BH-6476  The Willing Housewife
[aka 'Four Studs For The Bride' or 'Sex Hungry Wife']
(Ward Fulton)


INTRODUCTION 

Statistics are usually thought of as the dullest of all possible subjects, 
but statistics that represent people are anything but dull. They can 
represent change, growth, progress and they can also represent human misery 
of the worst kind. 

Let's take a few examples. Statistic one: in the spring of 1969, President 
Nixon met in the Cabinet Room of the White House with the mayors of ten 
great American cities. The ten had been chosen to be as representative as 
possible, and the group was a highly varied mixture of parties, races and 
religions. They were alike in only one way: their qualities of energy and 
intelligence would have set them apart in any company. The really most 
notable thing about them, however, was this: in the time between being 
invited to the White House and the day the meeting actually took place, four 
of them had effectively resigned from office. All but assured of reelection, 
these four had announced that under no circumstances would they run again. 

Four out of ten. That's a statistic. Perhaps these personal decisions were 
of no consequence in the overall course of history, but we rather think 
otherwise. To demonstrate why, here are some more statistics: Today two out 
of three Americans live in metropolitan areas; and, while our country's 
population has more than doubled since 1900, the number of people in 
metropolitan areas has increased more than three and one-half times. The 
trends toward mechanization, the consolidation of farms into large units, 
and away from farm work in general are so strong that our farm population 
has fallen until fewer than one in twenty Americans now work on farms of any 
kind. 

Yet none of these statistics mean that there has been a growth of America's 
"inner cities." In fact, the major centers of population growth have been on 
the fringes of the metropolitan areas, in the suburbs. Americans seem to 
like metropolitan living, but the majority of the urbanites live in areas 
outside the inner cities themselves. Since I960, the central cities have 
grown by only about one percent, the surrounding suburbs by a staggering 
twenty-five percent. 

Again, these are statistics but what do they really mean? The most important 
lesson to be drawn, we think, is that there is a continued exodus of 
well-to-do whites away from the cities and a continued influx of poorer 
blacks into them. The annual net loss of white city dwellers averages 
141,000; the net increase of blacks is about 370,000. Although the Negroes' 
income level has risen significantly in the past few years, the rate of 
poverty is approximately twice as high among city dwellers (frequently 
black) as it is among inhabitants of the suburbs (very largely white). 

More "dull" statistics? Perhaps, but the figures give significant clues to 
the reasons those four mayors had for voluntarily leaving their posts. 

Detroit is a typical American city very like any small town in the U.S.A. in 
many ways, but by any standards of measurement a big city, and one that is 
almost totally dependent on one particular industry, the automobile 
business. But while we call Detroit typical, it is somewhat unusual in that 
labor disputes have played a very important role in its history. The city 
has suffered two major race riots within the past thirty years. In 1935, 
thirty-five people died and more than a thousand were injured, all because 
of interracial problems. Efforts to eliminate the causes of such 
disturbances were sincere but apparently misdirected: a violent five-day 
eruption during the summer of 1967 left forty-three dead and countless 
injured. 

Four Studs for the Bride is about Detroit, but in a much more important 
sense it could be about any city in America. It is Ward Fulton's sequel to 
The Violated Virgin, his first novel for us and one of the most successful 
books we have published so far. If you have read the earlier book, you will 
look forward to meeting again the characters you already know: Suzanne, the 
charming heroine, essentially a delightful young girl although she is now a 
tender bride; Sam, her husband, whose good intentions and honest love clash 
bitterly with his old-fashioned suspicion of his bride's activities and all 
of Suzanne's old friends from the earlier book. The many admirers of Ward 
Fulton's The Violated Virgin will be even more delighted with Four Studs for 
the Bride. More important to us, as publishers, is the fact that this new 
novel is every bit as entertaining, even more enjoyable as a complete, 
polished novel on its own terms... and of considerably more sociological 
value as Mr. Fulton probes even more deeply beneath the surface of 
Twentieth-Century America and the forces that have combined to make it what 
it is. 

In short, this is a book about people not about statistics. But we think it 
will profit you to keep those statistics in mind as you read it... because 
statistics are people. 

-The Publishers 

 CHAPTER ONE 

Suzanne sighed contentedly and stretched her arms above her head, lifting 
her exquisite breasts high above her smooth, flat stomach. The slight, early 
morning chill sent a shiver through her limbs and she scooted back under the 
covers of the enormous king-size bed that dominated the room. She rubbed her 
hands quickly over her flesh, her fingers brushed across the warm little 
mound between her thighs and she felt a familiar tingle in her groin, 
reminding her of the way Sam had touched her there a few minutes earlier, 
just before he climbed out of bed to start the coffee. 

She smiled happily at the thought of Sam and his constant attention to her 
every need; especially his concern over her getting enough loving. "Silly," 
she had teased him, "You're talking about love when what you really mean is 
sex." Sam had said they were the same thing but she knew this wasn't always 
true. 

It certainly hadn't been true during those horrible days before their 
marriage. They really were horrible, yet she often let her mind stray back 
to those hours of delicious humiliation when she had learned what sex was 
all about; when she had lost her virginity to those three, despicable youths 
on West Forest Avenue. She could easily forget Ted and Clayton, except for 
licentious moments when the memory of Clayton's long, black penis would rise 
up before her, prompting her to more violent love-making with Sam, or more 
intense masturbation, depending on the mood and situation. 

But Donald was another matter. Maybe it was because of his youth (he had 
been the youngest of the three); but probably most of all, it was because he 
had come to the wedding. The look of incredible sadness on his lost-lonely 
face had haunted her for days afterwards. He had stood on the edge of the 
crowd of well-wishers as she and Sam climbed into the car and drove away. He 
didn't wave, or speak; he didn't need to. The expression on his handsome 
features had been enough. Later that night, with Sam's virile body on top of 
her own, consummating their marriage, Suzanne found Donald's face intruding 
on her consciousness. Why? she asked herself. Why should she think of him 
when it was Sam she had married? And it was Sam she loved. 

She wondered if Donald was still in Detroit? It had been awhile; maybe he 
had moved back down south or had gone into the service. She wondered what 
she would say to him if their paths were to cross again. Despite the 
violence of their encounter, he had been tender; he loved her, she knew, in 
his own, strange way. But, then, he moved in a different world from hers. It 
would be totally impossible for anything to have worked out between them. 
Besides, he was younger than she was. Only women past forty went with 
younger men. And she was only twenty. Twenty years with Sam, that 
good-looking husband of hers; yes, Sam, Sam... Her fingers moved between her 
legs again, reminding her of his never-ceasing delight in her sex. If it 
wasn't his fingers, or his beautiful massive penis, it was his talented 
tongue that would probe her vagina and bring her to a peak of panting 
passion, making her clutch at his body and cry-out in desperation for him to 
continue. More... more... until her body trembled and her insides exploded 
in a climax that left her drained, yet incredibly satisfied. It was never 
the earth-shattering emotion that she had felt with Donald or Ted or Clayton 
but it was immeasurably more fulfilling because she knew it was love and not 
lust that prompted the encounter. 

Her nostrils quivered smelling the aroma of freshly perking coffee and she 
heard Sam clattering the cups and saucers in the kitchen. He was really 
spoiling her, fixing coffee and sometimes breakfast before he went off to 
work. She had told her mother, who at once reprimanded her for not assuming 
that duty as part of her wifely chores. 

"Every husband expects his wife to fix breakfast," Mrs. Delacorte said 
primly. "Of course, it was different with me and your father. We had a 
cook." 

Suzanne was happy she and Sam didn't live in Grosse Pointe. She had lived 
there all her life, and had become so tired of the pseudo-elegance that 
characterized the life-style of most of the residents that she welcomed her 
newfound freedom in Farmington; she had a new husband, a new home, a new 
life, and she was loving every minute of it. Her only regret was Sam's job. 
It took him away from her for eight hours a day. But the job was an 
outstanding opportunity, one that Sam felt he couldn't turndown. 

"We can't live on our inheritance forever," he said shortly after they moved 
into their new home. "Besides," he grinned teasingly at her, "if I didn't 
have the job, I'll be home making-love to you all day and you'll be worn-out 
by the time you're twenty-five and I'll have to trade you in." She had 
slapped him gently and they had ended-up, as they did so often, locked in a 
passionate embrace which inevitably led to the ultimate expression of their 
feelings. 

So Sam took the job with the investment company and made rapid progress. 
Suzanne returned to school at Wayne State University. Their days were filled 
with useful activity. 

"Here we go." 

She looked up as Sam walked into the bedroom, holding a tray of steaming 
coffee and a plate of sweet rolls. He put it down on the bedside table, and 
sat down, bending-over her to kiss her, gently. She put her arms round his 
bare shoulders and hugged him. 

"You're so good to me," she whispered. 

"Only because you fuck good," he replied in mock-seriousness. She cried-out 
in horror and pushed him away. 

'You're terrible," she said. And as she reached for her coffee, her eyes 
strayed again over his naked body, feasting on his muscular frame and the 
sensuous penis that lay flaccid but provocatively between his thighs. "How 
can I enjoy a sweet roll when you're sitting there like that?" she asked. 

"Just imagine it's me you're eating," Sam said. 

"Right size, wrong flavor," Suzanne giggled, holding-up a sausage-shaped 
doughnut and closing her lips around it, suggestively. She scooted-back, 
propping herself up against the headboard and letting the covers slip down, 
exposing her breasts. Sam sucked-in his breath, and bent forward, closing 
his mouth around a nipple and sucking-it briefly before straightening up. 

"You're beautiful," he murmured. "I think I'll skip work today and just stay 
home and screw." 

"Sex maniac," she replied evenly, staring at him over the rim of her coffee 
cup. 

They laughed and relaxed, enjoying the moment, completely uninhibited with 
each other. How different this is, Suzanne thought. A year ago she would 
have been horrified at the very thought of sitting in front of Sam without 
her clothes, much less with him in the nude, as well. Let's face it, I'd 
have been terrified at the very thought of sex, but only because I wanted to 
wait till after we were married, she thought. 

All those ridiculous frustrations that were her mother's ideas of love. On 
rare occasions, she could still hear that voice echoing-down the corridors 
of her mind, putting the fear of God into her for any genital activities 
other than elimination. "These filthy, disgusting kids today," Mrs. 
Delacorte would trumpet loudly. "Did you hear about that Barnes girl, 
pregnant for the second time and not yet fifteen? She's as bad as her 
mother." Suzanne always knew better than to question the 
whys-and-wherefores, especially when it was the Barnes family, who had been 
a source of scandal in Grosse Pointe ever since the oldest girl had bedded 
and then wedded a visiting Italian count and had gone to live in Florence, 
becoming the youngest American contessa in Europe. 

"Yes, Suzanne's going to the altar a virgin," was Mrs. Delacorte's proud 
boast at society gatherings. It was fortunate she never knew the truth, but 
Suzanne had long ago learned that what her mother didn't know was her 
problem. 

And if her mother had known about those three rampant ruffians who had 
assaulted her so violently (and yet so deliciously!) there was no telling 
what she would have done. Suzanne knew her mother's anger would have been 
more because of the irreparable result than because of the actual act. Her 
mother was just hung-up over sex, period; therefore, it was no wonder her 
father had affairs on the side. She had a sneaky feeling that her mother was 
about as responsive in bed as a frozen noodle. 

"Hey, you want some more coffee?" 

Sam's voice interrupted her thoughts, and Suzanne nodded, passing her cup 
over. "I'd better get dressed or I'll be late." 

"It doesn't matter if you are," said Suzanne, impishly, "In another year 
you'll probably run that place." 

"Even so, I'm still just working there," he replied, handing her the 
steaming cup and sliding off the bed. "Hey, you mean you don't have time 
just for one quick kiss?" He turned and grinned at her. 

"If I have one quick kiss, you know what that'll lead-to. And I don't have 
time. Later for you, sexy." 

He disappeared into the bathroom and Suzanne pouted, drinking her fresh 
coffee. Dammit, she really was in the mood; she was always in the mood when 
she was around Sam. Especially with him naked like that. Just the sight of 
his body started a warm glow in her groin making her want him, want him with 
a passion that grew with each new episode. 

She put the cup down on the night stand and reached for the cigarettes. 
Impatiently, she flipped one into her mouth, snapped the lighter and lay 
back, puffing smoke with nervous energy. The tingle in her crotch had grown; 
dammit, she had really wanted sex with Sam before he went to work. Funny how 
you can change, she mused. She had always enjoyed masturbating herself; but 
she had been afraid of sex until those three boys had shown her that she 
really had a tiger in her tail, straining to be free. And now that it was 
free, she was no longer afraid, unless it was fear of not getting enough; 
and, right now, she felt her animal instincts churning. 

She put her free hand under the covers and touched her labia, quivering 
slightly from the delicious glow that spread through her vagina. Quietly, 
she inserted a finger and found her clitoris, rubbing it up-and-down until 
it was hard to her touch. She had the familiar surge of ecstasy that always 
presaged her slow climb to orgasm. She lay back, luxuriating in the 
sensation of the cigarette combining with the eroticism that was spreading 
through her. 

Dimly, she heard the noise of the shower and Sam's deep tones as he began 
his usual morning serenade. In her mind she saw his body, the rippling 
muscles and the smooth skin as he spread the soap across those broad 
shoulders; the wide chest, the flat, smooth stomach and, then, down to the 
crotch; she almost felt his sex as she pictured his hands, soaping himself, 
making a pile of lather on his pubic hair and around his magnificent cock 
and balls; and, then, his hand pulling his foreskin back and squeezing his 
shaft, giving himself a passing thrill as he cleansed himself. 

Quickly she stubbed her cigarette in the ashtray and put her other hand over 
her breasts, tweaking the nipples, bringing them to full firmness, and 
rubbing herself while her fingers pressed deeper into her vagina. Mentally, 
she imagined Sam's penis penetrating her, pushing into her, thrusting 
in-and-out, bringing her the joy and supreme delight that she had grown to 
love so much. 

"Oh, Sam... " She breathed deeply as her hands caressed her body and her 
mind focused on his voice from the bathroom, making the fantasy even more 
real, more exciting. He was only a few yards away. What if he were to walk 
in now and plunge his penis into her, completing an act in seconds which 
normally took so much longer? It would be better than what she was doing. 

"Sam... Sam... come here," she called-out. The splashing water was suddenly 
shut-off. "You call me, hon?" 

"Yes. Come here. Now. Just like you are." 

"Suzanne, I don't have time." 

"I'm ready, baby. Come on, it'll only take a minute." 

"I don't dig a quick fuck. You know that." 

"You bastard. Go to hell!" 

She heard the noise of the shower again, and, impatiently, she increased the 
tempo of her fingers, the pressure of her hands on her breasts. Goddamn it, 
Sam. You don't know what you're missing. Donald wouldn't turn me down. 
Donald... she thought. 

Her eyes opened wide. For the first time in months she was seeing Donald's 
face in her fantasy. It had always been Sam; but now it was Donald, his 
innocent youthfulness sparkling with lust. She remembered his lithe body, 
his throbbing, erect penis just before she was impaled on it with Clayton 
and Ted holding her helpless. And she felt, once more, the sharp thrust of 
his maleness entering her, going-in all the way and banging-away so hard and 
fast, it took her breath away. Her fingers responded to the memory and she 
felt her vagina quivering. More... more... oh, goddamn, this is good! More, 
Donald. Stick it in all the way and give it to me, you young stud. Scream a 
little. Struggle. You don't want them to think you're enjoying it too much. 
Fight for it. Oh, fuck me, Donald, fuck me good. 

Her body trembled and she felt the approaching climax. Her loins were 
catching-fire, her hips were moving faster-and-faster, blending themselves 
with her fingers as they grabbed her clitoris and caressed it, holding 
tightly as her insides heaved and she let out a gigantic sigh of ecstasy. 
She felt her vagina contract and her juices flow and she groaned in delight. 
Oh, Donald! I'm coming... I'm coming... oh, fuck me, you beautiful boy, let 
me have that cum right up my cunt... ! 

The telephone jangled its shrill summons and Suzanne's fantasy dissolved in 
the onrush of reality. With a muffled curse, she reached-over and picked-up 
the instrument. She recognized the familiar voice. With unnecessary anger 
she snapped back: "Goddamn, Yvonne, you pick the worst time to call!" 

Woodward Avenue was crowded with students pushing down the sidewalk. Suzanne 
sidestepped an onrushing young man, his vision partially obscured by the 
head of a blond who was attempting to kiss him as they walked. The air was 
warm and it promised to be another blistering, Michigan summer day. 

Suzanne moved her books to her other arm, easing the ache that had crept 
into her shoulder. She had walked from the north end of the campus and now 
was near the Maccabees Building, where Yvonne had promised to meet her. She 
smiled to herself, remembering that Yvonne had called, rather remorsefully, 
only two months ago, asking for a resumption of their friendship. By this 
time, the memory of the insults and perverted sex had faded, and Suzanne 
realized she would be losing a good friend by not taking-up with Yvonne 
again. As the older woman said: "Old friends are best, dear, even if they 
are a bunch of lesbians." 

Yvonne hadn't made a pass since their reconciliation. She was still living 
with Carole, and Suzanne had been up to their apartment, once, for dinner 
and had spent a truly happy evening. They spoke little of the terrible night 
when they had all been victims of the three boys' orgiastic desires. They 
all seemed to know instinctively that there was nothing to be gained by 
raking-over the coals, especially the embers of such an unpleasant episode. 
Carole did comment, lightly, that she hadn't seen the boys around the 
neighborhood anymore: and Yvonne had declared in her stentorian tones that 
if she ever did, she was to call the police. So they concluded that the boys 
had moved away, possibly to avoid any repercussions from the gang-rape of 
the girls that horrible night. 

"So there you are!" 

Suzanne looked-up and saw Yvonne leaning up against the concrete wall on the 
corner of Canfield and Woodward Avenue. "Hi." 

Suzanne grinned at Yvonne's eternal, perky expression of coy amusement. "You 
want to eat at Verne's again?" 

"Is there anywhere else?" 

Yvonne eased forward and fell into step with Suzanne. "I like that outfit." 

"Thanks." Yvonne smiled happily at the compliment. "I got it at Lerner's. 
They've got a sale this week. Would you believe only $5.95 for the whole 
mess?" Suzanne laughed. 

"You're the only one I know who'll tell the price of a dress and be proud 
it's less than twenty dollars." Yvonne shrugged her thin shoulders. 

"Why bullshit? Everyone knows how much I make, and I'm not ashamed of it." 
She arched a pencilled eyebrow at Suzanne. "I wasn't lucky to marry for 
money." Suzanne pouted and shook her head slowly. "You know that isn't 
true." 

"I know. You married him because he's got a big cock and knows how to use 
it." Yvonne giggled, her usual, throaty expression of licentious amusement. 
"In fact," she added, "were you, by any chance, fucking this morning when I 
called?" 

Suzanne blushed. 

"No, I wasn't, and what I was doing is none of your business." She grinned, 
remembering. "So there." 

"Okay, okay. Just curious, not nosy. But you did sound like you were in the 
middle of something. " Suzanne was silent, and they walked on through the 
thinning crowd down to Forest Avenue and turned west to where the familiar 
sign hung above the sidewalk, announcing the most popular campus meeting 
place. They pushed through the door and made their way through the darkened 
interior to a small table at the rear. 

They ordered steer burgers and settled-back in the gloom. 

"Anything special to talk about?" asked Suzanne. "I had a feeling from your 
voice this morning that you didn't call just to have company for lunch." 

Yvonne inhaled deeply and paused a moment. As she spoke, clouds of blue 
smoke gushed from her mouth. "Well, truthfully, darling, there is something, 
and I wanted to discuss it with you. You see, it does concern you." 

She paused a moment, and bit her lip. 

"Well, go on," said Suzanne impatiently. "Quit being so dramatic." Yvonne 
gave a wry laugh. 

"Okay, okay. I don't quite know how to put this, but" She hesitated, and 
then proceeded with determination. 'You remember those little bastards who" 

"I remember them." 

"They're back in town." 

Suzanne felt an icy shiver run up her spine. Her eyes widened, and she 
reached for Yvonne's cigarettes and lit one with shaking hands. 

"So did you talk with any of them?" Yvonne nodded. 

"Yes. I was walking up Forest Avenue yesterday and coming towards me was 
this figure, all done up in a leather jacket and tight blue jeans and boots. 
Well, you know how I am about baskets, and the first thing I noticed was the 
one on this character. My eyes took it in, because I figured I hadn't had a 
thrill for two hours and seeing the outlines of that cock through the jeans 
well, you know what that does to a girl." Yvonne laughed loudly. "And then, 
as he got nearer, I looked up and I realized who it was. And he knew who I 
was, too. I think both our faces dropped at the same time." 

