BH-6466  The Shy Prison Nurse
by Warren Bisig 


As: The Shy Prison Nurse 
As: Prison Hostage 
As: Hostage Nurse 
As: Prison Riot Hostage 


CHAPTER ONE 

"Man!" Tony watched the nurse move. She walked with the grace of a ballet 
dancer, buttocks rubbing lightly together beneath the tight white uniform, 
breasts jouncing. Her hair was long, pulled straight back from her brow and 
tied in a girlish pony tail. How old could she be, he wondered. Twenty-two? 
Three? Too young to be working in a maximum security prison with a thousand 
men who hadn't known a woman in years. 

Years! Twenty-five to thirty the commitment papers read. Tough Tony 
Giardino. He hadn't meant to kill the man, merely punch in his greasy face 
for the smart remark directed at Lois. But he was a pro boxer, a man whose 
hands were considered deadly weapons by law. All for Lois, whose hair was 
the same white-blonde color as the gauzy stuff on the young nurse's head. He 
opened and closed his fists, remembering. He eyed the attractive girl ... 
small, fine blemishless features ... lips that were naturally pink and 
pouting ... long and smooth peaches and whipped cream legs. Thighs. 

What was Lois doing now, he wondered. Who was she fucking? Who? 

"Do you have a pass?" 

"Wha ...?" He blinked at the lovely girl, at the name on the badge-like pin 
all civilian personnel were required to wear. Jean Simmons. Jeanie? Was that 
what they called her? Like the movie star of the same name? 

"A pass!" the nurse snapped. Her blue eyes grew cautious. A frown marred her 
brow. She looked about, as if searching for the cop who was somewhere in the 
quiet infirmary, supposedly keeping a sharp eye on things. "You ... you're 
not permitted in this area without a pass from your wing officer." 

Tony scowled. The cop was off drinking coffee somewhere, he knew. Or reading 
a Playboy magazine. Or making a play for one of the other nurses. The new 
prison wasn't much different from the outside world: cunt all over the 
place, and everyone-cops and cons alike-making their pitch. "Nobody said 
anything about no pass," he said finally. "I cut myself is why I'm here." 

He thrusted his bloody hand at her, displaying the gash where the homemade 
shank had sliced into three fingers. Good guy Tony. He deserved it for 
butting in; he should have known better than to try and break up a fight, to 
take a knife away from another con with a grudge. With ten years in, the 
possibility of parole a few months off and the rest of his bit to be served 
at the spanking new prison where everything was different-cleaner, better 
food, nurses and secretaries roaming the inner compound under guard-he had 
no business at the infirmary with a knife wound. 

The nurse took his hand, examined the wound. "It ... it's awfully deep," she 
said in a small, soft voice, a voice that said, I'm new at this ... at 
prisons ... at nursing. "How ...?" She looked questioningly into his face. 

You know how, he thought. Violence. A shiv. And I bet your cunt is deep too. 
Deep 'n' tight. I bet you could take a sore prick 'n' make it all better. 

"Hobby work," he answered, using the excuse that had become a joke among the 
cons. No one would question it, he knew. The administration too had accepted 
the explanation as an out for a guy who couldn't say a buddy had gone off on 
a fit, flashing a shank. As long as no one was seriously hurt, the warden 
and his staff, under pressure because of the riots plaguing prisons 
throughout the country, figured a guy with a sliced hand had done everyone a 
favor, perhaps saved a life. He could see that even the new girl had been 
briefed on the ruse; that although she didn't believe him, she knew enough 
not to complicate things by asking more unanswerable questions. 

He watched the nurse reach for a sterilized swab from the jar on the 
medication tray, felt the sting of the damp treated cotton. He flinched. 

"Oh! I ... I'm sorry," she said, eyes wide, almost pleading. "It's gonna 
hurt some. I ... I have to get it clean before we stitch you up." 

Tony nodded. He held his hand steady while she dabbed at the cuts. He looked 
swiftly about the glass cage, beyond which the hospital corridors, closed 
doors branching off either side, stretched like spokes from a hub. The 
building, like the rest of the prison, was ultra-modern, with recessed 
fluorescent lighting in the ceiling; floor to ceiling jalousie windows, 
tiles, a color TV in the lounge where the nurses sat and gossiped each noon, 
and the various tanks and equipment, all new and polished to a high gleam, 
to be found in an emergency room on the outside. 

His gaze settled on the swinging door to the operating room. They'd have to 
go in there, he thought. Just him and Jeanie. Alone! He looked back at the 
girl, watched her tits press against the tight uniform with each breath she 
drew. Lois! If her face were painted, thick with red lipstick and green eye 
shadow, Jean Simmons could pass for Lois' twin. He wondered if she had the 
same white-blonde fuzz on her pussy. 

"There!" Jeanie looked up with a smile, cocked her head. "A few stitches 'n' 
you'll be as good as new." 

Tony felt her small slender fingers close reassuringly over his. His joint 
ached. She was beautiful-young, innocent. The type girl he'd been dreaming 
about for a decade of lonely nights in a cell. He was tempted to crush her 
to him, to mash her pink lips and bruise her soft body with the frustration 
that made his dick hard whenever a woman-any woman: young or old, fat or 
skinny or ugly-swished a female ass within shouting distance. He took a deep 
breath. "I'm as good as new just talking to you, baby," he blurted. 

The frown returned to the girl's brow. She studied him, as if trying to 
decide whether he was just being nice or had cunt-her cunt-in mind. She 
released his hand. A tiny foot touched the pedal that opened the lid of the 
waste can, and a tinier hand dropped the bloody swab into the trash. She 
drew herself up tall, sniffled. She squared her small chin. "We'd better get 
you sewed up," she said, refusing to meet his gaze, staring instead at the 
large white-faced clock on the wall. "My relief'll be here in twenty 
minutes. I ... she's not as liberal as I am about guys in here without 
passes." 

* * * 

Alone that night, the lights out, the moon showing bright through the barred 
window high in the wall of his cell, Tony flexed the bandaged hand and 
thought about Jean. He hadn't felt the needle closing the cut. He'd felt 
only the girl's tiny fingers, her nearness. She'd seen the bulge at his fly, 
he was certain. She knew he was looking through the white, summer-weight 
uniform, envisioning her tits and belly and twat. And when she turned to go 
to the medicine cabinet across the operating room, wide hips working 
smoothly, the light from the window outlining her figure, the swell of her 
ass, he felt sure the abrupt backward glance held a promise, maybe even a 
dare. 

He groaned. Rolling onto his side, he clutched his stiff cock. "I'd give my 
right nut for a piece of that pussy," he mumbled-almost a prayer. "Jesus!" 

But he was in prison, he reminded himself. No matter how modern the complex, 
no matter how liberal the administration that allowed women to walk the 
grounds as if it were a college campus, he had only to touch the girl, make 
an improper advance and have her yell rape! and he'd be back in the dungeon 
upstate-the riot-torn, crumbling monstrosity being used to house only what 
the press called "the hard-core criminal"-with thirty years more on his time 
sheet. 

He squeezed his prick hard, as hard as he could. Until the hunger changed 
into hurt and the stiffness was gone. He sighed, closed his eyes. Outside he 
heard footsteps; the screw taking a head count. The flashlight glared into 
his cell, left. The footsteps continued on down the catwalk, became faint, 
faded. 

Lois! he thought, sleep clouding his mind. Jean was too much like the girl 
who'd taught him all there was to know about sex-the blonde with the 
insatiable cunt and hot nipping asshole. But it wasn't always like that, he 
recalled. Not when they first met. Not when Lois was fourteen, a virgin, and 
he was the one who initiated the love play. 

He willed his mind back, recapturing the scene in the car, the first time. 
Inside his head it was fifteen years in the past ... five years before the 
creep with the wise mouth called Lois "a pig in a blanket" and got himself 
killed. It was their fifth date. It was summer, the season for shorts. But 
no one wore shorts like those Lois had on. 

A pig in a blanket, he mused ... drifting ... falling into a restless sleep, 
and the cramped front seat of the borrowed convertible where he first saw 
the rare white-blonde hair that grew in abundance between pretty little Lois 
Fielding's plump teenage thighs. 

"How come we always have to park?" asked Lois as he silenced the engine and 
turned toward her. She looked at him with apprehension. She sat the seat 
sidesaddle, one leg curled beneath her cute butt, creamy thighs forming a 
provocative V which led to the smaller, maddening V, the swell of her virgin 
pussy, at the crotch of the tight yellow shorts. "Every time you take me out 
we end up here," she continued in a huff. "In the woods. Boy!" 

Tony laughed. He moved closer, moved his hand up her arm to her shoulder. 
Already his dick was rock-hard. Lois in shorts and a matching crop top was 
the sexiest chick in town. He pressed his lips to her cheek, remembering the 
last date, a week before, when she showed the first signs of coming around. 
When her mouth opened beneath his, and she allowed him to ease her down on 
the seat, scurry atop her and dry lay. Tonight was going to be different, 
he'd promised himself. This time he wouldn't pop in his pants, wouldn't be 
satisfied with a dry run when with a little more patience ...! 

"That tickles. Stop," whispered Lois as he blew in her ear. Her hands came 
up to his chest, as if to push him away. She leaned back into the corner 
against the passenger door, half reclining. She pouted-a sweet little girl 
trying to get her own way. 

"Tickle or not, you dig it," said Tony in a gruff voice, gaze darting from 
her firm breasts to the puffy place atop and between her gapped open thighs. 
He used his nose to push her long hair aside, nibbled her ear lobe. His hand 
slipped lower, brushed the side of her tit. "Like last week. You dug it real 
good when I was on top." 

"I didn't. I ..." 

"Shit!" He slid his lips across her cheek to her mouth, dabbed with his 
tongue. 

"You're terrible," breathed Lois, slipping lower in the seat. "Ouch!" She 
made a face, uncurled her leg and squirmed to get comfortable. The shorts 
pulled even tighter at her crotch, the material digging into her cuntlips, 
outlining the objective. Moonlight from the windshield licked her white 
thighs, made them glisten like marble. 

But soft marble, thought Tony. So fucking soft the bulge in his pants leg 
dented one tender expanse. The wrinkled skin on his nuts grew tight. His rod 
pulsed. "Lay down like you did last time," he said. 

"Nooo." 

He kissed her, mashed his lips to hers until her mouth opened with a long 
sigh. He put his arm about her slim waist, hand splayed at the small of her 
back, applied pressure. Her ass began to slip lower. He eased his legs onto 
the seat and went down with her. Lower and lower until they lay side by, 
side, with one of the girl's lovely legs over the edge of the seat, foot on 
the floor, the other pressed to the throbbing maniac at his crotch. He left 
his hand where it was, wedged beneath her at the waist of the shorts ... 
massaging. 

Lois began to breathe faster. The hands at his chest came up, clutched at 
his upper arms. She didn't resist when his tongue slipped deep in her mouth; 
played over, around, under hers, licked her teeth. She was a hot one, mused 
Tony. He could feel the innocent fire in her young loins: the inexperienced 
but nonetheless exciting spasms making her thighs quiver, making the flesh 
pliant, willing. He touched her tit, heard her moan no-owl but felt the fat 
nipple grow rigid against his palm. He applied pressure there too ... 
working the crop top and bra on the taut bud ... working her into 
compliance. 

The first real resistance came when he moved the hand beneath her down the 
seam of the shorts and into the hot crack of her ass. Lois tore her mouth 
from his. "D-don't!" she stammered, big baby blue eyes glazed, moist lips 
swollen, face flushed. "I ... you k-know I'm ... oh! OhhhhhHHHHH! Y-you know 
I never di-id!" 

He knew. She'd told him often enough-half a dozen times on every date. But 
he couldn't forget her gyrations the week before, and he was determined to 
make her give up what she'd been teasing him with for a month; he was 
determined to snatch her panties off, fix it so she'd never again be able to 
tell him about her fucking cherry. 

He wedged his leg between hers, felt her shiver as his thigh met her damp 
crotch. She was pissing cunt juice all over the place. He could smell it; a 
fishy but pleasant stink, the strong odor of a young, unused pussy, a 
cunthole in heat. "I won't really do it," he lied. "Not all the way, Lo. 
Only like last time ... but maybe with your shorts off." 

"No!" Her hands returned to his chest, tried to push him away. But her cunt 
wasn't resisting. Her hips moved gently, almost imperceptibly. Round and 
round. Grinding. Pleading for the stiffness in his pants leg. 

Again Tony kissed her. He drove his tongue so deep in her mouth that she 
gagged. Her hands balled into fists, pounded his chest. But when the hand on 
her ass found the zipper, worked it down and crept inside to cup a plump 
buttock, the gagging became an incoherent pleasure sound. Then she 
moaned-the way she'd moaned the week before when he centered his dick and 
began to dry-hump it to her. 

Her ass was so soft, hot. He traced the crack all the way down, to where the 
twin melons flared out and turned back to meet full satiny thighs. She was a 
bake-oven there. He pushed the panties into the split, fingers exploring 
until they encountered a springy mound of cunt-hair. He groaned. Quickly, 
before she could resist further, he wedged his other leg between hers, 
centered the bulge of his meat, and began to pump. 

He might have come in his pants despite his resolve had Lois not tried to 
escape him again. But just as it was getting good, just as he got his 
fingers beneath the panties, seeking the tiny brown hole low between her 
quivering cheeks, the girl twisted away, turned onto her side and tried to 
sit up. "No, Tony," she wailed. "NOOOOOOOOOOO!" 

"My fucking ass, no," he growled, wanting her more than he'd ever wanted 
anything. "You'll gimme some cunt or ...!" 

He locked one arm around her waist, pulled her back down, this time with her 
bottom tight to his enraged cock. With his free hand he fumbled between 
them, loosed the monster. It grew harder, burrowed into the open shorts and 
forced the panties deep in the split up her little round backside. "You'll 
gimme some or I'll take it," he barked in her ear. "Then I'll tell everybody 
you fuck-the whole goddam neighborhood! I'll pass it aroun' so's the guys 
take you off whether you dig them or not. You'll have more big fucking cocks 
up your belly than a chicken shits eggs." 

The threat made the girl whimper. She stared back at him with doleful eyes. 
"They ... n-n-no-body'll believe you." 

"Won't they?" Tony laughed. 

"You ... you ...!" Lois began to cry. Her hands came up to her face to hide 
the tears, the shame. She trembled-a frightened little girl in his arms. 

Tony experienced a momentary stab of compassion. But his dick, the fat 
pulsing glands, was experiencing a different, stronger emotion. The hot 
split where the panties were sucked deep between the halves of the girl's 
luscious bottom seemed to be breathing: the melons of satiny flesh opened 
and closed, caressing his need, teasing the monster until he thought sure 
the cream in his nuts would cannon off before he got himself sheathed. 

Quickly, ignoring the girl's woeful sobs, he undid the one button at the 
back of the shorts. The garment fell open. He thrust his hand inside shorts 
and panties, cupped the springy mound of her pussy. "Chrissakes!" he hissed. 
"Jesus, Lo, it's soft. The softest cunt ever." 

"Oh, don't. Ohhh! OHHHHHHH!" Lois doubled up, tried to escape the cruel 
fingers seeking her virgin cunthole. "T-T-To-neeeeee!" 

He was beyond hearing her pleas. The feel of her delectable young-girl 
pussy-the hair like goose feathers, the lips fat and wet and nipping in 
spite of the minx's loud complaints-made him wild: a rapist, if that was 
what was required. He simply couldn't wait any longer, had to have her. 

"Easy, baby. You know-" he drove two fingers roughly up her tight 
cunthole-"you dig it real good. Gooder than anything! I knew it last time 
when you dry-humped me like there was no tomorrow. Man! Lo wants to screw!' 
I been tellin' myself all week. 'She wants it but she's got to be persuaded 
some is all!'" 

"I ... I ow! OWWWWwwwwwwwwwww!" Lois stared back at him with confusion in 
her wide tearful eyes. 

"It feels good, don't it?" he pressed, working her clit, grinding the length 
of his stiffness into the crack of her ass. "Admit it, Lo. You want my dick 
up your belly as bad as I wanna put it there. Say it! Say, 'Fuck me, Tony! 
Put your big rod up my pussy!' Say it, Lo. SAY IT!" 

The girl shivered. The muscles along the inner expanse of her thighs grew 
taut. Her jiggly ass flesh tightened. "I ... I w-want you ... I ... oh! Oh, 
it'll hurt. I know it. I ... I know it'll hurt something awful." 

He had her, he thought. Pretty Lois Fielding was going to let him fuck her. 
Every guy in town was on the make for the adorable blonde with tits out to 
there I but he-Tough Tony Giardino; the nothing kid from the slums with the 
fast hands, fists that were going to take him somewhere, make him 
somebody-was going to cop her sweet cherry. 

First in war, first in peace, and first in the heart-shaped wedge of Lois 
Fielding's virgin cunt, he thought triumphantly. Was it blonde like the 
silken hair on her pretty head? Or was it black like the scruff on the other 
pussies he'd poked in? He abandoned her twat, pushed the shorts and panties 
down her legs, off. He unbuckled his belt, kicked free of the pants and 
cumbersome shorts. He didn't much care what color her soft pussy hair Was. 
He didn't much care about anything except the pink slit nestled below the 
short springy curls, and the barrier, her maidenhead, waiting within for the 
bludgeoning force of his angry hardon. 

She didn't resist when he turned her onto her back once more, nor when he 
climbed between her trembling teenage thighs. He paused for a moment to lift 
the crop top to her neck, undo the bra and bare her big-too big for a girl 
of fourteen-red-nippled titties. "Manoman, you're beautiful," he croaked, 
meaning it, thinking she was the most provocative girl he'd ever undressed. 
"Your tits, your cunt. Manoman!" 

He glanced down, groaned. She was indeed a true blonde: moonlight played on 
the triangle of spun gold atop her swollen vulva. He positioned himself, the 
tip of his dick at the wet mouth of her sex. She even looked like a virgin, 
he thought. Her body was unmarked, with not so much as a freckle to mar the 
stretches of whiteness and pink ... belly ... smooth inner thighs. "Baby!" 
he grunted, fucking his hips suddenly forward. 

"Tony, d-don't hurt meeeeeeeee," cried Lois, shrinking back, grinding her 
ass into the cool leather seat as the knob of his prick parted the moist 
lips of her pussy, burrowed in. "Ow! Ow, it ... it's too bi-ig!" 

But it wasn't too big, Tony knew. There had been other protesting young 
girls-lots of them in the tenement neighborhood where he grew up fucking 
everything in sight; fucking even his two little cousins, one with barely a 
hair on her twat. Each had complained about the size of his member ... all 
the time taking it in, in. Gobbling him up until only the roots remained 
outside, then straining for more, for his balls. Lo was tight, new. But 
there were many tight cunts that had held his eleven-inch stake. Assholes 
too. Tiny pink mouths. Girls were built to be stretched to accommodate, to 
be used. 

"Hold tight," he directed. "It Um, baby, it's fucking hot. Hotter than any 
other mother fucking ohhhhhhhh! Just push up with your hips, doll. Help me. 
It ah! It umahhhh! It'll only hurt 'til we get my dick, all the way up your 
hole. Then ...!" He expanded and contracted the glands against her hard 
clit, demonstrating what was in store. 

"Umph! Um-umph! UMMMMMMmmmm!" Lois threw her ass up off the seat, thighs 
gapped wide. A spasm passed through her belly. Her cuntlips tugged like 
miniature fingers on the tip of the long cylindrical rod protruding from the 
satiny fuzz on her eager white-blonde pussy. 

"Yeeeah," breathed Tony, fucking in short rapid thrusts until half the 
length of the formidable monster was in, the glands throbbing at the 
elastic-like barrier. "Now ... now raise your knees," he hissed through 
clenched teeth. "P-plant your feet on the seat, 'n' when I say go! you push 
up hard so's it'll go in. Push as hard as ah! Ah, Je-zus H. Fucking Christ! 
Go! Now! Push up h-hard!" 

The girl began to comply. Knees up and pointed out at either side of his 
loins, thighs forming a pink and creamy white thoroughfare to the tiny hole 
that had never before known a man, she planted her feet and lifted her 
little round ass off the leather. Then she gasped, fell back. Her face 
squinched up. "Ow! You-ow! Ow-wow! Stop! It ... it ... owwwwwwWWWWWWWWWWWW! 
It hur-urts! I ... you OW! You ... y-y-you're k-k-kill-ing meeeeeee!" 

"Shuddup 'n' fuck!" Tony reached beneath her, took firm hold of the satiny 
cheeks of her ass. He pulled back, until the tip of his joint-slimy with the 
jellylike lubricant from inside her sopping wet sheath-almost popped free. 
He looked into her flushed lovely face. There was fear in her eyes. Fear and 
hurt. But there was something else too: the residue of the thrill of having 
her hot clit awakened. 

He waited until her belly and thigh muscles relaxed; until the girl, as if 
she thought the painful part was over, began to moan and move her hips 
tentatively. He watched her eyes flutter closed; he watched her head jerk 
slowly from side to side as the pain receded and his fat throbbing meat 
soothed her hard pleasure bud into renewed compliance. Then he lunged. 

"T-T-To-neeeeee!" The girl's blue eyes flew open. Her hands clawed at his 
T-shirt, trying to push him away, to ward off the fiery sting being shoved 
up her tight virgin love-hole. "It hurts. It oh! Oh please! God! No! 
Oh-ah-ohhh! Stooooooooooooop!" 

Again he lunged. Kneading her ass, drunk with the feel of her tender flesh 
in his huge callused hands, the sensation of tearing into her belly, her 
pleas, he fucked his dick in and out, in and out, in and out-deeper and 
deeper each time, until the barrier, as taut as a drumhead, gave, allowing 
the last inches to glide smoothly up her now bloody, no longer virgin, hot 
and tight and pulsing little-girl cunthole. 

He groaned, fell with his weight full upon her. His lips covered one pink 
tensile nipple, sucked it deep in his mouth. His fingers moved deep in the 
crack of her ass, to the tuft of fine hair at her anus. One twisted in and 
tore another loud cry from the girl. "It's done," he said against her lush 
tit. "All the fucking way in, Lo. Man, you're good. Great pussy. The best. 
Wiggle some. Get used to it up there, because from now on, every night, two 
and three times on weekends, me 'n' you're coming out here to screw." 

"I ... I ... Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii ...!" Lois shivered. Her pussy spewed blood 
and juice down his balls onto the leather. Her asshole opened and closed, 
opened and closed on his long brutal stink finger. Her hips bucked. 

Tony knew the struggle was over. He could feel her inner cunt muscles 
absorbing the hurt of first penetration, working now to please instead of 
repel. He raised up, glanced down at the union. "Motherfucker!" 

It was a delicious sight. Superb. Her fat little blonde pussy, the hair 
matted with sweat and cunt juice and watery blood, lay flush with his coarse 
black cock hair, the mouth sucking the roots of his bloated pole as a baby 
greedily sucks a bottle. His nuts rested against the smooth underside of her 
buttocks. Their bellies touched with each labored breath she drew. Best of 
all was what was happening inside ... the feathers dusting the glands of his 
prick ... the lubricants heating the furnace, caressing the shaft of his 
manhood as they washed down the slippery walls of her snug vagina. 

His mouth returned to her tit, teeth nibbling the turgid pink bud crowning 
the lush jiggly mound. He spread the halves of her ass, said, "Fuck, baby. 
Move. Show me what that sweet cunt can do." 

Lois obeyed. She wiggled, slowly at first, but with abandon as his dick 
began to grind in and out. She raised one leg timidly to his waist. The 
other she threw over the edge of the seat, opening wide, making her pussy 
and asshole more accessible. "To-neeeeee ...!" she cooed, hips matching his 
steady fuck rhythm. "Ow! Ow-wow! D-do it, Tony. Hummm! Ho-ow! 
Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii ...!" 

Tony knew how she felt. Fucking was great-the greatest thing ever. 
Particularly when it was him doing the screwing on someone as new and lovely 
as Lois Fielding, ex-virgin. He kissed her neck, her chin. He traced her 
lips with his tongue. He gripped her ass, fingers digging deep in the 
versatile flesh, pulled back and slammed his dick up her round belly with 
all the force in his loins. 

"Owah! Ummmmmmmmm!" The last ounce of hesitation left the girl. "K-kiss me," 
she whimpered, leg high on his waist, toes curled on his back. "Oh, kiss me 
'n' fuck me, Tony, Tony, Toneeeeeeee. Make me oh! Oheeeeeeeee! M-m-make me 
come! Fuc-fuck c-c-cream up my pus-eeeeeeee!" 

He didn't have to be told. Already the gism was climbing up from the 
wrinkled sacs smacking her ass with each forward stroke. His prick was 
leaping inside her, the glands swollen twice normal size and thumping like 
an abscessed tooth. He mashed his mouth to hers, slipped another cruel 
finger up her tight rectum, and fucked as he had never before pounded it 
into a girl. 

When it happened, when the semen spurted and tore a blissful moan from the 
blonde, Tony went limp. He gasped. He drooled into her mouth ... the spit 
shooting off in time with the hot goo firing like molten lava at the depths 
of her silken vagina. He felt her pussy close tight, trapping his cock, the 
lips holding the vibrating length buried to the hilt in the wet warmth of 
her newly discovered weapon-the persuasive tool she'd carried between her 
legs for fourteen years, and was only now, after countless denials, learning 
to use. 

"Go ah! Jesus! Go again, baby," he grunted, wishing it could last forever. 
Wishing they could remain in the car, cunt and cock united, hips and 
buttocks working as one, and come and come and come until time washed them 
away. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

Tony awoke in a sweat, the dream, pretty blonde Lois Fielding, still vivid 
in his mind. Sunlight had replaced the moon in the barred window over the 
bunk. Another day closer to home, he thought. One less night in the 
seemingless endless stretch that left his eyes black-ringed from restless 
tossing caused by nagging desire. 

He lay with eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the prison-cons storming 
from their cells, shouting to one another on the way down the stairs and 
outside into the main courtyard, and the nerve-wracking click-click-clang of 
the night locks being electronically sprung, the doors rolling open. Far in 
the distance, beyond the hospital area, the dull thumping of the tag shop 
presses had already begun the day. He could almost see the new license 
plates streaming from the machines, being stacked, then wrapped and sent off 
to the State Motor Vehicle Agency. He envisioned the screws taking the 6:45 
a.m. head count, calling "Numbers clear!" over the bitchbox. 

Tony frowned. He listened hard, trying to detect what was wrong. "The head 
count!" he blurted. 

He leaped from the bunk to the door, peered out the small window. He could 
hear the electric time locks being released one by one down the length of 
the upper and lower tiers, could see the men flinging the doors back to race 
from their cells. Yet the intercom system hadn't cleared the numbers, and 
the cells-the locks controlled by a master panel at the Operations 
Center-were never, but never! opened until each con had been accounted for, 
the number tallied with that on the count roster, and the Supervisory White 
Hat at Center, the man in charge of the shift, had given the okay. 
Impatiently he waited for the electronic click-click to reach his door. 

"Hey, white boy," called Slick Jack as Tony stepped from the cell. "You 
ain't gon' be much help to us like that." The tall husky black in for 
murder, doing life, pointed and roared with laughter. 

Tony glanced down at himself; at the piss-hardon protruding from the open 
fly of the shorts. "Shit!" He returned to his cell to dress, reappeared as 
Jack and several others were lifting the huge desk at the far end of the 
tier. Mouth agape, he watched them throw the thing through the floor to 
ceiling plate glass window across the front of the housing unit. 

Riot! It made sense now; a takeover was the only way the time locks and 
count system could be gotten around. Upstate, at the monstrosity he'd left 
barely a week ago, tension was building. The late news report the night 
before had said state officials expected trouble at any time, and that 
precautions were being taken through transfers-getting the ring leaders, 
those like Jack, those with little or nothing to lose, away from the tempers 
ready to blow. The Governor's Penal Reform Committee was, the commentator 
had said, trying to meet legitimate inmate demands before blood was spilled. 

So they'd sent Slick Jack to the spanking new complex made primarily of 
glass, Tony mused, the crash of the shattered pane still ringing in his 
ears. And now ...! 

"Who got the Center, man?" called Spider, another black-a wiry little man 
doing thirty years for rape-from the top tier of the cell-block. 

"Never min' who," answered Jack with a scowl. "We got it is what counts, 
baby. Now let's go get us the rest o' this zoo." He waved his arm in a 
sweeping overhead motion, bellowed triumphantly and leaped through the space 
where moments before a plate glass window had stood. 

The others whooped and followed, dragging the gagged and bound wing officer 
with them. Tony hesitated. He watched them, and the cons pouring like 
excited ants from the other cell-blocks situated around the open courtyard, 
race toward the besieged Operations Center, where the entire first 
shift-White Hats and Blue Hats and those civilian personnel unfortunate 
enough to have come to work half an hour early-was surrounded by hundreds of 
inmates brandishing bedposts and homemade shanks and artillery from the 
arsenal, in support of their rebellious brother cons upstate. 

