what?" asked Trixie, continuing her manipulations. 

"It ... it ... oh ... oh stop stop!! ! " 

Trixie pulled her hand back and looked at her sister with a quizzical look 
on her face. 

"What's wrong, Rixie?" 

"I don't know. It felt ... gosh ... I don't know." 

"Well, tell me!" 

"I don't know how it felt! But all of a sudden I couldn't think right, and I 
kind of felt like ... I don't know. But it scared me." 

"Did it come just from me touching you there?" 

Rixie nodded her head. 

"Well come on, it's my turn." 

"What do you mean." 

"Come on, you have to do me now. It's my turn." 

"No. I don't want to do any more. This scares me." 

"Oh come on, I want to see what it feels like. Come on. I want to feel it." 

"So touch yourself." 

"That's not the same thing. Come on, you felt what happened, you can do it 
to me." 

So Rixie, reluctantly, reached out to her sister's cunt and began to 
manipulate her clitoris once more. 

She felt the flesh all around her opened slit growing wetter and wetter as 
she continued to play with the hard little nub, and then she noticed that it 
actually seemed to be getting bigger. 

"I think something's happening to it," she said at one point. 

"You'd better believe something's happening to it. Keep it up. Don't stop." 

"But it's getting ... it's getting bigger." 

"Good. That must be why it keeps feeling better." 

"Really. You think it feels good?" 

"Mmmmmmm, I sure do. And so do you. You're crazy if you don't." 

Rixie kept moving her finger faster and faster, and finally, seeing the look 
of total rapture that was on her sister's face, finally said, "Do me again, 
would you please." 

"Oh, so now you want me to do you again." 

"Oh come on, you don't have to make a big production out of it." 

And so, the two young twins began their explorations that soon would include 
their father as an active participant. 

He discovered them one day, together, in their bedroom. By this time, they 
had progressed to somewhat more sophisticated forms of mutual gratification. 
When he walked into the room, Both girls were naked, and Rixie was kneeling 
over Trixie's face, with the latter girl's tongue snaking wildly in and out 
of Rixie's gash. 

Neither girl realized that their father was watching them. 

Suddenly he said, "I have a few things you might find interesting." 

They both screamed, and as Rixie turned and saw him standing there, she was 
at first seized by an urge to wrap something around her budding breast. As 
it was, she threw her hand down between her legs to cover her pussy. 

She stared at her father with open fear and distrust. 

"Rixie, darling," said her father, "what's the matter. Don't you want your 
daddy to show you how you can have even more fun? Things you'd never dream 
possible?" 

She stared at him, saying nothing. It was Trixie who broke the silence. 

"Like what, Daddy?" 

She sounded almost excited by his presence. Rixie noted that her sister had 
done nothing to cover her naked body, and if anything, she was holding 
herself in such a way that she was exposing more of herself than she even 
needed to. 

"Well ... you seem to be developing a healthy attitude towards letting your 
bodies do what they were meant to do. But I'm wondering, do you know 
everything about what they're meant to do. For example, do you know anything 
about men's bodies?" 

Rixie felt a slight tremor ripple through her. She had a feeling that she 
wasn't going to want to hear this. But on the other hand, there was that 
tremor, that twinge of excitement shivering through her. 

"Sure," said Daddy, giving both his girls long, loving looks. "My gosh," he 
said, almost to himself, "you two have sure grown up to be beautiful young 
ladies. Yes, indeed." 

Trixie seemed to shine in her father's comment, but Rixie wasn't sure if she 
liked him saying that or not. Still, she felt her pussy oozing more juice 
onto her fingers, and she and Trixie had already learned what that meant. 

Her father was watching her now, staring at her breasts. "You have a very 
pretty body, Rixie," he said. 

"Thank you, Daddy," she answered, and in spite of her feelings of doubt, she 
had to admit that it made her feel good to hear her father compliment her 
like that. She'd kept thinking about that day when she'd climbed up onto his 
lap ... something about that day had never left her thoughts. Now, she found 
that she was remembering all of that experience, her fear, and also the 
strange tingle of pleasure, the thrill of doing something that she suspected 
was kind of naughty, but was also kind of fun. 

Was it fun because it was naughty, or naughty because it was fun? 

She and Trixie had debated that question once and had decided that it was 
probably naughty just because it was fun. 

"That's the way grown-ups are," was Trixie's interpretation of the 
situation. 

So, here was a grown-up who wanted to be naughty, and wanted to have fun. 
She was drawn to him finally, because of that. 

"Daddy, why don't you show us what you were talking about," suggested 
Trixie. 

He looked over at Rixie. "What do you say, Rixie, are you in this too?" 

She nodded her head. "Good," said her father, "Let's just let this be our 
little secret, all right?" 

"You don't want mommy to find out, do you daddy?" asked Trixie. 

"No honey, I don't think your mommy would understand." 

With that, he'd unzipped his zipper. 

Both girls had gasped when he produced his cock. 

Rixie never forgot her first impression of that tool, the thick shaft with 
its blue veins crisscrossing all up and down the sides of the thing, the 
purple colored mushroom-shaped head, and then, as he'd removed his pants, 
that enormous sack at the bottom, and all of it covered with hair. 

"Why does it have so much hair, Daddy?" asked Rixie. 

"Someday you'll have hair between your legs too, honey. It just means that 
you're growing up. Look, you're even starting to grow hair now." 

He placed his fingers between her legs, and even though she felt strange 
having him touch her on her naked cunt, it still sent a twinge of pleasant 
sensations through her virginal body. 

"What does it do, Daddy?" asked Trixie. 

"Well honey, that's why you have this opening here between your legs ... " 
and with that, he reached out and placed his fingertips at the lips of her 
pussy. 

"See how your body seems to split right in two? Well, that's because you 
have an opening here that was meant to spread wide enough to take this in 
it." 

"Really?" Trixie's eyes widened. "Will you do it to me? Are you going to 
stick that up me, Daddy?" 

"Well," said her father, after thinking it over for a few seconds, "I think 
I will. Yes, I think I will." 

He turned to Rixie. "What do you think about that, Rixie? Do you want to see 
what your daddy's cock feels like?" 

Rixie felt frightened, but heard herself saying "Yes," in response to his 
question. 

"Okay, girls, lay down on the bed. It's going to take a little while, 
because we don't want to hurt you." 

He wasn't kissing either. 

He first knelt between them both, inserting one finger up each one of their 
narrow cunt holes. 

He felt their maidenheads easily, and although it took him nearly a half an 
hour to do it, managed to tear away most of them with his fingers. "Damn 
good thing they used tampons," he muttered to himself, although Rixie heard 
it. 

"Daddy, it hurts," she said. 

"I know it does, honey, but just think, it never will again." 

He then went on, "And as soon as I'm finished with you, you'll never have to 
worry about being little girls again either. You'll be grown women. There's 
no doubt about it. You'll be grown women." 

He spend a long time that day, slipping two fingers up inside each girl, 
then trying for three, spreading them apart once they were inside. 

"You two are a lot tighter than I thought you'd be. I think we'll have to do 
this in stages," he said. 

The next day, he started off right where he'd left them, sliding three 
fingers up into their young pussies, past their torn maidenheads pressing 
further and further into untouched cunt membranes, spreading apart walls 
that had never before been touched, let alone violated in the manner that he 
was contemplating. 

That day, he allowed them to feel the head of his cock against their 
pussies. 

"Trixie, you first," he said to his daughter. "Spread your legs, wide as you 
can, and then place your fingers right on each one of your lips." 

The girl did so, and as he watched her flaming pink flesh come to life for 
him, he felt his balls start to boil inside his scrotal sack. 

Her hole was small, and it was dark, but he had already determined that it 
was more than deep enough. It would be a tight squeeze, and he doubted that 
she'd be able to take him in all the way that afternoon, but he'd show her. 
And Rixie too. 

And that's not all he'd show them. 

He brought the head of his cock up to her pink meat, and as she held her 
breath in anticipation, he pressed it against her tiny clitoris. 

He could feel that the small bud of nerves was already hard and erect, and 
it made his cock quiver even more, as he started to scrape the glans back 
and forth over her clit. 

"Oh Daddy," she moaned, "that's wonderful. Please, harder, faster. Don't 
stop." 

Rixie, finally overcome by jealousy, said, "Daddy, would you please play 
with me too. I want to feel good too." 

He gave her a triumphant grin. 

"Certainly, Angel," he said, bringing his finger once more up to her young 
cunt. 

He began to press the head of his swollen cock against Trixie's pussy now, 
letting it slide past the head, letting it push against her narrow channel, 
letting it spread her like she'd never been spread before. 

"Oh, Daddy, you're so big, so big, so big, it hurts, it hurts it hurts," the 
little girl moaned, and yet, she did not push him away. Every time it got to 
the point where his cock would go no further, he pulled it out and resumed 
massaging her clit. As he stroked the clit of one of his daughters, he 
brought his cock over to the other one. 

In the way, as the afternoon progressed, he managed to press almost 
three-fourths, of the way into each one of their pussies. 

But he didn't want to go to far. Just enough for them to realize that the 
pain was worth it, for the pleasure that would come after. 

Deeper and deeper and deeper into those virgin twats.... 

"Oh you're so big, so big, so big ... so fucking big.... 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

"So big, so fucking big, so god damned BIG!! ! " 

Trixie could hear her sister making more and more noise from next door, and 
found that she was getting hot. White hot, in fact, boiling over with heat. 

She once again considered walking in there, simply walking in and saying, "I 
couldn't help it. Let's make it three." 

But Rixie so seldom had a chance to get to know men. It wouldn't be fair. 
She had a feeling from the way that Dennis had looked at her this morning 
that he'd found her a little more sexy than Rixie. It wouldn't be fair now, 
to steal him away from her. It might make their relationship, never the 
easiest one to begin with, totally unmanageable. 

Rixie's moaning grew louder and louder. Trixie closed her eyes and imagined 
that she could almost hear that massive schlong slurping in and out, almost 
feel that mushroom-shaped head raking over her own hole, stretching her 
lips, pulling at the rim. 

It was too much. 

She wanted it, badly. 

Letting her fingers drift down over her naked stomach, she slid them beneath 
her panties and instantly felt her muscles start to quiver even more. 

She pushed the tip of her forefinger down through the wet flesh of her pink 
gash, down, down, down, till she was touching her throbbing nub of nerve 
endings, her hardening clit. 

She felt thick oily juices oozing from deep within her aroused body, and as 
she ran her finger up and down through her slit, she felt those juices 
starting to spread all through her crotch. 

Her thighs were moist, slippery, and slid easily over each other. 

Then, she jammed her fingers down past her outer lips, ramming them right up 
into her twitching hole. 

It felt good and warm and wonderful. 

She wanted more. 

She wanted to be taken to the edge and pushed beyond. 

She wanted to be.... 

She remembered her father, the way he had smiled reassuringly that first day 
that he'd produced the silken cord. 

"This won't hurt your wrists," he'd told them, and he hadn't tied the knots 
tight that the circulation was cut off or anything. 

But there had been pain. Various kinds of pain. 

First there had been the continually sharpening ache in her arms and 
shoulders as she'd literally hung from the ceiling by the smooth rope, her 
toes dangling close enough so that if she really stretched, she could almost 
support her weight with the tips of her toes.... 

There had been the hot, burning ache of his cock as he'd rammed it up her 
ass-hole, taking her by surprise from behind. 

And then, worst of all, there had been the utterly incomprehensible pain of 
his belt, of the whips and the canes that he brought one at a time down onto 
the soft terrain of her naked flesh. 

She had writhed, she had begged, she had screamed. 

Rixie had endured the torture more in silence, but neither of them enjoyed 
it. 