"Who was it?" Suzanne's voice was tight with suspense. 

"It was Donald. He's put on a little weight, and looks as adorable as ever, 
if you can call that little fucker adorable. He smiled at me and I looked 
away, so he called out." 

"Like what?" 

"Oh, he wanted to know if I still lived in the old apartment and if I felt 
like some company." Yvonne paused. "Then he asked me how you were." 

"What did you say?" 

"Well, he'd grabbed my arm, so I couldn't really do much. I didn't want to 
cause a scene so I was pleasant enough. Icy, but pleasant. I told him where 
I lived was none of his business and that you were fine and to get the hell 
out of the way before I called a cop." 

"And did he?" 

"He laughed loudly, and let me go. I walked away and he called after me, 
saying we'd be seeing each other. I must admit I was a little scared. Just 
seeing him again brought back all the memories of that time with him and the 
others. 

Suzanne nodded. She felt relieved now that Yvonne had related the whole 
episode. 

"Well, at least he doesn't know where I live," she said, "But as for you and 
Carole... " Suzanne's voice trailed-off "Maybe you'd better call the police 
and tell them." 

"Nope. Won't do a damn bit of good. It's my word against his, and don't 
think the cops aren't sick-to-death of calls from screwy women who think the 
world's out to rape them. No, all I can do is make sure we keep the door 
locked and make sure we're not alone in the alley at night." 

They leaned-back as the waitress approached with their food and drinks. They 
unwrapped the steerburgers and began eating. 

"Tell you what," said Suzanne between mouthfuls, "why don't you call one of 
those security places and have a guard put on the building? Surely the 
manager would go along with that." 

Yvonne laughed, choked on a crumb and reached desperately for the glass of 
water. A moment later, she cleared her throat. 

"Nope. Not a chance. I'm not worried. I don't think he'll try anything. He 
may be alone, and his brother may be out of town still." 

"And he may not." 

They continued eating in silence until they were through. Suzanne lit a 
cigarette and stretched. 

"Well, I'm glad you told me. At first I was afraid, but I'm not now. I know 
he wouldn't try anything with me, and, most important, he could never find 
me at school." 

"Not among twenty-five thousand students, he couldn't, that's for sure," 
said Yvonne, "But if that little bastard wants to find you, I bet he will, 
one way or the other. At least you've got Sam around to protect you at home. 
With me and Carole, it's a different matter, just like last time." 

"Yes, I remember." 

Both girls sat a moment in silence, their minds going back to the hours of 
terror they had spent at the mercy of Donald, his brother, and their colored 
friend, all of them naked and with seemingly permanent erections, taking 
each of the girls in turn, forcing themselves on-and-on, until thankfully, 
it was over. And, even as she remembered, Suzanne had to admit again, as she 
had a thousand times, that she had loved it. Despite the fear, the violence, 
the degrading things they had forced her to perform, her inherent animal 
instincts had responded and she found herself crying-out for more, her 
emotions as desperate as her body. Yet, she knew this was only a perverse 
quality, one side of herself that she would do best to subdue, even 
eliminate. But there were still moments, like now, when the thought of those 
hours of forcible rape and incredible perversion brought more than a passing 
tingle to her groin. 

"Well, I'd better get back. I have a one-thirty," said Yvonne, "And I want 
to stop in at the bookstore. You going home?" 

"No. I have a class, too." 

"Okay, let's walk up Cass together." 

They paid the waitress and left the bar, blinking their eyes as they left 
the darkened interior and came into the bright sunlight. They moved down 
Forest Avenue to the corner and turned up Cass, towards the book store three 
blocks north. 

"God, this neighborhood is a mess," commented Yvonne, her eyes taking-in the 
decaying homes and broken storefronts. "It's a pity they didn't burn the 
whole fucking area during the riots." Suzanne nodded. 

"There are some parts of Detroit that are so lovely," she murmured, "and all 
it takes is a little work and imagination. This area could be beautiful." 
Yvonne grunted. 

"With the trash that lives around the campus, what'd be the use?" she asked. 
"Look at Donald and those creeps. Do you think types like that care about 
urban renewal? Hell, the only thing they think about is getting another 
piece of tail, and they're not particular whose it is." 

"I think Donald is particular." 

The words were out before Suzanne realized it. Yvonne frowned and glared at 
her friend. 

"You're out of your skull. That little refugee from Kentucky doesn't know 
how to spell the word. Don't tell me you feel sorry for him after what he 
did to you?" 

Suzanne stopped walking, and leaned-up against a concrete pillar that had 
once supported the porch of one of the demolished houses. 

"I don't feel sorry, Yvonne, but there was something about him that was 
different from the other two. I never told you this, but he came to the 
wedding. He was standing at the back of the crowd as Sam and I drove off in 
the car. He was crying." Her voice dropped and Yvonne was staring at her. 
"You see, I've always felt that if Donald hadn't come from that terrible 
background, well... maybe he might have grown up into quite a wonderful 
guy." 

Yvonne shook her head slowly, and tugged Suzanne's arm. They began walking 
again. 

"You're too much," she said, but her voice had lost its harshness, "I'll 
admit he's a cute-looking kid. And after yesterday, I'd say he's got even 
cuter. He's sexy as hell, but in a nice, clean way. That I'll never deny. 
But he's still a little tramp who'll fuck anything and don't you ever forget 
it. He'll be into your pants again the first chance he gets, and he'll 
probably have half the neighborhood with him, too." 

Suzanne nodded. "I guess you're right, but I can't help thinking about him. 
I think he really fell in love with me, but realized it was hopeless. He's 
younger than me, to begin with, and well." She shook her head. "Oh, this is 
ridiculous. I'm talking like one of those stupid girls in Mary Stewart's 
novels, all sentiment and no sense." 

"I'm glad you said it, not me," said Yvonne, "Here's the book store. I'll 
talk to you later, okay?" 

She smiled and held out her hand, patting Suzanne on the arm, tenderly. "And 
forgot about Donald. Forget about them all. You've got Sam, remember. He's 
all that matters." Suzanne nodded. 

"Yes. You're right. Take care. And call me if you need help or anything. 
Promise?" 

"I promise." 

Yvonne turned and walked into the bookstore and Suzanne continued across the 
street, glancing at her watch. She had twenty minutes to make her class. She 
slowed her walk and smiled as she felt the warm sun on the back of her neck, 
thinking that summer in Michigan could be beautiful. 

"Hi, hon, I'm home." 

Suzanne looked-up from her book as she heard the back door slam and Sam's 
cheery voice echoing through the house. A moment later he bounced into the 
living room, and took her in his arms. Their embrace was close and their 
kiss passionate and breathless. He broke-off and stared at her. 

"You get prettier every day," he murmured. "Now, how about fixing us a 
drink?" 

She looked up into his deep, blue eyes and smiled happily. 

"Sure. And I have something special planned for dinner tonight." 

His face fell, and he raised his eyebrows. "Hate to tell you this, but I can 
only stay for one drink and then I have to go. The boss wants me to meet 
some investors from the Coast. It's kind of important, he said." 

"I think that's terrible." Suzanne's voice relayed her disappointment. "You 
might have called from the office. I could have had dinner with Yvonne and 
Carole." 

He chucked her under the chin and grinned. 

"Now you know that's not true, so don't try to pull that number. I didn't 
call because he only told me in the parking lot. Twenty minutes ago. Come 
on, now, business comes first, remember." 

"I thought I came first." 

He grinned wickedly. "You always come first, but only in bed," he said 
teasingly, "Come on, go get that drink now, and I promise I'll get away as 
soon as I can, and come home and make mad, terrible love to you all night 
long." 

"You always do." 

"I should hope so." 

Suzanne leaned-up and kissed him, smiled, and then went to the kitchen and 
mixed two martinis and carried them back, expertly. She handed one over and 
held hers up. 

"To my handsome husband, future owner of the company," she toasted, "I hope 
you get that presidency soon so you can spend more time at home where you 
belong." They both relaxed on the couch, and Suzanne snuggled-up close to 
him. 

"Have a nice day?" 

"Uh-huh." His mouth moved over to her ear, and he nibbled gently. She 
squirmed and her hand rested on his leg, caressing his thigh. Sam looked at 
her quizzically. "You know what that's going to do to me," he said softly, 
"So quit." 

"Shut up and enjoy it," she said, moving her fingers up to his crotch. "You 
wouldn't give me any this morning, and you're not going to get away now." 

She felt the growing hardness in his penis as her fingers expertly massaged 
the shaft through his pants, and he shifted slightly. 

"Suzanne, that feels great, love, but I've got to meet the boss in an hour 
down at the Ponchartrain." 

"Good," she murmured, leaning over and licking his ear quickly. "That means 
fifteen minutes for sex, ten minutes to get yourself organized, and twenty 
minutes to drive downtown, and five minutes to make it to the bar. I presume 
you're meeting him in the bar?" 

"You're too much." 

With a sigh, Sam scooted-forward, allowing her easier access to his crotch. 
Delightedly, she unzipped his pants, and her hand crawled inside, searching 
for the end of his penis and pulling it out. She pulled the foreskin back 
and revealed the shining red head, already oozing lube from the wide slit at 
the end. 

"Oh, but he's pretty," she breathed, and her head came forward, her lips 
closing around his maleness, her tongue going wild around the edge of his 
glans, her teeth holding the shaft and nibbling. He moved his hips, 
thrusting upwards. She felt the length penetrate over her tongue and slide 
into her throat, where she flexed to encompass it and give added pressure to 
the head. 

He groaned with delight and his hand came down, touching her hair and 
caressing her ears gently. 

"Suzanne, you give the best goddamn blow-job in town," he murmured. "I'm so 
glad I married you." 

She lifted-up a second, and stuck out her tongue at him. 

"You talk too much," she said, and lowered her mouth once more. Her fingers 
reached for his testicles, and held them, cradling the sac in her palm and 
letting them gently rub the balls around while her lips sucked hungrily on 
his shaft, moving up-and-down, quickly. 

Her other hand encircled his shaft, holding the skin firmly, pulling it back 
so she could concentrate on the glans, its bright, shiny surface stretched 
almost to bursting from the excitement and the incredible sensations that 
her talented tongue produced in his groin, which flooded his entire body 
with erotic delight. 

Slowly, she began pulling his balls, stretching his skin even more and 
making his penis firmer and more exciting to the touch. He began moving his 
hips, driving his sex in-and-out of her mouth, ramming into her throat 
where, from long experience, she knew to let it sit, throbbing and pressured 
by the tightness of her mouth around it. 

He moaned and began moving his body, which trembled with suspense at his 
approaching climax. "Take it easy," he muttered, "I'll come real soon if you 
don't ease up. Make it last, baby." She lifted her mouth and laughed softly. 
"You don't have the time, remember." 

With a rush, her lips encircled him again, and she began licking 
frantically, letting her lips cover her teeth and make a hard, glistening 
passage for his penis to thrust in-and-out, as her tongue titillated the 
underside of his glans, sending chill-after-chill through his limbs. 

His hand came round the back of her head and held her tightly, pressing her 
down on his shaft. His hips began a steady rhythm which blended with hers, 
and he knew the long, slow ride to the end of the line had started. The 
tingle deep between his legs began, and it felt like an electric current had 
started in his balls and was traveling upwards along his shaft. His body 
shook and then, with a loud cry, he lunged upward with his penis, pushing it 
deep into her throat as he felt himself ejaculate, shooting his seed into 
her. She gulped, swallowed and then sucked frantically again, draining him, 
milking his cock of every last drop of that precious, salty cream that she 
had learned to love so much. She tasted it as it slid over her tongue, its 
presence thrilling her as much as if he had come within her vagina, which at 
the moment was quivering and was wet and warm with her own juices. Finally, 
she felt him begin to soften, and she raised-up, letting his penis slide out 
and lie across her hand. 

Gently, she rolled the foreskin back over the end, and tucked his organ back 
in his pants. 

"There," she said, very matter-of-factly, "That ought to keep you happy till 
you get home tonight." 

He leaned forward and their lips met passionately. They broke apart, and he 
stared into her eyes. 

"I do love you," he murmured. 

"Likewise, I'm sure," she replied in a fake, Brooklyn accent. And they both 
laughed, and hugged each other. 

Sam zipped up his pants and stood up, straightening his shirt. "Gotta go," 
he said, "see you later." 

"How much later?" 

"How do I know? Probably around eleven. If it's going to be real late, I'll 
call you. Okay?" 

"Okay. But do make it back by midnight. You know how horny I get then." 

"You're always horny, you adorable little bitch." 

He slapped her gently across the buttocks, and ran out of the room. Suzanne 
walked over to the window and watched him back their little sports car out 
of the driveway, and zoom down the street. She turned back and sat down on 
the couch again, draining the remains of her martini. God, she was going to 
miss him. After that quick session a few minutes earlier, she was really in 
the mood for more sex, for a real, passionate interlude where he would take 
her body and do everything to her that she wanted. Oh, Sam, Sam. 

She picked-up the martini glasses and walked into the kitchen. She was busy 
rinsing them under the tap when she heard the front doorbell. She wiped her 
hands on a dish towel, remembering that she had asked a classmate to drop-by 
with some books that evening. That was probably her at the door, and how 
convenient. With Sam away for the evening, they could have a good study 
session. 

Suzanne put her hand on the doorknob, turned it and pulled, a smile of 
welcome on her lips. She froze. Fingers of fear traced their ugly pattern 
down her back. Her eyes took-in the figure standing there, blue jeans 
bulging and leather jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder. 

"Hello, baby," said Donald, an insolent grin on his young handsome face, "I 
guess it's all right to come in now your husband's gone, huh?" 

 CHAPTER TWO 

Looking back on that moment, Suzanne realized that a thousand thoughts 
flashed through her mind when she first saw Donald. Yvonne's description was 
right, down to the last sensuous turn of his hips, the provocative 
projection in front of his skin-tight jeans. Now, though, the face was 
fuller, even more appealing than she remembered from months before. The 
expression was more mature, less innocent; and there was a definite message 
engraved there. There was no question what was on his mind. She knew, that 
even if she was quick enough to slam the door in his face, he would not let 
that stop him. He was there for her, just as he had been before. 

Suzanne stood, petrified. At last, she found her voice, shaky, uncertain, 
loud with fear. "You get out of here, Donald." 

He grinned and his foot slid, menacingly, forward over the edge of the door 
sill. "Now you shouldn't treat an old friend like that. It ain't what I call 
friendly." She took a deep breath and bit her lip. 

"Donald, this isn't Forest Avenue. I just have to scream and there'll be a 
dozen people over here in two seconds." 

"Sure. But you're not going to scream, and you know it." She was appalled by 
his effrontery, his brash self-confidence. "Just try me. You take one step 
forward" 

"Cool it, baby. I'm coming in and there's nothing you can do to stop me." 

He moved towards her, his hand against the door, pushing it back, and 
Suzanne found herself stepping back, knowing that it was a dream, a 
terrible, horrible nightmare that took her back to her small apartment on 
campus, ten thousand years ago, it seemed, and she was, once more, the 
innocent virgin clinging desperately to the hope of preserving herself for 
her wedding night, but knowing that it was impossible. 

"Donald, please!" 

His hands were around her, drawing her close. She felt his hot breath on her 
face as his mouth came down, closing over hers, and his hips pushed into 
her, the large bulge between his legs reminding her again... 

She struggled, but he held her firmly. His strength had matured, and she 
felt utterly helpless. With a final effort, she lifted her knee and tried to 
push into him; but he moved aside. Her foot kicked, ineffectually, in the 
air, her toe touching the front door and slamming it shut. 

He released her, and grinned at her, his hand caressing her cheek. 

"Be nice, baby. We had some good times once, remember?" 

Fear and anger gave her strength, and she broke away, moving quickly to 
evade his hands. 

"Listen, Donald, you get out of here before you do something you're sorry 
for and end-up in jail. My husband's coming back in ten minutes to get me. 
He'll... he'll beat the shit out of you." 

Donald laughed, throwing his long blond hair back in a wild gesture of 
derision, and he tossed his leather jacket on a chair. 

"He ain't comin' back, and you know it, not right away. Which means you'n me 
can have a little party all by ourselves, right?" 

"No. Sam's coming back in ten minutes. Now you get out." 

He stepped forward, put his hand around her waist and bent down, kissing her 
quickly before she could turn away. 

"Suzanne, I want you, baby. I've always wanted you, and you want me, you 
know it. Please, baby." The harshness was suddenly gone from his voice; he 
was desperate, pleading, atone which touched her heart and awakened all the 
perverse fantasies that had lain dormant for months. "Donald, no. This is 
ridiculous." 

"It ain't. There's nothin' wrong in feelin' the way I do. And something 
tells me you do, too. Come on, baby, all I want is a little loving." 

"You don't. You just want to... to fuck me!" The words shrilled from her 
lips and she began shaking uncontrollably. 

Donald nodded slowly and laughed. "Sure. Ain't that what love's all about?" 

"No. Not this way. Only when it's right, when there's" She struggled for the 
words. "When there's tenderness, when you're gentle, not the way you are and 
those other little monsters." 

"Oh, wow, so I'm a monster now?" He leaned back against the door and pulled 
out a rumpled package of cigarettes from his hip pocket. Carefully, he 
extracted one until it stuck half-way out; and then, with an uncertain 
gesture, he offered it to her. "Cigarette?" 

She shook her head. 

"It'll soothe your nerves. 'Least, that's what they say." 

She turned and walked into the living room, ignoring him. He put the package 
up to his mouth and gripped the cigarette between his lips, withdrawing it 
quickly and lighting it with an old Zippo lighter he took from his shirt 
pocket. 

"Well, so you don't want me around?" he said, walking lazily into the room 
after her, and dropping in a chair opposite her. 

Suzanne shook her head. 

"No. And nobody asked you to sit down, either." 

"I ain't got the best manners," he replied imperturbably, "But then you know 
all about that. What you don't know is how I feel about you, baby." 

"There's only one way you feel," she snapped, her heart still beating 
wildly, her mind desperately searching for a solution to the situation. 

"Sure, there's only one way I feel, and that's for you," he continued, 
completely unruffled by her obvious rejection, "I've thought about you so 
much, Suzanne, baby. It wasn't just the fucking. It was everything. That's 
why I left town. I went back to Kentucky just to get away. But I've been 
thinking about you every night. Every chick I went with was you. Every time 
I'd jerk-off at night, it'd be you in my mind. I love you, Suzanne." 

She shook her head slowly, hardly believing her ears. His voice had lost its 
rough quality. He was almost a small boy again, pleading for a crumb from 
her table of love. For almost a moment, her heart softened, and then her 
eyes saw his crotch, and the bulge there, and the memory of the gang-rape 
came back to her, and she shuddered. 

"You're... you're sick," she muttered. 

"Sure I am. Sick with love for you," he said, stubbing his cigarette in an 
ashtray, and coming across to her. She shrank away and he knelt at her feet, 
and put his hand on her knee, looking up imploringly at her. "Suzanne... " 

"Get away from me!" 

The venom in her words was matched by the sneer on her face, and he 
recoiled. "Jesus Christ, ain't you got any heart?" 

"Yes I do," she replied vehemently, "And it belongs to my husband, who knows 
how to treat a woman properly, not like your type." 

"So you ain't gonna be nice to me, huh?" 

"No, I am not." 

"Not even if I'm gentle and tender, like you said?" His hand came forward, 
sliding up her leg suggestively. She felt a quiver in her loins, and she 
pulled her leg away to one side, but he held on, his fingers squeezing 
gently, provocatively. 

"Donald, quit that." 

He laughed. 

"Sounds like maybe I'm gettin' to you after all." 

She tried to rise, but he pushed her back. His hand slid from her shoulder 
down to her breast, and his fingers closed around her firm flesh, and she 
felt her gorge rising. "Donald, I'm going to throw up." 

"Like shit you are. Now you listen to me." His fingers played with her 
breast, cupping it and pinching the ends. Suzanne felt her nipples respond, 
and a warm glow begin flooding her groin. Dammit, why did she react like 
that? Why couldn't she just scream her head off, or run like hell for the 
dooranything to put an end to this insane dialogue? Yet something inside 
told her to stay, to feast her eyes on his undeniable, animal appeal, to 
wonder if that attractive bulge in his blue jeans would grow, or if his 
technique had changed... or anything? Jesus, help me, help me. I want him, 
and I don't want him. Sam, Sam, come back home now and rescue me. Save me 
from him, save me from myself. 

'You look okay to me. You ain't gonna throw up. In fact, you ain't gonna do 
anything but fuck, you know that?" 

She trembled visibly and bit her lip. She felt the tears in her eyes and she 
looked away. 