Tony cursed. He suddenly realized what Jack and the others had in mind. He 
strode outside, shielded his eyes from the sun's glare and watched them run 
past the gate separating the main area from the West Sector where the 
infirmary was located. Jeanie Simmons! The petite blonde had relieved the 
third shift nurse at 6 o'clock, he knew. And now there were a dozen jubilant 
cons, among them a rapist and a murderer, headed for the place where 
she-perhaps unaware of what was happening-stood dropping pills and 
medication into small paper cups, preparing for the 7 a.m. sick call. 

* * * 

Jeanie frowned. Usually the hospital was bustling with activity long before 
sick call was announced over the loudspeaker system, the men anxious to get 
the pill-line out of the way and go to chow. But now there was no one-not 
even the officer assigned to watch over her. "As if I need watching over," 
she murmured, dropping the last capsule into the last paper cup on the 
medicine cart. 

It was the silliest job she'd ever held. The inmates, even the old ones, 
those too wrinkled and lame to do anything with or to a woman, ogled her 
openly, and the officers, even those with families, kids, repeatedly warned 
her to stay out of "tight situations" and did their hungry eye-balling on 
the sly. But she knew how to handle men; she'd come through school and 
nurses' training with only one lover, Mike, her fiance, and she had no 
intention of marring the almost virginal record-prison or not! Not for 
anyone! 

Sighing, thinking wistfully of Mike, wondering what he was up to in 
Europe-supposedly studying, gathering data for his master's thesis in Paris 
and Rome-she pushed the cart from the protection of the glass cage, down the 
long silent corridor to the outside door. 

"Oh!" She stepped back, blinked at the group of whooping inmates turning the 
corner at the security gate near Center. Her mouth dropped open. Fear 
gripped her chest, chilled her nipples. Where were the guards? Where were 
the other nurses? Where was anyone? 

For a moment she stood transfixed, watching the men eat up the distance 
between her and the gate. Confused, not wanting to accept what she knew was 
happening-riot! Just as the news reports the night before had predicted-she 
glanced back at the cage. The phone! She ran to it, fumbled with the 
receiver. She placed the reassuring instrument to her ear, pressed the 
button marked CENTER, and was about to speak when a strange voice, someone 
other than the polite lieutenant who usually answered her calls, said, 
"Yeah?" 

"I ... this is Miss Simmons at the infirmary." Her hand trembled. Her breath 
grew labored. Now she could hear the men outside coming closer, almost at 
the door. "I ... t-there's something hap-happening here. The men. Inmates. 
They ..." 

"Har! Fuckin' right there's somethin' happening," growled the mocking voice 
at the other end of the phone. "An' if I know them-guys comin' over there, 
lots more's gonna be happening to you in a little while, baby. I may be over 
there myself in a little bit-for a little bit!" 

Jeanie gasped, dropped the phone and looked frantically about the deserted 
hospital; just her and two patients, those bedded down far in back, cons who 
would stick with their own. Her mind raced. Her legs felt like jelly. She 
stared at the door at the opposite end of the corridor ... waiting ... not 
knowing what else to do. 

Slick Jack was the first through the door. He paused for a moment-crouched, 
the muscles standing taut in his arms, beneath the tight T-shirt, 
dark-lidded eyes searching the tiled terrain. He nodded, as if satisfied. He 
straightened. His gaze settled on her. 

Jeanie gulped. She clutched the edge of the medicine counter to keep from 
falling. "You ... y-y-you men aren't sup-s-supposed t-to be in this area 
without a pass," she stammered inanely. "G-go back to your wings." 

Jack, those who had entered behind him, guffawed. They came slowly toward 
her, moving as one: an octopus with arms that were going to encircle her 
body, she knew. With hands that were going to violate her clean flesh, and 
dicks-she could already see the incredible monster in the ringleader's pants 
leg-that were going to force their way up the hot special place belonging to 
Mike. Mike who was always in Europe, at college, cramming for an exam, but 
never where she needed him most. Never there ... except for an occasional 
lay. 

"Please!" She made an impulsive dash, darting around them, trying for the 
door. 

A strong black arm caught her around the waist. "Bitch! Where in the fuck 
you think you're goin'? Ain't this the hospital? Ain't you the nurse? I come 
to get medicated!" 

Wide-eyed Jeanie stared into his sweating face. Her belly turned over. She 
could feel his stiffness against her buttocks ... pressing ... pressing. 
"Let me go!" she yelped, struggling to break free of the brute, to escape 
the hands coming at her. 

"Hold it!" snapped Jack, thrusting his free hand out, traffic-cop fashion. 
The others stopped, apparently having agreed on him as their 
commander-in-chief. "Me first," he continued, the tone of his deep voice 
silencing any would-be objections. "I had my eye on this one since I come 
down here from upstate. Now ...!" He tightened the arm at her waist, brought 
his free hand down hard on one jutting breast. 

"You ... you filthy black bastard!" hissed Jeanie, furious. She kicked back 
and up, trying for his balls. The effort brought only a gruff mocking laugh. 
The hot blood of shame rushed into her face. It was a bad dream, she told 
herself. A nightmare. Something she'd seen on TV-an old gangster movie, 
where the heroine was always an innocent girl, and there was always someone 
to save her. 

But there was nothing unreal about the hand kneading her tit, or the hard 
cock digging through the summer-weight dress into the split up her ass. Nor 
was there anyone coming to save her. She felt herself being lifted, the arm 
at her middle become a cruel steel band hoisting and turning and pointing 
her toward the lounge. She screamed. The others cheered as she was carted 
away-an armful of kicking garbage. 

Jack threw her roughly down on the sofa where, each day at noon, she and the 
other nurses sat to gossip and giggle about the ogling cons. She struggled 
to rise. A huge hand covered her face, slammed her back against the armrest, 
arms and legs flailing. "Ain't no use fightin' me," he told her. "Ain't had 
no pussy in eighteen years, an' I mean to get me some now." 

God! thought Jean, staring incredulously up at the tall well-built man. He'd 
kill her! Eighteen years without a woman, and a dick as big as the one 
plainly outlined at the fly of his pants meant sure disaster for her 
delicate wedge. And a filthy black dick at that! She didn't know which was 
more loathsome-rape, or being subjected to ... to ... to the savage attack 
of ... of a nigger! 

She was so busy with thoughts of shame, of her own degradation, she didn't 
notice that the dress had ridden high on her legs, exposing the tops of her 
stockings, her garter belt, and the warm shadowy area between her succulent 
thighs. 

But Jack hadn't missed it. He stared hungrily into the breach, eyes growing 
large. He looked from there to her beet-red face, grinned crookedly. "Bet 
you ain't never had no big black meat in you," he said. "Bet you ain't never 
had much o' anything 'cept some dumb white boy who don't know nothin' 'bout 
what ails you." 

"I ... I'm engaged to be married," she blurted, stunned because what he said 
fitted Mike, who was what the girls at college used to call a jack rabbit. 
"He ... we ... I ... oh ...! I never d-did it with anyone else. Please. 
Please let me go!" 

Jack grunted ugly laughter. Abruptly he sat at the edge of the sofa, thrust 
his hand under the hem of the dress. 

"Oh! OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" She wrestled the wrist at the end of the hand 
groping to get at her pussy. She closed her legs tight, protecting her 
cunthole from the stab of his fingers. Her head spun. She felt nauseous 
-mostly because of the shame, the humiliation, but partially because her 
body was reacting ... anticipating ... all pleasure points hypersensitive to 
manipulation. 

"I said I mean to get me some pussy!" 

A hand closed at her throat, cutting off air and forcing her down on the 
cushions. She thrashed. Her legs came slowly apart. The hand under the dress 
cupped at her sex, squeezed. She gasped. Her hips bucked uncontrollably. 

"That's more like it, baby. White sugar." Jack relaxed his grip on her neck, 
leaned to touch his lips to the bruises left by his fingers. The hand at her 
crotch slipped beneath the leg-band of the panties, rubbed her mound, teased 
her tight slit. 

She moaned. Further resistance was useless, she knew. There was no place to 
run to even if she could wrestle free of the beast. She could hear the 
others in the corridor to the right of the lounge. They were making crude 
jokes, about her-about what they were going to do when their turn came. She 
was helpless. Worse! Her entire lower abdomen was afire. Her nipples were 
hard little points showing through the bra and thin dress. Her cunthole was 
wet. The sex part of her, the part Mike ignited each time they screwed but 
always left screaming, unsatisfied, was cooperating with the filthy black 
fingers exploring all over down there. 

"D-don't!" she breathed, struggling with the shameless desire. "You oh!" Her 
ass shot high off the cushions. "Oh, you mustn't. Um! T-take your hand 
a-way-ay." 

"White baby wants somethin' bigger, huh?" 

"No!" 

"Sure she does." Jack captured her hand, steered it to the mighty bulge in 
his pants leg. "Somethin' big as that maybe. Big 'n' good 'n' hard. Take it 
out fo' me, white baby." 

"No! No! No! No! Nooooooooo ...!" But her trembling hand was already there, 
clutching his hardon, unable to escape his strong grip on her wrist. She 
felt the links of the zipper-as cold as the stiffness was hot. She felt his 
huge balls like billiards beneath the coarse khaki prison garb. She felt him 
go tense, the veins popping like cords in his neck, like tempered steel 
cables in his powerful forearms. 

"Take it the fuck out!" he demanded, the hand on her pussy rubbing, a 
smoldering threat in his dark hooded eyes. "You a fuckin' nurse, ain't you? 
Do some nursin' on me. Whack me off. Gimme a nice white girl han' job." 

The horrid black beast, she thought, the words making her ears burn with new 
shame, clogging her throat. He was no better than a gorilla; he even looked 
like a gorilla with his brown-blackness and rubbery lips and dark staring 
eyes. And the thing in his pants-oh, the awesome hose throbbing in the 
sweating palm of her hand-was even bigger than the fat filthy cocks on the 
apes she'd once seen at the zoo. 

But it wasn't as if she'd been given a choice. Slick Jack-wasn't that his 
name? Hadn't she once heard someone call him Cool Man Slick Jack?-was 
"telling" not asking her to commit the perversion. And her fingers, as if 
hypnotized, as if wanting to-actually wanting to!-holding the terrible 
thing, were suddenly working the zipper ... slipping inside ... inside the 
shorts too ... caressing the long veiny shaft ... fumbling to free the fat 
tip she expected to look like the red bulb at the end of her Mike's short 
handsome hardon. 

"Ar-arrrrr!" Jack drove his fingers deep in her cunthole as she freed him. 

Jeanie yelped from the pain and the sight of the ugly uncircumcised thing in 
her hand. Did he actually intend to shove the unwholesome thing up her tight 
little pink slit? It was madness! Too big, too! She sniffed, caught the 
awful smell of his black balls and stinking asshole, recoiled. Yet her 
fingers remained. Her hand gripped the long pulsing shaft as if it were a 
life preserver, and she, adrift on a turbulent sea, needed something to hang 
onto. 

"Ahummm! N-not too much," sighed Slick Jack, face contorted, loins pumping 
slowly. "Nice 'n' easy or arum! Um!" He fucked his prick in and out of the 
soft circle formed by her tiny hand. "Don' whack too hard or I'll be 
blow-in' the roof off this place wit' my load. Don' want that, sugar. Wanna 
save it for here!" His fingers slipped from her sopping wet cunthole, curled 
at the crotch of the panties, and yanked. 

Lungs refusing to work, tits threatening to explode, Jeanie opened her mouth 
to protest but nothing came out. She heard the panties rip, felt the nylon 
being torn away from her sex. The faint morning breeze from the open 
jalousie windows licked her gash. A delicious thrill passed through her 
loins. She moaned, closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see the look of 
triumph on Slick Jack's black face. She didn't want him. She didn't! She 
didn't! She was holding his big filthy cock because he wanted her to, was 
making her do it. Her cunthole was nipping because ... because ...! Her 
asshole, too! Her tits! There was no use resisting, was why. It was as 
simple as that; it had nothing whatever to do with wanting the long steely 
thing up her belly. 

Jack lifted the hem of the white uniform high on her waist, bent close. He 
sucked breath through his teeth. "Lordy-Lord!" he exclaimed, fingers gently 
stroking the satiny yellow curls of her hot pussy. "Ain't never poked in 
nothin' as pretty as you got, sugar. Lordy-Lord-ain't never even seen one 
like it before." 

She tried not to hear the words, tried to ignore the wondrous caresses. It 
was like the first time with Mike, she recalled. She'd always accepted the 
springy blonde curls as a simple natural phenomena, unaware that most 
pussies- no matter what the color of the hair on a girl's head-were midnight 
black, and hers was a prize. But the first time Mike saw it, touched her 
there, parted the glistening ringlets with his long middle finger as Jack 
was doing, she'd known there was something special about her sweet little 
mound of fine fuzz. She'd known by his loving words, by the way he'd rained 
kisses over her young thighs and belly, and later, when she grew bolder, 
began to talk intimately with other girls, that hers was the dream of most 
men: true blondeness! And pinkness beneath. A slit that opened onto a 
slippery passage as rosy as a baby girl's spanked behind. 

"Hum! Ha-hum! Hummm! He-ummmm!" She threw her hips up onto the sandpapery 
tongue that had begun to lick her wet cunt, her clit. She looked down at the 
kinky head between her plump thighs, whimpered. What was wrong with her, she 
wondered. She was being raped-she was being sucked off by a disgusting black 
giant she loathed. He was washing her thoroughly, preparing her tight lovely 
slit for the thrust of the filthy thing in her hand. Yet there she was ... 
bucking! The halves of her ass were squeezed tight together, awaiting the 
lunge. It was dreadful of her. Obscene. 

"L-let me goooooo," she wailed suddenly. She twisted abruptly away from the 
rubbery lips, knowing it was futile but compelled to do something, anything 
at all, to assuage her own conscience. "You ... you animal! Pig! I won't! I 
WON'T!" 

On hands and knees, round ass turned to the surprised brute, she scrambled 
to the end of the sofa. But she had barely gotten one leg over the armrest, 
planning to flee to the operating room for a weapon-a scalpel, a broken 
bottle, anything-when Slick Jack growled, caught the neck of the uniform and 
ripped the summer-weight garment as easily as he'd disposed of the crotch of 
the panties. 

"Still wanna play, huh, white baby?" Jack dragged her back onto the 
cushions, on her belly this time, the dress open from neck to hem. Deftly 
his fingers undid the snaps of her bra, tore the last shred of nylon from 
her thrashing hips. One hand locked at the cheek of her ass, thumb low in 
the crack. "You stay put or I'll tear your sweet asshole up some," he 
warned. "Ever feel a fingernail cut through a sphincter?" 

Jeanie felt the sharp jagged nail at her anus, gasped. She didn't dare move. 
She was a provocative sight, she knew-naked except for the sheer nylon 
stockings, and the pink garter belt biting into her hips and soft upper 
thighs. She heard something drop to the floor, looked and saw his belt. The 
khaki pants followed. Her body went cold. He was undressing, preparing to 
fuck his ugly black dick up her hole. She whimpered as the hand left her 
buttock, too numb to move now. She tried to convince herself it wasn't 
happening, even as the boxer shorts and T-shirt joined the things on the 
tiles. 

Huge hands closed at her waist, turned her over. Her gaze met his. "Ain't no 
mo' play-in'," he told her. "Now we gon' fuck!" 

Before she could utter a cry, a last futile protest, Jack was atop her, and 
was setting the tip of his long-unbelievably long ... longer than anything 
she'd ever seen, it seemed-uncircumcised dick at the mouth of her delicate 
pussy. She felt it tear in past the lips, grate across her sensitive clit. 
She yelped. She saw him grimace as his hips applied pressure and forced the 
terrible hose halfway home. 

Tears flooded her eyes. She was being driven in two, split up the middle. 
"Owah! Owwwww-WWWWW!" Her mind and body recoiled from the long veiny black 
stiffness being shoved up her belly. 

"Raise them pretty legs," Jack directed. 

"I ... I won't!" 

"You do like I say or ...!" His hand lashed out, cracked loud against the 
side of her face; whipped back the other way, back again, slamming her head 
from side to side on the sofa; jarring her teeth loose, it seemed. 

Her vision blurred. She felt weak, dizzy. The sting of the blows made her 
forget for a moment the terrible hurt at her cunthole. She did as he 
said-she raised her knees, dropped her legs wide ... all the time blinking 
back tears. She wouldn't add to his triumph by crying, she told herself. Nor 
would she move once it was in. She'd lie there like a cold fish, helping 
only to get the thing planted so the burning would stop. 

"Ahhhhhhhhh! Jus' keep doin' like that." Jack pulled back, withdrawing all 
but the tip of his bloated member. Then he fucked his loins slowly forward, 
driving more of the awesome length into her small swollen pussy. "Ar! Ar! 
Ummmm! Push up, sugar. Use your nice plump ass. Wiggle so's I get all of it 
up you next time I hump." 

"I ... I won' ..." 

"You won' what?" Again Jack raised his hamhock of a hand, ready to whip it 
back and forth across her bruised face if she didn't comply. 

Frantically she wiggled, frightened now, knowing it meant nothing to him if 
her lovely young face were left scarred-nose broken, bleeding. Hating 
herself, hating him, she lifted her buttocks high off the cushions and 
fucked and fucked herself onto his cock. She watched it go in, inch by fat 
terrible inch. She watched him pull back again, and drive, and grind the 
last black millimeter up her tight hole. 

"Arrrrrrr!" Jack fell heavily upon her. One hand encircled her tit, squeezed 
until the ripe pink nipple popped twice normal size. He mouthed the tidbit, 
sucked. His free hand traced her rib cage, crept around and under her waist, 
found the split up her trembling bottom. "Airtight!" he croaked. "We gon' 
fuck with all holes blocked so's you know you been laid." 

New pain shot through her as his cruel middle finger twisted high in her 
asshole. Her eyes rolled back in her head. Her pussy pissed juice down his 
balls. Then his lips-his horrible black nigger lips and foul-smelling mouth- 
were covering hers, sucking the breath from her lungs as he'd sucked her 
cunthole her tit. Airtight! she thought. So's she'd know she'd been laid! 
She wanted to laugh and scream, cry, do she didn't know what all. Because 
she didn't need anything more than the magnificent ... 

No! Not magnificent! she quickly reprimanded herself. Horrid and beastly! 
Shameful! 

She didn't need anything more than the thing beginning to dip in and out, in 
and out of her sopping wet cunthole, to know she'd been laid. Screwed like 
never before. Ravished. Abused. Taken by force by a black-the worse 
degradation a good white girl like her could imagine. 

Out in the corridor the others were becoming impatient. Spider, who had 
raped three young girls before he was caught, was kneading his meat, keeping 
it hard and ready. Julio, one of four whites in the group that continued to 
grow as jubilant cons found their way to the hospital, was flashing the 
knife Tony Giardino had tried to take away from him the day before. 

"Motherfuck all this one by one shit," someone growled. "That bitch in there 
got three holes, man. Ain't no sense lettin' two of 'em go to waste." 

"I'm an asshole man anyway," agreed Julio. 

"Don' matter to me," said Spider. 

The three laughed, moved closer to the lounge. The others began to group 
off; the strongest, those known to be tough, in front, the rest content to 
accept seconds or thirds, fourths or fifths-wherever the number fell, 
whichever hot hole-on the lovely young blonde Cool Man Slick Jack was 
fucking loudly enough to be heard in the corridor. 

Beyond the infirmary the prison was a bedlam. There were two women, a 
middle-aged commissary worker and the warden's elderly secretary-both having 
come in early because this was the one day each week commissary orders were 
given out and inmate accounts tallied-among the civilians being held at 
Center. The hospital routine was spreading; men without women were eyeing 
the two well-built hostages, talking rape. 

Tony Giardino stood where Slick Jack and the others had left him. He could 
almost see what was going on at the hospital, the dream of Lois nagging at 
the back of his mind. He could imagine black dicks pissing cum all over the 
nurse who was so like the blonde he'd punched a man into eternity for. His 
bandaged hand throbbed. He wanted to run past the security gate, find Jeanie 
Simmons, and get her the hell out of there. But there was no place to run 
to. Around him a thousand cons were kicking out windows, yelling heave! as 
they tipped and snapped the tall aluminum posts atop which the searchlights 
rested. Others were in the gun towers at the four corners of the wall 
surrounding the complex, shouting to reporters, local bureaucrats and state 
policemen outside. 

Perhaps later, he thought. After dark. There was no getting out, he was 
certain. He could hear the loudspeakers outside the high wall, coming from 
all directions, gruff voices issuing threats of reprisal if anything 
happened to the hostages. They-the cons, the civilians and cops-were trapped 
until the men in the riot-torn prison upstate saw physical evidence of the 
reforms being promised. 

It was a standoff which could last for days, a week. More. He looked about, 
not wanting any part of the riot or negotiations. Wanting out. But wanting 
Jeanie Simmons, too. Wanting to rescue her, hide her. Wanting to do to her 
what he knew Jack and the others were at that very moment doing. 

"Fuck 'er!" he mumbled. He clubbed his hard cock, remembering Lois, the 
dream. "Stick this up 'er pussy." 

He groaned. Stepping back into the relatively quiet cell block, he went to 
his room, closed the door. There were plans to be made, and rest to be 
gotten for the long night ahead. The machines in the tag shop were still 
thumping. But the place was deserted, he knew. It was where the riot had 
started, he'd learned. The cons working the graveyard shift to get the 
license plate tags out on time had made the first move. Now the building was 
the perfect place to hide a young cunt, with only the presses-left running 
to burn out the bearings-as company. He lit a cigarette, fell back on the 
bunk, and stared at the barred window. 

Outside the destruction continued. Glass shattered. The men raced aimlessly 
here and there. By nightfall they'd be exhausted, Tony mused. They'd post a 
skeleton guard while the majority slept, and he'd get his chance to get next 
to the girl whose face and lush little body were emblazoned on his mind. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

She ached all over. The dressing gown they'd given her to replace the torn 
uniform, the same-type garment the patients wore, tied up the back, exposing 
the split up her ass and a two-inch strip of skin from hemline to neck, did 
nothing to hide the bruises, angry scratch-marks. She wished she were dead 
or that the tile floor of the operating room, where Jack and the others had 
locked her up for the night, would suddenly open and swallow her shame. 

Huddled in a dark corner far away from the door, as far as the room would 
permit, she hugged her knees and winced from the searing pain at her 
cunthole. A dry sob came from her throat. She wished she could cry, wash 
herself. But there were no tears left. There was only the shame, and a dull 
unexplainable hunger at the pit of her belly. 

Outside she could hear the wiry little man called Spider pacing the 
corridor. She held her breath each time he passed the closed door, afraid he 
would stop, rush in and again ram his awful dick in her face. Yet each time 
the footsteps faded, echoing faintly as Spider completed his tour to the end 
of the hall, paused before coming back, the gnawing at the depths of her 
womb seemed not to regret but to cherish the memory of hours and hours of 
every perversion imaginable. 

She wished she could sleep. She stared into the dark, mentally identifying 
familiar objects about the room-the fat oxygen tanks opposite where she sat 
huddled, the medicine bottles she'd learned to distinguish the contents of 
by touch, by the various shapes of the bottles. Now all looked alike: 
phallic symbols! Cocks all around her. 

She shivered. "Nurse, heal thyself," she whispered at the dancing shadows 
near the moonlit jalousie windows. 

But there was no way to sterilize her used body, she knew. There was no way 
to cure the scars left by filthy black pricks pumping cum up her pussy and 
asshole, down her throat. There was no cleansing her mind of the images and 
the threat of what was going to happen tomorrow. 

"Miss Simmons?" The soft voice came from beyond the windows, from a 
silhouette without an identity. 

Jeanie gasped. She hugged her knees tighter, trying to make herself small. 
They were coming again, she was certain. They hadn't locked her up for the 
night, after all. They'd lied to put her at ease, to bring her guard down, 
and now they were going to rush in, thinking she was asleep. 

"Hey, Nurse Simmons, you in there?" A bandaged hand appeared between the 
parallel panes. "It's me, the guy you stitched up yesterday. I came to help 
you." 

Tony Giardino! Could it be, she wondered. Did he actually mean what he'd 
said? For the first time since Jack and the others trapped her early that 
morning, she dared to hope. She remembered the man's dark good looks, his 
black wavy hair and brown eyes; she recalled the way the muscles bulged all 
over his body-including down there! In his pants leg!-as he braced himself 
against the needle closing the wounds. 

"I ... I'm here," she called in a small voice, still uncertain, unable to 
make herself move. 

"I thought so," said Tony in a hoarse whisper. "I brought tools from the tag 
shop. I figured they'd lock you up for the night. But I'll get ya out. Don't 
worry. Come gimme a hand, will ya?" 

Somehow she managed to stand and make her trembling legs go. She reached the 
windows, swayed. It was still a bad dream ... riot-and ravishing cons ... 
the pain and desire intermingled, united to plague her ... Tough Tony, Slick 
Jack. She couldn't be sure what was real anymore. 

"Man, baby, you look beat," observed Tony. "What the fuck did they do to ya, 
anyway?" 

"I ... they ... it was awful. Awful!" 

"Never mind now. Hold the pane." He showed her which one. "If I can get one 
or two sections out we can squeeze you through. I got it all figured-r-a 
hidin' place where no one'll ever think to look. We can hol' up there 'til 
it's over. Me 'n' you. I won't let them hurt you anymore." 

Jeanie welcomed the touch of the strong bandaged hand upon hers. She 
sobbed-part relief, part apprehension because he too was a man, a con who 
had been without a woman for too many years, and she couldn't forget the 
mighty bulge in his pants leg. She did as he directed; she gripped the cool 
glass in both tiny hands, held it steady while Tony cut rapidly away with a 
hacksaw at the steel tits at each end. 

She blinked. Why had her mind labeled the pane hinges "tits," she wondered, 
her own breasts atingle. And why was Tony Giardino, who, if he were caught 
by the others, would be beaten, labeled a stool pigeon, perhaps killed-why 
was he helping her? Had he seen her backward glance the day before? Had he, 
while she stood bent forward at the medicine cabinet, ass tilted high, 
knowing his eyes were devouring her hips, her plump cheeks, creamy 
thighs-had he read her thoughts when she compared his powerful build to 
Mike's slender frame? What in heck was wrong with her, anyway? 

She felt the two-foot-wide parallel pane give at one end; she felt it yanked 
from her fingers as the large calloused hands took firm hold on the glass, 
tugged with brute strength and snapped the second steel dowel. She stepped 
back, knowing that once she went through the opening, was alone with the 
man, he too would demand something: a reward. 

But it wasn't as if she had a choice, she reasoned. As with Jack: it wasn't 
as if lying still would have stopped him, and that wiggling-excited by the 
brutal thrust of his long black cock up her belly in spite of the shame-was 
so wrong. She'd always liked sex. Ever since the first time with Mike, when 
she learned that the hot hairy hole between her soft legs had a function 
much more delightful than pissing, a dick made her wild, wanton. But she was 
a good girl; she'd been brought up to believe sex was something a girl 
shared with only one man, and that asshole fucking and cunt and cock sucking 
were religious taboos: horrid perversions. Now, in the space of one day, 
everything was topsy-turvy. Her body was no longer clean. Her thoughts were 
no longer stable. The world had spun out of orbit, rearranging her life and 
igniting her pussy so that now, the pain still fresh, her body still 
protesting the sudden abuse, she almost wished handsome Tony Giardino would 
take her in his strong muscular arms, soothe the hurt; and, when she grew 
quiet, relaxed, at peace, would fling her down on the cold tile floor and 
make violent love not with but to her. 

"C'mon!" Tony's tone was urgent. He reached through the space that didn't 
seem big enough for a child, took hold of her shoulders, dragged her close. 
"Get the fuck out before somebody checks 'n' finds me here. This ain't no 
game, baby. Move!" 

Breathing hard, unable to speak, troubled by her own confused thoughts as 
well as the threat of discovery, she allowed him to steer her head and 
shoulders into the narrow space. She felt his hands slip to her waist, close 
tight. She felt herself being lifted-a weightless rag doll. She whimpered as 
the tie strings snapped open one by one up the back of the hospital gown, 
and her white ass, the back of her thighs, met the cold upper pane. She bit 
her lip to keep from crying out as the metal frame dug into her bruised 
flesh, and she was turned head over heels, Tony maneuvering her like a 
puppet through the limited space. She heard the door to the operating room 
burst open as her legs came through the window, heard Spider roar. The 
ground came up hard, and she wondered how she'd managed to land on her 
bottom instead of her head. Wide-eyed, still finding it hard to believe the 
day wasn't a dream, she watched Tony step back and wait until the wiry 
little man poked his ugly face through the narrow opening. 

"Dirty mother fuck ...!" Spider began. 

Tony brought his huge bandaged fist up from the ground, connected solidly 
with the man's jaw. Spider's head snapped. His eyes rolled back white. He 
went limp. Tony grunted, patted the kinky hair almost affectionately, shoved 
and sent the unconscious man sprawling back inside. 