But then, had come the gentle fucking, his loving tongue drifting all up and 
dow through their slits, turning the still hot flesh to aroused flesh, 
turning the pain of the whip into the spasms of orgasm, binding forever in 
her mind the two together, pain ... pleasure.... 

They were the same, really, different versions of the same reaction. 

Her body reacted. 

It reacted now. 

She felt herself coming. 

In the next room, Rixie screamed "YES YES YES YES YES YES ... OH. DADDY!! ! 
YES!! ! " 

The words startled Trixie, and for a moment she was more than simply caught 
up in a recollection ... she was transported back through time, she was 
suspended once more before her father.... 

She was ... OH GOD ... she was coming, coming, coming, coming.... 

It's so big, daddy, so big, so big ... and oh, how it hurts.... 

And then ... suddenly, there were footsteps on the stairs. She heard a 
voice. Jack? Chet? 

She tried to focus on it, and realized that Jack was sounding somewhat 
excited. 

She jumped up off her bed and buttoned up her pants, still gasping from her 
orgasm, as he called out through the door. 

"Trixie? Hey, Trixie. You better come, quick." 

"What's the problem?" she asked, opening the door. 

"It's the police. They're all over the outside of the house. There's been 
some kind of accident." 

Across campus, in the softly lit wood paneled room, the old man was talking 
to his assistant. 

"So tell me Jack, what have we heard." 

"I'm afraid that he's here, sir, whoever he is." 

"Indeed?" 

"Yes ... there's been a body located. Again, I have to insist, we have no 
indication that this is anything other than a deranged psychopath." 

"Is the body in that terrible a condition?" 

"It wasn't pretty. Our people are checking it out." 

"I see. It's a typical diversion. I'm afraid that we may have to order this 
facility vacated." 

"That would be premature, sir." 

"Would it?" 

They were sipping tea, and smoking Turkish cigarettes, the old man's brand. 
Their conversation had all the urgency of a seminar on the Brahms/Wagner 
question. 

"Tell me Jack ... you know of course, that our particular branch cares 
little to nothing of a man's past. Performance is everything, and yours has 
been commendable when you've been used ... what brought you to us? What I 
mean is, why did you decide, after so many years of magnificent 
free-lancing, to associate yourself with the organization on an official 
basis?" 

Jack pressed his cigarette into an ashtray and studied the grain of the wood 
on the ceiling. 

"Tired of looking over my shoulder, perhaps. Tired of staying out there, 
perpetually in the cold. Security." 

The old man nodded. "No family ... am I correct?" 

Jack paused. "No,", he then said. "No family." 

The old man nodded again. "There was, at one time, though?" 

"Excuse me sir, is there a cause for these questions?" 

"Simply passing the time, Jack. Simply passing the time. So much of this 
business if waiting, and so much of the waiting turns out to have been 
unnecessary ... I certainly do hope that you are correct. I hope that there 
is no immediate threat to this facility. It would be distressing, to say the 
least." 

"I'm sure, sir. Would you care for more tea?" 

"No, I'm going back downstairs. Check in with me later, would you?" 

Jack waited for him to leave, and then, he put on his coat and scarf and 
walked back out into the lengthening shadows of the late afternoon. 

Rixie listened to the police detective question Dennis, feeling as though 
she was in a dream. This was impossible. It simply couldn't be. 

"Well, I'm sorry sir," he was saying, but unless you can produce some form 
of credible identification, and some explanation of your whereabouts early 
this morning, we're going to have to ask you to come with us." 

"I still maintain, officer, that you have no reason to be suspicious of me, 
let alone detain me." 

All around the street, a crowd was beginning to grow, drawn, as are all 
crowds, by some indefinable ability to sense events that transcended the 
drab ordinariness of each one's individual lives. No single person could 
have said why they were there, and yet, the crowd was gathering. 

There were four patrol cars now, the additional three having arrived shortly 
after the first detective had begun asking Dennis some questions. 

Rixie at first had vouched for him, but Trixie's curt questions had shut her 
up. 

"How much do you know about him? NOTHING! That's how much! And now Marjorie 
is dead! Where was he? Ask him? Where was he?" 

"You weren't with him at all times today, ma'am?" the detective had asked. 

"No," Rixie had been forced to admit. She looked helplessly at Dennis, who 
returned her gaze evenly enough, but who certainly did not exhibit the 
expected characteristics of someone falsely accused, someone who could very 
well be in a very big jam. 

With a mounting sense of horror, she realized that everything Trixie was 
accusing her of was true. She'd brought him into the house, knowing 
absolutely nothing about him. And where had he been earlier this afternoon, 
when he'd told her that he was going to wander around the campus? They'd 
spoken briefly to Marjorie as they'd come through the south entrance off 
Breed street. 

Oh my God! she thought to herself, her feeling of desperation growing. Could 
it be possible? Had Dennis ... ? 

But no! She refused to believe it. Or was she just putting her faith in a 
superstitious bit of lunacy that had never really been justified? She felt 
suddenly like crying. 

Dennis refused to offer any excuses or alibis for his behavior, maintaining 
that he'd done nothing wrong. 

"Look kid, I'm telling you, shape up or you're going to be in bad trouble. 
As soon as word gets out about the condition of that body, you're going to 
be in a fucking spotlight, and unless you come up with some answers fast, 
it's going to get a lot hotter and a lot brighter. 

Trixie suddenly lost control. 

"He did it! I know he did it! I was suspicious of him the minute I saw him." 

Dennis gave her a pained look of exasperation. 

Rixie said, "Stop it Trixie! This isn't helping anything. Stop it. STOP IT!! 
" 

She finally had to slap her sister across the face to calm her down. 

Trixie whimpered a little, looked her sister in the eye, and then, with a 
sidelong glance at Dennis, she turned and ran back into the house. 

Rixie noticed that someone at the curb was taking pictures. 

"Do we have to continue this out here?" she asked the detective. 

"No ma'am, we don't. I'm already very sorry for the trouble we've caused 
you. I think we've done about all we can for now right here. You understand, 
of course, some of my men will be needing to talk to you all later on. We're 
going to want to see if we can establish any patterns ... that sort of 
thing." 

Then he turned to Dennis. "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to come with 
us. You decide you want to talk and tell us your story, and if it checks 
out, you can go." 

In a last moment of desperation, Rixie blurted out, "Tell them, Dennis. Tell 
them." 

She wanted so badly for him not to be responsible for this. She suddenly 
realized just how badly she wanted it. And at the same time, she was 
developing a growing feeling that there was nothing she could to prevent it 
from being the case. She felt that she was losing her grip on whatever 
reality she had. Still, she tried, in one last futile gesture to establish 
his innocence. 

"Tell them about your friends in Maine." The detective looked sharply at 
Dennis. "You've just come from Maine? Where in 

Maine?" 

He sighed again. 

"I'm sorry. I have no comment at all. None whatsoever. You have no reason to 
hold me." 

"Yeah, well, we'll just have to see about that. Come on. Let's go." 

"Wait a minute. Are you arresting me?" 

"You got it. We're running you in on suspicion of murder. I'm telling you, 
all you have to do is tell us something that makes sense." 

He said nothing. 

"Come on, let's go." 

The detective was obviously already convinced that he'd found his man. He 
said "Come on buddy. Go get your things." 

Dennis shot Rixie a sharp glance as he said, "I don't have anything with me. 
I travel light." 

The cop looked at Rixie and said, "Honey, my advice, if you want it, is to 
pick a better class of stranger the next time you pick someone up." 

He was almost leering at her, in such a way as to be utterly offensive. 
Rixie felt her cheeks getting flushed, and her thoughts jumbled and 
cluttered. 

But what had Dennis intended by wanting his pack left here? He'd been so 
protective of it since she'd met him, she couldn't believe that he'd leave 
it with her. Unless there was something in it so incriminating that he 
didn't dare let the police find it! 

He shot her one more quick glance as he was being led away. It was amazing. 
He actually winked at her! 

Inside the house, Trixie and Rixie were arguing. 

"Stop this, just stop this!" yelled Trixie. "How can you defend that man? 
All right, even if he didn't do it, you know absolutely nothing about him. 
You still can't say for certain that he's innocent. You can't say anything 
about him. Because you don't know." 

"Exactly! And I thought in this country a man was innocent until proven 
guilty!" 

"Look, don't go throwing that ideological bullshit at me! We're talking 
about our friend! Our roommate! She's dead! And that man is responsible. Do 
you understand! He did it!" 

"You stop it! You don't know that. So just cut it out!" 

Trixie was close to hysteria. 

"What had gotten into you? How can you defend him? At the very least, I'd 
expect you to be suspicious. But you disregard all the evidence-" 

"What evidence?" 

"Why wouldn't he tell them where he'd been? Why doesn't he have any 
identification? 

Why? Huh? An innocent man isn't afraid to prove that he's innocent. If they 
were out of line, you have a better chance of getting back at them once 
you're out from under the cloud of suspicion, don't you think?" 

Rixie didn't know what to think. She was simply confused. Totally, 
mindlessly confused. 

She began to cry. 

Trixie, caught by surprise, stopped berating her sister and instead started 
at once to comfort her. 

"I'm sorry Rixie. Honestly I am. But you have to understand. This is 
frightening. I can't understand your attitude. Just think for a moment ... 
what if he did do it? Just think about that. What if he did do it? Do you 
want him back here? At all. Do you want him coming anywhere near you?" 

Rixie heard her sister's voice cutting through the jumbled fog of her 
thoughts, and knew, down deep, that they were words of truth. It was so 
difficult for her to accept it, but somehow, she knew that she was going to 
have to. 

"Look, I know you trust your intuition. You have a right to. Ever since you 
got us off that plane, I've trusted your intuition. And it's usually right. 
But this time, maybe it wasn't. Maybe you were just horny. Have you thought 
about that?" 

Of course she'd thought about that. She didn't want to think about it, 
because whether or not she was willing to admit it, she had grown fairly 
dependent on her assumption that she had a special sixth sense, and had 
almost stopped actually trying to analyze people or situations. If it felt 
good, she did it. If not, she'd hold back. It was very simple. And now, it 
was as if she'd been stripped naked in the middle of rush hour on Fifth 
Avenue. She was confused and scared. And hurt. 

Trixie was stroking her hair now, and whispering soothingly into her ear. 

"You've always been so shy ... I couldn't believe it when I saw that you'd 
brought him home. It just isn't like you to do something like that." 

Rixie said nothing, knowing that her sister meant well, but resenting the 
implication that while others could go around and pick up strangers in bars, 
she wasn't allowed to pick up someone in broad daylight, in the middle of 
the campus. 

Suddenly, she was aware that Trixie was holding her, tightly. Her body 
seemed to be shaking, shivering. 

Rixie looked up at her sister. "Are you all right?" she asked. 

Trixie now looked like she herself was going to cry. "Oh GOD! Do you know 
what they said? They wanted me to go down and identify the body! Can you 
believe that? It would have been terrible. Thank God Jack was here to do 
it." 

Her body shuddered some more. 

"Oh God, Rixie, I'm so scared. I feel cold, I'm so scared." 

Rixie placed her hands on her sister's shoulders. It had been such a long 
time since they'd allowed themselves to get close like this, to openly 
express their feelings, their emotions. It was as if once the bizarre 
nightmare with their father ended, they'd put a lock on any further 
expression between themselves. When you've already revealed all there is to 
reveal about yourself, what else is there to say? 