"Sure you're gonna fuck, because that's why I came here. You're damn right. 
I've been casing this place for days. I know what time your husband goes to 
work. I know where he works. And I know he's not coming back till later 
tonight, which makes it plumb-dandy for us right now to have a little fun. 
Like old times, huh?" 

The tingle in her groin was more than just a quiver. She felt the surge of 
desire, that same feeling she experienced during the gang-bang with him and 
the others months before, that perverted passion for degrading violence to 
be performed upon her, satisfying that primitive side of her which had been 
subdued since her wedding. Sam made beautiful love, but there was never 
anything animal about him, nothing to bring out the tiger in her loins the 
way Donald did. 

His hand was firm on her breast and his other one slid up under her dress, 
pinching its way to her nylon panties a small barrier to the probing fingers 
that pushed against her warm mound, already oozing its juices of desire. 

"Stop it!" 

She jerked herself away, tried to rise and escape across the room, but he 
grabbed her, pulling her back. She lost her balance and fell, lengthwise, on 
the couch, her head coming to rest inches from his own. His mouth came down 
and his lips closed over hers, his tongue pushing in forcefully. Her hands 
beat ineffectually against his shoulders and she felt the tip of his tongue 
licking around her teeth, touching her flesh like a red-hot welding torch, 
setting her afire with every flicker. 

She felt her mind reeling and her strength ebbing beneath the onslaught of 
his unrestrained demands. His hand stroked her breasts and slid across her 
stomach, coming to rest over her crotch, then pressing down firmly against 
her throbbing, warm cavern. Even through her dress she felt his probing 
fingers pushing into her bush, sending stabs of sensual delight through her 
groin. Little choking sounds emerged from her throat, stifled, as they were, 
by his mouth over hers. 

He broke away, holding her shoulders with one hand while the other grappled 
with her dress, pulling it up above her waist. 

"Donald, oh, please, no, not that, please!" 

He laughed. 

"You love it, and you know it." 

His fingers pushed under the edge of her panties and crept through her bush 
to her slit. Carefully he inserted two fingers and pried open her cunt-lips 
and she felt the glow begin as he entered her and touched her clitoris, 
already beginning to stiffen from the growing sensuality within her, the 
general thrill that came before his ultimate penetration of her body. 

One hand crept around her neck and pulled her face to his. He began licking 
her cheeks, then around her eyes, kissing both her eyelids tenderly; then, 
quickly, he bit the end of her nose, and clamped over her mouth, pushing his 
tongue inside. She felt herself respond almost automatically, her own tongue 
blending with his in a slow movement of ecstasy. He let out a soft moan in 
his throat and raised-off her. 

"Now that's more like it, baby," he murmured, "No sense not enjoying it." 

His fingers were probing her vagina deeply, feeling around her warm, 
dripping cunt-flesh, touching her clitoris every few seconds, rubbing 
up-and-down the shaft and flicking across the end, stabbing her senses with 
flashes of unbearable ecstasy. 

Suzanne found her hips beginning to move, rotating in rhythm to his 
caresses. With a knowing grin, Donald eased his hand from around her neck 
and slipped it down the front of her dress feeling her nipple, already firm 
and standing-up, eager for more titillation. With a sudden gesture, he 
gripped the front of her bra and tore outward, ripping the material away 
from her body. The mounting feeling of tenderness was immediately dispelled 
and Suzanne cried out, clutching her bosom as her breasts fell open to his 
gaze, bobbing in front of her. 

"Donald!" she screamed, and he slapped her gently across the face. 

"Shut up, baby, this is where we stop farting around," he snapped coolly, 
"If you don't take it all off, I'm gonna tear it off, piece-by-piece." 

"I can't, I" Suzanne's face was cascaded with tears. Donald laughed loudly. 

"Just like a fucking woman," he said coarsely, "It won't help. I'm gonna 
fuck you, baby, and right now." 

Suzanne stared up at him, her gaze partially blurred by the tears, and she 
watched, fascinated, as he stood, and with a few quick movements, he took 
off his shirt, tore off his shoes and pulled off his blue jeans, allowing 
his half-erect penis to bounce out into view, projecting from his crotch, 
the fantastic focal-point of his virility. He had put on weight. He had 
broadened-out considerably since she last seen him naked. His shoulders were 
thicker, his chest broader. His muscles seemed to be larger, more defined. 
His waist was still as slim as ever, with a smooth, flat stomach. His legs 
were well-formed and shapely, but, most of all, his penis... that beautiful, 
sensuous organ that was slowly rising to its full majesty, above that large, 
tight sac, scarcely covered with light hair... that had grown, most of all. 
He stood for a moment, staring at her. 

"Well, are you gonna take 'em off or do I?" 

She lay still, shaking, and he stepped forward, reached down and with one 
movement, grabbed her dress and tore it off her. A second later, the nylon 
panties disintegrated beneath his violent fingers, and she was naked on the 
couch, cowering beneath his nude body above her. 

He pushed his hips forward, making his penis rise slightly and throb before 
her face. 

"There he is, baby. Have you missed him?" 

She stared at the end, its wide, cockslit oozing lube, the head just peeking 
through the folds of foreskin that formed the apex to the organ. So long, so 
thick! It had grown thicker, she swore to herself, her eyes absorbing the 
sight that sent shivers through her loins. Oh, Donald, what a beautiful cock 
you have, she thought. 

Yes, it was bigger than Sam's. It was thicker, both at the base and at the 
end; and that head, so wide and flat and sexy-looking. It stood out from his 
groin, throbbing and jerking up-and-down. 

"See, I can make him jump for you." 

He laughed as he flexed his hips and made his penis move spasmodically up 
and then, down; he slowly moved forward until the end was almost touching 
her lips. "Go on, say hello to him." She turned her head and closed her lips 
tightly. "I said suck it, bitch." 

She closed her eyes and refused to look. Inside she knew she wanted. Oh, 
God, how she wanted to. Yes, she wanted to suck it as well. She wanted to 
feel it plunge violently into her. But she would never let him know that. 
She would never... 

She recoiled at the pain as his hand came down on her cheek, stinging her 
with a firm ruthless slap. 

She cried out, and glared up at him. 

"I said... SUCK IT, GODDAMMIT," he shouted. "Or do you want me to come all 
over you?" He lunged forward, and she tasted the saltiness of his lube on 
her lips, and then it pushed into her mouth, and she felt him thrust it 
forward until the head was rammed into her throat. "There, that's better, 
baby." 

He began rotating his penis and she closed her lips around the shaft, 
letting her teeth grip his foreskin and hold it back away from the head. Her 
tongue caressed the underside, touching his sensitive spot beneath the 
glans, and he moaned with satisfaction. In-and-out he pushed it and she 
brought her hands up and held his shaft in one, and took his balls in the 
other. Slowly she rotated his sac, feeling the incredible size of his 
testicles as his massive length violated her mouth, working in-and-out, 
slowly but surely, as she felt the throbbing expansion of his rod within 
her. 

Oh, yes, this was it. At last she had him again. She felt her loins 
building-up with that indefinable thrill, the wonderful feeling of having 
this boy, the very first in her life who had taken her virginity, the one 
who had haunted her dreams for so long, despite her love for Sam and their 
nightly sex together. This was Donald, the beautiful boy with the big dick. 
Suck it, suck it, you love it, you know you do. 

She felt her vagina pulsating with desire for his length to be buried within 
it, her juices creeping-down her cavern and lubricating her flesh in 
readiness for what she knew would be the greatest fuck she had ever had, 
either with him before, or with anyone, ever. She began moving her hips and 
Donald stared down at her, and grinned. 

"Oh, wowee, you're really getting with it now. Good, huh, baby? Good to have 
that ol' thing once more?" 

She ignored his voice. She was concentrating on his penis, enjoying every 
inch of it as it moved slowly in-and-out, her mouth forming a liquid-hot 
passage for him to fuck. She could taste his flesh, that special musky 
quality he had always had, more arousing to her than any man she had ever 
had relations with, more sensuous than Sam, more titillating than Ted, more 
consuming than Clayton. Suck-suck, fuck-fuck... Her mind reeled beneath the 
overwhelming aura of delight beautiful, perverse, degrading delight. 

Donald pulled-back, and his penis swayed in front of her, glistening in the 
light with all the saliva along its length. He swung himself over her in a 
sixty-nine position, and lowered his sex once more into her willing mouth 
while his tongue began licking her legs, up-and-down, around her bush, 
teasing her. She groaned and moved her hips. She lifted her mouth off his 
penis and screamed out: "Suck me, you bastard, suck me," and he giggled, and 
went on teasing her. Finally, his hands pulled her cunt-lips apart and she 
felt his warm mouth descend into her twat, his tongue probing and licking 
her clitoris, up-and-down its shaft, in-and-out her vagina, all around until 
she felt her insides were going to explode with anticipation. 

Deep inside, she felt her orgasm start, flood through her entire being, and 
then her body was wracked with a spasm of ecstasy. She moaned, lifted-off 
his penis and cried out: "Christ, I'm coming, I'm coming!" And she lifted 
her hips, pushing his face deeper into her as she felt her vaginal tunnel 
contract and squeeze her love juices down to a waiting mouth that was 
licking-up every drop as it came oozing-out. 

His hands crept round her buttocks, lifting her and squeezing her smooth 
round flesh, pulling her nearer to him, and his one hand slid down between, 
searching for her anus and pushing a finger in, adding to the convulsive 
paroxysm of ultimate delight. 

She felt his penis flex and thicken in her mouth, as he thrust forward with 
ever increasing intensity, his own emotions stimulated by her climax. Her 
fingers closed tighter around his shaft, holding it firmer and feeling the 
cord at the back stiffen. She pulled on his sac, stretching his balls and 
tightening the skin around his penis, making it even smoother and slicker as 
it slid in-and-out of her mouth, pounding deep into her throat where the 
head lodged and quivered with mounting passion. 

She heard his convulsive grunting between her thighs and his body began 
trembling and he lifted off her cunt and cried out, "Yeah, baby, yeah, I'm 
there, I'm there... " and with wild animal fury, she clamped her jaws down 
as she felt his rod shudder and ejaculate into her mouth, spilling great 
gobs of semen over her tongue, filling her mouth with the musky, salty taste 
that she loved so much. She gulped, swallowed and felt more shoot-out into 
her as his groans intensified, his hips moved with staccato shudderings and 
he shot more-and more of the delicious love-cream into her. Her mind boggled 
at the realization that, after so long, it was once again happening. She 
again had him within her; she was taking his seed into her body and bringing 
him to the peak of satisfaction. 

He never was going to stop she thought; on-and-on the delicious cum kept 
filling her mouth, until, finally, she felt him relax and she lowered her 
mouth until her lips touched his balls and she milked him of the very last 
drop, licking the cockslit and getting the very essence of him from his 
cock. She remained with her mouth around his sex, knowing it would slowly 
soften. But he did not soften. His penis did not diminish in size or 
firmness. He kept moaning, and moving his hips, slower, but still keeping 
his erection. She raised-up, slowly, covering his shaft with her hand, and 
stared at him. He lifted his head from her crotch and grinned at her. 

"I'm a horny stud, ain't I?" he said devilishly, "I ain't going soft, I'm 
staying with you now. Come on, climb on, baby, we're goin' for a ride." 

He stretched out, and as if in a dream, Suzanne moved her body until she was 
straddling his thighs, the tip of his enormous prick touching her vaginal 
opening. 

"Yeah, lower away." 

Balancing herself on her arms, she carefully lowered her body, feeling the 
head enter and push past her clitoris, then way deep into her canal, until 
his entire length had disappeared into her hot, steamy cavern, slick and 
syrupy from her coming and his saliva. She gasped, feeling the head push up 
to the mouth of her womb, and her insides gripped his shaft tightly and he 
cried out: "Yeah, tight, baby, tight." 

He began moving his body, and she lifted herself up-and-down, riding his sex 
and glorying in the feelings that coursed through her. She was going to come 
again, she knew. That thick dick was getting to her, pushing aside her flesh 
and violating her innermost depths, bringing her the greatest sexual 
pleasure she had enjoyed in months. Sorry, Sam, but he is bigger... and 
thicker... and younger... and hornier... Jesus, this is good... and he's got 
such a groovy body. 

Suzanne put her arms forward, her fingers touching his chest, supporting 
herself as she rotated on his penis. She ran her hands over his chest, 
relishing the muscles that had grown some since last she felt them, making 
him harder, broader, more manly; he was no longer the sexy boy; he was a 
virile young man, with a man's muscles and firmness. She ran her fingers 
over his stomach, feeling the ridges of firm young muscle twitching as he 
moved and thrust himself in-and-out of her. 

He was staring across his body at her crotch, seeing the wetness oozing from 
her crack, at the shininess of his rock-hard cock as it entered and withdrew 
from her. 

"Hey, that's a good-lookin' pussy down there!" 

She bent her head and joined his gaze, hardly believing the way her bush was 
spread apart, her pink lips gripping the prick inside her, the darker red of 
her flesh appearing every-now-and-then, pulled-out by the thickness of his 
horn as it came sliding-out before jamming back in again. In... out... oh, 
what a beautiful sight! What supreme ecstasy! 

She bent down and closed her lips over his, and his arms came round her, 
holding her back and kneading her flesh while their tongues joined in a 
frantic licking and sucking of each other. She broke and licked his cheeks, 
his forehead, his ears, then his chest, biting his nipples and feeling the 
quivering of his muscles under the smooth, tanned skin. 

"I'm gonna roll you over now, baby." 

With flexing muscles, he gripped her body and moved sideways until she was 
beneath him, and he was on top. He accomplished the procedure without 
missing a stroke, keeping his steady rhythm in-and-out of her cunt. 

"Now wrap your legs round me, bitch." 

She knew what he wanted, and she knew why. Without hesitation, she lifted 
her legs and locked them at the ankles, embracing his slim waist, and giving 
him that much more room to penetrate her. She felt his rod ram home even 
deeper than before and she gasped at the incredible sensations that were 
stemming from the deepest corners of her vagina. 

"Oh, Christ, this is good!" 

She hardly recognized her own voice; she was even amazed that she should let 
out such an exclamation; but she knew she was past caring now, past concern 
for anything but the beauty of the encounter with him, with this one person 
who had made her realize for the first time what it was to be a woman, 
impaled upon a man's penis, her emotions pushed beyond imagination, and by 
an organ that defied description. 

"Oh, fuck, fuck. Stick that thing in, all the way." 

"It is in all the way, you cunt." 

Their bodies were sweating, the streams of perspiration running freely down 
their sides; Suzanne could feel her breasts awash as they slapped against 
his chest, the friction stimulating her nipples even more until it was like 
red-hot pokers stabbing through her flesh. She could feel his balls bang 
against her buttocks every time he rammed deep into her, and his moans 
blended with her own as they were both carried forward towards their climax. 

His shaft was still as hard and thick as ever, and with every push it seemed 
to expand, to throb even more, and his body seemed to move even 
quickerfaster-and-faster, in and out, pressuring her flesh and jabbing her 
insides with delicious sensation. 

She knew it could not last, but she wanted it to. She knew it was wrong; she 
hated herself and she hated him; but, at the same time, she gloried in what 
was happening. She loved to feel his sex within her cunt, to enjoy his flesh 
under her fingers, and to close her mouth over his and to kiss his handsome 
face. The only thing that mattered were the feelings that their union was 
producing. She didn't care what happened; she didn't even care that Sam 
might come home early; that a neighbor might knock at the door and walk-in 
unexpectedly; she just didn't care. She was too carried away, and she knew 
that at any moment, he would climax; and then she would again; and she 
wanted it to go on, more... more... more... 

They had both settled-down to the steady, building rhythm and his hands were 
digging into her viciously. She almost screamed from the pain as he scored 
her back, his nails rough against her soft skin. She dug her own nails into 
him, thrilling at the firm hardness matching the firmness of his cock within 
her cunt. 

"Jeez... tighter... tighter... come on, pussy, snap at it!" 

She concentrated on her vagina, consciously clasping his penis as it entered 
her, holding tightly and feeling every curve of it within her, shivering, 
shaking. She felt her responses rising and she began clawing at him as her 
insides convulsed again and she felt her juices flowing once more as her 
mind left her body in the supreme ecstasy. 

Dimly, she was aware of his cry, the ramming of his cock deep into her and 
the spurting lit again, great loads of come that oozed-down her channel, 
mingling with the sweat around her bush, and dripping-out between her legs. 
Then with a sudden gasp, he began to soften and he moved back. She unwrapped 
her legs, and lowered them to the couch with a thump, realizing how tired 
she was and feeling the aching at the ankles where she had locked them 
around his waist. He gazed up at her and grinned. 

"That sure was the best fuck ever, huh?" 

She met his gaze and smiled. 

"You're goddamn right, you little bastard." 

Her voice was harsh, but not unpleasant, and they both laughed. He bent 
forward, covering her again and kissed her on the lips. Then he rolled off 
the couch and stretched-out on the carpet. 

"Jeez, that was so good I reckon I'll stick around for some more. When's the 
old man gettin' home?" Suzanne sighed. 

"Later. Around eleven." Then she frowned. "I thought you knew all about 
that." Donald laughed. "Keerist, you'd believe black was white if I told 
you, wouldn't you? Stupid cunt." 

"You mean you didn't know he was going to be gone till then?" 

"Hell, no. I figured I'd take a chance." He laughed again. "Nothing tried, 
nothing gained, my ma always says." 

She gasped and then giggled. 

"You're too much," she murmured, "But, anyway, you'd better get going now. 
I've got to clean-up." She slid sideways and patted the couch. "Look at this 
mess. I'll have to clean this before it stains." He laughed. "Come-stains on 
the couch. Sounds like a song, don't it?" She shook her head and gave him a 
despairing look. "Come on, get dressed. You've got to go, Donald." 

He leaned-over and grabbed her breast and tweaked the nipple roughly. She 
jerked away. "Quit that!" 

"No, I won't, and you love it, you know. And I ain't gettin' out 'til I'm 
good and ready, you hear?" 

Their eyes met, and his expression was suddenly again grim, and the 
lightness in her heart evaporated, and her old fear returned. Even the 
lingering afterglow of sex in her body faded, and an overpowering sense of 
guilt and disgust invaded her mind. 

"Donald... " 

"And quit bitching like that. I came here to see you because I wanted to, 
because I wanted to fuck you again, and tell you how I felt. And I do feel 
for you, you goddamn cunt, if you'll ever get that into your addled brain. 
So shut your mouth. I'm going, but in my own time." 

He got up, and, stark naked, walked through the living room into the 
kitchen. Suzanne lay on the couch, her heart beating wildly. She heard the 
tinkle of glasses and the kitchen faucet being turned-on. She leaned back. 
So he just wanted a glass of water. She was not surprised, considering all 
the activity. It had been a good session. He had certainly improved. He 
fucked like a man now, not like a nervous boy, anxious to get his rocks-off 
with a chick. Yet there was still that boyish quality about him, the 
innocent youthful aura that had first appealed to her despite the horror of 
the first attack that he had inflicted upon her when he took her virginity. 
He had matured physically, though not much mentally, but, then, did that 
type ever-really mature mentally? With his background, his lack of 
education, his ghastly family situation and that perverted brother of his... 

Suzanne's eyes opened wide as she suddenly thought of Ted. Yes, Ted, the 
brother who had carried-on where Donald left off. Would he be back for more 
of the same treatment? And what about the colored boy, Clayton? 

Donald walked back into the living room, carrying a glass of water. He 
stood, staring at her insolently, his penis swaying gently between his legs. 
"Donald...?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Did your brother leave town, too?" He shook his head and laughed coarsely. 
"Nope. He's still around. Why? You want a little of his cock, too, again?" 

"No!" 

The word exploded from her mouth, and instantly she regretted it. He laughed 
loudly and nodded his head. "You sounded real scairt. You figure I might 
bring him around again, is that it?" She shook her head, but her voice 
betrayed her. "Of course not. You've got more sense." 

"Mebbe I don't have any sense at all." He walked over and sat down next to 
her, tracing his fingers over her stomach and resting his hand over her 
mound. She tried to push him away, but he slapped her hand gently, and 
replaced his fingers over her bush. 

"You quit that," she said. 

"Lookit, I'll play with your twat anytime I feel like it," he snapped. "And 
if you don't do like I say, I'll bring ten guys 'round some night when I'm 
sure your old man won't be home, and then you'll really have some cock up 
that cunt of yours. More'n you bargained-for, too. So straighten up. You do 
good with me, and there'll be no trouble." 

She shifted back to ease the tenseness in her back. 

"Donald, you've got to promise not to come back again. Not ever. You 
understand?" 

"Nope. I'm coming back. You know that." 

"Donald... " She floundered hopelessly, searching for the right words, the 
forceful expression. "Look, I'm married. It's different now." He shook his 
head. 