Suddenly Jeanie couldn't breathe; she couldn't tear her eyes away from the 
man who reminded her now of the pictures in the Charles Atlas type magazines 
she'd often sneaked excited peeks at as a girl. She watched him turn, thrust 
his hand toward her. His cigar-like fingers closed over hers. Again she was 
lifted-yanked from the ground, the gown flaring wide in back, the cool night 
air washing the sting from her loins. There was no time to think, to reason. 
Time only to flee. 

The way to the tag shop beyond the infirmary was clear, the rebellious cons 
having concentrated their night watch at strategic points near Center and 
the cell blocks. There was thick brush to hide them as they made their way 
along the banked side of the gravel footpath, Tony holding tight to her 
hand. She'd never seen this sector of the vast prison complex, never 
imagined the place was so big. It wasn't at all like a prison, she thought. 
It was an entirely new concept in penal reform, with trees, open spaces, and 
constructural design supposed to dispel the reality of confinement. It was 
why she'd taken the job; why she'd taken the chance after friends and Mike, 
particularly Mike, had warned her about what could happen. A woman. Young. 
Beautiful, some said. A helpless minx in a houseful of men. Yet she'd been 
willing to take the risk, and now she found herself wondering why. 

"This way." Tony pointed to a tall building flush with the granite that 
stretched like the Great China Wall around the complex, tugged her toward 
it. 

Jeanie stepped on a sharp stone, yelped. 

"Quiet!" 

"Oh ...!" She stopped, lifted her bare foot to soothe the new hurt. 

"Will you shut the fuck up 'n' c'mon, or do I have to fucking drag you?" 

She stumbled after the hand he was holding, wanting to yell, to say, "Leave 
me be! I'm not yours! I don't belong to you or anybody!" 

But she did, in fact, belong to him, she knew. Either him or Slick Jack and 
the others. She was, until the riot ended, a piece of recreational 
equipment-no better than a punching bag. Silently she followed him into the 
dark building with a thumping heartbeat of its own. 

There was a small room at back, far away from the loud presses, which 
Tony-at least she supposed it was Tony who'd done it-had stocked with crates 
marked CANNED GOODS-INMATE COMMISSARY. A naked light-bulb dangled from a 
cord in the center of the ceiling. There was a sink and a dirty toilet, a 
sliver of mirror hung on one wall, and a filthy cot, equipped with even 
filthier bedding and hidden behind the crates piled one atop the other. She 
shuddered, made a sound of disapproval. 

"What the fuck'd you expect?" demanded Tony. 

She spun, caught him staring at the open back of the gown, at her bruised 
ass. "I ... I'm sorry. I didn't mean ..." 

Tony moved to the door, paused with his hand on the knob. "You'll be okay 
here." His gaze moved down the front of the gown to her thighs, her dirty 
feet, returned to her face. "I gotta make sure nobody saw us," he said in a 
tight voice. "I'll be back though. You can bet on it." 

"Wait!" But he was already gone, the heavy oak door closed behind him. She 
looked about, frightened. She sat at the edge of the cot. She wanted to 
weep, to stretch out full length and pound the filthy bedding. Tony's words 
echoed in her ears: I'll be back! You can bet on it! 

She fell back on the cot, on her side, suddenly aware that she hadn't slept 
in what seemed like a lifetime. She curled up in a tight protective ball, 
knees almost touching her breasts. She tried to think, to formulate some 
plan of escape. But her mind refused to obey. Nothing worked. Her body was 
an uncontrollable mass of Jell-o. 

She closed her eyes-but only for a moment! she told herself. Because the 
gown was open, exposing her backside, the raw wet slit of her pussy. And she 
knew what would happen if Tony found her like that. She sighed. Before the 
sound died, the thumping presses, the rhythm vibrating through the walls of 
the room, the wooden legs of the cot, the crates of canned goods, had lulled 
her to sleep. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

After arming himself with a homemade shank, rigging a dummy in his bed and 
locking his cell door, Tony started back-past the vocational shops, now 
deserted, the modern architecture suggesting a sleeping industrial center; 
past Center and the high gates to the big yard, the recreation area; and 
past the skeleton force, most of them glutted on the food and candy 
commandeered from the inmate commissary, and those not asleep, those too 
excited by the riot and the presence of female hostages, insatiable, taking 
turns on the warden's elderly secretary and the middle-aged civilian 
storeroom worker. Rumor had it that the warden's Girl Friday was a thrashing 
nympho. But Tony's thoughts remained with Jeanie Simmons. Not even the sight 
of the naked well-built women at Center could dissuade him. He crouched 
low-a darting shadow in the pale moonlight-and raced stealthily past the 
unattentive watch, past the infirmary, where Slick Jack and the others were 
cursing loudly enough to be heard outside, belaboring Spider, and again down 
the path he and the lovely nurse had traveled an hour ago. 

Inside the dark tag shop he paused. The thump of the presses had grown 
labored. He sniffed the air. Grease burning. The bearings were almost shot. 
Soon the machinery would lock, the unattended gears frozen in protest to 
match the rioters' hatred of the license plates they were forced to turn 
out. 

Prison! thought Tony. The men had good reason to hate the tag shop-almost as 
if it were human. It was the state's big moneymaker, and yet the men, those 
who ran the presses, some working all night to get the new tags out on time 
each year, were paid a mere few cents a day. 

And no cunt! Years of lusting after everything that entered the prison in a 
skirt, and nights of whacking off. 

His dick began to stiffen. "Pussy," he whispered, almost able to smell the 
fishy aroma of a woman's genitals. The skin on his nuts grew tight. He 
clutched the front of his pants, groaned softly. Cunt! he thought. A woman's 
ass grinding beneath him! 

He stared longingly into the darkness, in the direction of the heavy door on 
the supply room at the back of the shop. Jeanie Simmons ... so much like Lo. 
Blonde and soft. Helpless. At his mercy. 

Again he groaned. He threw the steel bolt on the outside door, locking the 
shop from within, and made his way quickly down the aisle between the 
thumping machinery. 

The packing crates hid her from view of the door. But once the door was 
closed, locked, and he stood at the foot of the cot, the exquisite split up 
her blemishless backside and the golden-blonde curls of her young pussy were 
open to inspection. He'd never seen an ass quite like it- round, a 
basketball with a tight seam up the middle, and snow-white except for the 
bruises left by the others. She was a pink and satin-cream doll curled 
appealingly on the soiled bedding, the hospital gown bunched high on her 
waist. 

"Mother ...!" hissed Tony through clenched teeth. His eyes bulged. His nuts 
felt like cannon shot. His prick pressed against the seam of the khakis, 
threatening to explode the zipper into a million tiny brass links. 

He moved to the side of the cot, bent close and sniffed the delicious pocket 
at the back of her closed thighs. He closed his eyes ... remembering ... 
squeezing his cock while he drank the sweet woman stink and anticipated the 
struggle to come ... the futile cries ... the parting of the lips of her 
cunt as his stiffness forced its way up, up. He knew what it meant: the riot 
would end in a few days, a week at the most, and then the police would come 
rushing in on him and Slick Jack and the others. Another charge. Rape! He 
wished he could walk away. He wished the riot had never happened. He wished 
... 

God! He wished his dick wasn't so hard, and that the girl, breathing evenly 
in sleep, unaware of his presence, exhausted, wasn't so lovely, so blonde, 
so much like Lo. But she was-all those things and more. And he had to have 
her, no matter what the consequences. 

Quietly he stripped. Body tense, prick standing rigid, he eased himself onto 
the soiled bedding behind the adorable sleeping beauty. The cot was small. 
So small the tip of his rod grazed her silken bottom before he meant it to. 
The girl stirred. He waited, trembling. He didn't know why it was suddenly 
important that she remain asleep, but it was. It reminded him of long ago, 
when he was a boy and spent summer weekends at his aunt's house. Cousin 
Betty! Not blonde, nor nearly as well-stacked as Jeanie, but nonetheless 
good even in memory. 

He let the tip of his dick burrow in the hot crack of the nurse's ass ... 
gently ... so as not to wake her. He wanted to savor the moment, just as 
he'd held back with luscious little Betty. So small. Young. Barely two 
dozen-he'd counted them, every one!-fine black hairs on her succulent pink 
pussy. 

"Ummm ...! Baby-baby," he sighed, allowing his meat to dig deeper, close to 
the heat of the blonde's asshole-but remembering the weekends with Betty; 
the one in particular when she finally allowed him to go all the way after 
months of stopping him at the last minute, saying silly things like, "You're 
my cuz-zin, Tony. Nooo ...!" 

He closed his eyes, listened to Jeanie's breathing, waited for it to grow 
even once more while he recalled the Saturday night Aunt Vi and Uncle Stu 
went to a Broadway show, leaving him, because he was the oldest-four years 
thirteen-year-old Cousin Betty's senior-in charge of the button-breasted 
minx wearing baby doll pajamas. 

"You're not my boss," she protested when he ordered her up to bed. She 
stomped her foot, crinkled her nose at him in the cute way she had of 
pretending to be angry. "I won't go unless you do too." 

"I'm coming," he told her, not far from wrong. His cock had been hard since 
he learned they were going to be alone most of the night. "We're gonna sleep 
together like always. You know goddam well I crawl in with you every week, 
so stop playing dumb or I'll spank your ass." 

Betty cocked her head, grinned mischievously. "Ha! Says you!" 

Before he could grab her, she was on her way upstairs like a shot. But he 
was right behind. And what a behind she had: it was more out than in the 
flowered shorty pajamas, the cheeks jiggling excitedly all the way to the 
little-girl bedroom with frills and a canopy bed. She flopped at the center 
of the mattress and stuck her tongue out at him. 

Tony paused at the door. The week before, after her parents were asleep and 
he had sneaked into the room, they had wrestled. Then she fell asleep in his 
arms-cunt to cock! But just when it was getting good, when his meat was 
steely hard and ready to shoot and he was taking it out to stick it up her 
delectable cunthole, she awoke and stopped him. But he wouldn't let her stop 
him this time, he decided. There was no one to hear her tonight if she 
yelled. 

He closed the door, moved to the bed and sat. He eyed her crotch. He grinned 
and she made a face. She was sitting Indian-fashion, and he could see the 
short ebony hairs at the leg band of the pajamas. No panties! Just Cousin 
Betty beneath the provocative cotton. 

Suddenly she fell back on the pillows. Her trim little legs worked a mile a 
minute until the blankets and spread were bunched at the foot of the bed. 
She yawned. She moved one bare foot up and down, making the sheet whistle 
faintly. "I'm sleepy now," she said. "Put out the light 'n' come to bed, 
Tony." 

He didn't have to be told twice. Before she could blink, he was out of his 
clothes and beside her in jockey shorts that made no secret of his desire. 
He doused the lamp on the night table, rolled toward her. "I should beat 
your ass for downstairs, and for sticking your tongue out just now." 

"Can't!" 

"Fuck, I can't!" 

She giggled when his hand brushed her firm little tit, and locked at her 
waist ... tickling. She turned toward him, twisting to escape his fingers. 
Her leg went up, knee on his thigh and hips thrashing as he continued to 
tickle. "Toneeeeee ...!" 

He knew she felt him; his prick was bulging, digging deep in her crotch. She 
was a tease. He wondered if she'd even been screwed, or if she was just 
another of the dumb cunts who let a guy do everything but stick it in. He 
decided to find out. He moved his hand from her waist, over her hip to her 
plump ass, and cupped the warm flesh protruding from the pajama bottoms. 

"We're cousins," whispered Betty. 

"So?" 

"We ... we should-shouldn't be fooling aroun' like ... umph!" She thrusted 
her hips forward, cunt tight to his rod. Her arms locked at his neck. She 
stared wide-eyed into his face. "Like you was my ... my b-boyfriend or 
something." 

Tony's fingers were busy inching the pajama bottoms further back, seeking 
the crack of her ass. "We can be kissin' cousins," he said, dick so hard and 
ready to plow he thought sure he'd pop before the girl opened her trim 
cousin-legs and gave him some hot cousin-pussy. 

He kissed her before she could protest further. Her lips tasted of milk and 
strawberry lipstick. Her breath was sweet. And her ass-God, her plump little 
round bottom! His fingers had found the deep crack, and were creeping down, 
down. He encountered a tuft of fuzz so soft it was like touching the 
feathers at the tip of a baby bird's wing. His cock leaped. He probed her 
tiny pinched asshole, and ground his meat in and out, in and out, in and 
out between her quivering young legs. 

Betty twisted suddenly away, yelped, "I ... I'll tell! You ... you-ow!" She 
reached back, smacked his hand from her exposed cheek, and rolled away, onto 
her back. Her tits rose and fell erratically. Her eyes flashed. "You ... 
you're terrible, Tony." 

"Shit!" He too rolled away, back to her. He didn't know whether he wanted to 
screw her or wring her cute neck. Girls! They were all crazy, he mused. 
Fuckable but weird. Fucking fruitcakes! 

They remained silent for a long time-he staring darkly at Betty's hazy 
reflection in the dresser mirror across from where he lay, she lost in 
thoughts of her own, staring at the ceiling. Until Betty rolled. Until the 
hot white flesh he'd held in his hand became visible in the mirror. He 
watched her wiggle to get comfortable, bend her legs at the knee. A shaft of 
moonlight from the window made the roundness of her ass appear 
translucent-glass! He thought of milk. Pure cream. There was no other way to 
describe her smooth skin. 

"You awake?" he asked softly over his shoulder. 

No answer! The girl was breathing deeply, as if she were asleep. He turned, 
brought himself close and touched her thigh gently. Still nothing. He 
glanced down, groaned. The cotton was sunk deep in her ass. He inched his 
hips forward, placed the bulge of his dick snug with the pinched crack. She 
was only pretending to be asleep, he knew. But that was okay. Anything she 
wanted to do for now was fine, because once he got his rod out, once he set 
the glands at her tight cousin-slit, she could holler all fucking night and 
he wouldn't stop. 

He massaged her thigh, fingers working the elastic leg band of the shorty 
pajamas further and further back. Until the cotton was a tight band that 
sliced down the center of her succulent cheeks, leaving the entire upper 
half of her ass, one complete melon, exposed. He'd done that before: each 
weekend the game was the same, with Betty pretending to be asleep, him 
feeling her and working himself to fever pitch, and then bang! Innocent 
Betty, eyes wide and appealing, stopping him with the usual, But you're my 
cousin, Tony, nonsense. Not this time! This time they were going to screw, 
even if he had to take it. 

He inched back just enough to allow his stiff prick to pop free of the 
jockey shorts. Wouldn't she be surprised when the fat tip bored into her 
tight pussy, he thought. Would she yell? Fight him? She wouldn't tell, that 
much he was sure of. If she did, then she'd have to explain what he was 
doing in her bed in the first place. She'd have to tell about the other 
weekends too. She'd have to admit to being a tease-a dick-crazy minx, but 
with last-minute reservations, little-girl willies. He took firm hold of the 
base of his hardon. His free hand went to her belly, splayed. It was now or 
never. 

Betty squealed when the hot glands of his meat was thrust into the gap at 
the back of her thighs. Her hips jerked forward, but the hand low on her 
belly prevented escape. "Oh! Oh, Tony, nooooooooooooo!" 

"Shut the fuck up 'n' hold still," he growled in her ear. "You been wantin' 
it ever since we first wrestled-even before you had tits 'n' hair on your 
pussy. Now ...!" He wiggled, used his hips to force the tip of his dick 
beneath the rolled pajama bottoms and into her hot wet cuntlips. She was 
close-not quite virgin-tight, but still retaining the delicious viselike 
little-girl snugness that older girls lost through years of fucking. He 
pressed with the hand on her belly, coaxing her back, back, and strained to 
get the glands all the way in. 

"Owwwwwwwww!" Betty thrashed. One tiny hand flailed back at him. She closed 
her legs tight, trying to dissuade the rigid monster burrowing up her 
thirteen-year-old cunthole. "Noo! Tony, it ... it's eee! Oh! Oh, you're too 
big 'n' my cuz-zin!" 

Her pleas spurred him on. Rape! The mere thought made him burn with desire. 
Quickly he rolled her onto her belly, used his knees to pry her trim little 
legs apart, and thrust ... pulled back and thrust again. The roaring in his 
ears muffled the girl's frightened cries. He gritted his teeth, took hold of 
the rolled pajama bottoms and yanked. The material gave. "Jesus H. 
mother-fucking Christ! Baby!" Her round ass glowed white in the dark. But 
there was light enough from the window to see where his joint was parting 
the fine black hairs on her pussy, sinking deep. "Um! Goddam, cuz baby. 
Man!" 

"Oh, no! Oh! STO-op! OH!" 

He was beyond hearing her screams, beyond caring. Taking pussy was good. Far 
better than he'd ever had before. There was only one thought in his mind, to 
drive his big dick as far up her hot little thrashing belly as it would go, 
and plant cream, the cum already inching up from his bouncing sacs, at the 
depths of her fiery cousin-cunthole. 

* * * 

But it wasn't Cousin Betty whose fiery little cunthole Tony was burrowing 
in-that was long ago; long before Lois, the man in the bar, and the sentence 
to prison. Now it was Nurse Simmons' hot slit his dick was violating. And 
like Betty, the captive girl yelled. She fought. She felt the thing grinding 
in, yanking her out of sleep and back to reality. Her cunt was so sore. Raw 
red chopmeat! And she'd thought-she had actually dared to hope for a time 
that Tony Giardino was her friend, and expected nothing more than a "thank 
you" for rescuing her from Slick Jack and the others. 

"Good pussy," hissed Tony, slamming it roughly to her. One hand cupped low 
on her belly, the other worked the hospital gown up over her breasts. 
"Ummmmmmm! Ah! Fuck for me, baby. Screw!" 

She was almost too exhausted to fight. But she did. She tried with all her 
might to keep her thighs closed, to prevent him from getting more than the 
terrible glands in. Her head spun. Her insides recoiled from the prospect of 
another cruel bludgeoning. She clawed at the callused hand rubbing her curly 
blonde wedge, and at the rough fingers taunting her nipples. She whimpered. 
Then she yelled: she sucked air into her lungs, and let it out in a 
high-pitched wail she thought sure would be heard by someone-anyone!-outside 
the high prison wall. 

"Fucking scumbag!" Tony abandoned her breasts, wrapped his fist in her hair 
and yanked. 

"Owwww!" 

"Then give!" he snapped. "You fucked for the blacks-Jack 'n' Spider, 
probably the rest, too. Now it's my turn, bitch. You think I risked my 
fuckin' neck for nothin' maybe? Shit! I been thinkin' about you since 
yesterday ... your ass ... your pussy. Shit! You'll gimme some or I'll make 
you wish you were still at the infirmary." Again he yanked her long hair, 
wrenching her head back. The hand on her pussy slipped lower. His fingers 
dug brutally into the top of her swollen gash. 

The pain was so sharp, so blinding, that when Jeanie opened her mouth to 
scream again only a gurgle came out. They were killing her-cock by big 
filthy cock! She'd never survive, she was certain. She could feel the long 
steely thing re-igniting the friction burns along the tortured inner walls 
of her sheath. Jack and the others had fucked her dry, going again and again 
and again and again and again. Until there was no juice left in her 
cunthole. Until their dicks tore a strangled cry from her lips with each 
mighty lunge, and only the wetness of semen could soothe the hurt-lubricate 
her for the next violation. 

"Ah! Ah! AHHHHHH!" Tony went rigid. His prick, the fat glands a mere two 
inches inside her pulsating pussy, erupted thick goo. His lips dribbled 
spittle down the back of her neck. His rod leaped like the rattle on an 
angry sidewinder, cum spurting and oozing out of her gash, making the inside 
of her thighs sticky and adding to the filth on the rumpled bedding. 

"Oh! You ... you animal!" She stared accusingly at him, disgusted beyond 
words. It was bad enough to be raped, but to be taken by a man who couldn't 
restrain himself, a man unable to hold back long enough for her to achieve 
an orgasm too ... 

She gasped, stunned by the unwholesome thought. She looked sharply away from 
Tony's sweating face. What was wrong with her, anyway? She didn't want to 
have an orgasm. She wanted only to be left alone, to be set free. She wanted 
her Michael, who was somewhere in Europe. She wanted ... oh, she wanted only 
to be as she was that very morning, before the sex-starved rioters stormed 
into the deserted infirmary and subjected her to perversions-asshole fucking 
and sucking, three spitting rods in her at the same time-not even the 
matter-of-fact instructors at nursing school had mentioned. She didn't want 
that! It was confusion that was responsible for the sudden warped thinking. 
Orgasm! It was absurd of her mind to even suggest such a thing to her 
bruised, tortured, and protesting body. 

"Jesus! It was too fast," breathed Tony, dick going limp at the mouth of her 
inner vagina. "Damn! It's been so long I ... Christ, I forgot how good it is 
to screw. Man! I just had to shoot. There's nothin' like fuckin', baby. Take 
it from me." His hand returned to her tit, toyed with one turgid pink 
nipple. 

"Animal!" she reasserted, spitting the word back at him. "Let me go!" 

Tony laughed. "Sure!" 

She gulped when his rod popped from its niche, and lay draped like a soggy 
spaghetti on her thigh. Her cuntlips turned suddenly cold. She tried to work 
the muscles, to close herself. Nothing happened: her sweet little slit 
remained open, as if numbed by Novocain. Oh, how she hated Tony Giardino, 
hated men. Her face burned with shame. Her ass flesh tightened, pulling away 
from the wiry cock hair that grew in abundance all over the brute's muscular 
loins. 

Abruptly Tony sat up. His hand gripped her small shoulder, forced her onto 
her back. He took hold of her chin, made her meet his hot gaze. "Look," he 
said huskily, "I got you out of that mess in the hospital because those 
fuckin' guys would've lined you up for the whole population. A thousand 
guys, baby. Think about it. Your cunt-" he glanced at her cum-crusted blonde 
bush - "your fuckin' cunt'd be stretched from her to here!" His free hand 
went to her gash, sliced sharply up to her throat. 

"Ow!" Jeanie shuddered, horrified by the prospect. Her cunt! Her sweet 
little pussy! 

"Yeah! Like the Holland Tunnel! You'd be no more good. Think real hard about 
it." 

She thought real hard about it: she envisioned 1000 stiff dicks pissing 
cum-from the sky, drowning her. Her gaze dropped to the half-hard cylinder 
in her captor's lap, jerked hastily away. Her breathing quickened. What was 
he saying? That she had a choice of one stiff prick or many? Some choice! 
She wished she'd had foresight enough to secret a scalpel in the hospital 
gown before allowing him to drag her through the window. Or that she had 
courage enough to take his penis into her mouth, as if to suck him, and chew 
and chew until only a bloody stump remained. "I ... I ..." 

"Can it," barked Tony. "You wanna walk out that door, go. But while you're 
here ...!" His hand returned to her pussy, rubbed gently. 

"I ... it ... I ... oh, I'm all sore down there," she whimpered, blinking 
back tears. "Please." 

Tony considered her for a moment. She watched his hungry eyes caress every 
inch of her body, pausing at the secret places, eating her up. She supposed 
she couldn't blame him for wanting her. She was beautiful, soft and tiny, 
but big in all the right places. Stacked! And ten years was a long time, 
even she had to admit. She supposed under different circumstances ... if she 
wasn't engaged to Mike ... if she wasn't a good girl ... under those 
circumstances she supposed she might even consider him. He was handsome 
enough. Tall. And his dick-although she detested the thing, wished he'd 
cover himself so she wouldn't have to keep glancing at it-was bigger by far 
than Mike's. Bigger limp than most of the others had been when they plowed 
into her belly. She supposed he had the most awesome prick in the world, or 
at least in the prison, and that a girl-not her, though: a girl who was like 
that-might even count herself lucky to have such a marvelous tool to pump 
electric-like thrills into her willing cunthole. 

She moaned, closed her eyes, and turned her head away. Her legs trembled, 
parted. Her pussy grew tight in spite of the soreness. "Don't," she sobbed, 
wanting to resist the hand massaging her bush but unable to deny the 
soothing effect. Wanting to scream again, but unable to do more than gasp 
each time his rough fingertips grazed her slit. What, what, what! was wrong 
with her, anyway! 

"Yesterday you fixed up my hand," said Tony. "Now it's my turn to do some 
nursin'. I got a wonder drug for what ails you, baby. Somethin' that'll make 
the hurt go away. Fast! Real quick-like!" 

"Hummm!" Her eyes shot open as the livery thing flicked gently up her 
swollen vulva. Her ass lifted itself off the cot. Oh, God! she thought. God! 
God! He was going to suck her. Eat her pussy. The pig! The filthy bastard! 
There was nothing-absolutely nothing in the entire world she enjoyed more 
than having her twat lapped by Mike. 

But it wasn't her Michael whose dark head was burrowing there, she reminded 
herself. She chewed her lip, stared at the blue-black curls that contrasted 
so perfectly with her creamy thighs and golden bush. "Ohah!" Her hips bucked 
again, of their own accord, making her gash more accessible. "Um!" She tried 
to hold herself still; tried to tell her hips not to wiggle, her ass to stay 
put. "N-no-ooooo!" 

"No? That's a fuckin' laugh!" Tony locked his hands at the upper inside of 
her thighs, spread her wide. "Shit! Lookit that cunt nip. What I hear from 
up there I don't see down here, baby." Again he licked, this time batting 
the tip of his tongue against her pink clit. 

"Iiiieeeeeeeeeeeee!" The hurt was suddenly gone, washed completely away. The 
shame, too. It was wrong! She looked about the cluttered supply room ... at 
the wooden crates marked CANNED GOODS ... the naked light bulb overhead ... 
the jagged chunk of mirror hung on the wall across from the foot of the cot 
and above the makeshift barrier that hid them from view of the door. Dirty! 
The room and the deed! But her pelvis refused to recognize the filth. Her 
ass refused to be still. Her hot cunt-oh, her lovely but unruly blonde 
pussy-wanted the gentle lapping to continue. 

"That's it, honey," mumbled Tony into her breathing cunthole. "Christ, you 
smell good. Taste good, too." His hands crept under her ass, cupped. He 
licked down, into the valley between the plump melons and back, laving her 
anus as well as her slit. "Baby. Goddam." 

Tentatively she raised one knee, dropped it wide to one side. The wetness 
darted deep in her gaped love-hole. She yelped, raised the other knee. Her 
loins gyrated. Round and round. Fucking. Mashing her cunt in his face. She 
felt his whiskers, his breath. Her clitoris grew, popped from the lips of 
her vulva and sought the medicine he prescribed. It lulled her, made her 
forget where they were ... who he was ... who she was. The cot became a 
gently rocking cloud, the soiled bedding the smoky folds. The room was a 
kaleidoscope of sexual bliss, approaching but not reaching, prolonging, 
keeping as a promise, the-ultimate thrill. Her nipples begged for attention, 
and it was as if their bodies were in communication, silent harmony; 
because, without having to be told, as if the message had reached him 
through the pink inner walls of her sheath, Tony relinquished one half of 
her ass to minister with his fingers to first one then the other rigid peak. 
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and gave in completely to the wonderful 
fiery sensations coursing through her vagina. 

She felt the cot shift abruptly, felt the head between her thighs turn 
completely around. Before she knew what was happening, she smelled him-the 
sweat on his huge dangling balls, his asshole. "Wha ...?" 

"Suck me off, too," croaked Tony, dick standing full hard and pointed 
straight at her mouth from above. He set his knees wide, at either side of 
her face, and thrust the veiny meat poker at her moist lips. "Sixty-nine, 
baby. Pass the medicine around some. Gimme a blowjob." 

She sobbed. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she would have considered the 
request an impossibility; she would have thought her mouth was too small, 
too delicate to take a foot-long cock. But now she knew better. Slick Jack 
and the other one-she just couldn't remember his name, didn't want to-had 
used her that way, had fucked out her face. Now only the strong male stink 
gagged her, made her want to vomit. She hesitated, studying the slightly 
bowed, enormous red-tipped monster. She reached with one tiny trembling hand 
for his nuts, hefted them in her palm. He was a bull! An elephant! None of 
the medical books had ever depicted a human stallion as low-slung and 
handsome as Tony. 

"Suck it!" he demanded into her cunthole. His tongue flew up one sensitive 
cunt-lip and down the other, coaxing compliance. His fingers crept low in 
the crack of her ass, tapped her blood-engorged sphincters, teasing there 
too. He lowered his hairy bulk, and brushed her nose, her lips and chin, 
with the throbbing glands of his manhood-the smoking meat still slick with 
gook from her pussy. 

Nurse Jean Simmons, she thought dismally. The girl who had always excelled. 
With her looks, and a mind that absorbed data like a sponge, she'd go far, 
everyone-her teachers in high school, the instructors at nurses' training 
class, her parents, Mike-had always said. The prison was only a stopover. 
Experience! But she hadn't anticipated the range of that experience. She'd 
heard stories about other women caught in prison uprisings, raped. But never 
her. Never had she expected to be used like a thing; a receptacle for 
gallons and gallons of semen, with cocks-black ones, white ones, 
brown-fucking out every hole in her body. That kind of experience happened 
only to "the other guy." 