Later, Rixie wouldn't even be able to say for certain how it happened. 
Perhaps it was a reawakening of the old sensibilities, that perfect blend of 
fear and pleasure, the almost symbiotic linking of the two. So that fear 
itself became an erotic stimulus. She only knew that she could feel her 
thighs slipping together, still greasy from the juice oozing between her 
pussy lips. She and Dennis had just finished making love with each other. He 
had shot the last of his load only seconds before she'd heard the voices at 
her door. Her pussy still tingled from the memory. As always, there is never 
any logic or reason between ones legs. Only stimulus, response, stimulus, 
response. 

How many stimuli were working on the two girls at that moment? Voices 
calling from the past ... long tendrils of fear, pain and pleasure 
slithering out of the mists of time, wrapping about their psyches, binding 
them once more in an interlocking mass of charged flesh. It had always been 
thus. Six years ... seven ... it had been far too short a time to obliterate 
the bonds, no matter how effectively they'd been suppressed. 

Now, once more, they both felt a reawakened surge of blind sexual lust. 
Incomprehensible, uncontrollable. Once again, there was nothing else in the 
world except for the two of them, the commonality of their experience, and 
whatever else was out there tormenting them. It made no difference that the 
tormentors were undefined, were invisible, and incomprehensible. They were 
there. And because of that, the two girls were thrown together. 

Yes, it was erotic. There was no way that it could have been otherwise. The 
comforting touch, the soothing voice, identical to other times, when each of 
them had performed the same service for the other one. There were no 
barriers to break down. All the barriers had been broken long ago. Seven 
years of overlooking that fact did not in any way replace them. 

Rixie felt Trixie's lips on hers, felt her sister's hands probing the soft 
flesh of her breasts, felt fingers pressing between her legs. 

They both felt utterly silent, fearful that the first word would break 
whatever spell had been woven about them, making this right, making this 
believable, making this what was called for. 

Say nothing! Simply do. Simply go forward. Simply ... follow whatever 
instincts were left to guide you. 

Rixie felt her already aroused body begin to surge with energy, and felt 
responses that she'd almost forgotten. Similar to the feelings that Dennis 
had already succeeded in bringing out of her ... and yet, these were 
different, far older in her mind, far more a fundamental part of her 
emotional make-up. 

Trixie's fingers. Trixie's mouth. Trixie's body. Her long slender legs, her 
firm, well formed thighs. The moist soft flesh where they met ... the wet 
slit between them.... 

All this and more was as much a part of the girl's psyche as anybody's 
primal memories. And now, in a blast that left them both numb, it all came 
flooding to the surface, with the same intensity that each girl's juices 
surged forward to the lips of their firm young cunts. 

Words were not only feared, they were no unnecessary. Trixie stood, and as 
Rixie looked deeply into her face, into that mirror image that was exactly 
her own and yet utterly different, she had a sense that she was gazing into 
her own past. Or could it be her future. 

Again, she would later recall nothing of how they got to her bedroom. 

Only that they were there, removing each other's clothes. No longer as an 
act of lust ... more a ritual of psychological survival. They not only 
needed each other, they had no one else. Not now, not at this fundamental 
level of existence. 

Trixie's shirt came off, Rixie's jeans inched down her legs, and the two 
twins stared intently at each other as if voyeurs. There were, of course, no 
surprises. Only scarcely contained anticipation. For once the line had again 
been crossed, it was like a reunion. It was like coming home. 

They fell into each other's arms, and Rixie pressed her breasts against 
Trixie's, feeling the soft globes of flesh squeeze and compress, feeling her 
nipples getting hard, feeling them rub over Trixie's hardening nipples. 

Trixie was breathing hard now, seeming to have allowed all the tension, all 
the uncertainty, the fear to be translated into a blinding surge of sexual 
heat. She seemed to be utterly mad with lust. 

"Oh God, it's been so long," she finally whispered in Rixie's ear, allowing 
herself, by her words, to not only accept the situation, but to embrace it. 

"I always wanted to touch you. All these years," Trixie confessed, "but I 
never knew how." 

Rixie felt herself growing dizzy at the words. She'd worked so hard to 
establish some objective ground for herself, after their father had 
hopelessly ruined any hope of it ever truly happening. But she'd worked, and 
she'd been successful ... except that there'd been a loss of passion. A loss 
of lust. Dennis had made it possible for her to remember what lust had been. 
Now, Trixie made it possible for her to once again experience it. To 
experience the delicious itching between her legs that would not be still no 
matter what was done to her clit ... to feel her breasts swell and ache from 
a desire for attention ... to feel her body sinking, falling through an 
increasing blackness, to feel her thighs getting wetter and wetter as her 
enflamed pussy began to ooze more and more juice. , Trixie's fingers were 
now easing down the flat plain of her stomach, pressing lightly against the 
firm, taut flesh. 

She lingered over Rixie's belly button, tickling her sister there just a 
little bit, and then, she moved on, further and further down, tracing a line 
right along the top edge of her pubic bush, tickling ever so slightly the 
kinky hairs growing there, but avoiding her pussy. 

Instead she simply let her fingers move around the edge of Rixie's groin 
area, tickling all the borders of her pubic patch, and lightly moving along 
the line of flesh at the point where her legs joined her body. It was a very 
sensitive spot on Rixie, and the slight touch was familiar, a familiarity 
that spanned the years, from a time when they'd both been called upon to 
play with each other, while their father watched, gently stroking his long 
cock. It had simply been one of the variations he'd come up with. There were 
dozens, but this one, at least involved no direct pain. Only the threat of 
pain, should they not please him. the threat and the fear of pain. The 
blinding, crippling fear, hovering over them while they drove each other to 
orgasm after orgasm after orgasm, using their tongues, their teeth, their 
fingers ... whatever they could find ... whatever would work.... 

Trixie's fingertips were at the very bottom of Rixie's slit, tickling 
between her pussy and her ass-hole, stimulating that small isthmus of flesh 
that was so often ignored. 

Rixie felt her stomach muscles suddenly spasm, as a particularly sharp surge 
rippled out from between her legs. It was growing stronger and stronger, and 
she felt a moment of fear, not certain that she'd be able to control 
herself. She knew that once set in motion, her body would continue to spasm, 
to climb higher and higher on the steep slopes of orgasm until at last, she 
would collapse, and feel herself falling back, back, back ... back.... 

Trixie touched her ass-hole. Rixie instinctively clenched her muscles and 
felt tight puckered ring clamp shut. But Trixie was persistent and began to 
press harder and harder. 

Rixie began to feel uncomfortable. Every time her sister touched a new spot 
on her body, a flood of images would rise out of the darkness of memory and 
she would remember ... remember her father pressing his fingers up her, 
squeezing her buns, stretching them, pressing his fingers up, further and 
further, filling her ... "But Daddy, I can't hold it in any more, I can't, I 
can't ... "That's all right Rixie darling, just let it come out ... that's 
it-all over Daddy's hand ... there, doesn't that feel good, so warm and 
soft, and sticky...." 

Rixie remembered, and as she felt Trixie's finger creeping up her ass, she 
feared that she might have a similar reaction this time. But it didn't 
happen. She was at least in enough control to prevent that from happening. 

But now, Trixie, still with her fingers up 

Rixie's ass, brought her mouth down to her sister's spread legs, focusing on 
that wet pink slit running between them in particular. 

The flesh was shining, like a jewel, like a polished stone. Her lips were 
almost perfectly formed, thought Trixie, knowing that her own had an 
identical shape. But Rixie, perhaps because of her minimal sexual activity, 
had managed to retain the little girl's look to her pussy. Her lips folded 
under, and the dewy petals of her inner lips poked out only about an eighth 
of an inch. 

It was to this thin, wet line of flesh that Trixie now brought her tongue, 
licking with the scarcest amount of pressure that she could manage all up 
along the entire length. 

Rixie felt like someone had turned her insides to a molten mass of quivering 
flesh. 

"Oh that's wonderful," she gasped to her sister. 

"Do you like that?" 

"I love it." 

"Do you like it when I pull your lips apart, when I kiss your clit ... like 
that?" 

Rixie let out a low, animal-like moan. 

"Oh, do it again. It's wonderful. It's wonderful." 

Trixie opened her mouth wide and brought the edge of her teeth directly 
across Rixie's clit. The tight swollen bud of nerves seemed to explode 
between the girl's legs, and she once again let out a moan, only this time 
it was much louder. 

Trixie continued to lick, nibble, bite, and chew Rixie's clitoris, and 
finally she moved her body around on the bed, straddling Rixie's face, so 
that she could lower her pelvis down onto Rixie's waiting mouth and receive 
the same treatment. 

The second that Rixie's tongue touched Trixie's pussy, another Proustian 
time warp hit her. It was such a fundamentally familiar taste, so thick, so 
salty, and yet, so mild and delicate. 

Her juice flowed heavily, oozing over Rixie's cheeks. Still the girl probed 
with her tongue, not wanting to miss a single drop of the oily goo. 

They sucked each other to crashing climaxes, and then, utterly insatiable, 
began the process all over again. 

Rixie allowed the world to stop for a moment, for the short time that they 
were together on the bed. She didn't know how long. She only knew that some 
vital connection had been reasserted in her life, one that she couldn't 
understand, one that she had no control over, but one that was undeniable, 
and that she would never again attempt to deny. She had no idea what the 
consequences of this action might be. But in the center of her body, buried 
deeply between her legs, there was a throbbing that she now noticed for the 
first time, only because in some small way, Trixie had managed to lessen it, 
if only a little. That was something that she could simply not ignore. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

The man stood in the snow, shivering, wishing that he'd worn something 
heavier. He wasn't used to these winters, that was already becoming 
apparent. They'd only transferred him here four months ago, and that had 
been when the weather was still warm. Now, snow covered the ground, and he 
wasn't used to the biting cold that ripped through his coat like it was a 
sieve. 

He brought the binoculars to his eyes one more time, as if, in the fading 
light he might yet be able to discover something that he'd overlooked 
before. 

The lenses were already focused for the distance. He'd stood here for 
roughly half an hour. 

There were two patrolmen guarding the site next to the large red-brick 
building. There was a rope cordoning off the entire area. POLICE 
INVESTIGATION-DO NOT PASS read the signs posted. 

And again the absurdity of the situation pounded into his brain. It was 
incomprehensible. To have waited so long. To have had the impulses simmering 
in his brain, to have wanted so desperately to feel that magical moment when 
he'd brought his fingers around her neck, when he'd tightened his grip--! 

And to have failed. It was incomprehensible. It was true. He felt another 
wave of near nausea roll Over him. There was no denying it. He had failed. 
It was beginning to occur to him that quite possibly, he was indeed losing 
his mind. How could he have been wrong? 

Once again, he thought back to the moment when she'd emerged from her house 
... then, the other one. Both of them. He'd known. It was them. There was no 
mistaking that walk. 

Bundled though they were in scarves and hats ... wrapped in coats that hid 
those immaculately sculpted bodies ... he'd known. It had been them. It had 
to have been them! 

They'd split up as they entered the campus, and he'd followed the one 
without a companion. One at a time. That had been his plan. For so long. One 
at a time. 

He remembered now the feeling, the sense of thrill, the surge of tension, 
the sudden heat in his brain, as he stalked his quarry. Four months had been 
long enough to learn the rhythms of this place, to understand the flow of 
people, to know what areas were safe, and what areas were crowded. He'd 
known! 

But as he lowered the binoculars one last time, after another fruitless 
search for clues that he'd have been powerless to explain or even 
understand, he knew that he'd done no where enough planning. He felt the 
bitter taste of failure rising once more in his throat. For so many years, 
the image had been burned in his brain, to the point where he had lost all 
control of it, and to a certain extent, even had lost awareness of it. It 
was more of an unconscious motivation now, and had been, moving him 
robot-like over the hills and the snow covered streets of the Fenwood 
campus, bringing him closer and closer, closer and closer, until, just as 
she reached for the door knob, he was on her! Quick! Silent! Efficient! As 
his years of training had taught him! 