"Bein' married don't make no difference. Most of the chicks I've ever balled 
have been married. It's the married ones who dig it, especially what I've 
got." He put his hand on his penis and waved it in the air in front of her. 
"I know what this does to you, doll." Her eyes automatically looked at the 
long thick organ in his hand; and, for an instant, she wanted to reach out 
and pull the foreskin back to expose the head again. 

'Yeah, I know all about you chicks who're married. Mebbe you marry 'cos you 
need someone to take care of the bills, but then the guys who take care of 
the bills can't always take care of the cunt. So you get a little cock 
elsewhere. And I've got a beaut. So you ain't gonna turn me down, no, baby. 
And besides, like I said, you're kinda special to me. I broke your cherry, 
remember?" She nodded. 

"I remember," she said quietly, "And that makes you special to me, too. But 
don't spoil it by trying for something that can't work, Donald. It'll never 
work. And you can't keep coming back. You know that. I don't want it, and 
you'll only get caught, and then there'll be a whole mess for everyone." 

"You're talkin' like a kid again, Suzanne." 

"Maybe that's the only way to get through to you," she snapped. "You behave 
like an adult, and I'll treat you like one." 

He laughed, and gently slapped her face. 

"Nasty, nasty," he chided her. "Keep talkin' like that and I'll stick around 
and fuck you again tonight." Her face blanched. 

"No, not tonight. Please." She glanced up at the clock over the mantel. "Oh, 
Donald, look at the time. Come on, get dressed and get out of here." He 
sighed, and got to his feet. "Okay, but I'll be back, I promise." 

She sat up, and reached for her torn dress and underclothes. With a hopeless 
shake of her head, she glared up at him. 

"That was a new dress." 

"You shouldn't buy such cheap stuff. You husband makes good money, I reckon. 
This is a classy pad." 

She took the material, rolled it in a ball and started walking out of the 
room. She descended the stairs into the basement, threw the torn garments 
into the gas incinerator and came back up into the living room. 

Donald was dressed and tucking his shirt into his jeans; a difficult task 
considering the tightness of the pants. She smiled at him. 

"You couldn't get a smaller pair, could you?" she said sarcastically. 

He eyed her for a moment, then grinned. 

"Smart-ass." He walked forward and took her in his arms, embracing her and 
kissing her fully on the mouth. When he released her, she wiped her mouth 
with the back of her hand. 

"Oh, it's like that, is it?" he said, his voice grating. "Just for that I 
might stick around... " 

"NO!" Her voice cut across the room shrilly. 

"Okay. Okay. I'm goin'." He moved to the front door and stood for a moment, 
staring at her. She suddenly realized she was naked and became instantly 
embarrassed. 

"If you're going, go," she snapped, "and remember, don't come back. I'm 
having a chain put on all the doors tomorrow." 

He paused, his hand on the doorknob. 

"You really don't want me back, Suzanne?" 

There was a strange note of pleading in his voice. "No, I don't." 

"Okay. That's what you want?" 

"That's what I want." He laughed callously. 

"We don't always get what we want, do we? See you, baby, and thanks for the 
fuck. It was a good one, I'll say that." 

He opened the door and was gone. Suzanne stared after him and suddenly the 
tension of the past hour caught up with her. She felt her stomach heaving, 
and with a gasp, she ran for the bathroom and bent over the commode, letting 
her guts spew out. She raised up, breathing deeply, and caught her 
reflection in the mirror. 

"Oh, my God," she whispered. "What's happening to me?" 

 CHAPTER THREE 

"Yvonne, I've got to see you." 

Suzanne's voice was tense and trembling. She heard her friend sniff into the 
telephone before replying. "What's the matter? You sound like you're sick." 

"I am." 

"So what else is new?" 

"Yvonne, please." 

There was a slight pause and she heard Yvonne inhale deeply. She could 
picture her holding the receiver to her ear and clamping her cigarette 
between two fingers like Bette Davis. Dammit, why couldn't she realize it 
was serious? 

"All right, doll. What's the problem?" 

"I don't want to talk about it on the phone." 

"Oh, dear God. Don't tell me it's Donald." 

Suzanne sighed hopelessly. 

"Yes." 

"Jesus Christ. Did he... I mean?" 

"Yes, Yvonne, he did." 

"Christ. What about Sam?" 

"He was out for the evening. Donald came here last night. He must have 
stayed an hour or longer. It was" 

"Don't tell me. I hope you douched with penicillin." 

"Stop it." 

"Okay, okay. You going to be on campus today?" 

"Yes. I have a one o'clock class." 

"All right, I'll meet you for lunch. And Suzanne" 

"What?" 

"I'm sorry, dear. I really am." 

"Thanks. See you at Verne's later." 

"Fine. About 11:45, inside." 

Suzanne replaced the phone and leaned back against the headboard. Her mind 
was still reeling from the realization of what had occurred the previous 
night. 

Sam had returned around eleven-thirty, and, immediately he began making 
overtures. She had pushed him away. She just couldn't bear his hands on her 
body; not then, not so soon after what she had been through with Donald. He 
had finally crawled into bed, turned his back on her, and had fallen asleep 
in a snit. He got up and dressed and left for work without even speaking to 
her. He knew something was wrong; but how could she possibly tell him that 
his suspicions were justified? How could she admit the shame she felt, the 
indefinable mixture of glowing sensual satisfaction and complete remorse? 

She lay back, reaching for a cigarette and inhaling deeply, letting the 
smoke chase some of the tensions away. Her thoughts went back to the 
previous evening how she had finished thro wing-up and then had climbed into 
a steamy, hot bath, soaking the tiredness from her limbs (a delicious 
tiredness, she had to admit); how she had taken care of her sexual hygiene 
(she had to giggle at Yvonne's comment about the penicillin) and, then, the 
inspection of herself in front of the mirror. Her back had faint weals 
across it where Donald's nails had dug-in; but she knew they would be gone 
in a day, and she didn't anticipate Sam's going over her with a magnifying 
glass, anyway. Her vagina felt tender but not uncomfortable; in fact, she 
had to admit she had not had such a complete aura of satisfaction in her 
genitals for months. Sam was good but he lacked the virility that Donald 
exhibited, the strong thrusting without regard for tenderness; and Suzanne 
knew that there was one side of her which responded to this kind of 
violence. God, why? Was she sexually sick? She'd read about some women who 
only liked vile sex, to be violated, hurt and degraded. Was she one of 
those? Why couldn't she settle for the gentle ministrations of her husband, 
like most other married women? Had her marriage become dull after less than 
a year? It couldn't have. She loved Sam. She really did love him. But how 
could she possibly tell him to put more into his love-making without 
intimating that he was inadequate? She knew no man liked to have his 
sexuality questioned. Sam gave her enough sex, she could never deny that, 
but it was the difference between having one satisfying drink every night 
and going on a bender. Donald was like a three-day drunk all-at-once. Sam 
was just the dignified martini in the living room before dinner. 

Impatiently she stubbed her cigarette in the ashtray and slipped out of bed, 
going to the bathroom to shower before getting dressed for school. She was a 
little apprehensive about her meeting with Yvonne but, then, she had to talk 
to someone; and Yvonne was the only one who she could tell with confidence 
and with the hope of receiving some logical advice and a modicum of 
sympathy. Yet how could she really expect sympathy for something she had 
enjoyed so much? 

Verne's was unusually crowded at noon and Suzanne pushed her way through the 
chattering mass of students. In the far corner at her usual table sat 
Yvonne, surrounded by three young men. As Suzanne approached Yvonne looked 
up and grinned. 

"Scoot-in next to me," she said. "And keep your legs crossed. These wolves 
are out for blood." 

They all laughed and Suzanne sat down, smiling at them. 

"This is Suzanne," said Yvonne, "Brett, John and Grant. All psychology 
majors, so don't think you can fool 'em." 

Suzanne greeted them and ordered a steerburger. Yvonne already had hers and 
was taking an occasional bite in-between comments. 

"You're Sam's wife, aren't you?" asked Brett, who was a very good-looking 
guy that Suzanne had seen on campus before. 

She nodded. "Sam and I went to school together," continued Brett. 'You've 
got a good guy there." 

"Thanks. I think so." 

Yvonne raised one eyebrow and gave Suzanne a cynical glance. 

"Why is it all the best-looking ones are married?" asked John, a blond with 
a long beard and flowing hair down to his shoulders. 

"You should worry," replied Yvonne. "It never makes any difference, does 
it?" 

"Not to me," he admitted, "though I don't relish the idea of an irate 
husband banging on my door anxious to beat me up. I abhor violence." 

"Yeah, I'm sure," said Yvonne, her voice muffled by a mouthful of meat and 
bun. "I thought most men preferred violence, especially when it came to 
sex." 

Grant laughed, and shook his head. 

"Psychologically speaking," he said in a very pompous voice, his plain 
features creased in a frown, "there are those women who can only accomplish 
a satisfying orgasm after being assaulted by a man. Actual rape, you might 
say, though it could still be done by the husband. Tender sex doesn't do the 
trick. It's not uncommon." 

Suzanne shifted uncomfortably in her seat and gave Yvonne a despairing 
glance. 

"I'll still take the gentle ones," said Yvonne. "Any guy who starts getting 
rough with me's liable to get a kick in the crotch." 

"You mean you've never had an encounter that's been anything but tender?" 
asked Brett, curiously. 

"I wouldn't say that," she replied coolly, "but not one that I enjoyed." 

"I don't believe you." 

Yvonne glared across the table at Brett. 

"Listen, buster. Just because you're a psychology major it doesn't give you 
the right to pass judgment on the opposite sex. Until you've been to bed 
with a man, you've no room to talk." 

"I have," said Brett with a grin. "He was almost as good as the chick I'm 
dating." 

"Ooops, sorry I asked," said Yvonne, and she turned to Suzanne. "You can 
never tell these days who's AC and who's DC, or both." She sniffed 
deprecatingly. "I must admit I'm not passing judgment, but I do prefer a man 
who goes for girls all the way." 

"Oh, I do, too," replied Brett, "but every man is bisexual." 

"I agree," said Grant. "I've had several homosexual experiences. They were 
quite illuminating." He smiled. "I indulged strictly for research for a term 
paper, of course." 

"Of course, dear. " Yvonne's voice was scathing. Grant laughed and Suzanne 
gave vent to a giggle. 

"What difference does it really make?" asked John. "Sex is sex, an 
expression of love between two people. Usually, they're male and female, but 
if they're not, so what? As long as nobody gets hurt anything's fine in my 
book." 

Suzanne bit her lip, lifted her chin and spoke: "What if sex isn't an 
expression of love?" she asked, a little shakily. "Like when it's just pure 
sensuality with no emotional response?" Brett shook his head. 

"Never happens," he opined, "even if a man attacks a girl in an alley, 
there's more to it than mere lust. In the course of his attack, there is 
emotional response. There has to be." 

"No, sir, you're dead wrong," said John. "Emotional response only occurs 
after two people know each other and there's some sort of intellectual or 
mental compatibility. Check your Freud, your Jung and Adler." 

"And you check the chicks," snapped Yvonne. "Look, I've had two years of 
psychology but, more important, I've had thirty years of living and, if I 
may be blunt, about fifteen years of screwing. And I've had a few sticky 
situations, let me tell you. When a guy's got a hard-on and he's got the 
upper hand, there's no emotion. It's pure sex and nothing more." 

"What's our married woman got to say?" asked Grant, looking quizzically at 
Suzanne. 

"Oh, I'll go along with Yvonne," said Suzanne after a brief pause. "There 
are times when emotion doesn't enter into it. Even... " she hesitated, "even 
in marriage there are times when sex becomes tedious, more a habit than an 
expression of love. Yet, you know the love is there, even if the feeling 
isn't for the moment." 

The waitress approached and handed Suzanne her steerburger and glass of 
coke. Suzanne bit into the bun and leaned back in her chair. This was a hell 
of a conversation, considering the reason for her meeting Yvonne, 
considering what had happened to her the night before. 

"Isn't that justification for the statement that married women are the most 
promiscuous?" asked John. "They have the cover-up of their marriage, so they 
go out and get a little on the side when they feel tired of their husbands?" 

"Not necessarily," said Yvonne. "I think everyone's a whore at heart. We'll 
take any opportunity that comes our way, provided, like you said, nobody 
gets hurt. I'm willing to bet there must be more encounters between married 
women and outside men than you ever know about, or which the husbands ever 
hear about." 

Grant nodded. 

"What the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't get uptight about, huh?" She 
nodded. 

"You're damn right. We're all animals at heart. It's just this veneer of 
civilization which makes us preserve some dignity and discretion in our 
relationships." 

"But at the expense of our peace of mind," interjected Grant. "Primitive 
societies who are completely free with sex seldom suffer from guilt and 
inhibition, like we do." 

"What makes you think we suffer from guilt?" asked Suzanne. 

"We all do," said Brett. "You're married to Sam now. We'll presume, for 
argument's sake, that you only have sex with him. But you might occasionally 
remember someone you had sex with before... " 

"I never." Suzanne's voice cut through the noise and chatter with an almost 
agonized denial. They all stared at her strangely. 

"I'm sorry," Brett apologized, "I shouldn't have given a personal example of 
what I was going to say. Let's say that a woman is married and sleeps with 
no one but her husband. The memory of her past affairs before her marriage 
will always tend to give her guilt feelings and this will affect the quality 
of her response to her husband. It's a proven fact." 

"Bullshit," snapped Yvonne. "We all have sex with dozens of people in our 
lives. Previous affairs have no effect on our present involvement, married 
or otherwise." 

"Well, that's your opinion," said John. "Psychologists seem to think 
differently." 

"What do you think, Suzanne?" asked Brett, a curious look on his face. 
"You've been married almost a year. Are you perfectly happy, sexually, with 
Sam?" Yvonne banged her hand down on the table. 

"Goddamn," she exploded, "we're getting too personal for my liking. Now 
cool-it before I blow my stack. Suzanne's sex life is nobody's concern but 
her own. Not even in the cause of research," she added, with a sniff and a 
caustic look at Brett. 

John crumpled the paper from his steerburger and placed it carefully in the 
ashtray. He pushed his chair back. 

"Well, guys, I guess it's about that time," he said pointedly. They all 
rose, nodded, and left. 

"Bastards," said Yvonne, staring after them with a frown creasing her narrow 
forehead. "I sometimes think all psych majors are a bunch of nosy perverts. 
I've never been to bed with one, and something tells me I never will." 

Suzanne giggled. 

"Not even if she's cute?" 

Yvonne's face broke into a grin. 

"Okay, okay, enough of that. Now, finally, tell me all about it. I've been 
itching to hear ever since you called me." 

Suzanne's smile faded and the momentary feeling of lightness was replaced 
with a depression that carried her back to the night before. 

"Well, Sam took-off and, a few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. 
I thought it was Carrie coming-by with some books, and when I opened the 
door, there he was just like you said. I was never so thrown for a loop in 
my life." 

"And why the hell didn't you slam the door in his face?" 

"Because I was scared to death, that's why," replied Suzanne. "Besides, he'd 
pushed his foot into the door. Then he came in and started kissing me and 
saying he loved me, and he wanted to fuck me, and all that stuff." Yvonne 
snorted. 

"And you just lay back and let him do it?" Suzanne sighed and stretched-back 
in her chair. "I didn't just let him do it, you know that. But what could I 
do? He's stronger than I am. He has grown a lot, you know. He's quite the 
little man now." 

"I'll bet." Yvonne stared at Suzanne. 'You know, I declare, I think you 
enjoyed it." Suzanne gasped and shook her head. "Yvonne, how can you say 
that?" 

"Because of the look on your face when you were speaking. I'll admit he's a 
sexy little fucker but, Christ, you've got Sam, you've got your home, you've 
got everything at stake." 

"I know, I know. Why do you think I'm so upset?" 

"Frankly, I don't think you're upset over what happened. You're just feeling 
guilty because you had the best fuck you've had in months and you're 
wondering what's going to happen now because he's probably coming back." 

Suzanne suddenly felt tears welling-up and she lifted her hand to her face. 
Yvonne's expression softened, and she put an arm around her friend. 

"I'm sorry, baby. But you know me, dear, old blunt butch-dike. But isn't it 
better to be honest about things, especially something like that?" 

Suzanne nodded, wiping her eyes. 

"I just had to talk about it to someone, and you're the only one." Yvonne 
patted Suzanne's arm again. 

"All right, all right, but let's be truthful. He just didn't rape you again, 
did he? I mean, you probably... er... cooperated with him, didn't you?" 
Suzanne nodded. 

"Yes, I did, and even while I hated every minute of it, I was loving it. 
What's wrong with me, Yvonne? Am I one of those dirty types who just like 
rough sex? And apart from that, what's going to happen if he comes back? 
Sam's not going to be gone all the time, and it was just lucky he didn't 
come back early last night. It was lucky he didn't walk in on us. I don't 
know what would have happened then. I mean, he'd have probably beaten Donald 
up. But, then, what about me? I was there, sucking his cock, getting fucked 
and it was the wildest sex I've had since that time a year ago." 

"Yes, I know. I was there, remember." 

"That's right. I'm sorry. Oh, Yvonne, Jesus Christ, what am I going to do?" 

Yvonne was silent for a moment. Then she raised her hand and beckoned to the 
waitress. 

"First, we're going to have a drink," she said. "Bring us two vodka collins, 
will you?" 

The waitress nodded and departed. Suzanne leaned-back and choked-down 
another flood of tears that threatened to well-up. Yvonne lit two cigarettes 
and gave her one, and they sat for a few moments in silence, smoking. 

The waitress returned with their drinks and Suzanne took a long sip, and 
smiled gratefully at her friend. "Thanks. I feel better now. I'm sorry I'm 
such a drag." 

"Nonsense. I'm sort of involved. After all, I'll never forget that night 
with you, Carole and me, and those three bastards. I mean, I was scared, but 
hell, like you say, once we got down to the fucking, I had to admit they 
were good lays, all of them. Pity some of the best kids in bed are the worst 
ones outside the sheets. Let's face it, darling, I love Carole, and I'm a 
dike at heart, but I won't turn down a good piece of cock when it comes my 
way. Few dikes will, take it from me. There's nothing to beat that sensation 
when it comes to sex. But when it comes to love, that's a different matter." 
She looked at Suzanne for a moment. "You're not... er hung-up on Donald by 
any chance, are you?" 

"I don't know. All these months, being married to Sam, I've had this weird 
fantasy at the back of my mind. I've thought about Donald, especially after 
he came to the wedding. Remember, I told you? Maybe it's my sentimental side 
thinking that, perhaps, if someone did show the kid some true affection and 
interest he'd be able to mature into a decent person instead of some little 
hood that never accomplishes anything in life except, maybe, a hillbilly 
wife and ten kids. And that's no accomplishment, especially today." 

Yvonne nodded. 'You're sounding like a Walt Disney movie now, dear. Life 
ain't like that. He's set in his pattern and nothing you or anyone else can 
do will change him now. So don't get all altruistic over someone who's only 
interested in a good fuck from you." 

Suzanne nodded. 

"I guess you're right. But then, back to the problem. What do you think I 
should do?" 

"I'd tell Sam," said Yvonne. Suzanne gasped and shook her head violently. 
"Tell Sam? You're out of your mind! Sam'd kill me." 

"Not if he loves you. I mean, you wouldn't tell him about the sex, 
naturally, but I'd certainly tell him you had a visitor who threatened you 
last night, and that he might return, and so on. I mean, you can get a 
patrol once an hour, which would be a good idea. I'd certainly put chains on 
the doors, too." 

"Yes, I've thought of that." 

"Well, Sam'd certainly want to know why if you told him you wanted chains of 
the doors. No, dear, I'd tell him some little hood was bothering you last 
night and let him handle it from there. I really don't think Donald'll be 
foolish enough to force his way in. Now, of course, he may try to catch you 
outside the house, so you'll have to be very careful when you're alone, or 
outside the house. Even on campus." 

"Yes. I know. I know." 

"Okay, then, everything's decided." 

Suzanne shrugged her shoulders hopelessly. 

"Maybe it sounds like it is. But what if he does come back?" 

Yvonne laughed. "And suppose we have an earthquake tomorrow? Or a flood? Or 
whatever? Come on, dear, be sensible." 

"All right. But I'm still scared." 

Yvonne laughed, her usual rich bass tones echoing above the noise and 
chatter of the bar. "Scared of him, or of how you'll react?" 

They stared at each other and Suzanne dropped her eyes, feeling incredibly 
ashamed. "Yes, maybe it's myself. I do have this terribly yearning for him. 
It's a mixed-up feeling but it's there, all the same. And it had nothing to 
do with my love for Sam, believe me." 

"Yvonne nodded, sagely. 