"Oh ...!" She pumped her cunt onto his dipping tongue, closed her fingers 
tight on his balls and stared cross-eyed at the fat red tip of the prick 
pulsing like an excited aorta at her mouth. Her head thumped in time to the 
machinery in the outer shop. Her own aorta felt as if it were going to 
burst. She'd never seen anything so steely, so ... so fascinating. Her 
tongue, without any help from her, flicked out-licked the pearl drop of cum 
from the tiny aperture in the pear-shaped glands. 

"Ah! Ah! Ahhhhhhh!" Tony's hips bucked. He lowered his genitals even 
farther, blew hot moist air up her pussy. One long finger parted her 
sphincters, and pressed ... opening the tender rear channel ... grating 
cruelly up her tight asshole, and making her moan, thrash. 

Her lips opened. Dizzy, unable to think of anything but the delicious warmth 
spreading like forest fire through her gyrating loins, she moved her hand 
from his balls to the mighty roots of the dagger, and steered the tip to her 
mouth. It tasted of cunt juice. Never before today, before Slick Jack fucked 
out her pussy and then her face, had she sampled her own inner goo. Now she 
licked it greedily from Tony's member, surprised that the tang, the smell, 
wasn't revolting, as she had once assumed. It took only some getting used 
to-like when she was a little girl, and her father, who used to laugh when 
she cried-were all men like that? Brutal?-made her eat head cheese for the 
first time. She remembered how the stink of the cheese seemed to go away 
when her father took her onto his lap, kissed the tears from her cheeks. 
Eleven? Twelve? She couldn't remember! She was young, hadn't yet reached 
puberty, but had begun to lose the awkward bulging hipbones and elbows and 
skinned knees of childhood, and was just beginning to sprout tits and a soft 
little round ass. The head cheese was her father's favorite. But she hardly 
noticed the taste after the first time ... though she had never before 
wondered why. Now she took the huge glands of Tony's stiff dick into her 
face, and recalled that her father too had developed a hardon that first 
time, and had, whenever he got the chance after that, whenever her mother 
wasn't around and they were alone in the house, used the cheese-pretending 
to tease her, calling her Daddy's little big-girl-to get her onto his lap. 
And later, after she had reached puberty, how he made silly excuses to come 
into her room while she was dressing. The last time was only a week ago, she 
recalled. Her own father. Staring. Eyeing her tits and plump ass. Sometimes 
rubbing against her. Sometimes, like when they went swimming, holding her 
close in the water-she with her feet off the sand, legs thrashing, and him 
with one hand on her bottom, and laughing, pretending it was a game; but, 
she realized now, her mind zeroing in on the sordid events of the day and 
the sex of a lifetime, using her as Tony was doing. She sucked, astounded 
that Tony's ferocious penis should fit so neatly in her small delicate 
mouth. Had Daddy wanted her ever since she first sat in his lap? A blowjob? 
Fucking? Her uncle's too? All men? She fucked her ass wildly off the soiled 
bedding, drew as if she were sucking a thick malt through a straw and 
thought about things that had never before-not even in her kinkiest dreams, 
or when she and Mike screwed-entered her mind. 

"Honey. Ah, baby-baby. Um! Jesus!" Tony drove another long finger up, her 
nipping asshole, and shoved the remaining three darts on each hand into her 
lower gash. He spread her so wide Jeanie thought sure she'd split up the 
middle, covered the sloppy gap of her sex with his mouth and blew and sucked 
alternately. His hips set a steady fuck-rhythm. Slow. Planting more dick 
with each downward grind, until the entire shaft was wet with her spit and 
slipped smoothly in and out, in and out. "Suck it, sweetheart," he groaned 
into the breach. "Yeah! Um! Ah! Ah! Ah, ba-beeeeeeee!" 

She sucked. Noisily. Greedily. Closing her eyes, hands caressing his sacs, 
fingers weaving an excited unfamiliar pattern in his wiry cock-hair, she 
drew from deep in her throat on his throbbing meat. Her father! Why hadn't 
she seen it before? Was she so naive? Did she have to be raped, fucked every 
which way by an endless line of brutes, before the obvious dawned on her? 

She recalled other times. She remembered the night long ago, her mother 
babysitting with a sick neighbor's child, when she fell asleep on the living 
room sofa with Daddy. Fourteen? Not much more! The hair on her pussy was 
still growing, her tits and hips filling out. The movie on TV was a western. 
She remembered because it was the cowboy shouting, "Get up, there! Get up!" 
that woke her. Still groggy, only half awake, she'd felt the stiff thing 
rubbing up and down the rear seam of the thin pajamas she wore. Warm all 
over. Giddy. She remembered wondering what her father was doing to her back 
there ... against her cute little ass ... grinding ... grinding ... panting. 
She remembered snuggling close. Sighing. She was too sleepy, too warm, too 
... too something! to keep her eyes open. The stiffness felt good. So good. 
Her own handsome daddy. She remembered drifting again, hearing the cowboy 
prod his horse-"Get up there, boy! Get up!"-and Daddy, one hand moving 
gently over her hips, her thighs, the roundness of her small bottom, dry 
fucking and groaning-doing her buttocks as Tony Giardino, the rapist, the 
man who had rescued her from the others only to use her himself, was doing 
her face. Fucking! Only Daddy's fucking was dry, subdued, cautious, and 
Tony's dipping was wet and eager, better than pretense. 

"Ummmmmm!" She sucked harder, as hard as she could, wanting to taste the 
thick semen Slick Jack and the other man had introduced her to. She'd seen a 
man's wiggly cum worms under a microscope, the minuscule tails wagging 
furiously, futilely, seeking the ovum in a cunt they'd never enter. 

Poor things! she thought now, surprised by her own brazenness. Her mind was 
a maze of unwholesome images. But there was nothing unwholesome about the 
dick in her face. It was circumcised. Long. Burning hot and dipping in time 
with the tongue prodding her clit-get up there! Get up!-toward orgasm. 

She opened her eyes to study the cordlike vein along the bowed underside of 
the thing in her mouth. Her gaze swept up the deep dark stinking crack of 
his ass, down. His asshole winked from beneath a clump of interwoven black 
bramble. The purple-blue vein at the base of his meat was as fat as an 
industrial cable, and growing. The wrinkled skin on his balls had grown 
taut. She moaned, knowing he too was nearing orgasm. It was so different 
from what they wrote in the medical textbooks-so much better. She had 
studied it all: she knew the inner workings of a man's genitals, her own 
cunthole. She knew every sensation point. Yet Tony's tongue had found new, 
unlisted nerve ends. His magnificent member was teaching her mouth that it 
too was a cunthole, a receptacle. She sobbed. She sucked and threw her hips 
high, a full foot off the cot, telling him with her body that whatever she'd 
said before, whatever she might say afterward, she wanted him now. Wanted 
cream. 

Suddenly Tony fell. He dropped his knees off the cot at each side, and 
slammed the roots of his dick, his cock hair, into her face. He mumbled 
incoherently into her gaped pussy. He bit down on the sensitive tip of her 
clitoris, and rolled his hips ... shooting ... filling her gullet with spurt 
after spurt of hot liquid love. 

Jeanie couldn't breathe. She gagged, spitting the stuff up and out the 
corners of her mouth. But there was so much-more than any three dicks had 
pissed earlier. She was caught between desire and loathing; between being 
what she'd thought she was-a good girl-and what Tony was making her. 

Then she stopped caring who and what she was, because the nibbling teeth at 
her crotch were lifting her over the precipice, pummeling her into bliss. 
The juice spewed thick and creamy from her pussy. Her insides exploded. She 
threw her legs up, locked her quivering thighs at his neck, her ankles at 
the back of his damp head, and yelled, "Ohah! Oh, do it! Suck meeeeeeeeee 
...!" into the Brillo-like hair bruising her face. 

When it was over, when Tony had slipped his long wet meat from her mouth, 
and she lay, legs scissored like the hind legs of a frog, the delicious 
thrill fading, leaving her sore pussy empty, degraded once more; when Tony 
lay at her side, gulping air, raining wet kisses over her breasts and neck, 
hands caressing, spreading the goo from her cunthole through the 
yellow-blonde curls of her bush; when the room came back into focus, the 
crates, the naked light bulb and soiled bedding, Jeanie cried, "I ... I'll 
n-never b-b-be able t-to look at myself in ... in the mirror. I won't! I 
won't!" 

Tony grunted breathless laughter. He raised up on one elbow, looked into her 
face. Again he took hold of her chin, made her meet his dark gaze. "Sure you 
will, baby. You may even get to like what you see." 

"Nooo!" It wasn't true. It wasn't! she protested mentally. She didn't like 
being violated; she didn't like thinking those awful things about her 
father, or sucking big dicks, or enjoying it in spite of herself. Yet she 
had to admit that never before had her pussy been so thoroughly sated. Never 
before had she experienced such lasting warmth and sexual satisfaction. 

"I ... oh, I hate you!" she spit at the darkly handsome face suspended above 
her. 

Tony grinned. "That's okay. Just so long as you keep hatin' like you did." 

"You bastard!" she yelled, lashing out with tiny inadequate fists. 

Tony trapped both her wrists in one huge hand, pinned her arms. He lowered 
his face to her tits, sucked one hard pink nipple into his mouth and chewed. 
He wedged his muscular leg between her thighs, rubbed. 

"I ... I ... Iiiiiiiiiiii ...!" she breathed, fighting, thrashing again, 
wanting to kill him but secretly glad his dick hadn't gone limp. Secretly 
recalling the partial entry, the premature eruption, and wanting it in her 
again. Up her pussy, where his tongue hadn't reached. She sobbed-pretending 
it was because of the struggle, the never-ending fight for her virtue, but 
anticipating. Wanting to hate him again in the way he liked best. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

There were no windows in the supply room, no light except the one naked 
bulb, but Tony had grown so used to prison routine, to rising at daybreak 
and turning in shortly after dark, that he knew it was morning. He yawned, 
glanced at the sleeping girl at his side. 

"Man!" Even after hours of lovemaking and in the torn and wrinkled hospital 
gown, she was a beauty. He wanted to touch her; he wanted to start the day 
with a ravenous breakfast ... Nurse Simmons as the main course. 

But there were things to do, he reminded himself. It had been too dark for 
Spider to see who slugged him and ran off with the girl, but Tony knew that 
sooner or later Slick Jack would become aware of his absence, would look for 
him on the compound-if only to brag-and might put two and two together if he 
couldn't be found. He didn't want that; he couldn't afford to have a 
thousand angry cons suspect he'd taken the ripe girl for himself, was 
getting what they were missing. Which meant he had to be seen on the 
compound. He had to make Jack and the others believe he was staying in the 
background because of the parole hearing a few months away. They'd 
understand that. It was the only thing they would understand, and he had to 
get the word out before they came looking. 

Quietly, he rose from the cot, dressed. He went to the sink to wash the 
stale taste of cunt from his mouth. The tap hissed. He adjusted the cold 
water to barely a trickle, so as not to disturb the girl. Hurriedly he 
washed his face, combed his hair with his fingers, and moved to the door. 

Outside the sky was red-gold at the horizon, and clear blue higher up. The 
long gravel path from the tag shop to the main area was a runway from soft 
Jeanie Simmons to the hard life he'd known for a decade, and he was a jet, 
moving swiftly, crouched low at the brush abutting the walkway-unwilling to 
return, but compelled to if he was to have the girl to himself until the 
besieged prison was retaken. He was a prize fool, he knew. For a few days of 
sexual bliss he might forfeit yet another lifetime. If he had any sense at 
all, if he could think for a change with his head instead of his prick, he'd 
get the girl out and maybe put himself in line for an Executive Pardon. 

"Shit! Who the fuck're you kiddin'?" he demanded of himself, nearing the 
hospital area. The damage was already done. Taking the girl out now, even if 
he could manage it-and he wasn't at all sure he could-would only mean a few 
less days of having what he'd been denied for too long. 

He dismissed the thought, circled behind the quiet infirmary and peered 
around the edge of the east wall. Already the compound was stirring, the 
prisoners, now with prisoners of their own to feed and see to, were carrying 
large trays of food from the mess hall kitchen to the bedraggled hostages 
herded like cattle into the hexagon-shaped Operations Center. He could see 
the two women through the glass partition, some of the huge, supposedly 
shatterproof, sections broken, that rose from the chest-high concrete apron 
to the rain shield overhang. He almost laughed. How many times had he heard 
the cons razzing the screws at Center, calling them "car hops" and demanding 
burgers and Cokes. Now, with the food going in, men moving briskly back and 
forth, only the absence of cars marred the image. 

He waited until he was certain no one was looking his way, and stepped from 
behind the infirmary. He crossed unseen to the wall abutting the mess hall, 
hugged it to the big gate. A group of boisterous cons ran joking from the 
kitchen entrance. He fell in at the rear. 

Spider, who was leaning on the concrete apron in front of Center, saw him 
first, waved. The left side of the wiry little man's jaw was puffy, 
black-half a dozen shades darker than his complexion-and blue, and his eye, 
the one opposite the side Tony had connected with, was swollen shut. 

Slick Jack! thought Tony as he approached. Apparently the ringleader had 
belted the creep for allowing their blonde prize to escape. He looked past 
the man's gigantic Afro, so huge it dwarfed the rest of his head, through 
the glass partition at the con inside Center who was feeling the secretary's 
ass while she ate. 

"Where you been, man?" asked Spider. 

Tony scowled. "Miami Beach." 

Gingerly, Spider rubbed his bruised jaw, and eyed him, as if thinking he was 
about the right height and weight, and could be the man who had punched him 
through the jalousie window. He stared speculatively. Tony stared too, an 
unspoken threat in his eye. Until Spider laughed, refusing the dare, lit a 
cigarette and snorted two streams of gray smoke from his wide flattened 
nose. 

"You find the guy who sprung the nurse?" prodded Tony, certain the news 
would by now be all over the compound and anxious to learn what Jack and the 
other knew. Knowing too that the minute he left, Spider, eager to get back 
in Jack's good graces, would trot to the infirmary and mention that he was 
seen. 

Spider grimaced, then winced in pain and resumed rubbing his jaw. He threw 
the fresh cigarette violently to the ground. "It was them fuckin' sneaky 
troopers," he said hotly. "Snuck in after dark, the way I figure. Must've 
used a ladder 'n' come over the wall behin' the infirmary, man. Three of 
'em. Two held me while the other one punched me out." 

Jesus H. Christ! thought Tony jubilantly. He wondered if Spider had told 
Jack the same story to get himself off the hook. Troopers! It was 
believable. The State Police were the elite, and when the prison was 
retaken, when those outside got tired of waiting and negotiating, it would 
be troopers who came over the wall. He breathed a sigh of relief. His 
stomach growled. He was suddenly hungry. Starved. He glanced again at the 
con fondling the elderly secretary's big ass, working the dress up in back. 

Spider followed his gaze. Together they watched as the con lifted the hem of 
the dress to her waist, exposing filthy white panties, a greasy handprint on 
one cheek. The woman, bent forward over the counter that ran around the 
inside wall of Center, broken only at the exit, continued to eat. The man 
said something to her. She looked back at him, her tired face blank. She 
barely blinked when the hand on her ass traced the crackdown, and the man's 
fingers disappeared into the gap at the back of her full woman thighs. 

Tony's dick stirred. Every morning he watched the warden's secretary walk 
through the compound, and wondered if the flesh beneath her skirt, her wide 
swishing ass, was as firm as her shapely calves. He could see that it was: 
firm and white and appealing. She was a big woman-five-seven or eight-with 
long legs, and hips that would someday grow fat, but were, right now and 
from where he stood, perfect for fucking. 

"Ain't had her clothes on more'n two hours," said Spider. He rubbed the 
front of his pants, massaging his limp hose-like prick. "She been fuckin' 
since we took over, man. Likin' it, too. Want a shot?" 

Reluctantly Tony shook his head. He could believe the big woman enjoyed 
screwing; he could almost see her spread-eagled, legs high, thick black 
pussy working beneath a stiff dipping cock. But he had to maintain the image 
of a guy who didn't want trouble; he had to use Spider to get the message to 
Jack and the others, so they wouldn't get curious. He had to have blonde 
Jeanie Simmons for himself. 

"I ... I'm counting on a parole," he said at last, chest tight, dick growing 
rapidly stiff. "I see the board in a couple of months, and if I get involved 
in this ... shit! I got too much time in to shoot craps with another thirty 
years for rape. No cunt's worth it." 

Spider looked from him to the secretary. The con had yanked the woman's 
panties halfway down and was moving his stink finger along the crack of her 
ass. It was a good ass, Tony mused, round and soft, with an abundance of 
black hair growing low in the split. Whether she liked fucking or not, 
whether she was willing or not, he wished he could take the other con's 
place for ten minutes ... just long enough to sample the woman's enormous 
bottom. Asshole fucking! She was made for it! And it was the only way he 
hadn't screwed Jeanie. 

The civilian commissary worker stepped uncertainly from the room at the rear 
of Center, two grinning cons behind her. The room was used by the graveyard 
shift, Tony knew. There was a cot and a table and chairs inside, the former 
for catnapping, the latter for coffee breaks. But the cons had put the room 
to better use, he could see. The woman's red hair was a mess, and her 
clothing, what was left-her blouse was torn at the shoulder, revealing the 
fact that she wore no bra and had drooping tits, and her skirt was ripped up 
the side with no panties beneath-was even filthier than the secretary's 
underwear. She moved as if she were sleepwalking. As if she'd been caught in 
a bad dream, hadn't yet accepted her plight as reality, and had been fucked 
almost senseless. 

"Here comes my tray," said Spider. 

Tony eyed the plateful of scrambled eggs and buttered toast, the steaming 
pot of coffee. He watched Spider fall in behind the kitchen worker. His 
stomach grumbled. He hesitated. But Jeanie was safe, he reasoned. It 
wouldn't take long to get some hot food into his belly, and it would give 
him a chance, maybe the last for a long time to come, to get close to two 
more chicks ... if only for a better look at the secretary's wide ass. 

Inside Center, he paused at the open door to the small room. The place was a 
shambles; the walkie-talkies the guards used for emergencies were shattered 
and strewn about the floor; the straight-backed chairs were dismantled, the 
seats piled in a corner, the legs being used as clubs by the men stationed 
outside Center. The sheet draped over the cot was stained yellow where, if 
two people were fucking, the woman's ass would lay. The redhead's missing 
underwear was hung on a nail hammered into the wall, a trophy. The rioters 
were in for big trouble when the prison was retaken, he mused. 

Another kitchen worker entered Center with a tray. He took it from the man, 
set it down on the counter a few feet from where the anxious con was 
manipulating the secretary's genitals. He ate with one eye on the pair, and 
listened. 

"Hurry it up, will ya?" complained the con. "You eat like you fuck-from now 
on!" 

The woman ignored him; she stuffed the last hunk of toast in her mouth, 
wiped her lips with a napkin. She glanced back at the hand on her ass, as if 
becoming aware of it for the first time. She sighed and straightened. The 
buttons down the front of her dress were undone, and her tits, surprisingly 
firm for a woman her age, the nipples dark brown and red at the base, came 
into view. "I'm ready," she said huskily. "Let's go fuck, honey." 

Tony almost choked on his eggs. He watched the pair head for the back room, 
the con's hand still working beneath the hem of the dress. His dick ached. 
He glanced from them to where the redhead was being served breakfast. The 
torn skirt revealed her thigh to the hip. Smooth white skin. Freckles. He 
could see the gentle swell of her belly, and the dip where her pussy began. 
As he watched, Spider leaned close, said something in a whisper and made a 
grab for her tit. The woman tried to move away. Another con stepped up close 
behind her. She looked hopelessly from him to Spider, dropped her fork, and 
buried her face in her hands. She trembled as the two felt her-Spider 
kneading her breasts with one hand, shoveling food into his face with the 
other, the second con grinding slowly against her plump buttocks. 

Tony watched until the two men relented and allowed the woman to eat. Spider 
kept glancing his way, as if to say, "It's free, man. Better get it while 
the getting's good." The other man moved to the open door to the back room, 
where a group of cons were watching the show inside. 

Prick throbbing, torn between the desire to take some of what the others 
were getting, and the need to maintain the image he'd created for Spider, 
Tony finished his breakfast and joined the whispering cons at the door to 
the small back room. He groaned. The secretary was laid out on the 
cot-spread-eagled as he had envisioned her-the dress bunched at her waist, 
open on top, the soiled panties twisted at her ankle. The man seated at the 
edge of the cot was sucking one fat brown nipple, his hand working roughly 
in the black scruff between her full raised thighs. Eyes Closed, hips 
churning, the secretary undid his fly and freed his hardon. 

"Um, baby," grunted the con. "Ah! I ... I like that real ... ahhhhhhhhhhhhh! 
Real good! Nice! Jerk me off, baby. Yeah! Ah, yeah, yeah, yeah." 

"Goddam! I'm comin' in my pants just watch-in' it," croaked the con who had 
ground his meat into the redhead's ass moments before. "Motherfucker! 
Lookit that!" 

Tony looked. He looked so hard his eyes almost popped from their sockets. 
The secretary had flung her legs wide, and the man's hand, every finger, had 
disappeared up her cunthole. "F-fuck it," she moaned. "With your-" she 
jerked hard on his prick, tore a strangled cry from the con. "Hurry! S-stick 
it in me. You ... your dick, not your fingers. Hur-reeeeee!" 

The man obliged. Without pausing to remove his pants, cock standing straight 
out from the open fly, he climbed into the breach and allowed the thrashing 
woman to steer the tip home. He lunged, grunted. The entire length of his 
tool-not as long or fat around as Tony's, but bigger than average-burrowed 
up her pussy. 

The door, opposite the foot of the cot, was the perfect vantage point: Tony 
could see the deep alluring split up the secretary's fat rear, the pink gash 
of her nipping cunt. And hair! Curly black hair all over the place! He could 
see the con's stiffness dipping. Faster and faster as the woman's legs shot 
up, locked tight at his waist. His own meat threatened to piss cream. He 
forced his eyes away, knowing that if he watched a moment more, if he saw 
them come, heard their sighs of pleasure, he'd have to take some ... and to 
hell with the image! 

But looking away did no good. Now he saw the redhead, who was younger and 
more appealing than the warden's secretary. And Spider, who had turned the 
struggling woman to face him, had her ass pinned to the metal counter and 
was standing close ... grinding ... grinding ... rubbing his meat into her 
crotch as he hissed threats in her tormented face. 

Again Tony groaned. He clutched his cock, squeezed. He watched Spider 
rearrange the woman's skirt, so that the slit up the side was centered in 
front and her bare pussy-almost as red as the tangled hair on her head-was 
flush with the bulge in his pants leg. He heard the woman sob as Spider 
buried his face at her neck, sucking a hickey. Black and white. The contrast 
turned him on. He wanted to see Spider's ebony dick part the folds of her 
sex, disappear to the hilt up the pink and white belly. He wanted to help; 
he wanted to come up behind the protesting woman, hold her arms until Spider 
got his joint in, then whip out his own burning meat, spread her cheeks, and 
do to the redhead what he'd speculated about doing to the elderly secretary. 
He wanted to do to someone what he had neglected to do to Jeanie. 

The thought of Nurse Simmons sobered him. He had gone to one hell of a lot 
of trouble to kidnap the minx from the others, he reminded himself. He'd 
taken his life in his hands. It was foolish of him to be there after taking 
such a chance, and while the blonde-perhaps awake now, frightened to find 
him gone: perhaps entertaining thoughts of escape-was safe at the tag shop. 
Through Spider, he had accomplished what he set out to do. He was free of 
suspicion. Jeanie was his for as long as the riot lasted. And there was 
nothing to stop him from doing to the adorable blonde what he most wanted to 
do. 

"Fuck out her sweet little asshole," he whispered, envisioning the tender 
round melons he'd held through most of the night. He closed his eyes and 
rubbed his cock, remembering the tuft of blonde fuzz at the girl's tiny 
anus, and the way she squirmed when he twisted a finger up there. He 
remembered the taste and smell. He was indeed a fool to consider the others 
when Jeanie was so much softer ... blonde ... younger and firmer, more 
appealing. 

Quietly he slipped from the unguarded exit. The cons stationed outside 
Center were busy watching Spider and the redhead through the glass 
partition, and those inside were glued to the room where the secretary was 
doing her thing. No one paid any attention to him. 

He made his way unseen to the big gate, then along the wall abutting the 
mess hall. He paused opposite the infirmary, glanced back to be sure no one 
was watching. Quickly he crossed the open area and ducked behind the corner 
of the building. 

Again he paused, this time to listen. Something was happening: the 
loudspeakers weren't barking, which meant something was up. Outside, beyond 
the high wall fifty feet from where he stood, large vehicles-perhaps trucks, 
army equipment-were pulling up to the prison. Had the State Police called in 
the National Guard, he wondered. Were they about to storm the wall? He knew, 
and he supposed all the cons did, that it was only a matter of time before 
the authorities, whoever was charged with the responsibility of the 
hostages, grew impatient and threw caution to the wind. Then it would 
end-suddenly, the prison retaken and locked up as tight as a clam. Then he 
and the others would pay for their brief pleasure. 

Tony cursed. There might not even be time to get back to the tag shop. For 
all he knew, the forces outside the prison were, at that very moment, 
standing ladders against the high gray wall, and, on signal, before he could 
get to Jeanie, a thousand riot guns would appear, helmeted heads behind 
them, sharpshooters all. 

His heart raced. His hard dick protested. There might not be time to sample 
the only lovely hot hairy hole he'd neglected. He had to move swiftly; he 
had to get back to the tag shop supply room, and fuck and fuck and fuck like 
there was no tomorrow. Because, once the riot was over, once Jeanie told 
what had happened to her, there would be many tomorrows ... but alone! 
Without pussy! Just him and his callused hand in the bunk each night. 

Crouched low, he raced around the infirmary to the gravel path. He was a jet 
again, scorching the runway. The large building in the distance loomed 
closer. The labored thumping of the machines grew loud. He covered the last 
yards at a pace that would have done justice to an Olympic champion, entered 
the sunlit shop. His breath came in gasps. The stink of hot grease seared 
his nostrils, and the prospect of losing Jeanie, of losing her tight little 
asshole, seared his loins. 

Quickly, he slammed the outside door, threw the bolt. He ran down the aisle 
toward the supply room at back. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

She was scared silly. Had he left? For good? Had she, through her struggling 
and protests, driven her one hope away? She looked uncertainly about the 
room. What would she do if he didn't return, she wondered. Her gaze settled 
on the sliver of mirror hung on the wall. She'd slit her wrists, that's 
what. She'd kill herself before allowing Slick Jack and the other blacks to 
abuse her again. 

Her heart leaped into her throat when the door burst open, and Tony, looking 
more frightened than she was, strode into the room. She gulped-on the one 
hand relieved, but noting the incredible bulge at his crotch and recalling 
the maniac cock that had fucked her every which way. 

Their gazes locked. She wanted to say something appropriate; she wanted to 
tell him she was glad he came back, but to leave her alone because her pussy 
was raw, and ... and she didn't know what all. 

"I ... I t-thought you had g-gone for good," she managed in a small voice. 
"I ... I ..." 

"You missed this!" Tony supplied, clutching his monstrous hardon. 

"No!" 

Tony laughed-a deep, lusty sound. She watched him close and lock the door, 
come toward her. God, he was huge. His prick stuck out like a crowbar. His 
nuts were softballs bulging inside the khakis. She recalled the driving 
power in his lean hips, the strength in his hands and arms. He was hard 
muscle all over. Brute force. All man. 

She thought suddenly of Mike, her fiance, who was nowhere near as tall and 
masculine as Tony. She remembered the last time they made love ... the 
gentleness ... endearments. Mike would never hurt her, she knew. Mike would 
never make her commit the horrid perversions Tony had subjected her to. 
Never, not once, had Mike even dared to twist a finger up her tight rectum, 
or suggest that she blow him. With Mike it was love, where, with the man 
coming toward her, clutching his meat, taunting her with it, it was merely 
sex. Fucking! A dick in a cunthole, any cunthole, and pop! 

She shivered. Pop! How many times had he and the others shot cum up her 
belly, in her mouth? She couldn't remember-she didn't dare try to keep 
count. She could remember only the steely length of Tony's long cock. The 
pain. Then the thrills, the physical willingness, in spite of mental 
revulsion. 

She shrank back when he sat at the edge of the cot, took her hand and placed 
it over the bulge. She huddled inside the ridiculous hospital gown, 
conscious of the fact that her tits showed through the material, and that, 
seated as she was, legs drawn up beneath her bruised cheeks, thighs bare, he 
could look under the hem of the garment and probably see her blonde pubic 
curls. The beast! The pig! she thought. She stared into his dark lidded 
eyes, read the Just there. Her pussy tingled. Her nipples grew taut. She 
waited for him to say something. She braced herself for what was to come ... 
the dirty words ... the dirtier actions. She felt tiny. Helpless. At the 
mercy of the man with a prick so big it had to be the eighth wonder of the 
world. 

Grinning, Tony undid the zipper of his fly. He thrust her small hand inside 
the pants, closed her fingers around the shaft of his rod, and made her take 
it out. 