And then, he'd turned her to him, so that in those last awful moments of her 
life, she might see, and know, and fully comprehend the circular path that 
her life had taken. 

And then he'd seen. It was the wrong face. The wrong face! The utter 
absurdity of it had snapped something inside his mind. Such a mistake was 
simply not made! Not by one of his talents. NO! NO! NO! 

He could still feel the humiliation, the frustration, as he'd watched life 
draining from the wrong face. And then, he remembered his rage. His mad, 
mindless rage, creeping up on him like the fog, coating what was left of his 
reason in the same way the snow now covered the campus ... smothering it ... 
freezing it.... 

How dare she be the wrong person? It was unthinkable. Under such 
circumstances, wasn't his revenge warranted? 

Trixie sat up in bed and looked at the window outside. For a second, she was 
confused. Who turned out the lights, she wondered. 

And suddenly, she realized that it was night. The last rays of the setting 
sun could be seen as simply a faint orange line on the horizon, visible 
between the houses and buildings on and around the campus. She quickly ran 
to the wall switch and turned on the light. 

There was a muffled groan from the bed as Rixie stirred, throwing her hand 
over her face. 

"What's going on ... " she mumbled, scarcely conscious. 

"Nothing yet," muttered Trixie, "but it's late, and I feel weird about it. 
We fell asleep." 

"So, what's so strange about that?" 

"Nothing. What's strange is that nothing woke us up." 

She looked at the clock on Rixie's wall. "Look, it's after six-thirty. There 
should have been some kind of noise in the house or something. Or at least a 
detective coming back to ask us some more questions about Marjorie. I don't 
know why, but I feel strange." 

"Come on," said Rixie, still very drowsy. "You're sounding paranoid. I'm 
glad we were able to sleep. I think I needed it." 

Trixie looked over at her sister. They were identical, and yet, so very 
different. Once again, Trixie had a feeling that Rixie was somehow not quite 
in this world, a feeling that she'd gotten from time to time ever since the 
aborted plane ride. The girl's seeming withdrawal from the everyday world, 
her lack of sexual fulfillment ... her possible sixth sense, something that 
Trixie herself had no faith in, but which nonetheless she found disturbing 
in Rixie ... it all suggested almost a separate reality. Now, she once again 
felt it. The girl's inability to recognize the obvious danger in that tramp 
that she'd brought home this morning, and to see his obvious guilt ... and 
now her lack of concern about the inactivity were just the latest in a 
series of refusals to deal with the world. But then, Rixie might very well 
wonder just what the purpose of dealing with the real world would be. She 
seemed to have managed to function rather well on her own, in her own little 
corner of reality, wherever it might be. 

"Oh God, Rixie," she blurted out, suddenly seized with a wave of love and 
affection for her sister, "did he ruin you so totally." 

Rixie looked up at Trixie. She knew that her sister wasn't talking about 
Dennis or anyone else, except for one particular person. 

"Come on Trixie, don't be maudlin. That was a long time ago." 

Trixie couldn't believe her ears. Had the girl already forgotten what had 
just taken place between them. 

She walked over to the bed and placed her hand on Rixie's naked breast. 

"What happened between us was only two hours ago. Do you think that would 
have been possible if he hadn't done all those things to us?" 

She felt Rixie's body tense up. And then, instead of relaxing, her muscles 
grew more and more tense. The girl began to shake, slightly at first, only 
as a series of barely perceptible tremors, but it kept up, and grew stronger 
all the while. 

"Rixie? Rixie? Are you all right?" 

Rixie finally looked up at Trixie. She seemed to be relaxing a little now. 

"I ... I don't want to think about him. All right? I just don't want to 
think about him." 

"Rixie, it happened, just like what went on today happened. It's something 
that can't change, and it doesn't need to be changed. But you have to accept 
it. It's a part of you." 

Rixie's eyes went to the darkened window. The faint line of orange that 
Trixie had seen moments ago was now gone. A dull, red glow, that too rapidly 
fading, was in its place. It looks like blood, thought Rixie. She wondered 
if Marjorie's blood had been that red. 

* * * 

The man was walking now, feeling himself growing stronger in the dark. In 
the shadows and in the dark, he could be himself. He functioned best in the 
dark. He thrived in the dark. 

His thoughts, if someone else could have possibly tuned in on them, were a 
jumbled mess. like the collages that sometimes decorated college girls' 
walls, there were only chaotic images, voices, and noises. Spirals of color, 
patches of gray, and large unexplained blank areas were the stuff of his 
mind. He was beyond thought. He was beyond reason. He was propelled now only 
by that ancient lust, that blood bond, that thirst, once moderately 
satiated, but ignored for so long that at last, it had burst forth to claim 
him. He couldn't even remember now, the origins of the situation. Only that 
there was a need that had to be filled. And the campus of Fenwood University 
was the only place that he could possibly fill it. He trudged on through the 
snow, and felt his feet getting lighter and lighter. He stopped at a phone 
booth and dialed a number. When the voice answered on the other end, he 
responded, not with words, but with numbers. The numbers were a code. The 
person on the other end knew immediately upon hearing the code, that there 
could be no possible questioning the authority of the directions that 
followed. 

"Has it been taken care of?" asked the man. 

"Yes sir. Just as you requested. I'm still not sure that I understand...." 

"You have no need to understand. You were informed that this is no longer a 
local matter. This case now has federal jurisdiction. Your only concern is 
how you will stay out of jail if any of this is leaked. Do I make myself 
clear?" 

"Yes sir." 

"Where are they?" 

"They informed us that they would find other accommodations for the evening. 
They wondered about the other two, however." 

"They're being taken care of. There's no chance that they'll return 
tonight?" 

"No sir. None whatsoever." 

"Good. Several peoples' lives depend on that being a true statement." 

"I understand, sir." 

"I wonder." 

And then, the man hung up, confident that this time, he would succeed. 
Nothing would stand in the way. Nothing at all." 

* * * 

In the county jail, Sheriff Jack Thompson was puzzled. He was also pissed. 
Outside, there was a flock of reporters waiting around for some statement as 
to the status of the case. Which case? THE case. The only murder case this 
town had ever seen since he'd been elected Sheriff. 

Damn! he swore again to himself. Why now? Next month he was going to kick 
off his re-election drive, and as the posters that were already printed up 
proclaimed, Jack Thompson had taken care of the folks in this county, even 
those smart-assed punks at Fenwood, damn them all to hell. 

Yes sir! He'd taken care of everybody. Which was another way of saying that 
so far, nothing had gone wrong. 

Well, today, something had gone wrong, and from the moment that poor girl 
had gone screeching down the halls of the Diffenbaugh Building screeching at 
the top of her lungs "BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD!! , ! ! ! ", the 
day hadn't been worth a shit on the ice. 

Lord, what a mess. They'd tried to be real careful collecting the body and 
all, but what with medical attendants getting down on their hands and knees 
to upchuck their lunch, it got all pretty confused. 

And then, there was this drifter sort they'd rounded up right from the 
victim's house, no less. That was really getting on his nerves. If there'd 
ever been a more likely suspect, that was it. Sonofabitch couldn't account 
for a single place that he'd been in the last five days. Wouldn't tell them 
a damn thing. 

If Jack Thompson had his way, he'd just call up Ruppert Simms and a couple 
of his cousins and give 'em all rubber hoses and tell 'em to talk to the 
bastard till he decided to talk back. 

That's just what he'd damn sure do. 

Jack Thompson knew a cold blooded killer when he saw one. 

But no ... the bastard said he had the right to one phone call, something 
that Jack couldn't very well dispute, and there it was. Somebody had just 
called up and said a few words that Jack couldn't very well ignore. 

Scared the ever loving fuck out of him, that's what it did. How the fuck did 
those people know about him getting Mable Cruthers pregnant last summer and 
paying for the abortion. Or that kickback money he took from Willard 
Murdoch's lawyer to burn that folder of evidence they'd gathered on 
Willard's lousy construction job on the new hospital. Or.... 

Oh hell. The list just went on. It was the weirdest thing he could think of 
though, and it gave him chills, that's what it did. Gave him chills all up 
and down his fucking backbone. Whoever that smart-assed sonofabitch was, he 
had a lot of powerful friends, and when the chips were down, they played for 
big money. They knew every damn thing there was to know about Jack Thompson, 
and if they started spilling the beans, the only thing he'd be running for 
in a month was his life. 

"Understand us, Mr. Thompson, we have no interest in you. You are 
insignificant, and whatever your lowly crimes, they will affect no one 
beyond your forgettable county. This is the highest authority. Absolutely 
the highest authority. Your prisoner is the wrong man. Set him free, and 
provide him with transportation to anywhere he requests, or I assure you, 
your public service career is over. And you will be behind bars before the 
year is out. We promise you." 

The voice that had spoken those words to him over the phone had been so 
calm, so patient, and so understanding in its tone, the Jack almost believe 
him when he said that there was nothing personal in this. Damn. What kind of 
power did those people have, anyway? 

Well, fuck it. Jack Thompson hadn't gotten to be where he was by being 
stupid. He'd always known which way the wind was blowing and he sure as hell 
knew how to bend with it. like a fucking tree. Yes sir. 

But there was still the problem of the reporters outside. They'd tried to 
keep this case quiet, but already word had spread like wildfire. Rumor was 
they'd already nabbed the man. What the fuck was he going to do now, that he 
had to let the guy go. He dreaded the press conference. 

I "No, I'm sorry, I cannot tell you why we let him go. I still don't even 
know the dumb bastard's name." 

He shuddered. The press would have a fine time with that. 

Oh well. Nothing to be done for it. 

He heaved himself out of his chair, picked up the key ring from the wall 
hook and lumbered back towards the cells. The prisoner was lying on the cot, 
staring up at the ceiling. 

"All right kid, you can go. Guess you run with the right crowd." 

The kid smiled. Hmmm, thought Jack, on closer inspection. He didn't seem to 
be such a kid after all. Not when you really got up close to him. As a 
matter-of-fact, he looked like he knew pretty well how to take care of 
himself. 

"Don't you have anything to say?" asked Sheriff Thompson, hoping for some 
slip that would give him an excuse to keep him here. But even as he said it, 
he knew that there was no way that guy was staying here. He reconsidered and 
knew that he wanted this creep out of his jail just as soon as possible. 
Anyone with access to that kind of information.... 

"I told you, Sheriff, I'm innocent." 

"Well, I don't know about that, but you Feds sure have taken a strange 
interest in that poor little girl who got her tits tore off." 

"What makes you think I'm interested in that case?" asked the kid, looking, 
in spite of his words, damned interested. 

"Well, first there's this shit with you, and then there's that crap about 
getting those two guys out of the house that little girl lived in...." 

"WHAT!" 

Sheriff Thompson was surprised. It somehow did him good to see him get a 
rise out of that smug bastard. 

"Hey, hey, take it easy there, sonny ... it's gonna be all right. We done 
it. Just like you asked. But I'll tell you, if you're all so damned worried 
about the guy showing back up, don't make sense to leave those other two 
girls there, does it?" 

The former prisoner was staring hard at Jack now, his face turning white. 

"Sheriff, I hope that you haven't fucked up as badly as you seem to be 
suggesting. I really do hope. I'll need a car. Fast. FAST!! " 

There was something in the man's tone that made Jack Thompson move faster 
than he'd ever moved before in his life. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

Trixie put the pot of boiling water to the side and pulled out the bag of 
beans from the freezer. Rixie thought she was silly for going to such 
trouble over a cup of coffee, but she'd never known her sister to refuse one 
if it was offered. 