"It's that big dick of his, dear, and I don't blame you. It's a pity you 
can't keep him in the closet and take him out on lonely nights." 

Suzanne laughed, and Yvonne smiled. "Come on, we have to go." 

They rose and threaded their way out into the early afternoon sunshine. 
Suzanne looked around and stretched lazily. 

"Everything looks so good," she murmured, "It's a pity we have so many 
problems after the sun goes down." 

Yvonne giggled. 

"There're even more when the father goes down," she said. 'Yvonne!" 

Suzanne moved a knife a little more to the right on the table and smiled to 
herself. The bowl of flowers in the middle looked just right, the precise 
touch that made the entire setting appeal to her sense of proper decor. She 
knew it would please Sam. She also knew he would be happy with her dinner, 
which was beef stroganoff, his favorite, complete with home-baked cake and 
ice cream for dessert. She grinned to herself: yes, the perfect little wife, 
getting everything ready to please the old man when he gets home from work. 

She was wearing her most provocative dress as well, the one with the lace 
top that Sam always told her he could see through. Why not? She was out to 
placate him, to soothe his ruffled feathers for her treatment of him last 
night. She couldn't help it, though. She couldn't have enjoyed any more sex 
after that session with Donald, not even if he had wanted it. And there was 
no way to try and explain to him what her reason was for refusing to have 
sex with him. Tonight was different, though; she was going to follow 
Yvonne's advice, tell him what had happened (without the gory details, of 
course!) and, then, after he had held her protectively against his manly 
chest, she knew they would end up in bed, having sex, and she was ready for 
it now. She wanted him tonight; she wanted to give her all, to satisfy him 
and herself, as well. And she was determined to really be wild with him in 
bed, just to make up for everything; and, also, though she would scarcely 
admit it, to assuage her own feelings of guilt over her encounter with 
Donald, and the undeniable pleasure she experienced with him. 

She looked up happily as she heard the car and she walked back into the 
kitchen, bending over the stove to check the rice and vegetables. The 
kitchen door clicked-open and she turned, a radiant smile on her face. Sam 
entered, stared at her, his face grim. 

"Hello, darling." 

"Hi." 

She walked over to him, her arms extended, her face beaming with joy. He 
looked at her warily and put his briefcase on a chair and received her into 
his embrace. Their lips were warm on each other's and, as they broke apart, 
Suzanne sighed ecstatically. 

"I've missed you." 

"I wondered if you had. I hope you're over your mood." 

"Sam, please. I want to explain about last night." 

"All right. But fix us a drink first. I'm going-in to take off my shirt. 
It's so goddamn hot today I feel like I stink." 

He disappeared into the bedroom and Suzanne got the martini glasses off the 
shelf and took out the jug of mix that had been cooling in the refrigerator. 
By the time Sam had taken-off his business suit, changed into a pair of 
slacks and a fresh shirt, she was settled on the couch, the martinis waiting 
on the coffee table and a smile on her face. 

He came in, sat down, and raised a glass. 

"To us," he said. It was his usual toast. 

"To us," she echoed. 

"Well, what've you got to tell me?" 

She pushed herself back against the cushions, pulled her legs up under him, 
and reached for a cigarette. "Well, last night I had a prowler," she said, 
picking-up the table lighter and flicking it on. She inhaled deeply, and 
looked at him. His expression had changed slightly, a look of growing 
apprehension on his features. 

"A prowler?" 

She nodded. 

"Yes. Some punk kid. He came to the door, and when I opened it, he tried to 
come in. I slammed the door before he could push past me, and I ran and 
locked the back door and, after a while, he went away. But I was so scared. 
He looked like one of those types you read about that go round raping 
women." 

"Did you call the police?" 

Suzanne hesitated. 

"I thought of doing that, but I watched from the living room window and I 
saw him get on a motor bike and drive off. So I figured it was all right." 

Sam took a sip from his glass and stared hard at her. 

"So why should that be traumatic enough to make you like you were in bed 
last night?" 

She began to feel the conversation was not going as well as she had hoped. 
She shifted awkwardly. 

"Well, I was nervous and upset." 

"So why didn't you tell me last night?" 

"I don't know, Sam. I was all shook up." 

He continued staring hard at her and the look of concern slowly changed to 
one of sarcasm. 

"Do you know last night is the first and only night since we've been married 
that we haven't had sex?" 

"Er... well, no I hadn't thought of that." 

"Maybe you don't give much thought to sex any more." 

"Sam, that's not fair." 

"Suzanne, you're not telling me the truth." 

"Sam, I've never lied to you." 

"You just have. As a matter of fact, when I got home last night, I came in 
the back door. It wasn't locked." Suzanne thought quickly. Oh. Christ, I 
goofed. 

"Well, I... I went outside to check once more before you got home, to make 
sure he was gone. I must have left it open then." 

'You're scared to death of a prowler, yet you go outside, alone, where he 
could have jumped you, and then you come back in, and don't lock the door 
behind you? And you were so upset you couldn't stand me touching you when we 
went to bed? Listen, baby, something doesn't add up, and it's your story. 
Try again." 

He swallowed his drink with a gulp, and marched into the kitchen to 
replenish his glass. Suzanne sat, stunned, on the couch. She realized what a 
hash she had made of things. 

Sam came back in and sat down. 

"Well, you want to tell me the truth?" 

"I am telling you the truth, Sam." 

"Crap!" 

His mouth exploded the word and she almost reeled beneath the force of his 
expletive. "Sam, I" 

"Now you listen to me. When you've been as hot and horny as you are, every 
single night, and then suddenly turn-off, and then give me some screwy story 
like this about a prowler, there's only one conclusion I can come to: you 
didn't have a prowler last night, but you did have a visitor. I don't know 
who he was, but I could smell him when I came home. You might have 
cleaned-up afterwards, baby, but you forgot that fucking leaves a special 
smell, or hadn't you noticed? Who was he, Suzanne?" 

The fury of his words caught her off-guard. She stared at him, helpless, 
and, then, suddenly she burst into tears. 

"Sure, go ahead and cry. It's your only defense. But let me tell you, I'm 
going to sit here until you tell me, and, then, I'm going to take you in the 
bedroom and fuck the shit out of you. And you know something? For the first 
time with you, I'm going to wear a rubber. I'm not going to risk catching 
the clap from some stud you had in here with you." 

"Sam!" 

Her voice rose in a plaintive wail and her body shook with renewed sobbing. 
Sam relaxed in his chair and watched her calmly, a half-grim smile on his 
mouth. "I'm waiting, Suzanne." 

She lifted her face and turned her tear-stained cheeks to him. "Sam, how can 
you say that? You know it's not true." 

"All right, convince me." 

She reached for a Kleenex on the coffee table and blew her nose loudly. All 
her glorious self-composure was gone. Her face, so beautifully made-up for 
his arrival home, was now streaky and downcast. She felt abjectly miserable. 
Slowly she gained control of herself and began speaking. 

"Sam, I did have someone here last night, but it's not like you think it 
is." 

"Fine. We're making progress. She admits she has a lover." 

"I didn't say that." 

"Okay, you didn't say that. So you had someone here. Who was he?" 

"He was... just an old acquaintance." 

"Oh, just an old acquaintance," Sam mimicked her, "Come off it, Suzanne. 
Goddammit, I want the truth!" he shouted across the room. 

"All right, all right!" she screamed, her anger and fear giving force to her 
words, "He's a boy who raped me on campus about a year ago. He and two 
others broke into my apartment. They all raped me. I never told you about 
it. Do you think I should have, or would want to? It was horrible. Anyway, 
he must have found out where I live now, and he broke in, pushed his way 
through that door, and fucked me right here." She banged the cushions. 
"Right here on this couch last night. By the time you got home my cunt was 
so sore I couldn't have done anything, and I didn't want to, not with you or 
anyone. And I was so sick I just wanted to sleep and forget everything. And 
that's the truth." 

Sam's mouth twisted and he began laughing, a loud, cold laugh. He lifted his 
martini glass, drained it and then threw it violently against the wall above 
the fireplace. Then he rose and came over to her, standing above her and 
glaring down at her. 

"I'm expected to believe that? You think I'd believe a story like that? Oh, 
wow, what an imagination! I'll tell you what happened. You've had a lover, 
and last night you figured as long as I would be gone all evening, it 
wouldn't be a bad idea to have him over. It was the first time I'd stayed 
away all evening, you know that. So why not have him over, have a little 
party. While the old man's away, the pussy'll play." His hand came down and 
slapped her hard across the face. 'You little cunt. I'll teach you fucking 
someone else in my house!" 

His hand came down and seized the lacey top of her dress and ripped it off 
her. In a flash, Suzanne saw, not Sam, but Donald, standing before her; it 
wasn't her husband, always tender and gentle, but Donald, always wild and 
vicious. She cowered-back, her hands covering her bra. His hand came down, 
pushed her fingers aside, seized the bra and tore it away, exposing her 
breasts. 

"Okay, you like fucking, tonight you're going to get some real, good, solid 
fucking," he snapped, and he dropped to his knees and bent forward, seizing 
the rest of her dress and tearing it away until she was naked before him, 
crying and screaming in her misery and fear. 

"Sam, stop it, stop it, you've gone mad. Sam!" 

Her cries availed her not at all. He continued his assault upon her, 
slapping her face and squeezing her breasts until she almost fainted from 
the pain. She lay back, sobbing, while he tore off his own shirt and removed 
his pants and stood before her, naked, his penis hanging between his thighs, 
flaccid. 

"Okay, here he is. You know what to do with him." 

She stared up, seeing him holding his organ out towards her mouth. 

"Eat it, you cunt. Isn't that what you like? Isn't that what you've been 
practicing-on for months? Come on, come on!" 

He lunged forward, slapping her several times across the face and then 
forcing himself upon her. She fell back and he straddled her chest, laying 
his genitals across her mouth. "Suck, I said, suck. Make him hard." 

Suzanne closed her eyes, moaning, and felt the end of his penis push between 
her lips. Without knowing what she was doing, she began tonguing the flesh, 
licking the head, nibbling the foreskin, and, gradually, she felt him 
respond, grow thick and firm until his shaft was rock-hard in her mouth and 
he was thrusting it in-and-out while his hand held her by the hair. 

She felt his strong arms lift her legs, push them up until her knees were 
against her breasts and, then, with a vicious, quick jab, his erect penis 
penetrated her labia, pushed past her clitoris and into the deep recesses of 
her vagina. 

She stared at herself and saw his sex entering and withdrawing from her, and 
with a shudder of revulsion, she saw that he had put on a condom. That 
beautiful tool was encased in a rubber sheath. He must have slid it on 
during the time between taking it out of her mouth and inserting it between 
her legs. Oh. Christ how could he? Did he really think she had been? Oh, 
Sam, the final insult, the ultimate degradation, to have her own husband use 
a condom because he was afraid of catching the clap! 

She moaned and felt her senses reeling. The erotic waves of pleasure counted 
for nothing. Even though she felt herself responding, her hips beginning 
almost automatically to move in rhythm with his own, she felt a shudder of 
loathing. She began weeping again, realizing that he was not fucking her for 
pleasure, but out of spite. He was punishing her. And why shouldn't she be 
punished, a little voice said to her? She had enjoyed sex with Donald, and 
now she was paying for it. She was being tortured. Her own husband was 
violating her, not for love, not for passion, but out of his hate for her 
actions. And he was using a rubber! 

She stared into his face, seeing not the usual love and closed-eyes ecstasy 
that she usually saw; instead, his face was grim, his jawline set in a 
determined, forceful expression. His arms held her body and his muscles 
flexed as he held her, driving his rod in-and-out of her cunt. She felt her 
juices lubricating her passage as his organ rammed home, deep into her, 
way-up to the mouth of her womb, and then out again. In... out... viciously, 
without mercy. 

She felt his breathing become heavier and the shaft within her seemed to 
thicken. She knew from long experience that he was approaching his orgasm. 
Her own vagina was heaving and she knew she was about to climax as well, but 
it would be purely physical, without the ecstatic thrill that usually 
accompanied their climb to the top. 

With a muffled curse, Sam suddenly withdrew from her. He let her body down 
with a thud, and, impatiently, he ripped-off the condom, straddled her 
thighs, and enclosed his penis in his fist, continuing the up-and-down 
movements. She stared, not believing what she saw. He sneered down at her. 

"You didn't think I'd give you that satisfaction, do you?" 

Almost as he spoke, she saw the end of his cock flatten, expand and then 
shoot its stream of white-hot come. She felt the drops splatter over her 
eyes and mouth and drop on her breasts. And, as he continued coming, more 
spurted out across her stomach and over her bush. She felt her stomach 
heaving in disgust and his harsh laughter in her ears was the final insult. 
Through her blurred vision, she saw his hand enclose the end of his cock, 
milk the last few drops and then come forward, rubbing it across her face 
roughly. Then his fingers pried open her mouth and she tasted the salty, 
rubbery taste of the condom as he stuffed it between her lips. She struggled 
violently and her terror and disgust gave her strength. She lifted herself, 
throwing him off-balance. He fell to the side and she rolled over, 
spitting-out the condom and, at that moment, her stomach heaved and all she 
could think was what it was going to cost to clean the couch. 

Sam crawled down on the carpet, got to his feet and stared at her. She was 
still throwing-up, her body wracked with uncontrollable spasms. 

"Suffer, bitch," he snapped, "and make sure you clean up the mess before you 
leave." 

He turned, picked up his clothes and walked quickly into the bedroom, 
slamming the door behind him. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Yvonne and Carole were sitting in their living room watching the ten o'clock 
news when there was a loud knocking at the door. They exchanged a curious 
glance. 

"Wonder who that is?" said Yvonne, rising languidly and going across the 
room. "Keep the chain on," said Carole. "You think I'm stupid?" 

Before turning the doorknob, Yvonne called out. "Who is it?" 

Through the panels she heard Suzanne's high-pitched, nervous voice. "It's 
me, Yvonne." 

The chain rattled and, a moment later, the door swung open. Yvonne's 
startled gaze took in her friend standing with a look of tearful misery on 
her face and a suitcase in her hand. 

"Got room for an unwanted wife?" asked Suzanne, trying hard to stem the 
tears which threatened to overflow her cheeks any second. 

"Come in, idiot." 

Suzanne walked into the living room. Carole looked up and grinned. Then," 
she saw the suitcase and her face creased in a frown. 

"What's this? First step in a divorce?" 

Suzanne dropped her suitcase and collapsed into a chair. Yvonne closed the 
door and replaced the chain. She came over, putting her arm around Suzanne's 
shoulders. "What's happened, baby? Or need I ask?" Suzanne looked up at her 
and then over to Carole. 

"He threw me out," she whimpered, and the tears came pouring out. Yvonne 
patted her and let her weep until the spasm had passed. Finally, her 
emotions subsided and she wiped her face with a Kleenex and blew her nose, 
noisily. 

"Okay, tell." 

"I had the evening all set. I had on my best dress, the one he liked. I had 
fixed dinner. I even made a special table setting. I had the martinis all 
ready. Then I told him about the prowler and he didn't believe me. He was so 
suspicious, I guess I screwed-up on my story. I said, I locked the back 
door, but when he came in, it was open, so he wanted to know... oh, shit! 
Anyway, he accused me of having a lover. He said when he came in last night 
he could smell that I'd been fucking. He came over, slapped me around, tore 
off my things and then fucked me with a rubber. " Carole and Yvonne 
exchanged horrified looks. 

"Why with a rubber?" 

"He said he didn't want to catch the clap from me after I'd been screwing my 
lover. But then... " Suzanne hesitated and her voice faltered. "He pulled 
off the rubber, jerked-off over me and stuffed the condom in my mouth. Ugh!" 

"Jesus God!" 

"Son-of-a-bitch!" 

"Then I threw-up on the couch. He told me to be sure and clean that up 
before I left." Yvonne shook her head. 

"Men," she snapped. "And they wonder why some women prefer each other? Jeez, 
I'd have kicked him so hard in his balls he'd be singing falsetto. Oh, 
Suzanne." Yvonne put her arms around Suzanne and hugged her. 

"You're staying here, baby, until that maniac calms down," she said. "But 
you know, I can't understand why he should have suspected you'd been 
screwing. I mean, you've had sex with him ever since you two were married." 

"Sure I have, every night, until last night," said Suzanne. "That's why he 
suspected something, so he said. And, of course, I screwed-up that story 
about the prowler. Oh, hell, I guess I'm just not a very good liar. And I 
was scared to tell him the truth. I finally did but he didn't believe that, 
either." 

"Why didn't you tell him to call me?" demanded Yvonne. 

"By that time, he had started slapping me around and tearing off my things," 
said Suzanne. "Afterwards, he stayed in the bedroom and wouldn't talk to me. 
He just said to get the hell out of his house." 

"Oh, crap," said Carole. 'Yvonne, you call Sam now and explain things. This 
is ridiculous." 

"He wouldn't listen to you," Suzanne muttered. "He'll only think it's one of 
my friends covering up for me." 

"It's worth a try." 

Yvonne stood up and walked over to the telephone. 

"I'll convince him," she snapped, lifting the receiver and dialing. She 
stood, nervously tapping her fingers on the instrument. Then her face 
brightened. "Sam? Yvonne." Carole grinned over at Suzanne. "It'll be all 
right." 

Yvonne settled in a chair by the telephone. 

"Sam, Suzanne's over here. She" Her voice trailed off. "Now, Sam, what she 
told you was the truth. There was a gang rape. These three bastards broke 
into the apartment." She paused a moment, and her face darkened with anger. 
"Now, listen to me, Sam, I'm not" She raised her eyebrows and shrugged her 
shoulders, giving Carole and Suzanne a despairing glance. "Sam, they fucked 
me and Carole as well. It's the same kid who broke into" She took the 
receiver away from her ear, stared at it and then banged it down in its 
cradle. "Son-of-a-bitch hung up," she snapped. 

"Here, let me try," said Carole, jumping up and moving over. She dialed, and 
stood a moment. "Sam? Carole. Now don't hang up, please. You've got the 
whole thing screwed up. Suzanne needs you now. She's in a helluva state. She 
was raped by this hood and you gave her more of the same. Now, listen, Sam, 
we'll bring her back over there right now. Sam" She replaced the receiver 
and shrugged hopelessly. "He hung up again." 

"Okay, forget it," said Yvonne, going into the kitchen and getting three 
bottles of beer out of the refrigerator. "Here, nothing like a cold beer to 
bring one right back, I say." 

Suzanne took the bottle and took a deep swallow. She smiled and nodded.. 

"Better. Oh, Yvonne, what's going to happen?" 

"Well, you're staying here until we can figure it out," said Carole, smiling 
warmly. "And try to straighten up, Suzanne. He's not worth it, considering 
what he did to you. I think that was obscene, stuffing a rubber in your 
mouth. Christ!" 

Suzanne smiled wryly. 

"I don't know what to say. I'd never have thought Sam could have done what 
he did. He must be absolutely out of his mind." 

Yvonne settled down again, licked the beer off her lips and reached for a 
cigarette. 

"Well, I'll tell you," she stated, lighting up and puffing furiously, 
"you've always said Sam has been kind, tender and loving. All that genie 
shit. Well, I believe every man has a violent side, and it just takes a 
certain something to trigger it. He's never suspected you'd had anything to 
do with anyone but him and the shock must have flipped him out. I guess you 
can't blame him but I certainly don't buy what he actually did. Tell me, 
hon, did you enjoy it? I mean, like you told me you enjoyed Donald?" 

"How can you say that?" cried Suzanne, glaring across the room. "Of course I 
didn't. He was hurting me. And he wasn't doing it to enjoy it. He was doing 
it to hurt me. I could tell from the look on his face. If he'd been enjoying 
it, he'd have climaxed inside me, instead of pulling out and then jerking 
off over my body. Oh, Christ, I can't stand to think about it." 

"Yes, I know," said Yvonne gently, "but you didn't feel that same thing with 
Donald, like you told me earlier today? You were wondering about being 
turned on by the violent approach. Well, now that Sam's been violent with 
you, are your feelings towards him any different?" 

Suzanne nodded. 

"You're damn right they are. I don't feel the same anymore. I don't think 
I'll ever feel the same towards him." She paused a moment. "I guess I still 
love him, but... " Her voice trailed off. Carole banged her beer bottle on 
the coffee table. 

'Yvonne, lay off. She's too upset to rationalize over her feelings. All we 
have to do is get through to Sam. But how?" 

"We could drive out there," said Yvonne. "If he won't talk on the phone, 
he's gonna have a hard time trying to avoid us in the house." 

"If he lets us in." 

"He'll let us in. I'll make such a racket he'll have to." They looked across 
at Suzanne. 

"What do you think? You want to come out with us and try to reason with 
him?" Suzanne shook her head. 