Jeanie gasped, awed anew by the sight of him. The pear-shaped glands seemed 
to have grown. Her cunthole quivered. Goose-bumps popped all over her 
bottom. It was impossible; she knew she'd taken the evil thing in her pussy 
and mouth, but looking at it, seeing it in full bloom and ready to dip-which 
hole this time?-and contemplating the tightness of her tender pink sheath, 
was like trying to imagine a giant redwood fucked up her belly. 

"Wanna suck it?" asked Tony. He moved her hand slowly up and down the hard 
stalk, made her feel the veins and ridges. His own hand crept up the inside 
of her thigh, under the hem of the hospital gown to her pussy. 

"D-don't! I ... I'm so s-sore. I ... it feels like ... I-like ... oh, like 
the first time I ... I ... the f-f-first time I ..." 

"The first time you was fucked?" 

"Ummm." 

"Man! I bet that was some screw." Tony leaned close, nuzzled her firm 
breasts. His fingers weaved intricate designs in her cunthair. He held her 
hand tight to his stiffness, pressed her back until she unfolded her legs 
and slid down on the soiled bedding. The hem of the hospital gown shifted 
high on her hips. He stared at her pussy. 

Why her, she wondered. What had she done to warrant such continuous torture? 
She felt his hot gaze on her sex, felt the fingers slipping lower, inching 
close to her slit. Her hips bucked. She too glanced down. Her little blonde 
wedge was still stiff with hard cum, the mound beneath swollen. How much 
punishment was she expected to endure? How long could her senses survive in 
a body that refused-even in pain, even while she hollered and fought-to lie 
still? 

Tony lifted her shoulders, reached beneath her and undid the tie strings 
holding the gown closed on top. He made her let go of his cock, raise her 
arms. He tossed the garment to the floor. "You dig bein' forced, don't ya, 
baby?" 

"I don't, I ..." 

But it was no good; she could tell by the look in his eye that he knew, had 
recognized the signs of arousal. It was the same look her father got when, 
as a young girl, she had done something naughty and lied. Was she two 
people? Wanton flesh and a mind that rebelled? 

"Know what I want?" said Tony. 

She stared wide-eyed into his face ... anticipating ... dreading ... not 
sure what she felt, but ashamed. Her father! Her own lovable Daddy! Why was 
it her thoughts kept returning to him ... the nights she'd sat in his lap 
... the time on the sofa ... in the water, when he held her plump bottom? 
Incest! What was happening to her? What had become of the clean-minded good 
girl she was only the day before? 

The fingers returned to her bush, tore a sob from her lips. A moment ago 
she'd been frightened, thinking Tony had left her to fend for herself in the 
riot-torn prison, and then happy to see him, and now ...? Her head thumped 
in confusion. Her pulse raced. Did it matter at all what she thought 
anymore? Would anything she said or did change what was going to happen? No! 
There was no way to dissuade the handsome brute. Yet a part of her, a part 
that was growing weaker with each caress, demanded a token resistance. 

"Stoooooooooop!" she wailed, pushing at his broad chest, knowing it was 
hopeless but compelled to try. 

Again Tony laughed. The hand on her lush pussy slipped lower, coaxing her 
thighs apart. She bit her lip, watched his grinning face as the fingers 
brushed her swollen wet cunthole. She held her breath, expecting the darts 
to rake across her clit and grind up her vulva. But the fingers didn't stop 
there. They slipped farther and farther down, into the pinched crack of her 
ass to the tiny brown pocket the man at the infirmary had reamed. 

"Oh, no. No! No! Noooooooo!" She threw one leg over the other, trying 
desperately to close her plump cheeks. "No! N-not there. PLEEEEZE! Oh! OH! 
OHHHHHHH! n-n-noooooooo!" 

Tony ignored her. His fingers bored in, forcing her delicate sphincters 
open. One rough dart slipped in to the first knuckle. Another followed. "I 
gotta get some of your sweet little asshole," he breathed hot in her face. 
"Man, it's fucking tight. TIGHT! Give a little, Jeanie. Jeanie, baby. Open 
your legs. Lemme juice it up some beforehand. It won't hurt if you help." 

"It'll hurt anyway," she bellowed, recalling the sharp stab of pain when the 
other man, Slick Jack's buddy, fucked it up her small rear. "It ... I ... 
oh, I'm too little back there. You ... your t-t-thing is too bi-ig! Please. 
No. Stop. It ... it'll hurt something aw-ful!" 

She gulped, stunned when the fingers popped wetly from her asshole, and Tony 
stood and began to undress. Had he relented? Pity? Did he have a heart, 
after all? She was almost ready to believe it, to thank him, when the last 
garment fell from his magnificent frame, and he turned, rod bobbing, longer 
and stiff er than anything she'd ever seen, and sat again at the edge of the 
cot. 

"Climb on my lap, baby. On this." He gripped the pulsing shaft of his dick, 
squeezed. The head swelled bright red with blood. A drop of clear lubricant 
appeared at the tip, glided smoothly down the fiery glands, over the mark of 
his circumcision and onto his hand. "Sit on it!" 

She couldn't speak-the breath was stuck in her lungs, which refused to work, 
and the protests, all the futile objections she could think of, seemed small 
and unimpressive compared to the hard cylinder of meat he was asking her 
to-actually asking her to-take up her chute. He was trying to kill her, she 
was certain, to use her every horrible way, and leave a corpse, something 
that couldn't tell, couldn't point an accusing finger at him when the riot 
was over. She felt her legs being lifted, held aloft for a moment while he 
eyed her white bottom, then set down across his muscular thighs. She felt 
his hands at her waist. She closed her eyes and sobbed ... pussy dripping 
goo ... asshole twitching. She felt herself being positioned on his lap, the 
stiffness bending beneath her, the fat glands probing. 

"Please," she whispered, horrified, yet recalling the happy lap-sitting days 
of her girlhood. Daddy! He had indeed wanted her, she admitted at last. She 
felt Tony's big prick burrowing in the crack of her ass, content for the 
moment to savor the heat, the satiny skin, not yet at her anus. Daddy too 
had longed to ream her, to fuck her back there. She'd known all along, but 
always, each time he came near, each time she sat in his lap and felt his 
dick swell-because he was Daddy and she was his little big-girl-she had 
forced her mind blank; unwilling to face his unwholesome desire, and unable 
to justify her own incestuous hunger. Like the time on the sofa ... 
snuggling back into him, pretending to be asleep. And recently, since she 
took the job at the prison, the good-night kisses that lasted too long, left 
both of them breathless. Daddy! She wished he had taken her. She wished he 
had fucked out her ass, spread her back there, so that now, Tony groaning, 
ready to put it in, the bigger, more demanding cock, a cock like none other, 
could dip smoothly instead of tearing her sphincters apart. 

"Da-deeeeeeeee," she moaned as Tony lifted one cheek of her ass, set the hot 
tip at her anus and let her down. "Ah! Umahhhhhh!" 

Tony's hands locked at her waist, held her from wiggling free. "What's with 
the ah?" He pumped upward, forced the glands up her asshole. "What's with 
the Daddy shit, baby? I ... ummmmmm!" He pumped again, trying to plant the 
thick shaft, to get it all in. 

"He ... he ow! Ow, Tony, it hurts!" 

"Open your legs then. Swivel aroun' 'n' face front. Make like you're 
shittin' the biggest turd in your life." 

The suggestion made her want to puke. Shitting! She was certain she'd never 
shit or pee again; never again use her holes for anything but fucking. But 
she complied. She spun like a top on his joint, threw her legs wide, 
astraddle his knees, gritted her teeth and strained to take his rod in. And 
thinking of Daddy-her own handsome, incestuous daddy, who would have done 
her as Tony was doing when she was a girl of thirteen. If only she'd known 
about fucking, known as she knew now. If only she'd had courage enough to 
tell him she knew; that she looked forward to the lap-sitting sessions as 
other young girls looked forward to dances and clothes. 

"Ah, honey. Honey, baby." Tony lifted her high in the air, until his dick, 
the part that was planted, almost popped free. He groaned, expanded and 
contracted the glands. He tightened his grip on her waist. Pulling her down, 
grinding her onto the stake, he fucked himself upward. 

"To-neeeeeeeeeee!" Jeanie stiffened, the pain glazing her eyes. Her sweet 
little chute! He was tearing her up back there. She could feel the cruel 
monster-cock spreading her sphincters, making them bleed. Yet she wanted it 
so; she wanted it all, every stiff inch, up her belly. She couldn't say why; 
her mind wasn't her own anymore. Something had happened to her in the 
twenty-four hours since Slick Jack bared his black dick, and he and the 
others-how many were there? How many big dicks had she 
entertained?-introduced her to degradation. She was no longer the girl who 
had saved herself for only one man: Mike! Mike was in Europe ... probably 
fucking a Parisian whore. And she was there, in a world turned upside down, 
a receptacle for gallons and gallons of convict goo. 

She did as Tony had directed; she strained, pretending his cock was a turd, 
but going in instead of coming out. The pain lessened as the glands became 
slippery with the gook from her rectum-lesser still as he retreated, 
redistributing the shit from deep in her bowels, greasing the snug passage 
for the next mighty lunge. She whimpered. She threw her head back on his 
shoulder, braced herself with hands splayed on his thighs and fucked 
downward. It was impossible; the position was awkward, and she, her plump 
bottom, was far too little to accept the full length of his member. Yet she 
felt it going up, up. Halfway home. Grating against the membrane separating 
front and rear channel. Forcing her open. Stretching her. Disappearing inch 
by hard incredible inch into the tiny hole between her soft white buttocks. 

Tony's hand shot into her crotch, cupped. His fingers slipped high in her 
cunthole. His other hand went to her breasts, leaving her partially impaled, 
suspended above the roots of the burrowing monster. He grunted, fucked his 
hips upward. But his dick refused to go farther, as if her sweet asshole, 
outraged by the steely intruder, had suddenly set up a roadblock. 

"Ow. Owah. It ... it won't goo," she wailed, the pain returning, firing 
electric-like charges into her brain. "It won't. It w-won't. Ow, it won't!" 

"That's what the fuck you ah! Jesus, baby, it's hot. Hot 'n' so fuckin' 
tight! But it'll go. Dammit! I'll get it up there if I have to ahhhh! 
Motherfucker! Honey! It'll um! Man-o-fucking-man! If I have to split you up 
the middle, my prick's going in!" He fell back, taking her with him, wrapped 
his forearm around her thighs, and pulled her legs onto the cot along with 
his own. 

Was he insane? Completely mad, Jeanie wondered. He was rolling her onto her 
belly, his fat dickhead still up her ass, his balls at her cunthole. Her 
plump cheeks closed tight on his member, narrowing the channel even more and 
making it impossible for her to assist in the violation. Where before the 
entry was tiny, too close to take the entire length of his penis, it was now 
the eye of a needle-too tight to accommodate a toothpick, her insides 
screaming because of the part already embedded. 

"On ummmmmm! Ah! On your hands and knees, baby." Tony's hand splayed low on 
her belly, lifted. He kneeled between her gaped thighs, guided her up and 
back. "Ah! Oh, yeah, honey. Um! It's goin' now. Ahhhhhh! Fuck your hips 
back. Put your head down 'n' screw." 

She gasped. Her asshole and cunt were wide open, and it was indeed going in. 
She could feel his big dick inching bit by bit past the roadblock, 
conquering her reluctant rectum, making it give. Her face burned with shame 
and desire. She felt like a bitch; a female Chihuahua being raped in the ass 
by a determined Great Dane. 

"Wiggle!" demanded Tony. "Fuck! Move like you did last night. Help-Jesus! 
Oh, man, man! Help me get the last few ah! Um! Inches in." 

Gulping air, trying to catch her breath, trying not to think of the filth, 
the perversion, but of the rhythmic thrust of his loins, the fire scorching 
her clit, Jeanie rested her face on the bedding and stared past her bouncing 
tits-pink and white stalactites hanging from her chest, the nipples hard and 
pointing out at either side of the action below-past her belly-round and 
heaving, still lovely despite the bludgeoning it had received-more cocks in 
twenty-four hours than it had known in a lifetime-to where his coarse pubic 
hair and nuts were humping closer and closer as his meat advanced between 
the tender halves of her upended bottom. Tentatively she wiggled. The 
monster-cock slipped farther in. The hair on his balls met her cunt-lips ... 
tickling ... exciting the sensitive mouth of her nipping pussy. Moaning, 
thinking it was the most loathsome thing ever, yet felt so good-pain and 
all-she set her bottom in motion and watched the union completed. 

"Goddam! I knew you'd be good, but man!" groaned Tony, face contorted with 
pleasure as he stared down at the split that had swallowed his cock to the 
hilt. "The best fucking asshole fuck ever. Ummm!" His hands moved roughly 
over her quivering cheeks ... pausing here to knead the soft flesh ... there 
to trace the crack with a finger, probe the blood-engorged sphincters 
caressing the roots of his meat. He pulled slowly back, withdrawing half the 
length of the shit-smeared cylinder, reversed the motion of his hips and 
slammed into her. 

The thrust jarred her teeth. But inside, deep in her belly and cunthole, a 
small voice cried more! She couldn't wait for the next terrible drive. She 
extended her arms, took hold of the wooden frame of the cot for leverage. 
She leaned away from his balls-a greased gasket slipping off his long 
meat-piston. With all the strength in her hips, she fucked her ass swiftly 
back onto the stake. 

"AHHHHHHHHHH!" Tony's hands locked at her waist, pushed her forward again 
and yanked her back. "Mo-ther-fuck-er! I don't care if they give me a 
hundred years," he blurted. "You're worth it, honey. Worth every day. Fuck! 
Do like you're doin' ... on 'n' off. Go, baby. Go!" 

She obeyed. The rhythm of the thumping presses in the outer shop crept into 
her loins, paced her buttocks. Her pussy spewed goo. She felt it running 
down the inside of her thighs, growing sticky as it cooled. She felt his 
nuts slapping her crotch. Her gaze locked on his huge wrinkled sacs. They 
were such silly-looking contraptions-balloons that had been blown up too 
many times. And his dick, although handsome now, irresistible when veiny and 
stiff, was an equally dopey-looking invention when limp. But within, at the 
heart of the dual mechanism, the cum worms were waiting to wag their way up 
her chute. And the small voice inside her, the cry of the wanton born in the 
past twenty-four hours, guided her hips, her ass, demanding she wrench the 
wiggly darlings up the shaft of his sex, out the fat glands, and into the 
hungry cavern that only moments ago had seemed too tiny, too fragile. 

Frantically she fucked. She would never be the same, she knew. It was like 
when she was a girl, and first discovered that there was a difference 
between her and the boys who pulled her hair and tried to get their hands up 
her dress each day after school. Like when she first became conscious of the 
delicate pink folds of her slit. More so! Like Daddy-the time on the sofa, 
when she shut her mind to reality, storing the incident, but knew all along 
what was happening and went along with the pretense. Now her mind was a 
sponge ... absorbing ... becoming accustomed to shame ... flashing back and 
comparing Mike and her incestuous Daddy. Her loins thrashed out of control 
... bucking ... grinding on and off Tony's tool. The voice in her belly grew 
louder; the one in her head-conscience? Morals?-grew faint, almost 
imperceptible. She closed her eyes, sobbed. Images danced at the back of her 
eyelids ... her father in shorts, his big dick hanging limp until she 
entered the room in pajamas, then growing, rising up hard while she 
pretended it wasn't there, and then climbing onto his lap-his own little 
big-girl. And Mike, his smaller, less handsome hardon, dipping wetly in and 
out of her pussy ... always the same ... never varied ... dull. Not like 
Slick Jack. Spider. Tony and the others. What was wrong with her was that 
she liked what was happening, she realized. She was a good girl who didn't 
want to be good, who wanted to be raped and abused. Who wanted to be fucked 
every which way. 

"Almost; Al-ah! AHHHHHH!" Tony's hands closed low on her thighs, yanked her 
legs out from under her. His weight came down, knocking the last ounce of 
breath from her lungs-a mountain of hard muscle and dick, crushing her like 
a bug underfoot. 

She didn't care. She cared only that he was coming. She could feel it in the 
head of the stake up her ass. It swelled. It seemed to grow longer. She 
tightened her cheeks, held him trapped. "Do it," she heard herself moan in 
an alien voice. "Oh, please. Shoot! Fuck out my asshole. Like ... oh, like 
Daddy wanted to. Hard! Fuck cum up meeee!" 

"Goddam!" Tony went rigid. His hands closed on her tits. His dick exploded. 

Jeanie yelled. The thing inside her jerked, triggering her clit into orbit. 
Her eyes rolled. Her throat filled with saliva. She couldn't think, breathe, 
move. Hot thrills spiraled up her spine, whirled around inside her skull, 
began to fade and were re-ignited when he spurted again. The cream gathered 
high in her rectum, the passage closed, too tight for the goo to seep out. 
She blubbered incoherently. Loud. Her sighs and moans and sobs high-pitched, 
rising above the thump of the presses, the sounds Tony made. Never before 
had she experienced such overwhelming sensations. She was a thing. Used. 
Totally dominated. It was a brand of sex she'd heard other girls talk about, 
had read about. Masochism: male superiority v. female humiliation. She was 
seeing herself for the first time, her secret desires reflected in a mental 
mirror. 

The cream was still pouring from Tony's cock when the door shattered, the 
oak panels splintered by a makeshift battering ram, and a dozen angry cons, 
Slick Jack and Spider in the lead, rushed into the room, scaled the packing 
crates and surrounded the cot. She gasped. The meat up her rectum went 
slack. 

"Wait a min ..." Tony began. 

She heard him grunt, felt his body go as limp as his dick as Jack hit him a 
stunning blow at the back of the neck. Fear gripped her throat. Should she 
plead? Beg for mercy? Her mouth dropped open but nothing came out. She 
looked frantically from one sweating black face to the other. 

"Dirty white motherfucker," growled Jack. 

"I tol' ya," said Spider. "I know'd the punk wasn't too right. Ain't nobody 
turns down good pussy like he done. Parole, my ass. I was right, wasn't I, 
boss? He the motherfucker who slugged me!" 

Jack gave him an ugly look. "Shut your face 'n' get 'im the fuck off 'er 
before I slug you again." 

"Nooo ...!" Jeanie breathed, knowing what would happen when the unconscious 
body was rolled away and they viewed her nakedness. 

Jack stared her into silence. He took a handful of Tony's hair, lifted. 
Spider and the others grabbed his feet. She whimpered as Tony was flung to 
the floor, and the cum, now that the plug was gone, seeped from her rectum, 
flooded the crack of her ass and spilled out over her burning cheeks. She 
clutched the soiled bedding, tried to cover herself. That too was wrenched 
away, flung to the floor. 

"Please!" she cried, remembering the filthy black dicks, Jack's in 
particular. It was yesterday all over again, with all that had happened 
between-her acceptance of Tony, of subjugation-gone with the gook that had 
trickled from her anus. She was frightened again, alone-at the mercy of the 
entire prison once more. 

A hand clamped tight on her ass. Another shot into her pussy and two more 
clutched her tits. She screamed. Someone slapped her. She screamed again. 
Louder. A continuous wail. The hand whipped back and forth across her face, 
cracking like gunshots, making her ears ring. Her head was yanked back by 
the hair. Her legs were gaped wide. Above her she saw an ebony rod spring 
from an unzippered fly. Another appeared to her left ... three ... four. She 
tried to lash out, but strong hands trapped her ankles and wrists, held her 
down, spread-eagled. 

"You'll kill meee," she choked, trying to close herself as Jack placed one 
knee at the edge of the cot and wagged his uncircumcised meat above her 
tense belly. Tony! she thought. Mike! Daddy! Where were they? Where were the 
troopers and National Guardsmen who were supposed to quell riots? 

"Did white baby forget what she done yesterday once'st we got to fuckin' 
good?" asked Jack. Dick in hand, he knelt between her spread thighs. He 
stared hard at the man who was finger-fucking her pussy. The hand shot away. 
His replaced it, rubbed her mound. 

"No. Don't. I ..." 

"You gon' fuck, is what. Like you done fo' me yesterday. Likin' it, too." 

"I didn't. Oh, I didn't. I DIDN'T LIKE IT!" 

Jack's laughter was cruel, mocking. The others joined him. Another 
man-blue-black and uglier than anything human she'd ever seen-a new addition 
to the group from the infirmary, sat beside her, leaned and placed his 
blubbery lips to one turgid pink nipple. Jack's fingers tore into her raw 
swollen cunthole. Other fingers-she knew they weren't Jack's because they 
were smaller, less brutal-fucked the cum from the crack of her ass back up 
her rectum. 

Tears sprang into her eyes, blurring her vision. The room began to spin. The 
ceiling turned over and over, whipping down one wall, across the floor and 
up the shattered door. She saw Jack's descending face as a shiny black 
balloon; felt his weight, the coarse khakis and T-shirt, a belt, on her 
belly, his prick seeking her gash. 

It was more than she could endure and maintain her sanity. Her mind went 
numb. She gave in to the blackness all around her-black grinning faces, 
black dicks. Her body went slack ... allowing Jack's stiffness to grind in 
without a struggle ... accepting the mouth greedily sucking her nipples, the 
long filthy fingers fucking her ass. 

She screamed one last time and drifted into the temporary safety of 
unconsciousness. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

The negotiations to end the riot had come to a standstill, the authorities 
upstate, at the old maximum security complex, admitting to fault -archaic 
living conditions, bad food, bread and water for anyone who griped-but 
refusing to implement change until the rebellious cons relented and went 
peacefully back to their cells. The cons, on the other hand, refused to 
relent until their demands were met, and throughout the state, at every 
lockup including the one where Nurse Simmons and the other hostages were 
being held, the prisoners were with them. The press was being allowed in to 
meet with inmate spokesmen. But the revolt could continue for weeks, or at 
least until the food ran out, and Tony knew, could feel it in his bruised 
neck, the reopened cut in his hand and the kick marks down his back, that 
Slick Jack and the others would see to it that he didn't last as long. 

He lay curled on his side on the cold tile floor in the corner of the 
operating room where they had flung him, pretending to be unconscious still. 
But the men were paying no attention to him. Someone had discovered the 
rubbing alcohol supply, and what seemed to be a celebration was keeping 
everyone busy. 

Outside, beyond the high gray wall, the loudspeakers were blaring 
again-first warning through innuendo of the dire consequences to be faced by 
anyone who harmed the hostages ... a pause ... mention of the negotiations 
going on upstate ... then beseeching the ringleaders within to set the women 
free as a public display of good will. 

Tony almost laughed. The riot, although some of the cons were sincere, 
actually were backing the men upstate, was merely an excuse for Slick Jack 
and his clique-the hard core, those who would most likely never get out of 
prison alive-to rip off the broads, to rape. They would never give up the 
women. And those who were sincere, those who were quietly waiting it out, 
weren't strong enough to take what the others had and intended to keep. 

Jeanie! He almost bolted up from the floor, had to force himself to lie 
still. He'd forgotten the girl. Where in hell was she? What had they done 
with her? Eyes lidded, neck aching from Slick Jack's blow, he looked about 
the sterile operating room. Already some of the men lay drunk on the floor. 
Others were drinking deep from the bottles of alcohol mixed with juice from 
the commissary, the empty juice cans stacked neatly, forming a pyramid, at 
the center of the operating table. But there was no sign of Jeanie. Or Slick 
Jack and Spider. There was only the ersatz booze, the shiny hospital 
equipment, the glaring light overhead and the guzzling cons. 

His gaze shot to the hall door. There was a commotion out in the 
corridor-whoops and jeers. Spider, wearing wet shorts and shower clogs, 
appeared in the doorway, shouted, "She been scrubbed 'n' fixed up real 
purdy, y'all. Act like gen'elmen." 

The room quieted down, all eyes on the door. Spider stepped back, bowed at 
the waist. Several more men entered. Then came Slick Jack and another man, 
with Jeanie, a stunned look on her beet-red face, bouncing naked atop their 
shoulders. The girl's skin was bright pink and glowing. Her long blonde hair 
was still wet, hanging in cordlike bunches past her tits, down her back. 
There was a silk bow tied to her pussy. It was apparent that she had been 
bathed in the whirlpool tub at the rear of the infirmary, and that she was 
the cause of the celebration. 

A cheer went up from the men. Bottles were raised in a toast. Jack and the 
other man stood at the door, their black hands clutching the girl's creamy 
white thighs, both staring up at their captive. 

"Clear the table," someone yelled. 

"Yeah, man. Let's do some operatin' on 'er. Give 'er a beef injection," said 
another. 

Spider grinned crookedly. Moving briskly to the operating table, he used his 
arm to sweep the juice cans to the floor. The tin clattered on the tiles. 
Another cheer sounded. Before the noise died, Jack and the other man had set 
Jeanie down at the edge of the table beneath the round glaring ceiling 
light. 

Tony wanted to leap from the corner, tear into Jack and the others. But that 
would be suicide, he knew: there were a dozen blacks-no! Thirteen ... 
fourteen, and no whites-in the room, and the memory of the angry faces that 
had rushed into the tag shop, the hate generated because he had stolen their 
white prize for a day, was enough to convince him that Jack and the others 
would tear his head from his shoulders. He lay still, breathing hard, angry 
because he was as helpless as the frightened girl. 

Jack snatched a square alcohol bottle from one of his men, chug-a-lugged 
half the contents. He wiped his mouth and extended the bottle to Jeanie. The 
girl shrank back-a helpless blonde kitten in the circle of ruthless men, the 
red bow drawing all eyes to her pussy. 

"Bitch!" Jack slapped her. He held the bottle to her swollen lips, made her 
drink. The men roared with cruel laughter when she gagged and tried 
desperately to push the bottle away. 

It went on for a long time, Jack slapping her each time she refused to drink 
from the bottle ... calling her names ... a white slut ... a pig ... the 
others squeezing her tits, kissing her between drinks. Until Jeanie swayed, 
her big blue eyes lidded and glazed. She seemed lost. Tiny. At her wit's 
end. 

"We gon' play a game," announced Jack at last. He fingered the ribbon at 
Jeanie's crotch. The others set their bottles down, waited expectantly. 
"First one who can untie the bow," he continued, "get the first shot o' 
pussy." 

Spider stepped forward, reached greedily for the ribbon. Jack cuffed him. 
"With your mouth!" he snapped. "Hands behin' you. Like you was dunkin' fo' 
apples." 

Immediately the little man bet his face to the girl's crotch. The others 
balked, shoved him aside to get at the ribbon. Jeanie sobbed, head lolling 
drunkenly as face after black face dipped into her pussy. Whoever had tied 
the bow had done a good job. Each man came up with hair in his teeth and the 
ribbon remained. 

In spite of his fury and the pain from the beating, Tony felt his dick 
growing hard. He couldn't blame Jack and the others for wanting the minx. 
She was a goddess beneath the bright light. Her nipples were little pink gum 
drops on jiggly mounds, her belly a pillow, and her snatch, puffed up from 
the bath, silken and clean, was a small furry pie any man would be anxious 
to eat. He wished he hadn't alienated the men. He wished he could join them, 
tear the ribbon loose with his teeth, and fuck his stiffening meat back up 
the girl's tight succulent rectum. 

The cons were growing impatient. Jack seemed to have planned it that way. He 
stood back, arms folded, legs wide apart and big black uncircumcised joint 
showing hard at the fly of the shorts, watching what was done to the girl 
with the look of a DeSade advocate in his eye. There was plenty to watch. 
The men, unable to undo the bow, had begun to abuse Jeanie. The girl 
teetered at the edge of the table. Soft mewing sounds came from deep in her 
throat. Her small frame shook, breasts aquiver. One of the cons had found a 
broomstick, had shoved it under her cheeks from behind, and was ramming the 
tip into her cuntlips. Another had climbed onto the table, had whipped his 
dick out and was rubbing the glands in her hair. 

Still another had found a filthy plunger, and, while several continued the 
game, nipping at the ribbon and tearing high-pitched yelps from the girl 
each time they came away with their teeth full of blonde pubic hair, was 
working the thing on her tits, plunging it down over first one tender mound 
then the other. The instrument came away with loud pops-the sound of someone 
smacking their lips. It-caused her breasts to swell rapidly, left bright red 
rings at the base. Her nipples grew elongated, inflamed. Weakly, as if to 
ascertain her tits were still there, hadn't been torn away by the cruel 
suction, Jeanie brushed at the agonized buds each time the plunger was 
removed for the moment it took to release one melon and cover the other. 

By the time Slick Jack elbowed his cohorts aside, ripped off his shorts and 
pressed the girl back-legs gaped wide over the edge of the narrow table, her 
head moving feebly from side to side at the opposite end of the improvised 
sacrificial altar-stepped into the provocative breach and announced that he, 
because the others had failed to undo the ribbon, would initiate the 
fucking, Jeanie was a trembling mass of fresh bruises, moans. Her tits had 
grown huge from the plunger, almost twice normal size. Her cunthole was wet. 
The cheeks of her ass seemed to breathe, asshole winking. From where he lay, 
Tony could see up both hot hairy holes, could see Jack's black dick parting 
the pink folds of her lush little pussy. His own dick was harder than the 
tiles he lay upon. He clutched it, knowing the others were too busy enjoying 
the rape to pay much attention to him. 