She poured out the correct amount for two cups into the bin, and then 
carefully resealed the bag and returned it to the freezer. Coffee beans 
would keep forever like that, if taken care of properly. 

Then, she began to turn the hand crank on the coffee mill, checking the 
catch tray periodically to make sure that the finely ground beans weren't 
threatening to spill over the edge. It was a pain in the ass, she knew, but 
there was no denying that the coffee thus produced was infinitely superior 
to the perked burnt mess that Rixie served up whenever she cooked breakfast. 

She finally finished grinding the beans and poured the rich brown powder 
into the filter of her drip pot. It was an old variety, one that came from 
the Southwestern part of Louisiana. Cajun country. An old boy friend had 
given it to her, which turned out to be the best thing he'd ever given her. 

She picked up the pot of water, now just below the temperature of boiling, 
which was essential to make certain that the delicate oils that caused the 
flavor in good coffee would not be destroyed. Perhaps, she told herself 
again, as she splashed the first drops over the coffee grounds, it was a lot 
of trouble to go through for a cup of coffee. But it was worth it. 

And if you were trying to smother an unreasonable fear, one that had no 
cause and certainly could not be pinned down to anything in particular 
beyond the fact that your room mate had been brutally murdered that 
afternoon, it was a most therapeutic activity. It took one's mind off of 
things. 

Things like where the fuck were Jack and Chet! 

Where were the cops! 

Where, actually, was Dennis. Had they let him go? Had they learned anything? 
She finished pouring the water onto the grounds, and waited for the last of 
it to sift through, and then she poured herself a cup. As she added milk, 
the clouds of light tan that first mingled with and then overwhelmed the 
straight black of the coffee seemed to her to be like the events of the day, 
a thick cloud that simply swept in and blotted out all else. She was numb. 
And she was scared. 

Once again, she wandered through the house, checking to see if all the doors 
were locked. They were, as they'd been before, and as they would be every 
time she checked. She knew that. She still couldn't help herself. 

There was a pit in her stomach and no matter how hard she tried, nothing 
would fill it. She added some logs to the fire place, sat in the comfortable 
chair of their living room, and wondered briefly why she hadn't cried for 
Marjorie. It didn't seem real. It didn't seem possible. 

WHERE WAS EVERYBODY!! ! Why weren't there people coming over? Why weren't 
people calling? 

But on the same token, why wasn't she calling? She shook her head, and 
realized, dimly, that they'd both been in a kind of fog, including that 
bizarre love-making session that had gone on between them. And yet, in the 
context of the utterly unreal events of the rest of the day, it seemed 
somehow, almost normal. 

She sipped her coffee, and watched the night, and pondered her options, and 
let the fear grow inside of her, grow and grow, until at last, it was bigger 
than she was. It was a weight. It was crushing her, keeping her pinned right 
where she sat. Her brain functioned, she continued to ponder her options. 
And she did nothing but sit there and grow more and more scared. 

Perhaps she would have stayed there all night. Indeed, there is something 
comforting about the inactivity of fear. It makes everything all right. It 
makes it possible to accept defeat. In her state, it would have taken 
something powerful to jar her back into action. 

Rixie's blood curdling scream from the second floor bedroom provided exactly 
that stimulus. 

In the unmarked building at the edge of the Fenwood campus, the old man 
called for one of the secretaries. 

"Jack still hasn't returned?" he asked her. 

"No sir," came the crisp clear voice over the intercom. 

The old man paused a moment and thought. Finally he said, "Get me the 
research office in Washington." 

And then he sat back and sipped his tea and pondered that strange man with 
the incredible record of service, and who seemed to have no past. None 
whatsoever. 

At first, it hadn't bothered the old man. For one so inclined, there were 
any number of methods of avoiding the notice of the various data banks 
around the world. Someone like Jack would surely be aware of the state of 
the art technology. If anything it would be an indication fo the Man's 
skills and abilities, to say nothing of increasing ten-fold his capability 
for traveling undetected. 

And yet ... and yet.... 

There was something about the agent that bothered the old man. Something 
that he couldn't quite figure. But there was no reason at all for him to be 
absent now. None. That alone was cause to check deeper. They would need 
access to some sophisticated cross reference programming. Washington, of 
course, would be able to supply it. He finished his cup of tea, and briefly 
wondered if Jack might not have been right. Perhaps there was no "Wolf after 
all. Perhaps there was only a psychotic killer. Perhaps. 

Trixie bounded up the stairs and threw open the partially closed door to her 
sister's bedroom. At first she didn't even see her at all. 

"RIXIE!! " she called, the deep pit of fear finally boiling over. 

"It's all right, I'm right here," said Rixie from the corner of the room. 
She looked shaken, but otherwise all right. Then, Trixie saw the gun. 

"Where'd you get that?" she asked. 

"From here," Rixie said, indicating Dennis's pack. It remained where he'd 
left it, right in the corner of the room. 

"What's that doing here?" Trixie asked, more frightened than ever. 

"He didn't take it. He lied to the police about having anything with him." 

"I don't believe it! You mean to tell me, you were covering for him?" 

Rixie nodded, and then lowered her eyes to avoid her sister's accusing gaze. 

"I really can't believe it. I really can't. This is incredible! Do you 
realize what you've done? 

You've allowed him to withhold evidence. You've done it too. That makes you 
party to a felony. Do you hear me? Am I getting through to you?" 

Rixie nodded dumbly, not wanting to acknowledge her sister's accusations, 
not daring to deny them. Finally she said "Don't you want to see what made 
me scream?" 

Trixie was taken by surprise. 

"Oh. Yes. Certainly. Look, I'm sorry I yelled. It just seemed pretty strange 
to me, that's all." 

Wordlessly, Rixie held up an envelope that contained fifteen or so 8 x 10 
glossies. 

Trixie pulled out the first one and felt like she'd been caught between the 
head-on collision of two locomotives going full-tilt boogie. 

She stared at Rixie. 

"You think he was benign? Do you think that now?" 

Rixie couldn't help herself. She started to cry. And then she found that she 
couldn't stop. 

"Cut it out," said Trixie, going on to the next picture, and the next. 
Although they were all different shots, and all seemed to be different 
locations, the subject in every one of them was the same. 

Their father. 

In some, he seemed to have had his appearance altered somewhat, but in 
others, there was absolutely no question as to who he was. 

Trixie felt a chill once more crawl up her spine, and knew that it was not 
going to be dislodged. Not very easily. 

"I'm calling the police," she said firmly, and Rixie did not argue. 

"Is there anything else in there," she thought to ask, before dialing the 
number. 

"I don't think so. Just clothes. He was right. He doesn't have any 
identification at all." 

"Urn hmmm. Rixie. Do me a favor. From now on, don't depend so much on your 
intuition, all right? It will do us all a lot better. I mean, I go with my 
feelings too, sometimes, but enough is enough." 

Rixie nodded, tears forming in her eyes. 

"Hello," she heard Trixie say, "yes, this is one of the roommates of 
Marjorie Forsythe. The girl ... right. Listen, I have some interesting items 
concerning that man you arrested at our house this afternoon. Yes ... what? 
WHAT? HOW COULD YOU DO THAT? Listen, you don't understand, he wants to ... 
no, wait. WAIT! Please, will you listen to me? What do you mean, it's out of 
your jurisdiction. Listen, our lives are in danger. Because I know, that's 
how. Will you send ... hello ... hello.... 

She turned back to Rixie, who was standing now. Both girls stared at each 
other with blank expressions. "I don't understand. But I think it's time we 
got the hell out of here. This is ridiculous," said Trixie. Rixie nodded. 

"Call Mary Beth. Tell her we're coming over there. Now. I refuse to spend 
the night in this house." 

Trixie picked up the phone, and then turned back to her sister. As she 
spoke, the receiver fell noisily to the floor. 

"The phone's dead," she said. 

Sheriff Thompson was more and more perturbed. That was the damndest phone 
call he'd ever listened to in his life. Listened to mainly because he hadn't 
been able to get a damned word in edgewise. If there'd ever been a 
hysterical woman in the world, that little lady on the phone just now had 
been one. 

He didn't like this. He didn't like any of it. He didn't like suddenly 
finding himself in the middle of a lot of currents and forces that he'd 
never even known existed. And now, there was a poor defenseless little girl 
on the phone begging him to protect her from some maniac that he just set 
free and given a ride to. He shook his head. It didn't seem fair. Well, 
that's the way life was, sometimes. It just wasn't fair. 

He sure wished that he could help that little girl. Yes sir, he sure wished 
he could help her. 

But if that maniac was really after her ass, well, he had bad news for her. 
Maybe they'd be able to do something about him, but maybe not. But if it was 
his friends that wanted her out of the way, it didn't make a bit of 
difference what one small county sheriff did or didn't do. Not one bit of 
difference. No sir, if they wanted her ass done in, she'd get her ass done 
in. Yes sir. She surely would. 

And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. 

No sir. 

"Quick! Turn out the lights!" said Rixie. 

"What difference does it make? If he's out there, he already knows that 
we're in here. I say turn all the lights on. At least it will keep him from 
having the cover of darkness." 

"All right, I agree, only let's do something and let's do it quick, or else 
we don't have a chance." 

"Oh God, I'm so scared," said Trixie. "Shut up," said Rixie, "there's no 
time for that." 

The two girls ran from room to room, turning on each light, breathing a huge 
sigh of relief when each room proved to be empty. They pulled the shades in 
each one before they turned on the lights, so it was impossible for someone 
on the outside to know precisely how many people were inside. 

Unless, of course, they already knew. 

It took them about five minutes to make certain that all the lights were on, 
and for Trixie to once more examine all the locks on the doors and windows. 
It seemed safe, and yet they knew that they were cut off. Incredibly, in the 
middle of a well populated neighborhood, they were cut off. No phone, and 
thick drifts of snow everywhere ... everybody with any sense would be well 
bundled up, indoors, behind closed windows, probably watching TV. There's no 
way anyone can hear us, thought Trixie. 

And then, there was a knock on the front door. 

The two girls screamed. 

"Ohmygod, what'll we do?" asked Rixie, her eyes wide as saucers. 

"Well, if someone wants to force their way in, they can always break a 
window. I doubt this clown would try knocking on the door. Not after all 
this. He must realize that we're not going to trust him." 

They walked into the living room. 

"Who's there?" called Trixie through the door. 

"Inspector DeVane, State Bureau of Investigation." 

"It's not him," said Rixie excitedly. "It's not Dennis' voice." 

"How do you know?" asked Rixie, still not too sure. 

"I'm telling you, I know it's not his voice." 

Trixie called through the door another time. 

"How do we know that?" 

"How can I prove it?" 

"Show us your badge?" 

"Fine." 

They peeked through the curtains of the door window and sure enough, there 
was an identification envelope with a badge. 

"I think he's real," said Trixie, heaving a sigh of relief. 

"I don't know," said Rixie, dubiously, "could you read the name on the 
card?" 

"Rixie, come on, don't be a fool, this man is our salvation. There's a 
maniac out there who just cut our lines." 

Rixie grabbed her sister's arm. 

"How do you know he didn't?" 

"You just said it wasn't Dennis." 

"That's not what I asked." 

"What's the matter Rixie, your intuition giving you bad vibes again." 

"Yes." 

Trixie gave her a scornful look. 

"Give me a break, will you. Now get out of my way." 

Before Rixie could stop her, Trixie had unlocked the door and pulled it 
open. 

"You have no idea how glad we are--! " 

She never got anything else out. 

The man simply crashed his way through the screen door, tearing it right off 
the door frame, and the force of his body colliding with Trixie's knocked 
the girl to the floor. She went sprawling. 