"I don't want to go back. Not now. Maybe tomorrow. Let him cool off. I'll 
try talking to him tomorrow." Yvonne shook her head. 

"Nope. I've always believed strike when the iron is steaming, baby, and, 
right now, he's so hot he could bust. I think now's the time to set him 
straight. He had no right to treat you like that, no matter what he 
suspected." 

"I agree," said Carole. "Tell you, Suzanne, you stay here, and Yvonne and 
I'll go out there. If we settle him down, we'll have him call, and then you 
can come. You came in your car, I gather?" Suzanne nodded. "Yes. I'm parked 
out front." 

"Okay. You stay here, and be sure to let no one in, remember? And then we'll 
call you from the house." 

Suzanne nodded dumbly, and looked at her two friends with blurry eyes. 

"You're both such wonderful friends," she whispered, "I don't know what I'd 
do without you." 

"Oh, hush up, and dry those tears," said Yvonne gruffly. "Come on, Carole, 
let's make tracks. It takes awhile to drive out to that god awful suburb she 
lives in." She sighed and threw up her hands in a theatrical gesture. "Why 
she can't live in downtown Detroit, in the slums like we do, I'll never 
know." She grinned at Suzanne. "Take care, baby. We'll call you soon." 

Yvonne and Carole moved to the front door. Carole picked up the car keys off 
the end table and they paused a moment. 

"Now don't forget, no one comes through that door till we come back, or you 
leave, right?" Suzanne nodded. 

"Right. Hey, what if it's someone I know, like some of our friends?" 

"Then you'll know what to do. 'Bye." 

They opened the door and were gone. Suzanne attached the chain and settled 
back in her chair, taking a few long swallows from her beer bottle. She 
glanced at it, seeing it was almost empty, and upended it, draining the last 
from it. She rose, went into the kitchen and took out another from the 
refrigerator. She opened it, and went back inside, plumping down in the 
chair and stretching lazily. She felt slightly better, both from the beer 
and from the decision reached by Carole and Yvonne. She hoped they would be 
able to talk some sense into Sam. 

She could still hardly believe what had happened. In the first place, for 
Sam to suspect her was a terrible reflection on his faith in her. She had 
never even dared think of being unfaithful to him and she was sure he had 
not strayed from his marriage vows. Yet at their first major disagreement, 
his jealousy exploded. Which meant it had obviously been simmering in his 
brain for longer than just a day. Which meant that he had been suspicious of 
her for some time; how could he think things like that? 

But what was most hard to accept was his physical attack on her. She had 
known Sam for so many years and, even in his most passionate moments, before 
and after they were married, he had never once let his self-control slip; 
never once had he been anything but the tender, loving man. Yet in a few 
short seconds, he became transformed into the vicious, unfeeling sadistic 
personification of everything that she would have expected in Donald, or 
Ted, or Clayton, boys who had no background of breeding and dignity to hold 
their baser instincts in check. The slapping-around she might have 
understood. Anger can often sweep away self-control; but his sexual attack 
and the perverted conclusion to their encounter were exhibitions of 
animalism that she would never have credited to him, not in a million years. 
Yet it had happened; he had assaulted her with as little regard for her 
feelings as a rapist in an alley. He wanted to hurt her; and this was the 
big problem. 

Concerning Donald's attack the night before, she admitted that she had 
enjoyed it. Once the initial parrying was done and they had joined in the 
violence of fucking, she found her own animal instincts taking-over, but 
only in a release of her pent-up repressions, only in ways that pleased 
Donald sexually and gave her the uninhibited sensual eroticism that she did 
not normally feel with Sam. But with Sam, there had been none of that. It 
was hate that drove his penis in-and-out of her; and it was disgust that 
permeated her mind as she felt him violating her with such fury. Even her 
approaching climax had been dispelled by his obscene conclusion to the act. 

She remembered vaguely rolling off the couch and lying there, breathing 
heavily for a few minutes, then rising, going to the kitchen, filling a 
small plastic pail with water and detergent, and returning with a scrubbing 
brush and attempting to clean up the mess she had left on the cushions. As 
she wiped it up, she felt her gorge rising again and she had to run to the 
bathroom, but it was only a passing spasm. 

She had returned, cleaned the couch as best she could and then gone to the 
bathroom, where she stepped into the shower, letting the stinging spray 
soothe her body and chase the ache in her back and the hot burning in her 
loins that was not passion, but the aftermath of Sam's ceaseless and 
thrusting violation of her vagina. Even though she and Donald had fucked far 
longer the night before, she was not nearly as sore as she was after the 
short session with Sam. She was reminded of Yvonne: "The thicker they are, 
the less they hurt," Yvonne had said. This was true. Donald's penis was far 
thicker than Sam's and fitted her vagina much better, pushing the sides 
apart as it slid in-and-out, rather than poling around like Sam's. Yes, 
Donald had certainly matured in his lovemaking. She wondered how many young 
Southern belles had been seduced by him during his stay back in Kentucky and 
how many illegitimate children he was responsible for. She wondered, too, 
where Donald was, right now, right this moment as she sat, consuming beer in 
Yvonne's apartment and going over the events of the past two days. 

He had said he would see her again. But when and where? For all she knew, he 
might have been outside her house and seen her drive off after she had 
dressed, packed her bag and gone, with Sam sitting stonily in the living 
room, reading the paper, still stark naked. That was the final insult: to be 
there, displaying himself with no regard to decorum. He certainly had shown 
a side to his nature that she was appalled to discover. Maybe it was just as 
well. Maybe it was better to find out now, instead of wasting a few years 
and then separating. 

But she really did not want to separate. She loved him. Yes, she had to 
admit, she did love her husband still, despite what he had done. And she 
wanted the marriage to work, to last, to bear his children. Oh, Sam... Sam 
Suzanne glanced at her watch. Almost forty-five minutes had passed since 
Yvonne and Carole departed. They would probably be there by now, sitting in 
the living room, talking to Sam; and, hopefully, showing him how wrong he 
had been. 

She rose and walked restlessly around the apartment, stopping by the living 
room window to stare out a moment. She finished her second bottle of beer, 
and decided she'd have another. She went into the kitchen, and returned with 
a full bottle, plumping-down in the chair, feeling a little light-headed. 
She realized she hadn't eaten. And she suddenly was very hungry; and what 
went better with beer than pizza? Yes, there was that pizza place on Cass 
Avenue, just round the corner. They delivered. Sure, she'd have a pizza, 
loaded with mushrooms and anchovies. A large one. 

She picked up the phone, got the number from information, and dialed the 
Pizza Parlor and ordered the largest pizza, which they promised to deliver 
in ten minutes. She relaxed in the chair, taking another large swallow of 
the beer. She felt much better, and even the hurt in her heart over Sam's 
behavior was beginning to dim, slightly. Things would work out, she knew. 
Yvonne and Carole were out there, now, explaining the truth: that she hadn't 
been lying about the gang-bang. And once he knew what had really happened, 
Sam would be contrite, apologize, and all would be well again. 

She leaned back, her head against the pillow and smiled contentedly. Even 
her concern over whether Donald would try to see her again, faded away; she 
could only think about what might be going on at the house between Sam, 
Yvonne and Carole. Oh, when are they going to call? When would she lift the 
receiver and hear Sam's loving, tender tones again, begging her to come 
home? And once home, he would be sweet, gentle and her eyes opened wide as 
she suddenly realized: if Sam had been able to be that violent in a fit of 
unrestrained anger, would he not be able to turn it on again during their 
sex encounters, to perhaps give her the same perverse thrill that she 
experienced during sex with Donald? Could this perhaps be the key to making 
her marriage totally, completely satisfying in every way? She would have her 
desire for tenderness fulfilled, but also her savage side. With a smile, she 
took another sip of beer; things might really work out for the best after 
all! Oh, that would be the ultimate! It might even settle those wild 
fantasies she had about Donald. Sam might even get the boy out of her system 
forever. 

It wasn't that she was in love with Donald; but he did satisfy one side of 
her that Sam had been unable to. And that cock of his. Suzanne licked her 
lips at the memory of the massive phallus, picturing it once more, rampantly 
erect between his legs, its bright, red glans pushing through the folds of 
foreskin, throbbing, oozing lube, enticing her to take it in her hands, 
press her lips around its incredible thickness and take it deep within her. 

Unconsciously, she shifted in the chair, aware that her thoughts were 
starting a familiar tingle in her groin, that her vagina was beginning to 
react to her mental imagery. Slowly she moved her hand down between her 
thighs and pressed gently against her mound. She closed her eyes, imagining 
Donald's hands over her hot, flaming bush, pushing-in with his fingers, 
exciting her clitoris and getting her crevice all wet and warm and ready for 
what was to come. 

Her mind, already dulled by the beer on her empty stomach, began wafting 
away, and she felt waves of sensuous relaxation wash through her with every 
pressure of her fingers in her groin. Donald's face became stronger as the 
fantasy grew. He was naked before her, his smooth skin rippling as his 
muscles moved, pushing his hips forward, bringing his penis closer and 
closer... and closer... 

With a start, she jerked her hand away and almost dropped the beer bottle as 
a loud knocking on the door interrupted her thoughts. She put the beer on 
the end table, and, trembling slightly, she rose to her feet and walked 
across the room. "Who is it?" 

A strong young voice called out. "Pizza Parlor." 

She smiled with relief and her hand went up to the chain, removed it from 
the slide, and she unlocked the door and pulled it open, turning away and 
going to where her purse was sitting on top of the bureau. "I hope you have 
change," she said. "I think I only have a five-dollar bill." 

She heard the footsteps entering and the soft closing of the door, and not 
knowing why, she whirled around, her throat tightening as she tried to 
scream. She stood, petrified, her eyes boring into the figure standing 
before her, a large white cardboard box in his hand, an insolent grin on his 
handsome face. 

"Hi, Suzanne," said Donald, "here's the pizza. Had a piece lately?" 

She felt her knees buckling and she reached for the arm of the chair to 
guide her into its depths as she folded-up, her body trembling, her mind 
reeling at the realization of his presence. "What... what are you doing 
here?" 

Her voice sounded high, crackly, and like an old woman's. Fear and disbelief 
lent uncertainty to her speech. 

He laughed, and put the box down on the edge of the couch. 

"I work nights for the Pizza Parlor. You did order a pizza, a large pizza, 
didn't you?" As he said the word "large" he pushed his hips out 
suggestively, accentuating the bulge in his blue jeans his eyes playing over 
her. And he laughed softly. "It's three-twenty-five. And I do have change." 

He leaned over and expertly slipped the five-dollar bill out of her numb 
fingers. He reached into his back pocket, took out a tattered billfold, and 
took out a dollar bill. Rummaging in his other pocket, he extracted 
seventy-five cents. With exaggerated precision, he handed her the change. 

"Of course, I usually get a tip," he said quietly. "But seeing as it's you, 
maybe I should give you a tip... a nice, hot tip on the end of a good piece 
of meat, huh? How about it, Suzanne? You feel like a little more tonight?" 

She shrank back in the chair, trying to sink herself into its depths and 
disappear from sight. Donald replaced his billfold, and walked over to the 
couch, sat down, and eyed her. 

"You look kinda scared," he murmured. "No need to be, you know. I ain't 
gonna do anything you don't want me to." 

Finally she found her voice. 

"Get out, Donald," she said quietly, "before I scream bloody murder and get 
the manager up here. And the police." 

He calmly reached in his pocket for a package of cigarettes, and lit one, 
his eyes on her all-the-while. Her breasts were heaving and her face was 
chalk-white; her hands wouldn't keep still. "Why don't you have some pizza?" 
he asked. "It don't stay hot very long." 

"Get out, Donald." 

"All in good time. I think I'll sit here and have a piece with you. I'm 
kinda hungry myself." 

He got up, went over to the box and opened the lid, revealing the enormous 
circle of tomato paste, anchovies, mushrooms and cheese. The tempting aroma 
rose and began teasing at Suzanne's nostrils, accentuating the empty feeling 
in her stomach. 

Donald pushed his fingers under the edge and expertly lifted a wedge. 

"Here," he said, proffering it to her, but she shook her head. "Oh, come 
on," he said pleadingly. "Ain't nothing wrong in having a little pizza 
together. Please... " His eyes were strong and sincere on hers, and she felt 
her anger and fear abate, somewhat. The surge of sympathy she always felt 
when she looked into those eyes was still real. 

"Here." 

He pushed the slice at her and, numbly, she reached out, took it, and began 
nibbling. It was good, and it wasn't too hot for comfort. Donald removed 
another wedge, settled on the couch and began chewing, unconcernedly. The 
silence in the room was broken only by the crackling of the crust beneath 
their teeth and Donald's occasional sucking on his teeth between bites. 

"Pretty good, huh?" 

She nodded, trying hard not to look at him. "They make pretty good pizzas, 
don't you think?" 

She remained silent, and swallowed the last of her slice, and looked over at 
him. He grinned. "More?" 

She nodded. She hadn't realized how terribly hungry she was. She remembered 
that lovely dinner of beef stroganoff left at home, with the home-baked 
cake, and the table so carefully set. All wasted... 

Donald lifted-out another slice and handed-it-over to her. She ate without a 
word, without another glance at him. Donald helped himself to another slice 
and settled-back on the couch, absorbed in the food. 

"You ain't very talkative tonight, Suzanne." 

She sighed and looked steadily at him. 

"I'm hungry. I haven't eaten since noon." 

"Oh." 

They continued eating in silence. Suzanne had a feeling of vague unreality. 
Here she was, sitting in Yvonne's apartment, alone with the young man who 
was the cause of her present predicament, enjoying a pizza with him; and 
were it not for the underlying current of apprehension, they might quite 
easily be two young people out on a date, enjoying a late night snack after 
taking-in a movie. Apart from veiled hints, Donald had made no attack on 
her; he hadn't even tried to touch her. 

She stared at him, watching as he consumed the pizza with obvious relish, 
licking his lips and sucking his teeth to get the last fragments of the 
crust. It was a delicious pizza, she had to admit. And with every bite she 
took, she felt her stomach settling, her feelings improving. 

By the time they had finished, she was relatively calm. The frantic beating 
of her heart had subsided. She washed-down the last bits with several 
swallows of beer and reached for a cigarette. Donald jumped to his feet, got 
out his battered Zippo lighter and offered her a light. 

"Thanks." 

"You're welcome." 

He lit one of his own cigarettes and sat down on the couch again, staring at 
her. 

"I didn't tell you before, but I reckon you've gotten purtier since a year 
ago." Donald's voice was hesitant, as though he was unused to paying a 
sincere compliment to a girl. She smiled, and took a deep drag off her 
cigarette. 

"Thanks. You've filled-out some yourself." 

'You think so, huh? I've put on about ten pounds. All muscle, too. I worked 
in a lumber yard down there in Kentucky for a few months. Hard work, but it 
sure built me up." He flexed his arms, proudly, showing his bulging biceps. 

"Remember your wedding?" 

She laughed to herself and smiled tolerantly at him. 

"I should hope so." 

"No, I mean, you saw me there, didn't you?" She nodded. 

"Yes, I saw you there." She hesitated. "Why did you come?" He shrugged. 

"I dunno. I guess I wanted to see how you looked in that white dress, with 
that veil and all. Them kind of weddings we don't have down in Kentucky. 
Mostly they'll git married on the way to the maternity ward at the county 
hospital." He laughed. "I went home and lay in my bed thinking about you all 
that night." 

"I've thought about you, too, Donald." 

"You have?" His face brightened and a look of genuine amazement crossed his 
face. "I guess you really hated me, huh?" 

She shook her head. 

"No, I've always felt sorry for you." 

His face darkened and he frowned angrily. 

"Don't you ever feel sorry for me. I do all right." 

"Maybe you think you do. But where do you think you'll end-up if you just 
carry-on like you are? You should finish school, get yourself a decent job, 
and... " she hesitated, then plunged on. "And stop going around thinking 
every girl you meet is ready for a quick lay." 

He laughed loudly. "Shit, every girl's anxious for a lay, 'specially with 
what I got to offer." 

"A girl likes more than just sex." 

"I know. But it's better to lay 'em first and then git around to all that 
other crap." She sighed. "If you only knew, it's that other crap that we 
like." 

"You mean, you'd go out with me sometimes?" His face was pitifully eager, 
innocently bewildered at the implications of their conversation. 

"I never said that. Besides, how could I? I'm married now, and I love my 
husband very much." 

"Yeah. I guess I'm a day late and a dollar short, huh?" 

"It looks that way." 

"So then there's nothing for us to do but fuck once in a while. You'd like 
that, wouldn't you?" She shook her head. "No. I wouldn't." 

"Why not?" 

"If you don't know why, there's no sense trying to tell you." He grinned 
lecherously. 

"Yeah, but you dig me, I know. The way you get with it when we're fucking. 
If you didn't want to, you wouldn't get all steamed-up like you do. You like 
to fuck with me, Suzanne." She remained silent, and took another swallow of 
her beer. 

"There're some things we may like," she said guardedly, "but we can't always 
have them. As long as I'm married to Sam, I don't want us to do anything 
more together, whether either of us want it or not. You understand?" 

He laughed loudly. 

"Jeez, I've heard some things, but that one beats 'em all. You know goddamn 
well we're gonna fuck again, so what's all this crap about not doing 
anything more together?" He mimicked her voice in a whiny, nasal tone. 'You 
want it as much as I do. Admit it." 

His earlier cordial tones had changed to his familiar aggressiveness, and 
Suzanne found her heart beginning to beat faster again. 

"Donald, they'll be wondering where you are. Hadn't you better get back to 
work?" 

He shook his head. 

"I only work till eleven. Sometimes I don't go back after a late delivery. 
They ain't worrying. And neither am I." He paused a moment. "Where's the 
other broads?" 

"They'll be back any minute." 

"Oh, sure. How come you're over here, anyways?" 

"I came over to visit." 

"You came to visit and they ain't here? Come on, Suzanne, you can do 
better'n that." 

"They went out. They'll be back." 

"So you figure we don't have time for a little now?" 

"No, we don't!" 

Her voice shot across the room with unnatural force and he laughed, easing 
back on the couch and adjusting his crotch. 

"He's feeling all ready for your pussy, Suzanne. Why don't you come over and 
say hello to him again?" 

"Donald, please leave. Now. I'm tired of all this. And I'm not having sex 
with you." 

"Oh, wow, that's too bad." His hand went down to his crotch again and began 
squeezing the long bulge that showed plainly through the jeans, down one 
leg. "I guess you don't mind if I just look at you and jerk off, do you?" 

She sneered at him. 

"Go ahead. Be my guest. Jerk off all you want. Isn't that what most kids do 
anyway?" He flushed. 

"Don't you make cracks like that or you'll find him sticking up that hot 
little pussy of yours." 

He continued massaging his penis, and she saw it was enlarging, lengthening 
within his jeans and growing thicker beneath his manipulating fingers. His 
eyes bored into her face and she turned away, her heart pounding; she knew 
what was going to happen and she felt powerless to stop it. She could make a 
dash for the door. She was closer to it than he was; all she needed was to 
get out of the apartment. Once in the hallway, she could scream and the 
manager would come to her rescue. And she knew Donald wouldn't try anything 
outside the room. She glanced down at her beer bottle which was almost 
empty. If she drained it, she could rise, pretending to go to get another in 
the kitchen, and then make it to the door. She lifted it to her lips, 
swallowed and then sighed in pretended contentment. 

"Nothing like beer after pizza," she murmured, "I think I'll get me 
another." 

She started to rise, and Donald stood up quickly and came over. 

"I'll get it for you," he said and she looked away, conscious of the 
semi-erection that was protruding from his jeans. He laughed and stood 
before her, pushing his hips towards her face. 

"How 'bout a little meat with your beer?" he said. She turned away, her 
expression conveying her feelings. "Okay, if that's the way you're gonna 
be." 

He took her empty beer bottle and started into the kitchen. Suzanne rose 
quickly, and started across the room to the door. Her heel caught in the 
throw rug and she felt herself sliding. With a little cry, she overbalanced 
and fell sideways on to the floor. Donald turned, his face suffused with 
anger. 

"Oh, you weren't gonna try and get out, were you?" he snapped, coming 
forward. "Listen, bitch, you try that again and you'll get it whether you 
want it or not." He walked to the door, locked it and put the chain on, then 
turned to her. He stood, and slowly unzipped his jeans, and pulled his penis 
out. She cowered back, scooting across the floor, conscious of a sharp pain 
in her ankle. 

"Donald, I think I've twisted my ankle." 

"Good. Then you just lay there. As long as you haven't twisted your pussy, 
everything's okay." He walked forward and stood above her, his penis swaying 
in the air. "Kiss him, Suzanne. Come on, baby. He's all ready." 