"Best white pussy ole Jack ever had. Yassir!" Jack cupped his hands under 
the cheeks of her ass, raised the girl's hips. The hunk of meat at the tip 
of his uncircumcised cock slipped smoothly up her round belly. 

Jeanie gurgled something undecipherable. Her loins bucked. The cons around 
the table, content for the moment to observe the penetration, cheered as 
Jack's long prick humped all the way in, and both he and the girl-almost as 
if Jeanie was enjoying it too-began to fuck. 

"Ain't no sense lettin' this end go to waste," said Spider, who had moved to 
the opposite side of the operating table and was caressing the girl's 
swollen lips with one hand while he massaged his rod with the other. "Ain't 
never seen no white girl's mouth as purdy as yourn." 

Jeanie's face went pale as he placed his hand on her forehead, bent her head 
and shoulders back over the edge of the table. Her arms flailed. Her legs 
shot up, heels beating a frantic tattoo at Jack's waist. She tried to press 
her lips tightly shut, but Spider applied pressure until her neck threatened 
to snap. She gasped. Her mouth gaped hot and wet. Spider fucked his dick in, 
groaned, cupped his hands at either side of her head and began to grind. 

Balls aching, hardon clutched tight in his hand, Tony watched the two men 
use the girl. She made loud sucking noises. Her cunthole slurped with each 
dip of Jack's tool. The others around the table played on her inflamed tits, 
taking turns at pinching her nipples. The broomstick that had tested her 
pussy was wedged deep in the crack of her ass. He panted and watched, 
remembering the feel of the girl's lovely lips on his cock ... the feathery 
caress of her blonde pussy ... the nipping grip of her rectum. Outside the 
prison the loudspeakers continued to blare, asking again that the women be 
released. Someone at Center had found a loudspeaker of his own. Curses rang 
out in reply to the ghostly barks from beyond the high wall. A heated 
exchange followed, the late afternoon air alive with indignation on both 
sides. 

Tony envisioned the redhead in the back room at Center. Or was the elderly 
secretary still taking them on, he wondered. Which of the two was taking a 
dick at that very moment-perhaps both of them? Which was being fucked in the 
ass, which in the forebelly? 

He groaned, cautiously whacked his stiff dick and cursed himself for having 
bypassed the chance to sample two more helpless pussies. And for having 
underestimated Spider and Jack. He stared longingly at the orgy unfolding 
beneath the bright ceiling light ... the small pink mouth sucking ... the 
pinker gash turning in and out along the length of Jack's dipping tool. He 
suspected the riot would end soon; that the authorities would take revenge 
on the brazen cons shouting taunts at the troopers and Guardsmen beyond the 
wall, and that if Jack and the others continued to use the thrashing girl, 
concentrating on her instead of him, he'd be safe until the prison was 
retaken. But the thought gave him no solace. The floor was hard and cold 
beneath him, and the girl on the table, the two at Center, were soft and 
warm. He didn't want the riot to end. He didn't care if Jack and the others 
cut off his balls ... just so long as they allowed him to fuck one last 
time. 

Yet he remained still. He pretended unconsciousness until every man in the 
room had taken a turn on Jennie ... flooding her at both ends with cum ... 
had turned her over and fucked her out that way too, and had left the girl 
huddled in a small protective ball on her side on the table. He closed his 
eyes and gritted his teeth as Spider approached, prodded him with a shower 
clog. 

"You sure belted 'im good, boss," the wiry little man, his dick hanging limp 
and still wet with Jeanie's saliva, told Slick Jack. "The punk been out all 
day, 'n' pro'bly be out all night too. Whap!" 

"He come to I put 'im out again," growled Jack drunkenly. "Maybe fo' good." 

Spider laughed. Tony squinted at the skinny black buttocks moving away from 
where he lay. He watched Spider retrieve the half-empty alcohol bottle one 
of the other cons had been drinking from. With the exception of two other 
men, who stood off to one side involved in a loud chug-a-lug contest, the 
rapists had staggered drunkenly from the room to the comfortable hospital 
beds at the rear of the infirmary. Darkness was falling. Outside the 
chirping of crickets had replaced the bark of loudspeakers, and again the 
place seemed less a prison and more a co-op with gardens. He waited, 
wondering how long it would take the four men remaining to drink themselves 
into a stupor. Wondering what he would do when they did. 

His gaze settled on Jeanie. His heart leaped. He had expected to find the 
girl senseless, as unconscious as he was supposed to be, but she was 
watching him with enormous blue eyes; eyes that were red from crying and 
black-ringed from lack of sleep. He saw her blink as she realized that he 
too was playing possum. She bit her full lower, lip. Fresh tears sprang into 
her eyes. Help me, her look seemed to say. I'll do anything you want, only 
get me away from ... from these awful niggers. 

A bottle crashed to the floor at the far side of the room. Tony started, 
almost giving himself away. He stared hard at the pair in the chug-a-lug 
contest. One fell back against the wall. His legs buckled. Slowly he dropped 
to the tiles, sat. He looked uncertainly about the room, as if trying to 
locate his position in space, vomited down the front of his T-shirt-the only 
garment he wore-and leaned far to one side, asleep. 

The winner of the contest glanced toward Jeanie, whose succulent bottom, 
stained with the gook of the orgy, presented an appealing anchorage. He 
grinned. He reached out, took two unsteady steps toward the operating table, 
and fell flat on his face. 

"Ain't but two real men in the whole fuckin' joint," yelled Spider. He 
raised his bottle, swayed as he guzzled. Alcohol dripped down his chin. He 
laughed. Slick Jack joined him, the two slapping each other's back. 

Silently Tony cursed the remaining pair. They seemed to have hollow 
legs-they kept sucking up the pure alcohol, more than enough to stagger a 
bull, and yet got no drunker. He was stiff from lying in the same awkward 
position for hours-stiff in another way with thoughts of Jeanie. Furious, he 
listened to the two men joke about what they'd done to the "white bitch," 
and what they were going to do just as soon as they finished the bottle. He 
met the girl's pleading eyes. He couldn't wait, any longer; he had to move 
and depend on the element of surprise. 

Jack's dark bloodshot eyes grew as big as half dollars as Tony came off the 
floor, and rushed them-all in one unbroken leap. Spider turned in time to 
take the first crashing blow. Again Tony caught him under the chin, sent him 
hurtling into the straight-backed chair Slick Jack was trying to rise from. 
Both men went ass over heels. 

"Mother fuck ..."Jack began. 

It was Tony's turn to edit the sentence, as Jack had done to him at the tag 
shop. His foot, the toes curled inward to prevent a broken bone, lashed out 
and caught the tall black at the temple. It stunned Jack. Before he could 
shake the blow off, Tony lifted the chair and brought it down hard across 
Spider's shoulders and the ringleader's head. 

He stood naked over the pair, arms ridged with tense muscle, the chair 
raised for another blow. But both men were out; Slick Jack was bleeding from 
the side of the head, and Spider's shoulder was twisted as if his collar 
bone might be broken. He felt exhilarated. Revenge was sweet. 

"Oh. Oh, I ... I ache all o-ver." 

He turned in time to watch Jeanie ease herself from the table. Her legs 
almost gave when her feet touched the floor, and she had to lean against the 
table to keep from falling. Her face crinkled up, as if she were going to 
cry again. She stared at him with wide helpless eyes. 

Tony listened, making sure no one had heard the commotion. The only sounds 
in the room were the snores of the man in the far corner, the crickets 
beyond the window, the faint gurgling of the water cooler in the corridor, 
and his own labored breathing. 

Quickly he set the chair down and strode to the naked girl. He swooped her 
up in his arms, cautioned her into silence when she started to speak, and 
carried her to the gap he had cut in the jalousie window the night before. 

* * * 

Jeanie shivered, the night air cooling the sticky sweat on her body. She 
waited while Tony fought desperately to squeeze his bulk through the 
opening. He was caught at the waist, his hands, on the concrete at either 
side of the window, straining to pull the rest of him through. 

She almost laughed; a combination of relief and the sight of the brute's 
muscular buttocks-so different from her own little cheeks-fighting to make 
themselves small enough to escape. She wanted to help. But when she stepped 
forward, took hold of his shoulders and tugged, her legs became jelly again 
and Tony ordered her back. Why was she such a tiny, hopeless thing, she 
thought woefully. Why couldn't God have made her a man, with strength and a 
long hose of meat instead of the slit and blonde curls that caused her 
nothing but trouble? She stood silent and watched, thinking she must be a 
sight ... her ass bruised and wet ... the stupid red ribbon hanging askew in 
her bush ... hair knotted. She wondered what was going to happen next. 

With a loud grunt and a last mighty lunge, Tony came hurtling out onto the 
grass at her feet. "Jesus!" he hissed, rubbing his skinned buttocks. 

"Now you know how I feel," she whispered, recalling how he had forced her 
round cheeks apart to fuck his dick up her ass. She took the hand he 
extended, almost toppled when he used her to pull himself up. She waited for 
him to say something. Instead he draped his arm over her shoulders, almost 
knocking her down, and stared speculatively into the night. 

"I ... I think we should go," she offered in a small voice. She was 
unexplainably happy because they were together again, but afraid Slick Jack 
and Spider might come around and catch them. 

Tony scowled down at her. "Go where?" 

"I ... I ..." 

"Yeah. That was my thought exactly. We can't go back to the tag shop-they'd 
look for us there. Plus we got no clothes. We're fucked!" 

Boy, was she ever fucked! Jeanie mused. But it had nothing to do with what 
Tony was talking about. It had to do with her pussy, her asshole, and mouth. 
Her muddled brain, too. It was as if someone-a whole lot of someone's-had 
fucked a big dick into her head, and now every hole in her body stretched 
out of shape, inflamed and raw, every other thought in her mind concerned 
sex. 

Like the arm draped casually about her shoulders. Inside her head, with 
absolutely no help from her, it was being compared to a cock. Tony's was 
almost that fat-or so it seemed. She glanced furtively down at the loathsome 
thing. It was no longer as stiff as when he attacked Jack and Spider, but 
still awesome. Bigger by inches than any of the black rods that had used 
her. Fatter even half hard than the clubs the prison guards carried in their 
hip pockets. 

"O ...!" 

Tony looked questioningly into her face. "What the hell's the matter now?" 

"N-nothing," she lied. She commanded her voice to behave, to forget about 
fucking. But that was impossible too; they were naked, alone. And Tony, she 
knew, expected to be compensated in the same way he had demanded the first 
time he rescued her from the blacks. It was hopeless. As long as the riot 
lasted, as long as the prison remained under siege, she could expect only 
the best of a bad situation. Which meant Tony-belonging to him instead of to 
the entire prison population. 

"C'mon." Abruptly Tony started for the thick brush at the base of the wall 
behind the infirmary. 

Jeanie stumbled. The arm about her shoulders held her upright, but dragged 
her along as if she were so much excess baggage. She stepped on a stone, 
yelped. She wasn't used to being treated as Tony was treating her-as if she 
belonged to him. She wanted to tell him so; she wanted to demand that he 
treat her with respect, take his greedy hands off her and stop thinking what 
she knew he was thinking. But the past two days had conditioned her to 
expect the worst. Silently, she trotted along beside the muscular brute. It 
was incongruous, absurd. She was out in the night with a naked man, a beast 
who had violated her; who, she was certain, was anticipating doing it again, 
maybe worse; and she simply couldn't muster the will to object. 

They stepped into the high brush at a spot where Tony could watch the rear 
of the hospital and the approach to Center, but where they wouldn't be seen. 
He released her, stared for a moment up at the grim granite wall. He 
shrugged, looked about the natural enclosure. He scratched his head, faced 
her. "If we're lucky," he said, "those jerkoffs with the loudspeaker at 
Center'll sell enough shit to bring the troops over the wall." 

She bit her lip, hugged herself. "What ... what'll we do until t-then?" 

Tony grunted. He stood rubbing the back of his neck and boldly surveying her 
nakedness. His dick had gone limp. Now it stirred. His balls looked like 
hairy pink cannon shot in the dim light. "Make yourself comfortable," he 
said at last. "Sit down, go to sleep, stand there." Again he shrugged. "It's 
gonna be a long night, baby. Maybe days yet. Who knows?" 

Heart thumping, frightened and happy and confused by the conflicting 
emotions, she watched him ease his bulk to the ground, stretch out his legs 
and lean back against the granite. Moonlight slicing through the brush 
danced on his genitals. Her clit throbbed. Her ass flesh tightened. It was 
insane-what was she doing there? How could she feel anything like desire 
when only half an hour ago a roomful of men had abused her? She shivered, 
lost in her own muddled reasoning, trying desperately to banish the lewd 
thoughts from her mind. 

"Look," said Tony, "it gets cold around here along about midnight. We got 
nothin' to keep us warm except each other. You gonna stand there like an 
asshole all fuckin' night?" He offered his hand, patted the grass and leaves 
beside him. 

Jeanie hesitated. She studied his face ... the strong square jaw ... the 
thick brows and dark eyes that seemed able to look through her. Again she 
thought that under different circumstances, if not for Mike and like that, 
she could find him attractive-the perfect sex mate. She felt his gaze on her 
pussy. How could he think of that at a time like this, she wondered. How 
could she? 

Awkwardly, still holding back, she took his hand, allowed him to pull her 
down to the blanket of leaves. It was indeed getting cold, she told herself. 
Already the chill was deep in her bones: hot and cold flashes. She welcomed 
the arm that went about her, the rough hand grazing her swollen tit. She 
turned onto her side. Sighing, she threw her arm over his chest, snuggled 
against him, closed her eyes, and refused to think at all. 

Tony remained quiet for a long time. She listened to his breathing, and the 
sound of the brush being rustled by the faint breeze. The ground was 
uncomfortable, the wall against her back harsh. But she barely noticed. For 
the first time since Jack and the others had rushed into the tag shop, she 
felt-although she didn't know why, couldn't yet evaluate clearly-something 
she'd never before experienced. It was a warmth that began deep in her 
belly, spread. In moments, it had dissipated the hurt of two days. She 
forgot where they were, who he was, who she was. She felt only the hardness 
of him, the muscle. The hand at her breast. 

"That looks stupid," Tony offered at last. 

She opened her eyes, followed his gaze to her bush. The lopsided bow did 
look silly, she had to admit. She looked back into his face. 

"Those guys-they don't know the first thing about dunkin' for apples. I 
could've got it off easy." 

It was wrong, she tried to convince herself. What she was feeling was so 
unlike her-not a "good girl" at all. Yet she could think of nothing but how 
good it had been when he ate her; when his tongue darted into her cunthole, 
making her like it. She'd been fucked for two solid days, her body subjected 
to more abuse than the average woman knew in a lifetime. Still she wanted 
him. She wanted him more than she had ever wanted a man. She didn't care 
that they were out in the open, with only the bushes to hide them from 
anyone who might come searching. Dozens of eyes had watched her perform, she 
reasoned. Dozens of dicks had used her. Out of it all-the humiliation, the 
horrible pain and the shame-only Tony's wet tongue seemed worthwhile. 

"I ... I bet you c-can't," she heard herself dare. "W-with your teeth, I 
mean." 

It was Tony's turn to study her. His gaze swept down her body, back up. A 
wide grin cut into his face. He moved his hand from her tit, down her rib 
cage to her belly. He rubbed ... slowly ... gently. His fingertips grazed 
her cum-crusted wedge. "What-a-ya wanna bet?" he growled. 

Her head swam. Her nipples, still sore from the plunger, stood tall. Her 
cunt ached with the pain of desire. It was as if the two days had never 
happened; as if this were their first date, and Tony-less brutal now, almost 
tender-was wooing her into sex. Teasing her. Asking her with his hand to 
open her legs so he could make love to her slit. She offered her lips. She 
wanted him to kiss her there before he kissed below. She wrapped her small 
arms about his broad shoulders and, without waiting for him to initiate the 
love play, unable to wait, she covered his mouth and threw her leg over his 
thigh. 

Tony's hand slipped lower, finger tapping the top of her gash. She moaned. 
His free hand crept down her back, down her hip. She felt his palm mold 
itself to the left side of her ass. She thought of Mike. He too was gentle. 
But never so good. Never with Mike had she felt the overpowering urge to 
take a dick into her hand, suck it into her mouth. Something had indeed 
happened to her since the riot began. Inside she was different. Brazen. 
Without restraint or compunction. She wanted only to please. To give herself 
in any way he wanted to take her. Was it love, she wondered. Had her 
emotions, by some quirk of fate, attached themselves to the man? But no! she 
decided. That was too simple. She had loved Mike, and what she felt now was 
different. What was going on inside her was the same giddy sensation she had 
tried to keep from herself each time her father, her own sweet daddy, came 
near with his hardon. 

Tony broke the kiss, said, "Tell me what you want, honey. Fuck or suck?" 

"Suck!" she answered immediately. "I ... I want you to ... to eat me. My 
p-pus-seee. Like ... oh, just like you did last night at the tag shop. With 
your tongue, your mouth, your teeth. Undo the bow. Lap me. Please." 

"What about me?" 

"I-" she hesitated, recalling the awesome length of his rod in her mouth. 
She stared down at his stiffening monster, gasped. It was growing bigger and 
harder by the second, coming to life while she watched. She snatched it up 
in her hand, stroked it. "J-just like we did," she finished breathlessly. 
"Sixty-nine. Only hurry. Hur-reeeeee!" 

Mesmerized, she watched his head glide down her bruised body. She turned 
onto her back without having to be told, spread her young thighs. Her knees 
came up by themselves, feet planted wide to raise her ass off the ground. 
Her cunthole nipped. She could smell herself; the fishy stink wafted up from 
her sex in an invisible cloud of consent. She watched Tony turn, rearranging 
his limbs until he lay on his side and the meat in her hand bobbed close. 
She opened her mouth, trying to suck him in even before he was astraddle her 
face, and his tongue -the thing she adored almost as much as the thing in 
her hand-raked across her stretched out of shape, but nonetheless alluring 
wet gash. 

Her breath caught. She fucked herself, her pussy, up into his face, and 
closed her moist lips over the fiery red tip of his magnificent 
monster-prick. She sucked the length into her face, gurgled on the fat 
glands. 

"AhhHHHHHH! Ah! Um! Jesus Christ, baby-you ow! Man, you sure learn quick. 
Umah! Mother!" Tony's big stinking ass began to grind, humping the stiffness 
into her throat, down her gullet. His stink finger shot up her rear. Like a 
lion lapping up milk, he began to wash her used pussy, administer to the 
needs of her clit. 

It was heavenly. Wild and mad, and as if she had died and lay on a bed of 
hot coals in Hades ... in league with the Devil, and doing all the things 
she had secretly wanted to do since girlhood. Only Satan had re-ascended. 
The ground was a cloud in the night sky. Tony's tongue was the archangel's 
wings batting against her stiff little love bud. The finger deep in her ass 
was a magic scepter promising immortality. Best of all was the hard dick in 
her face, slurping in and out; in-out, in-out, faster and harder each time 
he lunged. The change in her was complete. She sucked in abandon, wanting 
only to taste his thick cream; to have her own juices mingle with his 
soothing saliva, and have him replace the spit in her mouth with the salty 
goo from the sacs slapping down on her nose. Fucking, rape, perversion-she 
loved it! When the riot ended she'd probably hate herself, she knew. But for 
now she was glad. Ecstatic. Full of wonder and cock. 

Something creepy, a leggy ground creature, crawled onto her ass. She yelped, 
tried to wiggle it off. It clung. Her movements only spurred Tony on, and 
held the tickly insect motionless for a moment. Was it a cricket? A 
centipede? She envisioned a roach with a hardon seeking her rectum. Perhaps 
a dung beetle. She felt it slither into the pinched crack of her bottom, 
nestle there-almost as if it were a tiny girl-bug, with a cunt, and it too 
wanted Tony's tongue up its slit. 

She moaned and sucked, ashamed of herself, of the fantasy, but unable to 
resist the kinky thoughts flooding her mind. The cock in her mouth fucked 
deep, deeper still as she thrashed to shake the tiny night creature loose. 
Noisily she drew on the hot glands. She imagined it was a long lollipop, and 
that she was a young girl again. She smelled the acrid stink of his ass. The 
all-day sucker became a cylinder of head cheese. She drove her hips high ... 
straining ... hurting herself. Inside her head, in the place where she had 
stored unwholesome memories, it was Daddy whose tongue was laving her twat; 
it was his incestuous meat in her face. What would he say when the riot 
ended and he learned what had happened to her? Would he be indigent? 
Jealous, as he sometimes seemed to be jealous of Mike? Would he too recall 
the lap-sitting days, the long good-night kisses, hugs and hot stares, and 
regret that he hadn't taken what everyone else had enjoyed? 

"Do it!" she gurgled, frantic, approaching orgasm and thinking how surprised 
her father Would be if he could see his little big-girl now. "Oh, suck me 
good. Hum. Harumm! Ea' me. Ea' me. Oh, ea' meeeeeee!" 

Tony grunted compliance into her cunthole. He slipped another finger up her 
tight rear, opened her delectable sphincters to the night breeze. The crawly 
thing on her cheek scurried brazenly close to the aperture. Tony seemed not 
to notice, intent upon filling her needs and slamming his rod down her 
willing throat. 

Jeanie panted, coughed, laughed-torn between loathing and perverted desire. 
A bug! She was so hot she didn't care that an insect was about to rape her, 
crawl up her asshole. It was another sensation. Something new. Something not 
even Slick Jack and the others had thought of. She worked her cheeks on the 
tiny intruder, coaxing it toward the brown velvet pocket Tony's fingers held 
open for the nose that sniffed each time his tongue lapped down. She felt 
the creature's legs at her anus. She felt the antenna probing the dark, the 
stink. She wrapped her arms tight about Tony's bucking hips, pulled him 
down, down ... sucking. She threw her legs up, locking her thighs at his 
neck and making the insect's shitty desire more accessible. 

Everything happened at once: Tony gasped, "Baby-ba-beeeeee!" and came down 
full on her face, cock pissing semen. The curious insect found her chute, 
burrowed in along with her lover's cruel fingers. Her pussy exploded, 
yanking her loins high. Everything-the night, the whirling stars overhead, 
the darling thing tickling its leggy way up her gyrating rear-seemed to pop 
off. She was being absorbed by the cum worms, changed into a giant cunt that 
needed only a dick to survive. She was being reborn. The umbilical cord was 
deep in her face, reconnecting her with the universe. 

Fucking! That's what she had been made for. Nothing else mattered. The taste 
and the stab of a prick-any prick, just so long as it was fat and hard-the 
juice gushing hot from her pussy and from big hairy balls, was what made her 
go. 

When it was over she might indeed hate herself, she reasoned. But each time 
it started anew, ever since the first rape, even with the filthy blacks, the 
shame and perversion became secondary. Only the moment mattered. The thrill. 
The overpowering urge to wiggle and thrash toward the next mighty cum load. 

"Suck it all out," hissed Tony. "Man! Ah! Ummmmmmmmmmm, fucking good. 
Goddam! Go, baby. Drink it up." 

She didn't have to be told. She couldn't get enough of the gook. She 
remembered something she'd read while at nursing school-prostate glands! 
Feverishly she eyed Tony's dark smelly asshole. It was up there somewhere: 
the cum-trigger. She felt the thing in her own little chute crawling deeper, 
making her legs tremble, her pussy pop again and again. She wanted it to go 
on and on and on. For Tony, too. 

Quickly she twisted her finger up Tony's ass, heard him roar indignation ... 
but fucking ... all the time spurting cream in her mouth. She might hate 
herself later, she reaffirmed, but for now, while the thrills lasted-while 
her pussy continued to nip at his tongue and his dick continued to shoot: 
while the sweet crawly thing up her ass continued to tinkle new wonders-she 
was in love with the act. With sucking and lapping. With being a nurse who 
administered to sick cocks. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

The riot ended as abruptly as Tony had figured. Daybreak was accompanied by 
a barrage of threats and counter threats from the loudspeakers on both sides 
of the wall, those at Center making light of a final plea to free the women 
hostages, to be reasonable. The prison was in an uproar. Slick Jack had 
passed the word-get Tony Giardino! The story of what had happened the night 
before infuriated the cons, and the troopers and guardsmen outside the high 
wall, the promise of immediate repercussions if the women weren't released, 
merely gave them something upon which to vent their rage. 

All hell broke loose. Moments after the fruitless loudspeaker exchange, Tony 
clutching the frightened girl in his arms, the two huddled in the spot where 
they'd spent the night, the helmeted heads and rifles appeared atop the grim 
granite parapet. 

"They're comin' over," someone yelled. Rocks flew. A volley of gunshot 
shattered the morning calm. Tear gas grenades exploded, forming a cloud of 
choking mist between the rioters and the outer perimeter. Rope ladders 
slithered down the inside of the wall, and uniformed men wearing bulletproof 
vests, gas masks, riot guns slung over their shoulders, poured into the 
prison. All but the toughest cons scattered. 

They'd had it, Tony knew. He looked into Jeanie's dirty but nonetheless 
lovely face. The lust was gone. Now the loathing he'd seen on the night he 
whisked her away to the tag shop was back in her eyes. The siege was over, 
her look seemed to say. It was her turn. Soon the place would be back in the 
hands of the rightful keepers, and he, along with Slick Jack and Spider and 
all the others who had used her, would be made to pay for what they'd done. 

"Over here," she cried, breaking free as the first line of guardsmen 
kneeled, fired into the air, and then covered the milling cons while the 
second wave-the troopers with the gas guns and chains to restrain the 
rioters-scaled the wall. Trying to hide her nakedness, hands strategically 
placed, she ran from the brush. 

Tony watched the guardsmen hesitate, eyes bulging behind the gas masks as 
the naked minx approached. He watched Jeanie stop, say something, cover her 
face with her hands, then begin to weep. He stared hard at her plump ass, 
etching it on his mind. It would be a long time before he saw another, he 
mused. Maybe never. Maybe he'd die inside the grim wall for being unable to 
resist the lush little blonde. 

"Cover that woman," an irate guardsman with lieutenant bars barked. "On the 
double." 

Half a dozen men rushed to obey. Bulletproof vests were flung off, and 
shirts-one draped over her small heaving shoulders, another with the sleeves 
tied about her slim waist-hid Nurse Simmons' charms. 

Tony drew a deep breath, sat. He wished he had a cigarette. He listened to 
the gunshots and shouts, calmly watched wave after wave of troopers and 
guardsmen, followed by city police, come down the rope ladders. The wall 
trembled as the tall electronic doors a hundred yards away were opened, and 
trucks carrying reinforcements roared into the compound. That meant Center 
had already been taken, he mused. Minutes now. Soon the rebellious cons, him 
included, would be back in their cells, the prison under tight security 
while the damage was repaired. Then the indictments. Rape for him and the 
others. Kidnap. Destroying state property, and whatever. 

He closed his eyes. Was it worth it? Jeanie? Would he think so in say a 
month, when the new charges were filed and he was dragged into court to be 
sentenced to ... to the rest of his life? 

But it didn't happen that way. In the days following the riot, he watched 
from the small window in his cell door as Jack and the others-all 
bedraggled, all in need of a change of clothes and a shave-were hustled one 
by one to court. Each evening he listened to the radio commentator announce 
the indictments ... frowning ... wondering what was taking the authorities 
so long to get to him. He wanted it over; he wanted to take what he had 
coming, crawl into a hole somewhere and forget. 

On the morning they opened his door, Tony braced himself, expecting the same 
rough treatment-the shoving and curses-Jack and the others had been 
subjected to. Instead, the White Hat in charge of the four-man escort detail 
grinned and said, "Better shave and put on some clean clothes." 

He blinked, wondering if he'd heard right. "I ... it'll take me awhile." 

"All the time you need. We'll wait. Here." The White Hat, a sergeant labeled 
by the cons as a prick, produced a pack of cigarettes, matches. He studied 
the hand that accepted the offering, added, "We'll take you to the infirmary 
and have the nurse change that dressing before we go out." 

He couldn't figure it: they were treating him like royalty, a V.I.P. But ten 
years in prison had taught him to expect the unpredictable, and so he went 
along with the script. He washed himself down in the sink, shaved, changed 
clothes and accepted another smoke from the concerned guards. It might be a 
long time before he received like treatment, he thought. The radio 
commentator had said the rioters and rapists were being shipped back to the 
ancient maximum security complex upstate, where a similar surprise action 
had put down the rebellion and everyone involved in both uprisings was being 
thrown into the hole-solitary. It might be a lifetime before he saw daylight 
again. Grimly he followed the escort out of the wing and toward Center. 

The nurse who cleaned and dressed his hand was new: a shapeless scarecrow 
with gold teeth. She too grinned, called him by his first name. By the time 
they reached the warden's office, Tony was doubting his senses. Were they 
setting him up for the kill, he wondered. Like a condemned man-all last 
requests granted, and then zap! He expected the worst as the door opened on 
a roomful of political brass and local reporters. It was like when he was a 
kid and had won his first Golden Gloves bout by a knockout. 