Before Rixie could scream, a huge, strong arm swung towards her head. The 
last thing she remembered was seeing a gloved fist rushing at the speed of 
light right for the center of her face. 

And then, her brain exploded and she was at peace. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

The old man leaned back in his chair, trying to suppress his growing 
irritation. 

"I'm telling you," he said, speaking carefully into the speaker so as to 
make certain that every word would be understood back in Washington, "the 
man is the best. Perhaps one of the best we've ever had. But no one is that 
good. There is some combination, some match-up that will trigger the link. 
Somehow, he has to have tipped his hand. I'm telling you, he is in there 
somewhere. All you have to do is unlock the puzzle." 

"We're trying our best, sir. I assure you, if the information is here, and 
if you can figure out how to find it, you'll have it." 

The old man closed his. eyes and waited for the pain to pass. Is this what 
we've created, with our computers, and our technicians, he wondered, a 
sub-class of semi-literate fools who actually considered that to be a 
profound observation? It gave him a severe case of gas. That's exactly what 
it did." 

"Very good. Then let us start at the beginning again. Match up all the 
assignments of the agent in question with the dates of all known 
assassinations by the Wolf." 

A column of dates appeared on the left side of the screen, accompanied by a 
similar column of dates on the right side of the screen. 

"Not a thing," said the assistant next to him. 

"Exactly. Look at that. Every time the "Wolf has been operating, Jack 
manages to start an assignment six days prior, and finish it around three 
days afterward. You wouldn't expect that kind of consistency, would you?" 

The assistant deferred, knowing that it proved nothing. 

"And another thing, if I may point it out," said the old man, "you'll notice 
that every one of Jack's assignments are quite conveniently located far from 
the vicinity of the site of the "Wolfs" activity. All of them. Fine alibi, 
actually. Wouldn't you say so?" 

"Excuse me sir, but that would seem to be convicting him on the basis of a 
lack of evidence, precisely because there is no evidence." 

"Good point." He leaned into the speaker. "I'm interested in the airlines 
that connect each matched site: agent's and "Wolfs", on the dates in 
question." 

He turned to his assistant. "I find that whenever possible, people tend to 
use the same airline. They're comfortable with familiarity." 

"If this man is as good as they say, do you think he would too." 

"I do. Because he would know how suspicious it would look to deviate." 

Again the assistant patiently waited. 

Three airlines appeared on the screen. "These are the only three that have 
service between every two sites matched up?" he asked, and received a 
patient affirmative. "Fine. Now, run through every known alias of the agent 
and check to see if he used any of these airlines during the period in 
question, either to the site of the "Wolfs" activity, or out of his own 
vicinity." 

Soon the reply came up negative. 

"I see. All right. You're just going to have to plug into the airlines' data 
banks and see who matches up. It's difficult to believe that the man has an 
alias we might not know of, but one does come to mind." 

"What's that sir?" asked the assistant, still trying to be patient. 

"His authentic identity. We've never known, you know. He's always been the 
man without a past." 

The assistant pondered, while the computer wizards in Washington began their 
complex search. It was massive, almost to the point of incomprehensible. It 
would take at least a half hour for results. 

Rixie slowly opened her eyes, and felt her arms painfully pulled above her 
head. There were tight cords about her wrists, binding them tightly 
together. Her legs were spread apart, and cords were similarly around her 
ankles. Pulled tightly. She suspected that she might be totally naked, 
feeling no clothes against her skin, but she couldn't be certain of this, 
because she was tightly blindfolded. A gag had been stuffed in her mouth. 

She wanted to scream, but could only produce muffled groans. She could hear, 
however, and what she heard made her want to die. 

It was Trixie, also moaning, although she was not gagged. It was impossible 
to tell where she was being held, but Trixie seemed to be on a bed, because 
Rixie could hear bed springs creaking. Every time there was a creak of the 
springs, there was a corresponding moan from Trixie. They were pained, deep 
throated moans, seeming to well up out of the depths of her soul, but as the 
sounds continued, Rixie noticed that they were taking on a more urgent 
sound, a more intense ... my God, thought Rixie, she was becoming aroused. 
She was having an orgasm! Was it possible! 

But of course. 

She herself, so fiercely conditioned as a child, could only respond to the 
bonds around her wrists and ankles in the same way. The feeling of the ' 
ropes, biting harshly into her soft flesh, the restraint, the feeling of 
utter helplessness ... the sharp pain in her jaw ... she wondered, had it 
been broken? She certainly hoped not, but the gag in her mouth was pushing 
against the very spot where the man had struck her and knocked her out. How 
long had she been out? No idea. But judging from the feeling of tension in 
her shoulders, it had been some time since their tormentor had strung her 
up. 

She began to struggle, she began to pull, she began to yank hard, each 
futile effort simply fueling her fear, increasing the pain, and 
correspondingly driving the perverse level of eroticism that much higher. 

No, she wasn't imagining the pain. It was real. Her body was a sheet of 
fear. Every muscle was totally clenched, and she was already feeling 
exhausted from the struggle to relax, one that she was losing completely. 

But nonetheless, she felt the dripping between her legs, and she knew that 
it too was real. Inexplicable, perhaps, but nonetheless real. 

She felt a slow burn growing in the very center of her clitoris, and the 
rising sounds of Trixie's passion only served to fuel it. 

It was already something that her sub-conscious mind had accepted, had 
already figured out. But she still couldn't accept it. 

Even so, there was only one person in the world capable of this, who could 
have her bound in this way (in EXACTLY this way!), and at the same time be 
making love to Trixie. And more than that, be drawing her closer and closer 
to an orgasm! Only one person! Oh God, she thought to herself, spare me 
this. Spare me this ordeal. It didn't seem possible. But now, everything 
suddenly made sense. But why had he killed Marjorie, she wondered. And did 
it mean that he was going to kill them also? She felt the twin, incompatible 
sensations, her growing lust, and her paralyzing fear, rising in her loins, 
making her legs weak, and at the same time, making her soft cunt wetter and 
wetter. 

And then, if there'd been any doubt, it was erased, as Trixie, rising up now 
to her peak, cried out, (so familiar a cry!), "OH GOD. I'M COMING! I'M 
COMING! OH DADDY, I'M COMING!" 

And Rixie knew that a long ordeal awaited them. 

The old man was studying the screen intently. Suddenly, a name flashed. One 
name. He waited. It remained the only name on the screen. "Is that all," he 
asked softly into the speaker, already knowing the answer. 

"The somewhat amazed voice of the computer tech in Washington replied, "Yes 
sir. He was on a hook-up within every single time frame. The odds of that 
happening are...." 

"Don't bother. It was no coincidence. I want a full background check on this 
name. I have a feeling that at one time, he walked in the real world, and 
was indeed the same person as our agent in question." 

Two blocks down the road from the house where Trixie and Rixie lived, Dennis 
made his slow way towards his objective. He knew that the man he'd tracked 
endlessly over the past two years would have taken precautions. There would 
be lookouts. He'd seen ho one yet. That's what bothered him. He feared that 
already they would have seen him. 

It was starting to snow, and he wished that he'd had his thermal 
windbreaker, but it was still in the pack back in Rixie's room. 

It was getting even colder, if that was possible. The snow began to fall in 
fast, hard gusts. The wind was rising. Great, he muttered to himself. He 
wanted to move on, but he didn't dare. When entering an area you know to be 
under surveillance, it doesn't matter how good you are. You wait. If you've 
been seen, and you wait long enough, they'll make their move. But damn, 
there were exceptions to the rules, weren't there? 

Rixie felt fingers on her face, and then, felt the knot on her blindfold 
being untied. 

It fell away, and at first, she expected a blinding rush of light. But he'd 
turned the lights off, and replaced one or two with very dim bulbs. Bright 
enough for them to see each other, but dim enough to be unnoticed outside. 

He stood in front of her, grinning, as usual. 

It was the same grin that she remembered, but with a difference. What had 
before been interpreted as a friendly, paternal grin, a comforting presence, 
was now obviously the look of a madman. A totally deranged lunatic. 

She'd never seen anything so chilling in her life. 

Never. 

"Rixie, dear Rixie. How are you. My, my, didn't I tell you once that you 
were growing up to be a beautiful woman. Well, let me be the first to assure 
you that you've made it. Without a doubt, you've made it." 

He stood back to survey her bound body. Rixie looked over on the bed and saw 
Trixie splayed spread eagle on the bed, each arm and leg stretched wide and 
tied to a corner of the poster bed. 

She had marks on her body. Deep red welts. Rixie cringed inwardly, knowing 
that more would be in store for her. 

"Do you know how long I've thought of you, my little dear," asked her 
father, keeping his voice calm and patient, sounding almost like her doctor 
going through routine examination questions. 

She couldn't answer, for the gag was still in her mouth, but she knew that 
her father would not really want to hear her. They'd never been anything but 
outlets for his vicious fantasies. 

She wondered who he'd been using in the years since she'd last seen him. 

He brought his face closer to hers now, and smiled, showing a row of teeth 
that was far straighter than what she remembered of him. 

He'd apparently had some dental work done on them, perhaps out of necessity. 
He would be just the kind of person to get into a fight and wind up with a 
lead pipe stuck in his mouth and pieces of his teeth scattered all over the 
floor. 

She remembered that he'd always been meticulous about his hygiene, and now, 
as he brought his mouth right up to her face, she smelled a faint trace of 
mint on his breath. His hair was perfectly washed, styled and combed. His 
clothes looked like they'd been tailor made for him. 

He looked like any harmless, sterile business executive. 

But as his fingers grabbed at her breasts, she knew that there was a 
profound difference. 

He was a lunatic. She could see it in his eyes, could see it in the way his 
lips curled and twisted slightly, not enough to make him look like a 
caricature or a grotesque monster, just enough so that he did not look 
normal. The effect was decidedly more chilling. 

Then, his lips were on her. She felt her skin crawl at his touch, but though 
she pulled back, she simply had no room to move. There was no way to avoid 
that sickeningly sensual wetness the moist mushy feeling as his lips pressed 
against her naked flesh, first running down her cheeks, and then kissing her 
neck, moving down the line of her back, and then finally, working around to 
the front of her body, working their way along the side curve of her 
breasts, moving up to her nipples, closer, closer, closer.... 

Oh God help me, she thought to herself. Even though it forced waves of 
self-loathing through her, she found the touch of his lips to her nipples 
one of the most exquisite pleasures she could ever recall. 

It was perfect, it was exactly as she remembered, it was a reaction so basic 
to her nature, burned into her brain at such an early age, that it had no 
relation to the fact that she would have like very much at that moment to 
tear his eyes out and rip out his tongue. 

She couldn't control her body. As he locked his teeth around her nipple, she 
felt her breasts responding wildly, felt electric surges of energy tearing 
through her entire nervous system, felt all her nerve endings beginning to 
tingle, and then to sizzle. 

She began to writhe, not from pain, but from the sheer physical pleasure of 
it. 

No no no no, her brain wanted to scream. 

But in her breasts, and between her legs, where her sweet pussy was now 
beginning to drip a flooding current of passionate excretions, there was a 
different cry. A more impassioned cry, a yearning cry. Yes, yes, yes, yes, 
it whispered, scarcely breaking through to her conscious thoughts. Yes yes 
yes yes, it is perfect. It is perfect. 

Her father began to bite harder. She felt the edges of his teeth begin to 
press deeper and deeper into her naked flesh. The hard brown rings and the 
softer pink nipples responded to every burst of pressure, sending her body 
into further spastic twitching that were beyond her ability to control. 