She stared up at the thick, rigid member and she turned her face away and 
began weeping. She leaned against the couch, burying her head in the bend of 
her arm, and her body shook with sobs. All the frustration and misery of the 
past twenty-four hours welled-up again within her and she found herself 
crying, uncontrollably. 

Donald reached forward, grabbed her shoulder and pulled her round. He leered 
down into her face. 

"Got a good cure for all that," he said, thrusting his hips forward so that 
the end of his penis touched her mouth. "Suck it, goddammit, I'm tired of 
farting around." 

She turned her head away quickly, but his hand came down pulling her around 
and restraining her. She tasted his flesh on her lips, and smelled the musky 
odor. Oh, God, she thought, it's going to happen again. And there's no way 
of evading it now. Even if Yvonne and Carole return, the door is locked and 
the chain is on. She was trapped inside the apartment, and Donald was about 
to She leaned-back and a loud, terrible scream emerged from her throat, but 
before it could gain volume, he lunged forward and she felt his thick penis 
ram into her mouth and the end penetrate her throat, choking off her 
plaintive cry for help. 

"That's better," she heard him say roughly. "Now get with it, baby. He 
tastes even better than the pizza." 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

The car sped through the dark, suburban streets and, while Carole drove, 
Yvonne puffed furiously at her cigarette. 

"I hope he'll talk with us," Yvonne said grimly. "He might not even let us 
in." 

"And he might not be there." 

"True, but I think he'll be home. He probably figures we'll be in touch 
again. I bet he's sitting by the telephone, feeling sorry for himself and 
hoping Suzanne will call." 

"Bastard. I feel sorry for Suzanne. Why the hell can't she find some nice 
girl to live with like I did?" Yvonne bent over and squeezed Carole's arm. 

"We can't all be lucky," she murmured. "She goes to her church and we go to 
ours." 

"Yeah. I sometimes wonder, though." 

They drove on, their minds busy with the problem. 

"There it is," said Yvonne, "just past the gas station." 

Carole swung the wheel over and the car turned-up the side-street, passing 
the brightly lighted living room windows of other homes. 

"The house with the shrubs by the driveway." 

They pulled-up, and Yvonne noted with satisfaction that the lights were on. 
Quietly, they both slipped out and walked-up to the front door. "Here goes." 

Yvonne pushed the doorbell and they stood back, waiting. A moment later, the 
shaft of light from the hallway cut across them and Sam stood there, clad 
only in blue jeans. "Oh. Hello." 

"Can we come in?" asked Yvonne, moving forward. "I suppose so." 

He stood back and the girls entered, moving through to the living room, and 
sitting down next to each other on the couch. Carole stared, noting the 
patch at one end that was a little darker than the rest. Her nostrils also 
detected an acid odor. 

Sam dropped into a chair and reached for a cigarette. 

"Okay. What's on your mind?" 

The girls exchanged a look and Yvonne launched into her speech. 

"Well, first I'd like to say your rudeness is exceeded only by your lack of 
faith in your wife." Sam laughed and sneered at them. 

"Look, I don't need a lecture. What happens between Suzanne and me is our 
own business." 

"True, but after what you did to her, I think she needs a little support." 
Sam sighed wearily and puffed at his cigarette. 

"Listen, Yvonne, I knew she was lying. Maybe I was a little rough on her, 
but dammit, this is my house and I don't like my wife fucking someone else 
in this living room." 

"And how do you know she did?" 

"Christ, I could smell it when I came home. You know that smell? I guess you 
do, both of you." They nodded and remained silent. 

"So when she started giving me this bunch of horse shit about being attacked 
and raped, I knew it was just a cover-up. We'd had sex every night since we 
were married, and, then, all-of-a-sudden, she doesn't want any. Even when 
she's had the rag on, she's gone down on me, or jacked-me off. She's a horny 
little bitch, in case you don't know it. She loves cock better than a 
high-class whore." 

"We're not interested in hearing your intimacies," said Carole, frigidly. 
"We knew Suzanne long before you married her. She may be sexy but she's 
honest. She did not lie to you." 

"You mean she was raped by some stud before I married her?" 

Yvonne exchanged a look with Carole. 

"We all were," she said, wearily. "This young punk attacked Suzanne in her 
apartment, when she lived upstairs from us. Then one night, when she was in 
our place, this character and two friends of his dropped-in. There was a 
gang-bang. We all got it." Sam stared, disbelievingly, at them. 

"And you didn't holler? You couldn't have screamed? In that building, you 
could hear a mouse fart two floors down. Hah!" 

"It's true, Sam," said Carole earnestly. "They said if we made any ruckus, 
it was their word against ours, which was true. Suppose the manager had come 
up, there were three girls and three guys together. They said they'd claim 
we were all whores who had brought them up there to fuck for money. And you 
know what sort of scene that would have been, especially if you'd seen the 
guys. Punks, all of them, and one of them a black, too. It wasn't any fun, 
I'll clue you." 

Sam glared at them both, biting his lips. 

"It's true, Sam," said Yvonne. "The youngest one came by your house last 
night. He pushed his way in and attacked Suzanne. She was raped again, and, 
after that, could you blame her for not wanting to be touched? Even by you?" 

"So why didn't she tell me?" 

Yvonne sighed and shook her head. 

"You're not a woman, Sam, so you wouldn't understand. After something like 
that, you don't want to talk about it, think about it, or anything. You just 
want to sleep and try to forget until the hurt goes away. And believe me, 
getting raped is a lot different to plain, old, loving sex. I don't blame 
Suzanne for not telling you. I wouldn't have, myself. And, then, tonight you 
give her the same sort of treatment all over again. Jeez, I thought you had 
a little more feeling in you." 

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his chair. 

"Christ, look at my side, dammit. I love Suzanne... " Carole gave a 
contemptuous laugh. 

"You love her and you did that to her? She told us. Oh, wow, I'm glad I'm 
not married, I'll clue you." 

"All right, so I slapped her 'round a little. But I was just so mad, I 
couldn't help it." 

"A likely excuse," snapped Yvonne. "Right now that wife of yours is over at 
our apartment crying her eyes out. And when we call, you hang up. You're 
really some son-of-a-bitch, Sam, you know?" He was silent and took a final 
drag off his cigarette before stubbing it in the ashtray. 

"Okay, I'm sorry. But what about this stud? Do you know where he lives? I 
mean, I plan to do something about it." 

Yvonne shook her head. 

"He used to live on Forest. But he moved away and I don't know where he's 
staying now. He's just back in town recently, he told me." 

"Oh, you've talked with him?" 

"Yes, I ran into him on campus by accident. He's a handsome little bastard 
but he'll fuck anything. A no-good, poor-white trash." 

They were silent for a moment and Sam tapped his fingers nervously on the 
table-top. Carole stared across at him. "That is the truth, Sam." 

"I know. I know." Yvonne exploded. 

"Well, goddammit, don't you have anything to say?" 

He glared at her. 

"No, I don't. Anything I say will be to Suzanne." Yvonne turned to Carole. 
"I guess maybe that's our cue to leave. Makes one sorry, sometimes, you try 
to help out friends." She rose and Carole followed her to the door. Yvonne 
paused and looked back. "You might want to call her at our apartment," she 
said. "She's sitting there waiting." 

"Okay. Okay." 

He remained seated. Yvonne turned the handle of the front door and she and 
Carole stepped out into the night. 

As the door closed behind them, Carole turned to her friend and shook her 
head sadly. 

"Men!" she muttered. "Who needs 'em?" 

The telephone shrilled through the apartment, the silence broken only by the 
heavy, labored breathing of Suzanne as she lay on the couch, her shoulders 
held down by Donald's strong arms, while he thrust his penis in-and-out of 
her mouth. They both started at the sound of the bell and Suzanne struggled 
to rise. 

"Let it ring," he snapped. 

She evaded his organ and gasped up at him. 

"Please, let me answer it. I'm expecting a call." 

He grinned. 

"Your sweet, ever-lovin' husband, mebbe?" 

"Donald, please." 

"Hell, no. I'm not that dumb." 

"I won't say anything about you. I promise. You can hold the phone if you 
want to. But let me answer it, please." 

"I got better things to do. Like fuck you." 

He pushed her back on the couch, and eased forward. The phone continued 
ringing. Three times. Four times. Five times. 

"Donald, the neighbors might hear the phone and come over to find out what's 
wrong. Let me answer it!" Her frail logic touched his fear of discovery. 
Slowly he moved away. "All right, but one word outta you and you'll be 
sorry." 

She scooted-off the couch and limped over to the instrument. Her ankle was 
still paining her. She lifted the receiver. 

"Suzanne?" 

"Oh, Sam, yes, it's me." 

"You all right?" 

"Yes, I'm fine." 

"You sound funny." 

"Yvonne and Carole and I are just having some pizza. My mouth was full." 
There was a silence, then Sam's voice came back, curious and 
uncomprehending. "Look, they left here only two minutes ago." 

"Yvonne says she wishes you were here, too. This pizza's real good." 

Suzanne used every bit of self-control, keeping her voice light, her eyes 
focused on Donald, who had moved across and was standing next to her, a 
warning glance on his face. "Suzanne, something's wrong, isn't there?" 

"Yes." 

"You can't talk?" 

"No, but I'm longing to see you. I'll be home soon." 

"Oh, God... Suzanne, is... is that guy there with you again?" 

"Of course, we're having a party." 

"I'll be right there." 

"Okay, see you, honey." 

She replaced the receiver and turned to Donald. 

"See, I didn't say anything." 

"Okay, okay, come on now, let's get back to fucking. Look at him. He's 
asking for some more action." Her eyes followed his down to his crotch where 
his penis was projecting from his pants, slick from her saliva, throbbing 
with desire. "Donald, please, can't we... " 

"No! I said now!" 

He shouted at her and reached around her waist, pulling her forward and 
throwing her bodily on the couch. "Now take off your things. We're going to 
get down to some solid stuff now." She stared up at him, not moving. "Or do 
you want me to rip them off again?" 

"All right, all right." 

In silence, and with trembling fingers, she undid her dress and slipped it 
off, followed by her underwear. Donald skinned out of his blue jeans and 
took off his shirt and stood, naked and rampant before her. "Lay down and 
spread those legs, baby." 

Shaking uncontrollably, Suzanne lay back and watched his body as it 
descended upon her, his arms holding him up while he lowered his hips, his 
penis dropping down slowly until the end touched her bush. She cringed and 
then she felt it penetrate her labia. Her clitoris tingled as she felt the 
hot flesh touch her own and, then, with a sigh, he thrust himself completely 
into her, still keeping his upper torso suspended on his arms, while his 
hungry eyes watched his violation of her. 

"Lookit, look," he muttered and, automatically, her eyes followed his and 
she saw herself impaled upon his penis. "Spread your cunt with your hands," 
he commanded. "I want to see more." 

She reached down and with her fingers, pried open her outer lips until they 
could both see her dark red flesh gripping the shaft, enclosing his length 
and holding it firm. 

He moved his organ in and out and moaned approvingly not only from the 
sensations, but from the sight of her hot skin surrounding his rod, 
enclosing it tightly as it pushed in and then was pulled back out until the 
head almost was visible, and, then, back in again with a sharp jab. 

"Good, huh, baby? You like that?" 

She remained silent, and closed her eyes, trying to blot out the reality of 
the moment. 

"I said look!" he snapped. "It ain't every day you get a dick that size up 
your snatch." 

She opened her eyes and watched again. Slowly she felt the innermost 
recesses of her vagina respond. Her glands were secreting more and more, her 
hot juices lubricated her channel, making it wet and slick, enabling his 
prick to slide easier, further. She felt the end of it touching the mouth of 
her womb, and she let out a groan. 

'Yeah, get with it, get with it," he snapped. "Good pussy, good pussy." 
Dimly, Suzanne became aware that her hips were beginning to move, her body 
was lifting to meet his as he thrust down, and she felt the soft slap of his 
enormous sac against her buttocks as he entered her completely, driving his 
tool to the deepest part of her. She had never had intercourse with her 
outer lips stretched apart as they were now by her hands and the sensation 
was excruciatingly erotic. She stared hard, seeing her flesh oozing around 
the shaft as her juices were forced out by the thickness of his prick. It 
was truly a magnificent organ, so smooth, so white in contrast to the folds 
of red flesh that gripped it as it bore down into her and, then, lifted-out 
again as his hips continued the steady, driving rhythm. Her eyes shifted to 
his body, marveling at his muscles, his trim waist, his thighs and calves, 
every part of him so exquisitely formed. How could such a beautiful physical 
specimen contain such a warped and sadistically perverted mind? Why couldn't 
he have had a mind like Sam, together with that body? That would have been 
the perfect combination. Sam... yes, where was Sam at that moment? 

She pictured him rushing out of the house, getting into his car and driving 
hell-for-leather down the expressway to reach the campus. Soon, he'd come 
dashing up the stairs to pound on the door. It was locked, but at that 
moment, she would scream and he'd break in, tear Donald limb from limb, and 
carry her home. 

But what about Yvonne and Carole? Sam said they had left the house already, 
which meant they would be climbing the stairs any minute; and when they 
couldn't get in, they'd know what was going on; but what could they do? 

Oh, God, what's happening? Her thoughts were chased away by the mounting 
passion in her loins as his steady thrusting overpowered every other 
response, every other thought. She found herself concentrating on combining 
her movements with his to make the best fuck yes, Donald was the best fuck 
ever and she might as well enjoy it. 

She lifted her hands from her labia and clasped them around his back, 
pulling him down on top of her and her mouth sought his eagerly. 

He moaned as her tongue pushed into his mouth, licking his own and sucking 
his lips, feeling the incredible smoothness of his skin against her own as 
her hands went wild across his back. Her nails traced patterns of pleasure 
across his skin and he writhed in ecstasy. 

He rolled over so they were facing each other, sideways, continuing his 
thrusting. His hands sought her breasts, squeezing them tightly; his thumbs 
rubbing across the nipples and causing them to get even harder, to stand up 
more beneath the onslaught of his desires. His mouth slid down her neck, 
licking, biting her earlobes; and, then, his teeth closed around her 
nipples, first one, then the other, biting just hard enough to cause her to 
jump, making her vagina to close even more around his shaft. 

His tongue went wild over her soft flesh, licking and biting; the lower he 
moved down her body, the less he was able to thrust into her, until finally, 
on a back thrust, the end slid-out and she felt the sudden emptiness in her 
cunt. She gasped, and then his face pushed-down, licking her bush, his 
tongue probing into the hot cavern his prick had just left. She cried out, 
feeling the tip of his tongue touch her clitoris and lick-up-and down, his 
teeth nibbling at the flesh. Her hands descended to his head, caressing his 
ears and the back of his neck, as his hands pulled her cunt open as wide as 
he could, allowing his face to go in deeper-and-deeper, his mouth bringing 
her such sensual delight that she felt she would reach her climax any 
second. 

"Oh, Donald, Donald," she moaned, "suck it, suck it!" 

A throaty sound emerged from him as he continued licking her; then his hands 
slid down between her legs to her buttocks, lifting her. His tongue slid 
from her cunt, through her wet, oozing bush, soaked with her juices and 
around to her anus. She felt him mouthing around the orifice and, then, his 
tongue pushed-in and her sphincter tightened, then relaxed, beneath the 
pressure of his tongue as it probed into her. His hands lifted her, his 
muscles flexing, as he pushed her up on her shoulders, her legs in the air, 
his head buried between her buttocks, licking her asshole. 

He squatted on his haunches, holding her up and pushed his penis up against 
her shoulder blades. She could feel the hard tool against her, sliding 
in-and-out of its own foreskin as he humped against her while his mouth 
sucked on her, licking all around her anus, back to her bush and around her 
legs. She felt the rising tide of her own passions, that not-to-be-stopped 
mounting surge of feeling from deep within her vagina and she cried out: 
"Donald, oh, Christ, I'm coming, I'm coming!" 

He pushed his penis harder against her back and his mouth penetrated her 
cunt, his tongue ramrod-firm as it entered her hot, steamy flesh and found 
her clitoris again and began flicking across its hard nodule. Her insides 
convulsed and her vaginal canal was awash with her love juices. Her hands 
clawed the air and found his head, holding him firmly, pushing him deeper 
into her as her body shook and every nerve exploded with the ecstasy of her 
ultimate pleasure. 

Her body heaved and she felt herself climax... once... then again, and she 
cried out, hardly knowing the sounds that emerged from her mouth, her mind 
completely lifted-up and overcome by the intensity of her emotions. 

Donald lifted his head up and looked at her through dreamy eyes, his face 
aglow with sensuality and delight. 

"Good, baby, good, huh? Best bit of pussy-eating you've had, huh?" 

She was scarcely conscious of his lowering her buttocks, pulling them 
towards him and pushing the end of his erect phallus against her anus, still 
wet and slippery from his saliva. She felt the stab of his entry, then her 
intestines throbbed as she felt his length slide into her and he began 
rotating his hips, moving his shaft within her rectum and withdrawing it 
slightly then thrusting in, again, until his pubic area banged against her 
with the force of his fucking. 

She cried out again and he laughed down at her. 

"Nothin' like a tight asshole, is there, baby?" 

He held her firmly and she began struggling, her breasts flopping from 
side-to-side as she moved. He slid a hand up and his fingers entered her 
vagina, probing, titillating the already red-hot flesh, slick from her 
coming and his sucking. The afterglow of her orgasm subsided beneath the 
rampant titillation of his fingers and her clitoris began to hurt, to send 
stabs of pain to replace the pleasure she had wallowed-in, earlier. 

"Stop it, Donald, stop it!" 

"I ain't stopping till I come, baby!" 

Every time his penis thrust deep into her anus, his hand penetrated her 
cunt, flicking around on her flesh. He bent forward jack-knifing her body 
until he was pressing down on her. Her spine felt ready to snap; and the 
constant pressure of his rod within her felt like a poker about to tear her 
insides apart. His face came nearer, his hot breath on her face was fast and 
she could smell the garlic on him from the pizza. His lips touched hers and 
closed over, licking, sucking, probing. 

Her breasts were being squashed beneath her knees; and, with every movement, 
she felt her nipples rubbed, stimulated to the point of unbearable tension. 
She broke from his mouth and cried out. "Donald, let me down. You're 
breaking my back!" 

With a muffled curse, he released her, moving back. She collapsed on the 
couch, thankful for the merciful easing of her muscles and bones. His hands 
gripped her hips and rolled her over on her stomach; he straddled her, 
guiding his penis back into her anus once more. His hands slid around the 
front of her, gripping her sweaty, aching breasts and began squeezing them 
as he continued his fucking of her asshole; in... out... harder, faster... 
until she felt nothing but a dull, pitiful numbness in her groin. She began 
praying for merciful release, for someone to come and end the encounter 
which had now degenerated into a loathsome ordeal for her. 

Her mind was wandering; and silently she prayed for the girls to return; for 
Sam to come bursting through the door; for the manager to enter anything to 
save her from the degrading situation in which she, once more, found 
herself. There was none of the perverse pleasure she had experienced the 
night before with him. This time it was his pure lust satisfying itself at 
her expense. Her body was trembling and aching; her groin was numb and her 
insides felt as though an army was marching through, stomping every nerve 
ending with rough boots searing her senses and sending stabs of pain through 
every corner of her intestines. 

He began moaning and she felt his fingers tighten on her flesh. His penis 
was thrusting faster-and-faster and it seemed to be getting thicker, pushing 
aside her sphincter with more force. She felt, subconsciously, that he was 
on the verge of climaxing. 

His moans got louder; and then he opened his mouth and gave a loud cry: 
"Keerist! I'm there, I'm there. Fuck, fuck, fuck, shoot, shoot!" His voice 
trailed off and she felt him plunge his phallus deep into her where it 
flexed, jerked and she felt the warm come spurting out into her, being 
squeezed out between her buttocks as he quivered and moved his sex around to 
get the last vestige of sensation from her. 

With a gasp, he straightened up, withdrawing his penis. As it slipped out, 
she felt a sharp sting as her anus contracted again and she stared at him 
vaguely, conscious of his sweating, gleaming body and his penis, very 
distended and red, shining from the juices and the come. 

He stared down at himself and touched the end of his cock, pulling the 
foreskin back over the end. He grinned at her and wiped his forehead. 

"Wow, that was something else," he muttered, 'You've got the tightest ass 
I've ever fucked. Sure made him sore, but it was good!" 

He stood up and walked over to her beer bottle, tipping it to his mouth and 
draining it in several loud gulps. 

He dropped into a chair and sat, staring at her. "You okay?" 

She turned her face away and remained silent. 

"Come on, baby, it was good. Don't tell me you didn't have a ball." 

Slowly she raised up, feeling the ghastly ache in her body and she groaned. 

"You little bastard," she said softly, "you've just about killed me." 