"Why'd he do it?" the newsmen, the warden, the guards and visiting 
dignitaries wanted to know. "Had he considered the possibility that he might 
be risking his own life to rescue Nurse Simmons from the ruthless bunch at 
the infirmary? Did he expect a reward-clemency? Was he scared?" 

Tony was stunned, unable to answer with more than a yes or a no. Jeanie! The 
girl had omitted his part in the rape, had mentioned only the rescue. It was 
hard to believe. He recalled the look in her eye when the troops scaled the 
wall, the silent threat of revenge. Yet no one knew. Slick Jack and the 
others were being prosecuted for their part in the attack, while he was 
being commended. 

Cameras flashed ... the warden shaking his hand. The newsmen attributed his 
evasive answers to virtue. One suggested a headline: CONVICT SINGLEHANDEDLY 
RESCUES NURSE FROM RAPISTS AND SAYS IT WAS NOTHING! 

But why? All the way back to his cell he wondered what had motivated the 
girl to keep her mouth shut. All that day and the next he relived the things 
they'd done ... the asshole fucking and sucking ... the way the girl fought 
each time his stiff dick forced its way up her belly. And then the last 
time, the ribbon. He recalled how she had asked him; how, after Jack and the 
others had defiled her in every imaginable way, Jeanie had timidly dared him 
to eat her. He lay on the bunk with eyes closed, the smell and taste of her 
fresh in his mind. It was as if his brain had stored the sweet juice from 
her pussy, and now, him there, the girl miles away-doing what? he wondered. 
More fucking? Sucking as she had sucked him?-their last night together was 
being recreated inside his head. 

His prick grew hard. His breathing grew labored. He could almost hear her 
soft mewing sounds, her cries of delight when he popped. And the bug! The 
tiny ground beetle that had crawled up her ass to help lift her to paradise. 
He remembered how, even after the previous hours of abuse, the black rods 
degrading her, Jeanie laughed when it was over and he'd fished the leggy 
insect out with his tongue. Was that it? Had she purposely overlooked all 
the bad things because of their last night together? 

For days he lay on the bunk and stared thoughtfully. He refused to consider 
the possibility of executive clemency, as the radio commentator was 
suggesting. The governor, it seemed, had taken a special interest in the 
case, and everyone-the press, the prison officials and reformers-was 
demanding that he be rewarded for his bravery with immediate release. Even 
Jeanie's family concurred; her father, the newscaster said, had petitioned 
the State House. 

He remembered odd things Jeanie had said-Daddy! He had intended to ask her 
about that; about why she called for her father at the moment when his stiff 
meat was grinding up her hot asshole. And Mike, her boyfriend. He'd meant to 
question her about that too, about why anyone in his right mind would allow 
a beautiful girl, his girl, to work in a joint with a thousand hard-up cons. 

But her father mostly. In retrospect, it was almost as if the girl had been 
screwing her father. As if, as his long cock slipped deep between her round 
buttocks, she was remembering another time, another cock. He thought back to 
his own boyhood ... dredging up cousins, and a mother who, before she ran 
off with his own father's best friend, used to make his young dick hard by 
playing physical games-at least they were supposed to be games-no mother, 
particularly one who was stacked and good-looking, should play with her own 
little boy. Was it like that with Jeanie, he wondered. Was her father a 
secret incest freak, as his own mother had been? 

"Jeanie," he groaned on the night a week after the prison was retaken, when 
the radio commentator announced that the attractive young nurse had been 
released from the hospital, pronounced physically well, reunited with her 
parents, and that she would not be returning to her post at the place where 
she'd been subjected to what the doctors called psychological trauma. 

Reunited with her daddy! he thought, remembering how the girl had straddled 
his lap and fucked herself onto the stake. Could it be? Was she, at that 
very moment, celebrating her return home by grinding her adorable 
daughter-ass onto her own father's stiff cock? 

"Jesus!" He closed his eyes tight, clutched his throbbing hardon. He could 
almost see it. Like the time his mother suggested they play musical chairs, 
just the two of them. An impossible task, with only one chair and her 
humming breathlessly, exciting him with the soft sexy sound, the hot look in 
her eye, as they circled the seat ... her wearing shorts no mother should 
wear in the presence of her tall horny son ... him ogling her buttocks and 
crotch. Her ass was bigger than Jeanie's lush melons, he recalled, her hair 
not so blonde. He dug deep in his mind for the far-away images, interweaving 
the picture of Nurse Simmons' naked behind with the hazy memory of his 
mother's plumper cheeks. She was no longer his mother, he convinced himself. 
She'd run off, a tramp-fucking for anyone and everyone, his father often 
said. That made it okay. That made the fantasies of his boyhood, the wet 
dreams about Mother, merely another lewd episode in the life she'd chosen. 

Half asleep, dick hard in his hand, and his mind a collage of past sexual 
delight-just as Jeanie's mind had been flooded with unwholesome desires 
concerning her daddy-Tony recalled how his mother had stopped humming when 
he was in front of the chair, making it easy for him to beat her to the 
seat, and how her buttocks had spread in his lap, soft and warm, her arms at 
his neck, big mother-tits, the nipples swollen, braless, showing through the 
thin blouse she wore and digging into his bare chest. 

"Oh, dear," she'd sighed. "Mother should've known she couldn't beat a big 
boy like you. What now?" 

"Let's ... well, I mean ... I ... I-let's just sit here awhile," he 
brazened. 

Mother laughed-the deep-throated sensuous sound that always left him 
panting. Her wide ass jiggled. His dick began to stiffen. She cocked her 
pretty blonde head, stared into his face. She could feel him, he knew: she 
couldn't help but feel the fat rod, that was, even at thirteen, almost a 
foot long. Yet she sat there, the leg band of the shorts biting deep in her 
full white thighs, the material hugging her cunt like new skin. 

"What's Mother's handsome boy thinking?" she asked when, the jeans pinching 
his balls, he shifted to get comfortable. 

"N-nothing, Ma. Nothing at all." 

Again she laughed. She too shifted. The aching bulge in his pants leg 
centered itself in the hot mother-crack of her ass. She leaned far back on 
the arms about his neck, raised her legs and rocked-a sexy seesaw in his 
lap. How he wanted to fuck her; his own mother! He wanted to move the hands 
on her waist down, feel her pussy and cheeks. He wanted to tear the shorts 
off ... kiss her ... suck her. Instead he sat perfectly still, trying to 
think of her as his mother and not as a beautiful blonde woman who rocked 
back and forth, back and forth, back and forth in her son's lap. 

Teasing him, making it almost impossible for him to remember who she was, 
Mother said, "Does my handsome big boy have a girl friend? Someone to play 
with when Mother's not here to play musical chairs." 

He gulped, not knowing what to say. Her ass felt so good. He played dumb, as 
if his dick was always hard and the cheeks in his lap meant nothing. He let 
his hand slip lower, savoring the flare of her hip. "I ... I don't like 
other girls," he said finally. "Only you, Ma. You ... you're my girl." 

"Darling, that's so sweet." She hugged him, kissing all over his face and 
caressing his youthful stiffness with the wiggling halves of her succulent 
bottom. Her thighs opened slightly. He glanced down, saw the round tip of 
the bulge in his jeans ... so close to the soft swell of her mother-pussy. 
"Kiss Mother," she cooed in his ear. "If I'm to be your only girl friend, 
then we'll simply have to kiss 'n' hug 'n' play parlor games all the time." 

Eagerly he complied. He kept his eyes open, drunk on her beauty and the 
warmth of her breath at his mouth. It was the first time he'd been 
tongue-kissed by a girl. His hand slipped lower still, trembling as his 
fingertips met the bare creamy flesh at the leg band of the shorts. Her ass 
moved provocatively in his lap. Suddenly his hand was there, on her cheek, 
inches from the hot split. She sighed. Her thighs opened farther. The tip of 
the bulge in his jeans met the damp indentation where the shorts were sucked 
deep in her cunthole. 

"My baby," Mother sighed into his open mouth. 

"Mama, I ... I I-love you." 

He didn't know how it had happened. Even now, in the cell, half asleep on 
the bunk, he couldn't remember how his hand had gotten inside the shorts at 
the tight leg band. He recalled only the silken texture of the hair on her 
cunt, and that Mother didn't object when his finger crept to her slit and 
fucked itself in. He remembered her moaning ... as Jeanie had moaned when he 
forced his dick up her asshole. And the wet kiss that lasted until he came 
in his pants, and then the sound of a key being turned in the front door 
lock-his father home from work-and the game ending. There were other games 
after that, before Mother left, but he had never again mustered the courage 
to go so far. 

Groaning, Tony pissed cum over the bunk. He was caught in the childhood 
memory, linking it to what Jeanie had said about her father. Rather, what 
the girl hadn't said-the implications. Was it like that with them, he 
wondered. Father and daughter, as it had been between him and his mother? 
Incest was common enough. And with Jeanie, being the male parent of such an 
adorable minx, it was more understandable. Especially now. After what she'd 
been through with the blacks, particularly Slick Jack and Spider-sadists 
both-he could well understand her father wanting to take some, even if he 
had never done so before. 

He jerked his stiff cock, shooting spurt after spurt of hot cream over the 
bedding. Jeanie! Would he ever see her again? Would he be given the chance 
to fuck her the way she deserved to be screwed? In a bed? Eating her cunt 
until she was ready to scream, then driving his meat so hard up her belly, 
so forcefully, that she cried and begged him to stop-but all the time 
fucking? His life for ten years had been one lonely fantasy after another. 
Until Jeanie. 

"Just lemme get one more shot of that pussy," he choked, squeezing off the 
last drop of hot cum, rubbing the sticky glands of his prick in the mess, 
and hoping-daring to hope for the first time-that what the radio commentator 
had said about clemency would come true, and that soon, because Jeanie 
hadn't mentioned the rape, though he still wasn't sure why, he'd be free. 
Then he'd find her. He'd find her and eat her cunt until she gave him some 
answers. 

 CHAPTER NINE 

It took a month for the clemency papers to be processed; a full pardon. But 
on the morning he walked out the front door of the prison, paused amid 
reporters and well-wishers for a last look at the grim granite wall, Tony 
thought how like a dream-most of it nightmare, but with Jeanie giving it a 
happy ending-the past ten years were. The reporters, standing back with note 
pads raised while he said good-bye to the warden and Center keepers, were 
anxious to know what he would do first. But the question was asked in a 
joking way ... all of them men ... all of them knowing what a man wanted 
most on his first day out. 

"The second thing I'm gonna do," he answered laughingly, "is look up Miss 
Simmons 'n' thank her 'n' her parents for petitioning the State House to get 
me out. I owe 'em my freedom." 

"You won't have to look," a high musical voice shouted from behind the 
reporters. 

Tony blinked. He saw the tiny hand waving over the heads in the background, 
the white-blonde hair bobbing cutely up and down. It was too good to be 
true. But there she was, elbowing her way through the mob to reach him. The 
reporters stepped back. She rushed to where he stood, an uncertain smile on 
her flushed face and lips parted as if she'd meant to say something, 
something rehearsed, but had forgotten what it was. 

"Are you gonna kiss 'im, Miss Simmons?" a pushy reporter asked. 

"That'd make a swell headline picture," another prodded. "GRATEFUL NURSE 
REWARDS BRAVE CON WITH ..." 

Jeanie laughed, stood on tiptoe, and wrapped her small arms about Tony's 
neck. Her moist pink lips covered his. Cameras flashed. Everyone clapped. 
Then the mob grew silent, everyone waiting for the long kiss to end. 

Tony felt the girl's petite body straining against him, her tits digging 
hard into his chest. He felt the roundness of her belly, the soft dip of her 
crotch. He tasted her sweetness. It was more than too good to be true; she 
wanted him! He stood holding his suitcase in one hand, the other hand 
massaging her back, thinking she wanted him as much as, if not more than, he 
wanted her. His mind raced back to their last night together. He tried to 
recall every detail, everything he'd done. The girl was a contradiction ... 
their last night ... the hateful look the next morning ... and now ...! He 
didn't know what to make of her anymore. 

By the time the kiss ended and Jeanie stepped back-high-pointed breasts 
heaving, innocent baby blue eyes wide and bright-the reporters, the warden, 
the guards, everyone present was staring as if to say what he was going to 
do first-fucking!-and what he was going to do second concerned the same 
person. More questions were asked. Jeanie answered them tersely, all the 
time tugging him by the hand toward the car at the curb. "We're going to 
have a welcome home party," she said by way of a requested last quote. She 
looked into his face, her eyes revealing the same smoldering dare he'd seen 
on their last night together when she bet him he couldn't undo the bow at 
her crotch with his teeth. "At my place. It's all arranged. I ... we intend 
to make Mr. Giardino's first day home something he'll remember for a long 
time to ... to come!" 

Jesus Christ! thought Tony. Come! There was no mistaking the emphasis Jeanie 
had placed on the word. He slid into the front passenger seat of the car, 
thinking it would indeed be a day he'd remember for a long time to come, and 
one Jeanie would remember, too. 

Silent, still trying to make his mind compatible with the two Jeanie's, 
trying to merge them, he watched the girl wiggle her plump ass comfortable 
behind the wheel, slam the door on the persistent reporters. He watched her 
hands move deftly to set the car in motion, her small foot touch the gas 
pedal. They glided smoothly away from the curb. He glanced back at the crowd 
in front of the prison, breathed deep of the clean smell of freedom and 
watched the grim granite wall recede like the gray dregs of a nightmare. 

Abruptly he turned to Jeanie. "Why'd you do it?" The girl stared straight 
ahead, pretending to concentrate on the road. The hem of the pale yellow 
mini she wore rested high on her trim thighs-high enough for him to see 
where the dark elastic top of one nylon bit into flesh that was whiter than 
the glare of sunlight on the windshield. He eyed her firm tits, the cleavage 
showing where the neck of the dress dipped low. He'd almost forgotten how 
lovely she was. Now his nuts tightened with the memory of her cunt working 
beneath him, the halves of her ass in his hands. "You told on Jack and the 
others," he added, "but me-why'd you leave me out?" 

Jeanie braked for a red light. Their gazes met. She opened her mouth, as if 
to speak. Then she clamped her lips tightly shut, looked hurriedly away. 
Color crept into her face. The tips of her ears turned bright red. 

Tony laughed, shook his head. He knew why, though he wanted to hear her say 
it. Jeanie was an anomaly; a good girl who didn't want to be good. The 
ordeal at the prison had introduced her to herself, and now, with no 
restrictions on them, with him free of the threat of new charges, she was 
again finding it difficult to think of herself as a cunt. And that's what 
she was, he decided. All cunt! A beautiful blonde nympho with stiff cock on 
her mind. She was leaving it up to him; she had committed herself with the 
sex-charged kiss at the prison, and now she was acquitting her conscience 
through silence, leaving it for him to make the next move. 

"Turn left at the next intersection," he ordered as the car nosed away from 
the stoplight. "Then take the road out of town." 

"I ... we ... t-the p-p-party's all arranged," stammered Jeanie, her voice 
small and tight- almost as tight as her cunthole, thought Tony. "M-my 
f-f-father ..." 

"Yeah, sure," he snapped and slid across the seat. "I figured that one out, 
too. All that 'Oh, Dad-deeeeee' shit. Did you fuck 'im yet?" He dropped one 
arm over her shoulders, moved close. His free hand went to her thigh, crept 
past the top of the stocking and began to massage the soft warm flesh inches 
away from her pussy. "It took me awhile to figure," he continued, dick 
growing stiff, "but there's only one reason a chick yells, Daddy-Dad-deee! 
when a rod's bein' humped up 'er rear. I know guys like your ole 
man-characters who wanna fuck their daughters V sisters 'n' mothers, but 
only in the ass. That way it isn't incest, I guess. A little asshole fuckin' 
never hurt no family. No babies're made that way, right? Is that the way it 
is?" 

"You ...! Oh, you're just as horrible now as ... as the blacks were." 
Jeanie's hand locked tight on the wheel, the knuckles showing white. 

Again Tony laughed, mocking her. He knew what she wanted. Abuse! 
Degradation! Being forced to spread her legs. Rape! She was all cunt, he 
reaffirmed mentally-fingertips grazing the springy mound of hair at the 
crotch of her panties. The car jerked, moving erratically into the left hand 
turn and onto the road out of town. "You got a thing for your ole man's 
prick up your brown," he growled close to her ear. "I bet you been wantin' 
it since you was a kid. A fat daddy-cock pissin' cum up your good 
little-girl belly." 

"You ...! Oh, you filthy cunt-lapping bastard!" Jeanie tried to close her 
legs. The car swerved, almost hitting a truck in the opposite lane. She 
sobbed, steadied the wheel, and pressed her foot down hard on the 
accelerator. 

Tony continued to taunt her with the truth, his fingers gently probing the 
mouth of her sex and where the panties were sunk in the hot crack up her 
bottom. Until the girl was the same trembling mass of raw nerve ends he'd 
rescued from Slick Jack at the infirmary. The trees and landmarks he 
remembered from a decade ago whizzed by. Traffic thinned. The place where he 
first fucked Lois, the girl so like Jeanie, lay ahead: a carport of 
overhanging branches, with thick brush on three sides. He directed Jeanie 
into the natural hideaway out of sight of the road and prying eyes. 

"Now tell me," he demanded as she silenced the engine, and faced him, the 
same look he'd seen on the morning the prison was retaken in her flashing 
eyes. "About your ole man." 

"Nooo," she protested almost violently. 

He pressed her roughly back against the door, shoved his hand hard into her 
crotch. She gasped, bucked as the car had bucked when he first touched her 
there. The hem of the dress rode up to her waist, revealing transparent 
panties that were the same pale yellow color. Everything matched the hair on 
her snatch. He was willing to bet she'd have worn a pale yellow bra ... if 
she wore bras. She was perfection; a proper good girl who made you fight to 
get it in, then fucked as if your dick were an electric plug, the juice 
triggering a secret motor in her wide hips. "Did your ole man fuck out your 
ass when you was a kid?" he persisted, remembering the night he lay on the 
bunk reliving the musical-chair-sex scene with his own mother. "Or did you 
have to get yourself raped by a prison before the ole bastard took it? Tell 
me, baby. Turn me on." 

"Hummmm!" Jeanie's small trembling hands wrestled his wrist. But the effort 
to push his hand from her pussy was merely another pretense, Tony could 
tell. Nothing could banish the truth: she'd met him at the door of the 
prison, knowing what to expect, wanting what he had to offer. Now she 
whimpered and squirmed. She made deep-throated sounds of protest. But as the 
hand at her cunt grew insistent, forcing the panties up her tight slit, into 
her anus, her movements became the same wild gyrations Tony remembered from 
their last night together. Slowly he bent his face to her crotch, kissed her 
through the damp nylon. 

"Ohah. Umph. Ow! Owww! Owwwwwwww!" Jeanie released his wrist. Her hands shot 
to his head, pressed his face close. Her spine arched high off the seat. Her 
cunthole breathed like a thirsty guppy beneath the panties. "I ... oh, I 
h-hate you, I hate you, Iiiii ...!" 

Tony drank the sweet smell of her pussy into his nostrils, licked the tang 
from the crotch of the panties. He forced one finger beneath the tight leg 
band, twisted it cruelly up her dry asshole. She squealed. He groaned. The 
inner walls of her succulent rectum began to feather the dart, just as she 
had feathered the tip of his prick when, more than a month before now, a 
lifetime ago, he fucked his enraged meat between her round cheeks. He could 
imagine her astraddle her father's lap, crying, Daddy ... Dadeeeeee! Was 
that the way they did it, he wondered. The same way the girl had fucked 
herself onto his stiffness? The way his own mother had tried to screw 
herself down-clothes and all-on his boyhood rod? 

"To-neeeeee," Jeanie sighed, moving her ass on the burrowing finger, 
grinding herself down until it was all the way in. "Hummmm!" She threw her 
legs wide, one over the edge of the seat, the other hooked at the knee atop 
the backrest. Her hips churned slowly, maddeningly. 

"Tell me about your ole man," Tony barked into her crotch. "About how he 
fucks out your ass." 

"No! No! No! No! N-noooooo!" 

"You want your cunt sucked?" 

"Ummm!" She held her plump ass suspended off the seat, nylon-covered bush 
trembling in his face. 

"Then tell me. Pretend this-" he wiggled his finger high in her rectum, 
began to grind it in and out along the sensitive membrane separating the 
rear channel from her delicate vagina. She thrashed, moaned. He slipped 
another finger into the brown tightness, slammed both brutally up between 
her quivering white cheeks. "Just close your eyes 'n' pretend you got his 
dick up you. All the way up you, baby. Up your daughter-ass." He used his 
nose to push the crotch of the panties aside, bared her pink livery slit. He 
covered the gap with his mouth, blew and sucked and flicked his tongue 
against her hard clit. 

Jeanie gasped. A spasm passed through her belly, brought hot juice pouring 
from her cunthole into his mouth. She closed her eyes and began to pant like 
a ruptured bellows. The good girl was suddenly gone, with the Jeanie he knew 
-the one he had watched take on a roomful of demanding blacks before she 
dared him to eat her-emerging from the wet slit and blonde fur between her 
gaped thighs. The halves of her ass squeezed tight on the two fingers buried 
there. The strong fishy smell of a woman in heat wafted from the depths of 
her twat. "Tony, Daddy, Daddy, Dadeeeeee," she cried. "Do it. Like hum! 
Owah! F-fuck my ass like ... like ..." 

"Like what?" he prompted, fingers shafting furiously in and out of her 
rectum. 

"When I ow! Um! L-like w-when I was little 'n' you d-did it to me on the 
sofa. In ... in the living room. When ohah! Um!" She ground down, asshole 
sucking both fingers in to the last knuckle and nipping for more. "When you 
r-r-rubbed against me back there-ere. W-when you t-t-thought I was asleep 
and didn't know-ow what you were doing." 

Tony's dick shot a premature spurt of thick cream. He could almost see the 
girl's father dry humping her little girl buttocks, Jeanie pretending to be 
sound asleep but enjoying every minute of the incestuous game. He couldn't 
blame the old man. He couldn't blame anyone for wanting to stick a stiff 
prick in the girl who was all primness and blushes with her clothes on, but 
who became a wanton, a cum-loving whore, when the camouflage was stripped 
from her body and a cock or a finger or a tongue-anything male-was shoved up 
either of her hot hairy holes. With fingers that felt swollen, unmanageable 
because of desire, he undid his fly, freed his long heated cock and steered 
her hot little fist to the monster. 

Slowly, the words coming in disjointed spurts, Jeanie told of the things 
she'd realized while a captive at the prison, and about the lap-sitting 
sessions with Daddy, her own wonderful daddy; about his dick getting hard 
and pressing into her young virgin split. About Mike, and how she had 
realized after the riot that he was a poor substitute for the man, the sex, 
she secretly craved. A man like Daddy. Many men like him, and like Tony. 
Brutes who made her do the horrid things Mike would never dare suggest. 

"I ... I told him about you," she whispered as Tony pulled her low on the 
seat, threw open his pants, and climbed between her smooth white thighs. 
"About ummmmmm!" She pumped her hips up to meet the fiery glands burrowing 
beneath the leg band of the panties. "About how you owwww ...! How you 
f-f-fucked me t-the way he always w-w-wanted to ... ow ... in ... in the 
back. My ass. How ... how I s-sat in your lap, the way I ... I ... the way I 
used to sit in his lap when I was a little girl. Only naked with you. With 
y-your t-t-thing going up me. Um! Owah! U-up meeeeee." She jacked her hips 
up in jerks, cunthole taking him in. 

Tony strained. The panties were an incumbrance, the nylon burning the shaft 
as he tried to hump his rod in. He cursed, took hold of the crotch and 
yanked. The material shredded. He drove. "Ahhhhhhhhh!" 

Jeanie began to fuck wildly, hot blonde pussy sucking him in. The torn 
panties, the two halves like the flaps of a loincloth, shifted high on her 
belly, baring the lovely blonde curls, for his bludgeoning member. 

"Baby! Baby! Ba-beee!" Tony watched his long dick disappear up her pink and 
white-blonde tightness, felt the delicious wet grip of her vagina. He 
marveled at the virgin-like grasp of her slit. It was as if he had never 
fucked her before; as if no one had ever fucked her. She was some cunt, his 
Jeanie. He wished he'd taken the time to undress her. But there would be 
time enough later, he reasoned. Later, after he shot the first pent-up load, 
when his joint was less anxious and used to a hot cunthole again, there 
would be time enough to do all the kinky things he had dreamed about since 
the morning the girl ran from his arms to the guardsmen and wept as if 
fucking were something she detested. For now ...! 

"Do it. Do it!" The girl met his powerful lunge, took him in to the hilt. 
Her knees shot up. She whimpered and gasped as he doubled her legs, knees 
flush with her heaving tits, and set his stiff dick in motion. Her twat 
nipped. Her ass, the tiny brown hole low between the jiggling cheeks sucking 
air, matched his pace. 

"Did he get it?" asked Tony, head spinning with the thought of Jeanie 
screwing her own father. "Your ole man-did you finally give 'im some ass?" 

"Yesssss." 

"Jesus H. Fucking Christ!" He drove his stink finger back up her chute, 
fucked his hips back, paused for a moment to watch her pink cunthole nip, 
and slammed his meat deep in her sopping wet pussy. "Tell me how," he 
groaned. "Everything. Every mother-fucking detail." 

Again Jeanie began to talk in excited spurts; about how her mother-never a 
strong woman, she said-had suffered a nervous breakdown because of the riot, 
the things they said on the radio, hints of rape, and was recuperating' at a 
nursing home when the prison was retaken. "D-Daddy met me after the doctors 
released me from the hospital," she continued. "He took me home in the 
shirts the guardsmen wrapped me in ... all the time looking ... watching my 
legs while he drove. Then we were home, just him 'n' me, and it was like I 
was little all over again. I ... I sat in his lap, crying. Pretending I hurt 
all over. 'Tell me what happened,' he said. 'Tell Daddy what they did to his 
little big-girl.' But he already knew from the news on the radio, and I 
could feel him getting big against my crack. So big. Like-" she moaned, 
threw herself up onto his pistoning cock. Her cunt locked ... milking ... 
searching for cum. "He ... he wanted to do me, I knew. In the ass. I could 
feel him there. Hard. Harder than anything ever." 

Tony's breath was coming in gasps. He thought sure he was going to fuck her 
through the seat of the car. Already the cum was creeping up from his 
jouncing sacs. He commanded his loins to break pace, holding back. His 
shit-smeared finger popped from her asshole, hands roaming, exploring every 
soft inch of her little round bottom, thighs, the satiny hair on her pussy. 
She was an oven inside, the walls of her cunt caressing his prick like 
curious mice running up and down the stiff throbbing length. Her father! Her 
own fucking father, he thought. She'd fuck a snake, he was certain. She'd 
scream and fight and protest that she didn't want to ... all the time 
Opening her delectable legs, gaping her tight little gash. She'd play her 
innocent good-girl games and take a rattler up her whore belly. 

"Daddy wanted to do all the things you and the others had done to me," 
Jeanie panted, fingernails cutting furrows in the leather seat, hips working 
frantically. "B-but I was still his little girl. He wanted me so, but he was 
too shy, too dumb to come right out 'n' say so. I ... I had to coax him. I 
oh! Ohah!" Her eyes rolled back white in their sockets. Her head thrashed 
from side to side on the seat, as if she were reliving the scene. "I ... I 
hugged his neck, wiggling 'til the shirt came loose 'n' my ass, the thing he 
wanted, was naked in his lap. 'They bruised me something awful,' I told him. 
'All over down there. Feel, Daddy. Make it better.' I made him put his hand 
there, on my cheek. I shifted so the bulge in his pants, his dick, got 
wedged in the crack, 'n' said, 'Hold me, Daddy. Hold me tight.' I was his 
own little big-girl again, but this time naked from the waist down. I hugged 
'n' kissed him 'n' made him know with my hips that it was okay, that he 
could fuck me like-" 

Tony gulped. Suddenly her hand was between their bodies, yanking his wet 
cock from its niche. He started to protest. But before the words were out of 
his mouth, even before the thought was completed, she was setting the fat 
red glands at her asshole, grinding to take him in between her glistening 
buttocks. 

"Yeah, baby. Ah! Ah, y-yeaaah." He lunged with all the force in his hips, 
tore a muted cry from her lips as the entire length of his prick grated into 
her rectum and paused to bask in the maddening, pulsating warmth. 

Outside birds chirped. Leaves rustled. A truck rumbled by on the road beyond 
the natural hideaway. The midday sun glared down on the roof of the car, on 
the windshield, on the flailing limbs and faces contorted with passion 
within the gently rocking vehicle. A small leggy creature, like the one that 
had crawled up Jeanie's rear on the last night at the prison, crept slowly 
along the hood of the car, reached the window and paused-paused as Tony was 
pausing, dick planted deep, savoring the girl's movements, her wild abandon, 
her heat and her uninhibited tale-as if to stare in awe at the spectacle. As 
if regretting its lot: that it was a mere insect, and that the female of the 
species was nothing at all like the young blonde thrashing about on the 
leather like a grounded fish. It climbed the tinted glass, leaving a thin, 
sticky yellow trail behind. As if it were coming. As if the scene inside the 
car had triggered its unthinking mind into thought, and was jacking the cum 
up from its minuscule balls, firing it at Jeanie in the hope that one drop, 
one fertile tadpole of bug semen, would enter the lovely girl's womb and 
create a like creature for a leggy insect to use. 