She felt his fingers starting to slither into the space between her moist 
thighs. It should have horrified her, and when she was able to think about 
it later, it did exactly that, but at that particular moment, she simply 
jammed her hips forward as far as she could and tried to work his fingers 
between her pink wet lips, wanting to feel the pressure of his stimulation 
as his fingertips massaged the entire length of her wet gash. 

She no longer was even aware of Trixie, still hanging limp from the other 
frame. Whatever he had done to her, she knew that she had no reason to 
expece anything different for herself. Why then, did the prospect fill her 
with such anticipation? Why did it increase the already intense level of her 
lust? 

She had no way of knowing, nor did she even bother to wonder. She existed at 
that moment purely for the touch of his fingers as they roamed her body, 
returning always the dripping wet slit between her legs, for the sharp bite 
of his teeth, chewing harder and harder now on her enflamed nipples, and for 
the memories ... the past reformed, given substance ... it was as though 
she'd returned over the years, returned to a time when things made sense, 
when there was an order to events, however perverted. She was comforted. She 
was relieved of all responsibility. She was home. 

He now jammed several fingers between the lips of her cunt hole. She 
couldn't tell how many, only that she felt all at once totally filled. 

She began to moan, and her father, perhaps recognizing that she had crossed 
the line once more, was again the docile daughter that he remembered, took a 
chance and pulled the gag from her mouth. 

"Oh Daddy," she gasped as soon as she could speak, "that's wonderful. Oh, 
GOD! it's so fucking wonderful...." 

She was babbling, mumbling incoherently, saying "Oh Daddy," again and again 
over and over, not really thinking about anything that came out, only 
feeling the stimulation in her pussy, the fire in her clit, the sizzling 
currents flooding her breasts. 

He flared his fingers in her. He felt slippery and she knew that her juices 
must be flooding all over them coating his hand, and his wrist with the 
thick oily juice of her cunt. 

He shoved harder, tried to jam up further inside her, and continued to 
stretch her membranes and tissues like they hadn't been stretched for years. 
Since the last time he'd had his hand buried up her cunt. 

She had no idea how long it went on, only that he continued increasing the 
tension of his bites, and grew rougher and rougher with the delicate tissues 
of her pussy. 

She'd given up all resistance long ago, and now simply hung there on the 
frame, much like her sister, a passive receptor for his attentions. 

Finally she opened her eyes and saw that he had taken his clothes off. 

"Daddy, what are you going to do to us?" she asked, when the heat of her 
arousal had abated somewhat. 

"He turned back to her, and said nothing. He didn't even smile. At that 
moment, all the passion that he'd reawakened in her was transformed in the 
blinking of an eye, to mind numbing fear. Stark, paralyzing fear. Never had 
she been so totally afraid for herself. Never before had she felt such a 
black thickness inside her. 

He held his belt in his hand. He was coming back to her. He was smiling. He 
was laughing. Rixie began to scream. Was she making any sound? Were her 
vocal cords paralyzed? Or had he just replaced the gag? She didn't know any 
more. She felt herself slipping away, losing control, losing touch with her 
reality, such as it was.... 

"No No NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!! ! " she imagined herself calling from a great 
ways off. 

And then, like a thunderclap signaling an afternoon shower, her father swung 
his belt and brought the heavy leather strap right across her nipples. 

This time, her scream was loud, and she had no doubts that she was indeed 
making it. 

Again he swung. This time, he aimed for the flat, soft plain of her stomach, 
standing to the side of her so that he could achieve the maximum force with 
his swing. 

She felt like she'd had boiling oil poured all over her. The pain was so 
intense and extreme that she was momentarily pushed beyond thought and 
speech. Nothing seemed to work. Her muscles began to twitch. 

Again he swung. 

And again. And again! Harder! Harder! Harder! 

She looked up one time and saw that with every swing, his facial features 
became more and more twisted. His top lip was twisted up, exposing mot of 
his perfect straight teeth. He looked like a mad dog. 

He swung again. 

And again. 

He was bringing the focus of his strokes lower and lower on her body, 
bringing his belt closer and closer to her pussy. 

She remembered now, how harsh his whippings had been, how much he could get 
carried away with himself. 

She'd forgotten, she'd repressed the reality of the memories, leaving in 
their place a fear of having to repeat them, but no actual recollection of 
the experience itself. 

Now, she remembered. 

It all came flooding back to her. 

The whips, the restraints, the chains, the handcuffs, the ropes, the frames, 
the special benches. 

How had they survived? How had two little girls managed to not only endure 
such treatment, but actually come out with their minds halfway intact? 

She didn't know, but now, as the pain resumed, as the strap took her back to 
an earlier time in her life, she realized that she might not be able to 
survive this time. 

What was it that beckoned her ... that lured her onwards, in spite of the 
torture, the constant lashes falling onto her thighs now, ripping through 
her pubic bush ... what was actually making her lean backwards as far as she 
could, thrust her hips forward to expose her clit.... 

"Oh God, Oh God! Oh God! OH GOD! OH GOD!" 

It was a chant, not to ward off demons but to sustain them, for it was the 
kind of reaction that only fueled her father's mindless thirst for pain. 

He was swinging now with a fury that she could not remember from the old 
days. He had shortened the length of the belt that he was using, to make it 
easier to bring it down onto her wet pussy, again and again ... striking 
against her quivering clit with the single-minded intensity that only a 
madman can bring to their task. 

She felt the pain pushing her to greater and greater heights, until at 
last.... 

It began to grow dark. A deeper, more fundamental and lasting dark than any 
she'd ever known. She felt herself slipping away ... slipping into that 
blessed realm of peace, of sleep ... a sleep that she might never awaken 
from, if she was lucky. 

Her last memory was of a large cock beginning to push its way past her 
dripping lips, shoving into the depths of her pussy, spreading all her 
engorged membranes.... 

Plunging deeper and deeper into her. 

Deeper and deeper, and deeper, and deeper. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

The old man had actually been dozing. When the voice came back over the 
intercom, he started, not obviously, but his assistant noticed it. He also 
noticed how deftly the old man hid it, and how quickly he was able to 
achieve maximum alertness. 

"We're sending the information you requested now sir." 

Even as he spoke, more of the strangely shaped computer letters began to 
appear on the screen. 

"Excuse me," said the old man into the intercom, "but could you enlarge them 
a little? My eyes aren't what they used to be." The following information 
appeared. 

PETER MORGAN DISAPPEARED: 8/21/73 Wife initiated abandonment proceedings on 
behalf of herself and their two daughters. Declared 'Legally Dead' 9/12/80
 Insurance company refused to pay claim. PRESENT STATUS: DISPUTED. 

"Um hmmm," said the old man, noncommittally. "That's interesting. 
Photographs?" 

"Not yet, sir. But we can obtain them." 

"No need. I have a feeling I know what they'd look like. What about the 
daughters?" 

"Twins, sir." 

"Age at present?" 

"Just one second sir ... " 

Again the letters appeared. 

MORGAN, RIXIE MORGAN, TRIXIE AGE: 22 

Currently doing graduate work-Fenwood University. 

"My God," muttered the old man, reacting visibly for the first time since 
his assistant had known him. 

"Find out where they are. Get their address. And then get me the Sheriff on 
the phone. We've just encountered one of the pitfalls of relying on 
anonymous freelancers as much as we do. I just hope ... .. I just hope that 
we're not too late." 

He then got up and followed his assistant out, leaving the harried computer 
wizards in Washington with a severe case of high blood pressure. 

At last, Dennis saw him. Crouched low beside a tree, he miraculously was 
facing the other way. The snow was falling harder now, hard enough so that 
Dennis could actually hear it as it made contact with the branches and the 
drifts that had already accumulated on the ground. How strange, he 
reflected. You seldom thought about the sound of snow falling, but there it 
was, when ever the wind would die down and the flakes could simply drift 
earthward on their own weight. It was a soft crunching sound, like walking 
through dry leaves at a whisper. 

Oh well, he figured that in this cold, he could've forgiven the bad metaphor 
and crooked simile. 

He waited just a few minutes more, to make certain that there wasn't another 
guard nearby, and then, he made his move. 

Fortunately, snow muffles sounds. He was able to move within inches of the 
man's back before he gave any hint of his presence, and then, it was too 
late. He locked his hands around the man's neck, not even wanting to know if 
he was innocent or a stooge of the Wolf. He simply turned off his brain, and 
applied pressure in the appropriate spot, until.... 

The snap was felt more than heard. 

It was a feeling that he knew he would never get used to, no matter how many 
times he was obliged to produce it in an unsuspecting neck. 

He looked towards the house, and saw that all the lights were off. No, there 
seemed to be a dim bulb burning in the living room. 

He settled down to wait a moment or two more, to see if he'd been detected 
by anyone else. 

Inside the house, Trixie was coming awake. 

Her vision was blurred for a moment, but she was instantly aware of the 
intense pain in her arms and her legs. 

Just as quickly, she was aware of the hot welts that seemed to ring her 
entire body and completely coat her naked flesh. She remembered. 

He had pushed into the house, tied them up. 

She looked around the dimly lit room, and recognized that it was Rixie's, 
that she was spread out naked on her sister's bed, her wrists and ankles 
painfully tied. 

She heard noises. 

Her brain was fogged by the pain, but she was able to focus on the forms 
moving across the room, partially obscured by the oblong shadows cast by the 
single dim bulb. 

But she could see what he had done to Rixie. 

He lad actually driven a large spike into the wall, about ten feet above the 
floor, and from it he had suspended a rope. 

It was to this rope that he had secured Rixie's bound wrists. She stood, her 
back to the wall, her legs spread wide. From her bound position, it was a 
little difficult for Trixie to sit up far enough to get a good view what was 
going on, but she managed. It looked like he had actually driven two more 
spikes into the wall also, and used them to secure Rixie's ankles. Her arms 
Were pulled above her head and were stretched totally taut. 

Her head itself was lying to one side, almost resting on her shoulder. Her 
eyes were closed. Trixie's first thought was that her sister was dead. 

But she was unable to keep a good view of Rixie's face because their father 
was standing right in front of the girl, and seemed to be fucking her for 
all he was worth. 

His trousers were dropped around his ankles in a crumpled heap, and she saw 
the pale cheeks of his ass, slowly rolling back and forth as he moved his 
hips up against Rixie's pelvis, pulled them back, pressed them again, pulled 
them back.... 

Trixie's body ached. Tey, she too had just experienced the feel of that 
massive cock, ramming up into her body, spreading apart all her soft 
membranes. 

The memory was as vivid as the heat from the welt of her father's lash. It 
had been a revival of pain, terror, pleasure and ecstasy all at the same 
time. She remembered now, it had been she herself who had been most 
receptive to their father's strange habits. She remembered how she'd 
actually begun to look forward to it, even after he started to get carried 
away, even after he started trying to really hurt them. 

She remembered, and her pussy remembered. The slow current of juice still 
flowing between her parted lips, stretched open by the position of her bound 
legs, was a continuing testimony to this. She had come. 

Oh God, now she'd come! Her muscles had gone into spasms that no one had 
ever been able to duplicate in her. No one except him. Except this crazed 
figure now fucking the daylights out of Rixie. Their father. 

Rixie made no sound, her eyes remained closed. But their father continued to 
pound her hips with his own, slamming that cock through the lips of Rixie's 
cunt, jamming that huge head back against the bottom wall of her cunt. 
Trixie could imagine exactly what her sister was experiencing. They were 
twins, after all, and their cunts, as well as everything else, were 
identical. 

He was pumping faster now, and as she listened beneath the grunts and groans 
and the moans, she could hear a steady rhythmic slurp, as the long fleshy 
shaft sloshed up through the juicy tissues, splashing its way in and out, in 
and out.... 

And then, with three mighty heaves, accompanied by a soft cry, he shuddered, 
and was still. 