Tony saw the bug and recalled the thing he had sucked from Jeanie's hot 
little asshole on their last night together. Now her miniature shitter was 
doing the sucking. Deep in her rippling belly, tiny mouths were licking his 
cock, making him crazy. The incestuous tale continued-spasmodic, but 
recreating the lap-sitting scene as if he were there watching it. As if the 
rod in her rear belonged to another, and he was suffering the dual 
pleasure-pain of fucking the girl and seeing her father do it. 

He closed his eyes, gripped her round bottom, and stoked. His prick moved 
slowly in and out. As slowly as the insect crawled on the windshield. As 
smoothly as the breeze blowing outside the car. But inside his chest there 
was thunder; the roar of the truck tires on the road beyond the natural 
carport. At the pit of his belly there was flame; cannon balls of thick gism 
awaiting the last mighty dip, the signal that would fire the load into the 
brown velvet pocket. 

"Har-harder than anything ever!" Jeanie reiterated breathlessly. She drifted 
back into the tale, but fucking as if her mind, her body, her entire being 
were dedicated only to yanking the cum out of his sacs. "D-Daddy held me 
tight in his lap," she said, head thrashing again, eyes rolling back white. 
"His big dick grew and grew, nuzzling me while his hands felt all over the 
bruises. Only he wouldn't. He wouldn't! He ... he simply couldn't say what 
he wanted-meee! M-my ass! N-not 'til I reached for his cock, and squeezed. 
Squeezed as tight as I could. 'My God!' he choked. 'Jeanie, what're you 
doing? Jeanie, I'm your father, you're my own little girl. Jeanie, don't! 
Jeanie, for chris-sakes, please!' Jeanie this, 'n' Jeanie that ... until I 
... I had it out, in my hand, so hard 'n' lo-ong. Until I ... Iiiiiiiii set 
the head where he'd always wanted it to go, 'n' did-" 

"Arrrrrrrrrrrr! Ah! AHHHHHH!" Tony went rigid, unable to hold back another 
second. The girl's hole was a velveteen vise ... greedily sucking the knob 
of his prick ... coaxing cum ... driving him mad with the round and round, 
up and down, up and down, up and down motion of her succulent ass. "Oh, 
baby. Baby, fuck! FUCK!" 

It was a cum load that would have ruptured the average girl, he was certain. 
Not Jeanie though. She whimpered, threw her legs over his shoulders-knees 
still flat at her tits, ankles locked at his neck. It was an impossible 
position. Yet she moved. She moved as if her lower body were a separate 
entity. As if fucking were the only function of the hot hairy hole low 
between her plump buttocks, and his dick-the thing so deep in her belly Tony 
thought sure he could feel her stomach above the fat pissing glands-was the 
crank that made the hole go. 

"All cunt!" he croaked, the cream gushing hot, tearing orgasm after orgasm 
from the roots of his tool. 

A pig! he thought wondrously. A common ... no, not common. Special! A whore 
like none other. He told her so. He grunted the words pig and whore into her 
lovely face. He spit it at her. Defiled her with it. Raped her verbally. 

"Yes!" Jeanie cried. "YES!" 

He slapped her, not sure why but wanting to see her weep as she'd wept the 
first time. Wanting to recreate the first delicious attack in the tag shop. 

"Hurt me, Tony. HURT MEEE!" 

"Cunt! Fucking no good whore bitch!" He slapped her again and again. Until 
her lovely face was striped with red finger marks, the tears bright in her 
eyes. It made her fuck harder. Faster. Wilder. The cream continued to pour 
from his cock, overflowing her asshole, forming a puddle on the seat and 
making her bottom smack wetly each time she met the leather for the split 
second it took to thrust upward. He'd heard about girls like Jeanie-women 
who derived sexual delight from abuse. It wasn't the act of fucking that 
turned her on, he realized wondrously. A prick, any stiff prick, was merely 
the culmination of a psychological drive. A compulsion. A mental and 
physical need to suffer. 

His dick continued to spit. He dug his fingers cruelly into the girl's 
tender cheeks, bruising her ass anew. He recalled her reactions during the 
riot; how she seemed to fuck for Jack and the others in spite of herself, 
inviting more abuse. Rape had triggered her hidden desires, he realized, and 
now, with the time since her rescue to fortify the secret urges, Jeanie's 
mind was no longer her own. Her body, the sensitive love-bud inside her 
cunt, had taken over, had become her mentality. She had somehow connected 
sex and pain and degradation-the shame of incest, and being used by black 
and white cocks-with the latter two as prerequisites for the orgasmic spasms 
that were driving her hips, lifting them to the top of the world, where the 
air was thin, hard to breathe, but where heaven-a sexual wonderland-made 
everything right. 

On the windshield, the insect lost its footing. It tumbled onto the hood, 
lay on its back kicking. Its legs moved furiously-like a turtle trying to 
right itself. Like the eager young legs in the car. 

On the road, another truck whizzed by, the thunder of the big tires echoing 
the roar in Tony's ears. Matching the frantic pumping motion, the rhythm, 
the delicious tempo of Jeanie's unmanageable hips. 

"Fuck me," she moaned. "Again! D-don't stop, Tony. Never, never stop fucking 
meeeeeeeee ..." 

 CHAPTER TEN 

It was dark when at last they arrived at the Simmons' place, and 
Jeanie-thinking how insane it all was, how much her moral outlook had 
changed in the month since the riot-steered the car into the drive and 
silenced the engine. She turned to Tony, who hadn't spoken a word since they 
left the arbor of branches and leaves she now considered their "special 
retreat," to be used when she wanted only him, wanted to remember this day. 
Now he was watching her with an I see through you stare, as if she were a 
germ under a microscope. She'd grown used to such looks. In the weeks since 
her return home, with Daddy, with all the secret childhood fantasies become 
a reality, she'd reconciled herself to being an object of male wonder. It 
was nice in a way; it gave her a sense of power over the men in her life. 

"Who's comin' to the party?" asked Tony, a hint of apprehension in his dark 
eyes. 

She smiled. "Just Daddy." She watched him glance toward the house. The front 
of his pants were a mess, his shirt smeared with lipstick. In the dim light 
from the dash he looked like a bedraggled hitchhiker she'd found on the 
road. She supposed she looked worse. Icky. Disheveled. Her hair was a mop, 
she knew. But that was okay; she'd waited a month for this night ... just 
her and Tony and Daddy in the same bed. "Mother is still at the nursing 
home," she added breathlessly. "It's better that way. She was always 
underfoot. Me 'n' Daddy would've ... well, you know. We would've done it 
long ago if not for Mother walking in whenever we got started." 

Tony grunted. Mentally he was calling her a whore again, she could tell. It 
made her belly turn over; it made her mind recoil, but only mildly, with 
only a dim flicker of shame. She didn't care anymore what anyone thought. 
Perhaps she was a whore. Perhaps someday, years from now when her youth and 
beauty faded, she'd regret what the rioting rapists had done to her mind and 
body. But that was a long time away. And whatever the consequences, whatever 
her ultimate destiny, for now, for tonight, there was Tony and Daddy to 
sooth the flicker of shame. It was as if she had lived her whole life for 
this moment, and tomorrow be damned. 

The front door to the house opened, and Daddy, her own wonderful daddy, 
wearing a silk bathrobe and slippers-her Christmas gifts to him-appeared as 
a tall silhouette against the light from the living room. "Hurry!" she 
whispered excitedly, and was out of the car and up the stone steps, in 
Daddy's strong arms, before Tony could open the passenger door. 

Now there was no hesitation, no pretense. Daddy's hands were all over her 
bruised bottom the moment they stepped inside the house. She kissed him. She 
sighed, hugged his neck, and took his tongue into her mouth ... all the time 
watching Tony watch her. Two big lovely cocks! she thought. She felt the one 
growing hard low on her belly, saw the hose-like limpness in Tony's pants 
leg stir. She could imagine the two slipping in ... one in front, parting 
the blonde hairs of her pussy ... the other making her whine and thrash, 
hurting as it grated up her behind. Which one where, she wondered, knowing 
the choice wasn't hers to make. Knowing that soon, after the initial love 
play, the men would become wild beasts and she would become the receptacle 
to be used as they saw fit. 

Pete Simmons broke the kiss, looked from his daughter's face to Tony. "Don't 
think about it," he told the younger man. "I tried that. It don't work with 
Jeanie. For years I've been trying to keep my hands off her, telling myself 
it's not right. And then you, the riot. She's not the same girl anymore. 
She-" his hand lifted the mini in back, closed over one plump cheek. "She 
can't help herself. Neither can I." 

"Neither can he," cooed Jeanie. She extended her small, hand to Tony, 
coaxing him close. It was funny, she thought. Men always seemed to need 
excuses for what they did to her, as if they were the ones being denied, 
abused. Until they got their dicks in. Until her tight pussy, her asshole or 
mouth-whichever sweet entry they chose-was full of their need, and they 
forgot all but the pounding, the thrust, the steady, giddy fuck-motion 
directed at orgasm. Then the roles changes completely. Then she was the one 
who hesitated, inflamed but unsure, as it should be. Pliable flesh. A woman. 
A helpless creature at the mercy of her man. At the mercy of both her men, 
she corrected mentally. Like at the prison ... hard cocks everywhere. 

"I had a suspicion you two were, ah ...!" Tony gestured. He tried to smile, 
to shrug the kinky scene off as commonplace. But in his face there was 
doubt; a residue of the thing Jeanie herself had had to conquer. 
Awkwardness. Shame. "That way," he finished at last. "Fucking! That first 
day at the tag shop ... did she tell you about the tag shop?" 

"She told me everything," replied Pete. "That's what started it. I brought 
her home after the riot, sat her on my lap ... did she tell you about that?" 

Tony nodded. Both men grinned, then laughed, the uneasiness fading. Jeanie 
looked from one to the other. Her nipples ached. Her cunthole, her chute, 
although she and Tony had fucked for hours and hours, fucked every which 
way, longed to hold a stiff cock. She seemed to shrink, becoming smaller as 
the two men gained confidence in themselves and each other and became 
conspirators in her degradation. 

"That first fucking time at the tag shop," Tony continued, stepping close, 
his hand dropping to the halve of her ass opposite Pete's kneading fingers, 
"when she yelled Daddy with my prick up 'er ass. Christ, I damn near figured 
it then. But I was too anxious to get some ... all those years. So I didn't 
know for sure 'til today in the car." His long stink finger slid down the 
split of her bottom, probed. 

Jeanie gulped. She was glad Tony had ruined the panties, that she'd thrown 
them away and there was nothing but her back there. She rested her head on 
her father's chest, arms tight at his neck, and bent slightly at the waist, 
presenting her plump buttocks. She opened her sphincters. Tony's finger 
disappeared up her ass. "Hummmm!" 

"It's not easy being a father to someone like Jeanie," said Pete soberly. 
His hand abandoned her cheek, crept around to her bush. "Ever since she was 
twelve ... did she tell you about the lap-sitting games we used to play?" 

"Ummm!" Tony breathed hot in her ear. His finger fucked slowly in and out. 
His free hand shot to her tit. "That was cute-the head cheese 'n' all. Like 
something I would've done. Remind me sometime to tell you about 'musical 
chairs' for two. Me 'n' mom." 

"Jeanie didn't know it," said Pete, ignoring the comment as if he hadn't 
heard, as if lost in the vision of his daughter as a child, "but I used to 
sneak in her room late at night, stand at the side of the bed 'n' think, 
'Jesus, she's a beauty already. Only a baby, twelve years old, but with 
small pointed tits 'n' pretty blonde curls on 'er ...!" His fingers found 
her wet daughter-cunthole, slipped smoothly in. " 'A baby with soft fuzz on 
'er pussy,' I used to think. I used to stand there 'n' ease the sheets back 
while she sighed in 'er sleep. She never wore much in those days ... 
little-girl cotton panties, no bra. A sleeping cock-teaser! My own kid! I 
used to stand there 'n' smell 'er, my nose right up to the crack of 'er ass. 
Jesus! She smelled so fucking good I wanted to bite 'er. But I used to think 
to myself, This is your daughter, Pete. Don't do it. There's laws. Don't 
touch the girl. Be satisfied with the lap-sitting games, because if you go 
any further 'n' she tells ..." 

Jeanie rammed her cunt onto his fingers, looked lovingly into his face. "I 
... oh, I wouldn't have told, Daddy. Never. I ... I wanted you too." 

Pete stared into her eyes. He frowned, as if unable to believe she was the 
girl he had fathered. It was the same look she'd seen on the first day home 
after the riot-the look he got each time before they screwed. Now he stepped 
back enough to allow his stiff dick to pop from the front of the bathrobe. 
She gasped. The glands-almost as fiery red as Tony's, though not as round, 
more pear-shaped and lumpy where the roll of skin marked his 
circumcision-brushed her wedge. His hips bucked forward with the natural 
urge to fuck. 

Jeanie sobbed, took hold of the veiny cylinder. She sawed herself back and 
forth, taking Tony's finger deep in her asshole, her father's up her vagina. 
Instinct was wonderful, she mused. No matter what inhibition dictated, no 
matter what moral beliefs one held, nature overrode both with her lusty 
demands. A stiff dick had no knowledge of incest. A sopping wet pussy knew 
only the need to be filled. Why had it taken her so long to realize? And 
Daddy! How dumb! Why hadn't he-or someone, anyone-taught her the delights of 
being a woman when she was a girl? 

"Man! Goddam, already! Ain't there no bedrooms aroun' here?" blurted Tony. 
"My dick's harder 'n a railroad spike." He rubbed the bulge against her 
buttocks to demonstrate. "I thought this blowout was supposed to be a 
party." 

Pete laughed. Jeanie tried to echo the sound. But there was no laughter in 
her, only heat. Only the emptiness at the pit of her belly; the ache at both 
hot hairy holes, and the tightness, the pain that was at once torture and 
bliss, making her nipples stand tall. Later there would be room for 
laughter, perhaps tears. Now there was room only for fucking. 

Abruptly she unraveled herself from the tangle of arms and hands and probing 
fingers. She started across the room, stopped. Slowly she turned, lifted the 
hem of the mini and threw it off over her head. In nylons and garter belt, 
high heels, she stood with hands on hips at the bedroom door. 

"Christ fucking sakes." Tony licked his lips, clutched the ferocious thing 
in his pants leg. 

"Daddy?" 

Pete took one step toward her, hesitated when she held up her hand. Tony too 
stood momentarily transfixed. She watched their hungry gazes travel up her 
lush body ... pausing here to stare through the white-blonde curls to the 
pink mouth of her sex ... there to caress a taut nipple. She felt giddy. 
Electrified. It was the first time since her rescue from the prison that she 
was in complete command-the first time ever. She thought back to Slick Jack 
and Spider, the other horrible blacks whose names she couldn't remember. To 
Tony at the tag shop, and again out under the stars. So much had happened to 
her. Some of it she still couldn't understand or explain. But there was no 
need to wonder about what was going on inside her now; she was proud of her 
body, her sex. She was taunting them with it. She was using what they would 
soon use-her breasts and pussy, the sensuous grind of her hips-to make two 
big dicks as hard as ... as railroad spikes! Harder still. She was 
anticipating, making them anticipate too. Making it better. Unbearable. 

"Fuck this!" growled Tony at last. 

Heart racing, blood thumping like the marching feet of an army at her 
temple, Jeanie watched him stride toward her. Daddy followed. Strong 
hands-she wasn't sure whose; she could no longer think or see 
straight-swooped her up, carried her into the bedroom. "I love you," she 
cried. "I love you both. I ... I want you. H-hurry!" 

* * * 

Outside the night was full of crickets and stars, like the last night at the 
prison. Vast. Quiet, yet alive with the subdued sounds of unseen creatures 
and the sudden neon-like flash of a firefly. A full yellow moon shone down 
on the west side of the house, cut through the blinds on the master bedroom 
window. 

Inside, the bed seemed small. Not actually tiny, but far too restricted for 
the three eager bodies. Hands. Anxious fingers. One delicate blonde pussy, 
one female ass, but two long mighty cocks and two pair of explosive balls. 

Jeanie moaned while the men made ready to plant the stakes. She thought of 
Michael, her ex-fiance. Was he still in Europe, she wondered. Had he gotten 
her letter breaking the engagement and telling him in no uncertain terms 
that he had never been much good as a lover? She didn't know why she'd done 
that. Malicious. Cruel. Almost as brutal as a dick that forced its way in. 
She didn't know much about why she did anything anymore. Her life had once 
been an orderly design ... high school, nurses' training, a job, then 
marriage with Mike, a home and kids of her own. Not so now. Now she lived 
day to day, minute to minute, cum-load to cum load. Worse, she no longer 
cared about being wanton. It no longer bothered her to think of herself as 
what Tony had called her ... a pig ... a whore. 

"I'm partial to that end," said Pete. 

Tony scowled. The two traded positions, climbing over her as if she were a 
mindless bed doll. She felt Tony's hot breath in her face, and the familiar 
preliminary stab of Daddy's fat cock low between the tense halves of her 
ass. "Do it," she whispered. "Fuck meee. B-both ends. Daddy? Tony? F-fuck me 
good. Do it!" 

"You put it in for me, baby," directed Tony. 

She didn't have to be told twice. She took firm hold of the shaft of his 
prick, steered the glands through her soft bush. But her fingers shook so. 
It was as if she had palsy and would never get the thing in. She closed her 
eyes tight, concentrating. She felt the fiery tip at her mound-so close to 
her slit, the heat of it scorched her clit. She traced the thick cord along 
the bowed underside, wrapped two fingers around the bloated head. She worked 
her cunt-lips, yelped as the red torpedo filled the livery pink opening. 

Grunting like a wild boar, Tony planted half the length in short jerks up 
her belly. "Better every goddam time," he hissed. "I ... ummmm! Ah! I don't 
know how you do it, baby, but your cunt-Jesus! It never fucking quits!" 

She heard the words as if from a distance, the roaring inside her head 
running the syllables together. But she understood what Tony meant, could 
sense it in the throbbing head of the monster fucking its way up her 
cunthole. She pressed back, wanting to feel the other dick-Daddy's 
incestuous hardon-up her plump rear. But Daddy, she knew, was looking at her 
back there ... savoring the roundness ... the softness ... the satiny whiter 
than whiteness. She could almost feel his eyes vying with his hands. His 
prick was there too, gently probing the crack. But now was his time for 
staring, as he did every night, and for remembering the nights he'd sneaked 
into her room when she was a girl. 

"Lift your leg." Tony's hand cupped along the inner expanse of one thigh, 
coaxing her knee up. "So I can get the rest of it in, honey. You're ah! 
OHHHHHH! Motherfucker, you ... you're too goddam tight this way." 

She knew what he meant. No matter how much bludgeoning her slit suffered, no 
matter how many big dicks it entertained, the delicious tightness remained. 
She started to comply, to raise her knee to make the lovely niche more 
accessible. She wanted him in there. All of him. 

"Wait a minute," Pete said. 

Suddenly the warmth was gone from between her smooth buttocks, and Daddy, 
his dick standing straight out-bigger than ever, it seemed-was kneeling 
behind and above her. There was a bright glint in his eye, the hint of a 
leer at the corners of his wide mouth. She glanced down at the rod 
protruding from her pink slit, back at the one suspended like a blimp 
emerging from a cloud of wiry cock hair. "Wha ...?" 

"On your back," Pete told Tony. "Let's apply a little science here-you on 
the bottom, her astraddle, and me up behind. A sandwich. That way there'll 
be room enough to get two tanks up 'er." 

"Just the cannon," croaked Jeanie. "T-the tank guns, Daddy. Yours 'n' 
To-neee's." 

Tony grunted and rolled, taking her with him. His lengthy prick ground 
farther in as Daddy arranged her legs wide at either side of their guest's 
muscular thighs. Both tiny holes gaped. Her tits flattened against Tony's 
chest. She reached eagerly back, took hold of the cheeks of her ass and 
spread herself farther still. She wanted to tell Daddy to put it in, to 
hurry before the top of her head spun free. But the words wouldn't come. 
From the waist up, nothing worked, and from the waist down, the new focal 
point of her existence, her body wasn't her own to command. Even her 
breathing seemed to be concentrated at the two nipping holes. 

"That ass!" Pete bent close, ran his tongue up and down the tiny brown slit. 

"D-D-D-D-Da-deeeee!" 

Tony's hands cupped at the underside of her cheeks, his fingertips grazing 
the lips of her cunt. He fucked his hips up off the bedding. The remaining 
inches of stiffness grated up her forebelly. "Ahhhhhhh! Ah! Ah! Um, baby, 
baby, baby. Oh! Jesus! Man!" 

Jeanie whimpered, held her breath, and waited for Daddy's thrust. She felt 
his tongue preparing the entry, his fingers testing the port. Each wet flick 
sent a shiver up her arched spine. Each upward stab of the pole in her 
cunthole burst a multi-colored flare inside her head, sent the sparks, the 
first hint of orgasm, dancing round and round her thumping skull. She 
doubled her knees at Tony's waist, presenting what she knew to be an 
irresistible rear view. 

"Jesus! All those years," panted Daddy. " 'She's only a kid,' I used to tell 
myself. Over 'n' over. But all the time wanting you, sweetheart. Looking at 
this!" His finger twisted roughly up her asshole, made her moan. "You 
growing up 'n' me holding back because you're my daughter. And all the time 
you wanting it too. Knowing. Christ. That time on the sofa ... I was sure 
you knew, but ...! She's pressing back, I told myself. She can't be asleep 
and not know. Not as hard as I am. I wanted to rip those goddam pajamas to 
shreds, fuck it up you regardless of the consequences. But I kept thinking 
about incest. Your mother. What people would say if it ever got out. I kept 
pumping, dry humping your sweet little bottom, wanting you but telling 
myself, No! She's a good girl. Your daughter. Don't do it, Pete. Not her. 
Not Jeanie. It's not right, man. You just don't ream your own little girl, 
no matter how good she looks or how willing she seems. And now ...!" 

Jeanie felt his weight on her back, felt the finger pop wet from her ass and 
the tip of his dick being centered at the tiny brown velvet target. She 
closed her eyes, envisioned the scene from her girlhood ... the sofa, with 
the gruff cowboy on TV barking, "Get up there, boy. Get up!" Twelve years 
old, with gold peach-fuzz on her pussy and button tits. Daddy's big dick 
rubbing, rubbing, rubbing against her back there. His hands at her 
little-girl hips, and her pressing back, back. Pretending. Eyes closed 
tight, heart thumping. Only now she was naked, no pretense. And Daddy, her 
own wonderful, tall handsome daddy, was doing her the way he did Mother in 
the room next to hers. No more lap-sitting games or head cheese. Suddenly 
the years between girlhood and womanhood were gone, and she was telling him 
with her hips, her quivering white buttocks, that incest meant nothing to 
her. That only good fucking mattered. That the thing he held in his hand, 
the long lovely meat that had planted the seed which had made her, was a 
stronger tie than bloodlines, and nothing, no one, no matter what happened 
tomorrow, no matter who knew, would ever destroy the bond the riot and rape 
had revealed. Inside she was new. Wanton. Alive. And she wanted him there, 
up her belly. Forever and ever, until he was too old to shoot -and then 
they'd find something as good-she wanted only what he had longed to give her 
for too many years. His dick. His big hairy pink balls. His thick 
daddy-semen. 

"Fuck it in, Daddy," she cried in a voice not her own. "Pre-pretend I'm 
little again, on the sofa. Like ... just like this is the first time for us. 
Only hard. Don't hold back. Hurt me. Shove it in as if you were mad, angry 
with me for making you wait so terribly long." 

Tony's cock leaped excitedly at the depths of her cunthole. "Arrrrrr!" Six 
hands-his, Daddy's, her own-held the two delectable halves of her ass open 
for penetration. With one mighty lunge, Pete planted the glands of his sex 
high in her hot and tight, young and eager, adorable asshole. 

"Owww! Owah, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy-oww-wwwwww! Ummm! I ... I love you!" 

"All those years," Pete groaned at the back of her neck. His hands locked at 
her waist, the fingers sunk in her flesh, the nails bruising. The gentleness 
was gone. The roles had changed. Now he was the master, she the slave, as it 
should be. Inch by hard grating inch, sighing after each thrust, he buried 
the shaft in her shitter. 

On hands and knees, tits swaying above Tony's face, fucking herself onto one 
stake and off the other, then reversing the motion, moving wildly, without 
direction, trying to make herself go every which way at once, Jeanie 
muttered incoherent love pledges. Briefly she wondered what Mike, her 
mother, those who had known her before the riot, would say if they could see 
her now. She recalled how she'd fought when Slick Jack dragged her into the 
lounge at the infirmary, and again when Tony snuggled close on the cot at 
the tag shop. Yet even then, while she flailed and cursed her rapists, 
prayed for deliverance and chastised herself for participating, her body had 
known. Her cunthole had tried to tell her. Her nipples and ass had 
understood long before her mind-morals and conscience and the rest of the 
nonsense she'd learned as a girl-accepted its rightful lot. In truth, she 
was no better than what Tony had called her in the car. A pig! A brazen, 
cum-hungry whore! There was no avoiding it now, nor was there any need, any 
desire to deny truth any longer. There was nothing so good as fucking, no 
matter where the stiffness went in, no matter who it belonged to. It was a 
realization that had taken her twenty-one years, rape and confusion and 
self-castigation to come by. 

The branch of a tree outside the bedroom window brushed lightly against the 
glass. The faint rustle was like the sound of naked bodies on clean sheets 
... knees seeking a leverage ... a male ass touching down. Other sounds 
filled her ears; the steady slosh-slosh of Daddy's cock dipping, the suction 
drawing gook from high in her rectum, slopping the channel. The louder 
slurp-slurp of Tony's rod slamming greedily in and out, in and out, fucking 
up at an angle and pulling back at the opposite side of her sheath, stoking 
her sopping wet pussy as a fireman in a boiler room shovels coal into a 
furnace. Breathing. Hers quick and high-pitched, broken by moans, the 
labored sounds beneath and behind her like the panting of a lion on a hot 
humid day. 

How long could it last, she wondered. How many minutes could she sustain 
their stiff cocks before the blast came? Before both Daddy and Tony went 
limp, and she, never sated, never full, had to wait for the next hardon to 
rise and seek succor in the warmth of her gyrating loins. 

It seemed she had spent her whole life waiting for something. First for the 
hair to grow on her pussy, the soft creamy mounds to bud on her chest. Then 
for Daddy and the next lap-sitting game. Then Mike-for the year it took him 
to build courage enough to take her blonde treasure. And at the prison, 
waiting for what she thought was escape, but was, in fact, the first inkling 
of the emergence of Jeanie. Not the stupid good girl she was taught to be as 
a child, but Jeanie Simmons, the nurse. The healer of the sickness in stiff 
cocks. 

She felt the two cum loads building in the fat balls slapping her crotch. 
She felt the calloused hands on her ass, the teeth and tongue taunting her 
nipples. Degradation? Shame? Neither one! This was what she'd been born for; 
what nature, what some called God, had designed when casting the mold that 
left a delightful pink slit where a man had a rod. The two went together. It 
was her destiny to be placed at the mercy of the plug from the mold, the 
thing that made her complete. 

"Ahhh. Um. S-squeeze tight, honey," Daddy breathed hot in her ear. "Close 
your pretty cheeks. I ohhhhhhhh! Daddy's coming. Sweetheart? Be a umph! 
UMMMMMMumph! Be a good girl 'n' wiggle. Grind for Daddy. Screw!" He reached 
around and under her belly, crushed her close. 

"Yeah. But don't forget me," wheezed Tony. He too planted his joint to the 
hilt, held. "You do the work, baby. Like your ole man said ... wiggle 'n' 
grind your ass, be a fuckin' good girl." 

A good girl! she thought wondrously. At last she knew the meaning of the 
ambiguous term. A good girl was one who could satisfy a man's lusty 
yearning; a girl who could take a man's cock out of his pants, steer it to 
the hot hairy hole he preferred, and then do what both Daddy and Tony were 
demanding of her now. 

"I will," she sobbed ... fucking ... fucking. Wiggling and bumping and 
grinding, screwing as best she knew how. 

She closed her eyes tight, locked both little holes and thrashed. The 
prison, the rioting rapists, charged through her mind, stomping her flesh 
underfoot. The two cocks exploded in unison deep in her belly. She yelled. 
She kicked and clawed at the sheets. She was ninety-eight pounds of raw 
pussy-all cunt. Sucking cum up her asshole, in her womb. A good girl again. 
Content to spend the rest of her life doing what she'd been waiting for 
since she was a girl. 


THE END