He literally collapsed against Rixie, throwing his arms around her shoulders 
for support. He remained in that position for a moment, and then stood up. 
He placed his hand against Rixie's cheek, brushed her skin with .lis 
fingers, looked close at her face, and then, as if plagued by the same fears 
that seized Trixie, he put his fingers around her wnst, trying to feel for 
her pulse. 

To Trixie's immense relief, she saw her sister's eyes flicker open at that 
moment. 

Their father laughed. In that moment, Trixie was convinced that she would 
never hear such a demented, insane, crazed laugh again, no matter how long 
she lived. 

"So, my little darling, you try to frighten your dear old dad, do you. Well, 
I don't know about you, but that seems like an awfully nasty thing to me." 

He turned around to look at Trixie. 

"What do you say about that, Trixie? Wouldn't you agree with me that that 
was awfully nasty of your sister? Hmmm?" 

"Daddy," said Trixie, timidly, after a moment of silence, "please let us go. 
Please. Don't do anything more to us. Please don't" 

What was that unfathomable urge between her legs screaming out to counter 
her words? What was it inside her that tried mightily to overrule her 
thoughts, her common sense, her knowledge that le might very well want to 
kill them both? She couldn't explain it. She only knew that even as she 
begged for freedom, she found the taste of his lash, the pain of his cock, 
the fear of the restraining bonds a sweet kind of terror, a delicious, 
exquisite torture. Why did she love it? Why was she unable to control 
herself? Why, oh why, did she want so desperately to make that mad, final 
plunge into the blackness of the abyss, never to return, feeling the harsh 
bite of his whip all the way to infinity.... 

He walked over to her bed. 

"Let you go? Surely you jest. You never understood, did you? Neither of you 
did. All those years. It was just a game for you ... you never took me 
sjriously. Never." 

He began to look off into the distance, as if watching figures dancing along 
some horizon Trixie knew she'd never see. He stared, his face grew more and 
more distant, the blankness seeming to come straight from Ids heart. 

He began to mumble. 

"They didn't understand in Iran either. They were fools. We had the 
techniques ... the resources,. .but they lacked the resolve. Damn them! They 
lost a country, because they were squeamish, they didn't know the exercise 
of power. They only knew terror. And Angola ... and Nicaragua ... all of 
them ... fools, they didn't understand. I tried. I wanted so much...." 

Trixie couldn't follow much of what he was saying, but she understood 
madness when she saw it acted out before her. He kept talking about various 
countries, places he seemed to have been in ... kept talking about power ... 
and now, she saw that tears were streaming down his face, that his hands 
were shaking. 

He turned back to her, suddenly seeming to once more be aware of her 
presense. 

"You understand, don't you, my dear? You understand about power. About 
control. You know ... don't you?" 

"K-k-know w-wh-what, Daddy?" 

He stared at her, wordlessly, and then, slowly brought a knife out of his 
pocket. He opened it, and even in the dim light, she could see the blade 
gleaming. It was long, thin, and she had a very certain feeling that it was 
razor sharp. 

Why couldn't she scream, she wondered. He was staring at her breasts, 
holding the knife in his hand, loosely, like perhaps he was getting ready to 
throw it. 

She should scream. She should cry out, anything! But she couldn't. She was 
paralyzed, the sight of that terrible thin blade as it drew closer and 
closer, overwhelming her to the point that she could no longer act, in any 
way at all. 

Rixie, however, was in no way paralyzed. She was just frightened out of her 
mind. 

And when she once again opened iier eyes and saw that monster standing over 
Trixie's body, saw that knife, she acted without thought. She screamed. 

It was a sharp, long, loud, intensely piercing scream. 

Their father jumped, visibly shaken by the sound. 

He turned on her. 

"Shut up, you stupid bitch!" 

Rixie might as well not have heard him, for she continued to scream as 
loudly as she possibly could. 

My God, thought Trixie, now he'll kill her for sure. 

And indeed, he did lunge for his daughter, but instead of plunging the blade 
between her breasts as Trixie had anticipated, he instead balled up his fist 
and struck her solidly across her face. There was a sharp snap as he 
connected with uer jaw, a choked scream of pain, and then, as if a balloon 
with the air let out of it, Rixie's body crumpled, hanging from the rope 
like a limp rag. 

He stared at her, as if not able to comprehend what he had done, and then, 
looking once more at the knife in his hand, he turned back around to Trixie. 

"Oh, Daddy," whimpered the bound girl, "please, don't hurt me. Please don't 
hurt me, Daddy." 

He no longer acknowledged her voice or anything she said to him. He simply 
came closer and closer to the bed. 

He was staring at her ... as if he'd never seen her before in his life. 

The knife ... so deadly now, so close. His eyes were somewhat askew in his 
head, and no longer seemed to be quite focused in the same direction. 

"We warned you," he mumbled. 

"What?" asked Trixie. 

"You shouldn't have played around with us. You really shouldn't have. We 
told you we weren't playing games. You should have believed us." 

"Daddy, what are you talking about? It's me! It's Trixie! I'm your daughter! 
Remember?" 

That seemed to take him by surprise. "Trixie?" he asked, slowly, as if he 
hadn't heard the word in years. "Trixie? Have they taken you too?" 

But the question was asked of someone else, not her. He was staring off in 
the distance again, speaking to a different realm, a mad ventriloquist 
casting his voice into another dimension, one only he inhabited. 

"Trixie," he said dreamily, "They've taken you too. But I'll avenge you. I 
promise." 

Then, he turned back to the girl on the bed, and snarled, "You aren't my 
daughter. And you never were. You are a lie. A vicious lie. Tell me who you 
really are?" 

Trixie felt an empty pit of black fear open in her stomach. 

"Daddy," she whimpered, listening to her voice quiver, unable to stop it. 

He was on the bed now. The knife drew closer and closer to her breasts. He 
carefully, deftly, with the grace of a surgeon, brought the point down onto 
her left nipple, and let it sink into her brown flesh about an eighth of an 
inch. 

Trixie gritted her teeth and held her breath. It hurt, but not too bad. She 
would try not to cry out.... 

He dropped tie blade a bit further, and Trixie's body gave a shuddering jolt 
from this new blast of pain. 

But still, she didn't cry out. 

Once again, he pressed the blade further into her, and now, she felt the 
point just beginning to press its way through the surface of her nipple, not 
exactly cutting her yet, but leaving her balanced on the razor's edge of 
fear and terror, all the while with that hot pain slowly filling her entire 
body. 

And again, she was aware of the duality of her response. It hurt. It was 
delicious for that very reason. She knew enough to fear him. She lacked the 
control to avoid wanting him to continue. 

Suddenly the blade was removed, and he was again laughing at her. 

"You didn't think I'd be so crude, did you?" He laughed harder. "Not a 
chance. Why, if I simply lopped the damn thing off, it would be over and 
done with. No dear, I know how to take hours, days if necessary. I'm a pro. 
As you shall surely discover. 

And then, with a quick slice of his blade, he brought the sharp edge 
directly across the soft curve of her breast. Hot pain ripped through her 
nerves. She shrieked, and then, looking down, she saw the red' rivulets of 
blood begin to pour out of the slice he'd made. It wasn't deep. Just enough 
to trigger her pain and fear reflexes. But that was deep enough. 

* * * 

Dennis head Rixie's scream, and knew that it was time to act. There could be 
no more time wasted. If there was someone waiting for him to make his move, 
he'd just have to trust in his own abilities. He'd trailed this man halfway 
around the world. He knew that he had him cornered. He'd had no idea of the 
extent of the man's madness, however. 

He bolted from his hiding place. The snow was falling harder now, and the 
drifts were thick and hard to trudge through, let alone sprint through. 

The house loomed nearer and nearer. He was on the front lawn, moving up to 
the steps. 

Suddenly from the street, two bright white lights struck him. He turned 
around and saw in addition, a flashing blue light. A voice sounded out of 
the snowy night projected through a bullhorn or some kind of loud 
speaker-"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE. DON'T MOVE, AND PUT YOUR HANDS UP!! " 

Inside the car, the sheriff was cold and annoyed. He didn't even know what 
he was doing here, but if he got another call from some stranger telling him 
he'd better do as he was told, it was going to be the last straw. Still, he 
knew enough to do what he was told, particularly when the call threatened a 
brutal murder should he ignore it. From the looks of things, they might have 
been right. There wasn't supposed to be anyone going towards this house 
tonight. 

He got out of the car and walked up the snowy banks, his gun drawn. The 
illuminated figure turned and ripped off the ski mask. 

"Well I'll be damned!" said the Sheriff, when he saw Dennis. "What the hell 
are you doing here?" 

"I'm telling you, Sheriff, there's something very wrong in there." 

"Is that right? Well, it looks to me like there ain't no one at home, you 
want my opinion." 

"Sheriff--! " Dennis began. But then, Trixie's scream came from somewhere 
upstairs. "You satisfied now. Come on! We're going to have to break in." 

Upstairs, Trixie's father stared at her spread legs. He placed his fingers 
at her pussy lips and pulled them apart. "You will find," he said in the 
same calm whisper that he'd been using for the past several minutes, "that 
there are numerous methods by which we can induce you to talk." 

He spread her lips. Trixie felt his fingers against her warm pussy flesh, 
felt the fingertips rubbing over her well lubricated membranes, felt them 
stretching her lips wide, pulling them upwards.... 

There was an aching in her clitoris, that quickly turned to hot pain as her 
father let the point of his knife drop right on top of her stiffened bud of 
nerves. 

He held the knife up, keeping it from doing more than scarcely graze across 
the surface of her clit. It was just enough to both unhinge her mind, and 
send her body sputtering through the first of a wave of orgasmic tremors, 
each one shaking her hips so that momentarily, the pressure of the blade 
point was increased again, and again, and again. There was a rising din, 
coming up from somewhere downstairs, there was the sound of voices, of 
footsteps running up the stairs, and through it all, the continual heat of 
the point, the ecstasy of her body, pushed at last beyond its limits, pushed 
unwillingly into a realm where there was no control, only blind, impassioned 
lust. 

She was unaware of the men rushing into the room, heard nothing of her 
sister's cries, completely missed the fight between Dennis and her father, 
with the sheriff standing on and finally jumping in to help Dennis hold him 
once he was already subdued. 

But Rixie was awake, alert by this time, and so overwhelmed with joy at 
seeing Dennis that she forgot completely her doubts of earlier in the day. 

"Oh my God, oh God, oh God," was all she could say. 

The sheriff rushed to her and began to untie her from the diabolical 
restraints that her father had fastened her to. 

Dennis rushed to Trixie's side, seeing the blood. 

He quickly examined the cut on her breasts, and satisfied himself that there 
was no permanent damage. 

"Quick, call an ambulance," he told the sheriff, who obeyed without 
questioning his authority. 

"You knew," said Rixie, rushing to him, throwing her arms around him, 
oblivious to the fact that she and her sister were both naked. "You knew. 
How did you know?" 

Dennis was to stunned by the welts over her flesh to answer. 

Rixie began to cry, and then, she fainted. 

"Come on, hurry, we need to get these girls checked out. There's no telling 
what they've been through." 

"Well, tell me this," said the sheriff, "who the hell is this man?" 

"Depends on what you know about him. To these girls, he was their father, 
though I doubt they would have expected this from him. It's hard to say 
though. It's hard to say." 

"And who the fuck are you?" 

Dennis smiled. "Don't worry Sheriff, I'm one of the good guys." 

"You know, I kind of don't think there are any good guys. That's what I 
think." 

"You may be right. I can't worry about it. If you'll see that the ambulance 
gets these ladies, I've got a few phone calls to make." 

It was still going to be a long night.