"You'll live," he said lightly, "and you'll be ready for more." 

She stared at him, and her hate welled up. 

"No, not ever again," she spat out, her voice dripping venom. "I don't care 
how good it has been, or what you think of that goddamn cock of yours. 
Never, never again. I'll kill myself first." 

He broke into loud laughter and walked into the kitchen, getting two bottles 
of beer from the refrigerator, coming back, handing her one. 

"Here, this'll cool you off," he snapped. 

She shook her head. 

"I said, take it," he said, loudly, but she remained silent, not looking at 
him. "Goddamn!" 

He put one bottle on the end table, knelt beside her with the other, placing 
his thumb over the end, shaking it violently. A moment later, he grabbed her 
legs, viciously, pulled one away from the other, exposing her tender and 
dripping cunt. He shoved the neck of the bottle into her and released his 
thumb. 

Suzanne flinched and screamed as she felt the ice cold liquid bubble-out and 
spurt into her, streaming through her vagina and running back-out, on to the 
couch. 

Donald sat back on his haunches and roared with laughter. Suzanne took the 
bottle and, with a curse, threw it across the room, where it broke against 
the wall with a frothy crash. 

"Best douche you ever had," he said. "Feel better now?" 

"Get out! Get out!" she screamed and came at him, her nails clawing for his 
face. He grabbed her wrists and held her down, laughing obscenely at her. 

"Oh, my, she's a tiger after all," he said. "Maybe you should use all that 
energy up. You ready for some more?" 

"No, no, no!" Suzanne's voice rose in an ear-splitting scream; and, then, 
pure hysteria took over she began shrieking at the top of her lungs. Donald 
lifted a hand and brought it down hard across her cheek, then across the 
other cheek. In a second, she was silent, but the echo of her screams still 
reverberated through the building. 

She heard voices on the stairs and the clatter of footsteps. A moment later, 
there was a loud banging on the door and she heard the manager's voice: 
"What's going on in there? Yvonne... Carole... You all right?" 

Donald's face was ashen and his eyes bored into hers. 

"Get rid of them," he hissed. "Get rid of them or you'll be sorry." 

Stumbling, Suzanne moved across the room in a haze and stood by the door. 

"It's okay," she said, "just a nightmare." 

"Who's that?" 

"It's me, Suzanne. I fell asleep on the couch. I must've had a bad dream." 

"You sure you're okay?" 

"Yes, thanks." 

"What about the girls?" 

"They're out. They'll be back soon." 

"Okay, but keep it down. You're waking up half the block." 

She heard the footsteps receding as the manager went back downstairs. She 
turned and saw Donald, once more grinning at her. 

"You do good, you know," he said. 'You know what to do when you're s'posed 
to. Now come back here." 

She stood by the door, shook her head and walked into the bathroom, slamming 
the door. 

"Okay, take a good piss," he shouted out. "Get that ol' pussy ready for more 
action." 

Suzanne sat down on the toilet and held her head in her hands. Oh, God, what 
is going to happen? Where's Sam? Where are the girls? They should have been 
back ages ago. 

She completed urinating and surveyed herself in the mirror, recoiling from 
her appearance: her makeup gone, her hair wet and stringy, her body gouged 
with nail marks and dripping with sweat. I look like a cheap, fucked-out 
whore, she thought. Maybe that's what I am. 

She opened the door and went back into the living room. Donald, still naked, 
was sitting on the couch, gently massaging his penis. 

"Hey, you got some cream in there?" he asked. 

"What do you mean?" 

"You know, cold cream, Jergens lotion, something like that. My cock's sore." 
She snickered. 

"Good. I hope the goddamn thing drops off." 

"Listen, bitch. Go get me some cream and put some on like now or you'll be 
sorry, I'm telling you. Go." 

There was a look on his face which made her quail in terror. She couldn't 
stand any more violence. Without a word, she turned and went back into the 
bathroom, rummaging around the medicine cabinet until she found a small jar 
of cold cream. When she returned, Donald was lying back, his legs spread and 
his penis flaccid, hanging down over the edge of the cushions. 

"Okay, give him the works," he said, "and be gentle. He's kinda sore. You 
sure got a tight ass." 

She stared at him and then started laughing quietly. 

"Whatsamatter?" 

She dropped to her knees before him, and started unscrewing the cold cream 
lid. "You telling me to be gentle," she said. "Oh, God, is that funny?" 

He grunted and lifted his penis in his hand. "Come on, slap it on," he said. 

She put a finger into the cool white cream, lifted out a great gob and, 
taking his penis in one hand, she began spreading the cream over the skin. 
It was very red, she had to admit, not like its usual pure white color. He 
must have really been pushing it to its limit. Serves him right, little 
ass-fucker! 

Suzanne's fingers caressed the thick length of flesh and then she pulled his 
foreskin back and massaged some more cream around the glans. She felt it 
respond, jerking a little, but remaining soft. She pulled the foreskin back 
over the head and massaged the cream into the shaft and down towards his 
balls. He sighed and closed his eyes. 

"Oh, wow, does that feel good!" he murmured. 'You keep it up. It feels just 
as good even if it's soft." Suzanne continued manipulating the cream up and 
down his penis, sliding her hands down and around his testicles. 

"Oh, yes, play with my balls," he muttered. "Wowee, that's great." 

She got another gob of cream, rubbed her palms together and enclosed his 
balls in her fingers,, pulling on them and slicking the skin with the cream, 
rotating them and then moving back up the shaft, which was slowly beginning 
to thicken and get hard. 

"I'm getting up again," he said. "Easy does it, baby. He's still tender." 

She moved around to ease her legs and squatted more comfortably, facing him 
so that her hands easily reached his crotch. He leaned back, gazing at her, 
his face enraptured. 

"Oh, this is great," he said. "Nothin' better than a beautiful chick playing 
with your cock." 

She giggled. She had to admit that her own aching body had eased a little; 
and the feel of his genitals in her hands was more than stimulating. He did 
have a magnificent basket, with that lovely, thick, long cock and big balls; 
with every caress, she felt the flesh quiver and jerk and get longer, 
thicker, until it was once again standing in its full majesty. 

She pulled the foreskin back, exposing the head and massaged that, rubbing 
her thumb underneath where she knew it was extra-sensitive. He moaned and 
his hands came forward, his fingers gently touching her arms, caressing her 
flesh tenderly. 

Quickly, all the tension in the apartment evaporated; she felt a warm glow; 
her mind was no longer confused, no longer reeling beneath the degradation 
of his attack. She felt he was calm, relaxed and she was reminded of the 
wonderful moments she had shared with Sam, when they had lain together in 
their bed after having sex; and how they had kissed and fondled each other 
without the frantic desire for orgasm. It was just a moment of sweetness. 

Now Donald had climaxed; and she had orgasmed before. They both had their 
passions stilled for the moment and they were lying together like two 
lovers, enjoying the sensations of touch and sight, without any pressure of 
passion. 

She looked up at him and smiled. 

"You see how nice it can be when you don't get nasty," she said softly. 
"Isn't it better this way?" He shrugged. 

"It's great, but any sort of sex is great," he said without malice. "I don't 
care what it is, as long as a chick is playin' around with me like you are." 

She knew it was useless to try a sentimental approach to the conversation. 
He was too inured to his way of satisfying his urges. She remembered 
Yvonne's advice about him. Despite her warming feelings, she jerked herself 
back to the reality of what was happening. She was sitting between his legs, 
masturbating him; that was the blunt reality. And she was enjoying it. Yes, 
she was. Admit it, Suzanne; this is something you like, something you want 
to do. You want to hold that enormous shaft in your fingers, feel it quiver 
and respond to your touch. You're no better than he is; you're as hung-up on 
him as he is on you. So where do you go from here? 

Guiltily, she glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was after midnight. 
Where were Yvonne and Carole? Where was Sam? If the girls had left when he 
said they had, they should have arrived ages ago. And Sam should be here, 
too. She knew he had taken the hint from their telephone conversation and 
would be on his way. Maybe they had a wreck or, maybe, a flat tire. But 
whatever had happened, she couldn't be caught here with Donald like this. 

"Hey!" She looked up at him. He had closed his eyes and his face was the 
picture of contentment. "What?" 

"Donald, I know you love this, and I do, too, but Yvonne and Carole are due 
back any minute. I think you'd better go. Honest. I'm not trying to get rid 
of you. But what's going to happen if they arrive at the door and find us 
like this?" 

He giggled. 

"I'll fuck 'em, too. One at a time, or both at once." 

"Come on, be serious." 

"I am. You know me. I can fuck all night. Look at him now. He's up and ready 
for action again." She tweaked the end of his penis playfully. "He's still 
sore. You said so." 

"That was before you put the cream on. He's okay now. Maybe I'll fuck you 
again just to prove it." 

"No, you won't. You're going to get dressed and leave, and" She hesitated. 
"I'll see you again. I promise." 

"You will?" His eyes opened quickly and he stared disbelievingly down at 
her. "Yes, I promise. I'll call you at the Pizza Parlor one night. Okay?" He 
smiled slowly. 

"Well, whaddya know? You're okay, Suzanne." 

He leaned forward, took her face and kissed her on the lips tenderly. 

"Come on, now, for your own good. Get dressed and leave." 

He stared down at his erect penis, slick and shiny with the cold cream. 

"What about him?" 

"He'll wait." 

"I don't think so. Finish him off again. Hey, I got a better idea. Here." He 
bent forward, lifted her up next to him. 

"Now lie down on your back. He's all greasy. I'll fuck you between the tits 
and come that way." 

"Donald!" 

She struggled and tried to pull away, but his arm held her firmly. 

"Donald, we don't have time. They'll be back any minute, I know it. Please." 

He shook his head slowly. 

"That door's locked, and there's a chain. No way for them to get in here. So 
I'll fuck you and then I'll go. Fair enough?" 

With a sigh, Suzanne stretched out and he straddled her stomach, pushing his 
penis between her breasts, which he cradled in his hands, making a soft 
tunnel to enclose his shaft. 

"Mm... " he moaned as he started thrusting, "this is better'n your jerking 
it." 

She looked down, watching his body flexing as he moved, pushing his penis up 
and down between her breasts. As it came forward, the head slid out of the 
foreskin and almost touched her lips; then it slid back again. He watched 
his actions, getting a sensual thrill from seeing himself in action. 

"Suck the end as it comes through," he said roughly, his actions getting 
faster, and she knew he was approaching his climax again. Obediently she 
opened her mouth and took the head as it came forward, licking the end and 
tasting the greasiness of the skin, covered with cold cream. 

He pushed harder, quicker and began moaning. 

"Keerist!" He pushed forward, allowing the end to penetrate completely 
between her lips, and held it there. She felt his body quiver; and then her 
tongue tasted the thick, rich love cream as he shot into her, load after 
load. She let it linger a moment, savoring its taste, before swallowing, 
licking around the head quickly, pushing her tongue across the slit and 
milking the last drop from his shaft. 

He slid off her, and stood beside her, breathing heavily. He bent down and 
kissed her quickly. "That was good," he said. "Now I'll go. A deal's a 
deal." 

He bent over, taking his jeans off the floor and pulling them on in a 
second, followed by his shirt and his loafers. She giggled, thinking that he 
sure could dress in a hurry; he probably had to, most of the time, if his 
nocturnal sex life was as promiscuous as she suspected. 

She lay back, licking her lips and tasting the odd mixture of saltiness and 
grease. She made a face and wiped her lips. 

"Next time I suck you off, you'd better not have cream on your cock," she 
said, and giggled. He burst out laughing and came forward, lifting her up 
into his arms and embracing her. "I love you, Suzanne," he murmured. She 
stared at him strangely. 

"And in my own odd way, I love you," she whispered, "though, God knows, I 
shouldn't." He broke away and moved to the front door, lifting off the 
chain. As he turned the handle, she detected a noise outside. 

"Wait," she whispered. But it was too late. 

The door was open and they both saw, standing in the hallway, Yvonne and 
Carole; and behind them, two figures, men. Suzanne cried out and Donald 
pushed shut the door just as they heard Yvonne scream out, "Sam, Sam, we're 
here." 

Donald turned to Suzanne, his face devoid of color. 

"The back door," she said, and he turned and ran. As he entered the kitchen, 
he saw Sam coming in through the back door, together with two other men. He 
turned, and stood, petrified, his face desperate, pleading. Then, the front 
door burst open and Brett and John came in, their faces grim, followed by 
Yvonne and Carole. In the kitchen, Sam and Grant and one other student were 
rushing at Donald. Suzanne gave a loud scream, felt her senses reeling, and 
then the floor caved in as she fainted across the couch, her naked body 
spread obscenely. Her last image was that of Sam's fist descending on 
Donald's face and the boy's body twisting and falling to the floor beneath 
the force of blows which Sam was crushing down upon him. 

Even as she passed out, she thought: no, don't hurt him, please, Sam, don't 
hurt him... And she wondered why, after all she had endured, she should have 
thought of Donald. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

Suzanne opened her eyes and stared around. She was still lying on the couch 
in the living room. Yvonne was next to her, bathing her forehead with a wet 
washcloth. She had on a terry-cloth robe which she recognized as Carole's. 
Carole was in the chair, opposite. Muffled voices came from the kitchen and 
Suzanne lifted her head and looked in that direction. Sam, Brett, John Grant 
and another young man were in there, drinking beer and talking softly. 

"She's awake," Yvonne said, smiling down at her. 

Sam immediately came in, and knelt down beside her, putting his arm around 
her. She hugged him and tearfully kissed him on the lips. "Oh, Sam... " 

"It's all right, Suzanne, it's all right." 

"Where's...?" 

"He's not here." 

Sam's voice was blunt. 

"Yes, but where is he?" 

"He won't hurt you anymore." 

Suzanne's eyes opened wide and she stifled a gasp. 

"You didn't" Sam laughed. 

"No, I didn't kill him, if that's what you're thinking," he said. "But he 
probably won't be around for a while." 

Yvonne chuckled in her usual throaty tones. 

"It sure did my heart good to see what these guys did to that little 
bastard," she said. "I bet he hasn't had a beating like that in years." 

"You... " Suzanne's voice faltered. "I mean, what did you do to him?" Carole 
chimed-in: "Honey, they beat the shit out of him. And then they took him 
down to the alley and dumped him. He may still be lying there for all we 
know. Or care." 

"How do you feel?" asked Yvonne. Suzanne struggled to an upright position. 

"I'm okay," she said. "A little stiff and sore, but okay." She smiled. "I 
wondered where the hell you were." Sam patted her arm. 

"I got your message loud and clear," he told her. "That was good thinking on 
your part. I ran for the car, and then I thought there might be more'n one 
here, so I went back and started calling for reinforcements. It took me 
awhile but I finally got these guys here, but, first, I had to pick 'em up. 
And then we came on down as fast as we could." 

"But Yvonne and Carole left before you called me." 

"I know we did," said Carole, "but would you believe we had a flat just as 
we turned that corner from your street into the freeway. Let me tell you, 
having a flat on the freeway is no fun. I was sitting in the car, waiting, 
while Yvonne went to look for a gas station that was open. I'd have still 
been sitting there if Sam hadn't driven-by and seen us. He stopped, picked 
me up, and then we went looking for Yvonne. That's what took all the time." 
Suzanne sighed. 

"I see. Wow, I was here, trying to fend him off, praying that you'd get here 
in time to stop him." 

"I presume we weren't in time to stop anything?" Sam's voice was strained. 
"I mean, you didn't have your clothes on, but he was dressed." 

Suzanne smiled wryly. 

"He had just got dressed and was going to leave when you arrived." 

"So he" She nodded. 'Yes, he did. Twice." 

He took her in his arms and his eyes were moist. 

"Oh, Suzanne, darling... " 

"It's all right, Sam. It's all right. I'm all right. A little the worse for 
wear, but I'm all right." Brett came forward. 

"Well, Sam, I guess we'd better be making tracks. We all have early classes 
in the morning." Sam stood up. 

"Sure, sure. And fellows, I can't tell you how grateful I am." 

"It was a ball. I haven't beaten-up a hillbilly in years," said John with a 
laugh. "Anytime." They began moving towards the front door. 

"Just a minute," said Sam, and he turned to Suzanne. "Are you feeling well 
enough to drive home?" She nodded. 

"Sure. I can drive home." 

"All right. I'll take the guys back and meet you at the house." Grant shook 
his head. "Nope. We were gonna hitch. No problems. You stay with her. She 
needs you more'n we do." 

"I'm fine," Suzanne insisted. "And it's okay if Sam drives you home. I have 
my car here." Sam looked at her and then back at the young men. 

"Go on, Sam," said Yvonne. "They're not going to get many rides this late. 
Take them home." He shook his head. 

"I don't like the idea of Suzanne driving home alone," he said, doggedly. "I 
mean, I know she'll be safe and all that, but she may faint again or 
something." 

"All right," said Carole, 'Yvonne and me will ride with her. We have to pick 
up our car anyway. In fact... " She paused and looked at Suzanne. "If it's 
all right, maybe Yvonne and I could stay over in the guest room and then 
pick up our car in the morning. Would that be all right?" 

"Fine," said Suzanne. 'You go on, Sam. I'll come with Yvonne and Carole." 

"Okay. Fine." He turned to leave. "I'll be home in about forty-five minutes. 
So if you're not there in an hour, I'm calling the police." Suzanne laughed. 

"We'll be there. I just want a cup of coffee first, and to clean up a 
little. Then we'll take off. So don't worry." 

"Okay." He came forward, kissed her again and left with the others. As the 
door closed behind them, Yvonne let out a big sigh of relief. 

"Wow, what a night," she murmured, "I'll tell you; when Sam and Carole 
picked me up, and I heard what had happened, I just about broke water. 
Christ, I was picturing you raped to a pulp." 

Suzanne smiled. 

"It wasn't bad," she admitted. "He got violent once or twice but most of the 
time he was very nice. In fact," She paused, seeing their incredulous faces, 
"don't get me wrong, but if he hadn't started-in on the sex, it would've 
been a nice get-together." 

Yvonne banged her fist on the arm of the couch. 

"Jesus Christ," she exploded. "Thank God your husband isn't here. What do 
you mean, Suzanne? Are you that hung-up on him? Incidentally, we put 
two-and-two together when we saw the pizza box. He was the delivery boy, 
wasn't he?" 

Suzanne nodded. 

"Yes. I got hungry. I hadn't eaten since noon, and so I ordered a pizza. I 
opened the door, and" She shrugged. 

Carole nodded. "We figured that." Yvonne snorted. 

"I still can't understand your having one bit of sympathy for a little 
fucker like him. He came here legitimately tonight, but ended-up having sex 
with you. You weren't all willing and eager by any chance, were you?" 

Suzanne bit her lip. 

"I guess I can't blame you for thinking that," she said, quietly. "It wasn't 
fun when he got violent. But before anything happened, we sat here together 
and shared the pizza, and I kept thinking if he were only five years older, 
and... " 

"I think I'll puke," said Yvonne, bluntly. "Next thing you'll be saying is 
you're going to divorce Sam and marry this little bastard. Suzanne, what's 
he got that's so goddamn appealing?" Carole snickered. 

"You know the answer to that one, dear," she said. "It's that telephone pole 
in his pants." Yvonne sighed. 

"Listen, Suzanne, I've known you a long time, and I've watched you grow from 
a sweet, naive little girl into a frustrated adolescent, then into a mature 
married woman, and now... " She snorted. "Now I think I'm watching the 
decline and fall of what I thought was a gal with some sense in her head." 

"Don't feel that way," said Suzanne, "I know it sounds ridiculous, but I'm 
leveling with you. You know too much already for me to try and lie about it 
now. I do enjoy sex with Donald, but I don't like the violent part. And 
tonight there were moments when he was very gentle, very loving. He told me 
he loves me." 

Carole laughed loudly. 

"Excuse me, I want to put the violins in the stereo," she said. "This is 
worse than Love Story. You're not going to die of leukemia next, are you, 
like that stupid broad in the flick?" 

"More likely syphilis," snapped Yvonne. "That no-good, trashy stud is 
probably fucking every whore on Forest Avenue. I'd sure as hell get a 
thorough checkup from the doctor before you go to bed with Sam again, dear." 

"All right, all right," said Suzanne. But I still don't feel bad." 

"Crap, what you feel doesn't matter anymore," said Yvonne roughly. "I think 
you're hung-up on that big-cocked bastard and that's all there is to it. 
You're probably going to meet him again, and so there's really not much more 
to talk about. Come on, let's go home, before I really get ill." 

She rose, and went to the bedroom. Carole looked over at Suzanne and 
grinned. 

"Don't mind her," she said softly, "she behaves like a mother hen with me, 
too." 

Suzanne reached for a cigarette and lit-up, inhaling deeply. "I'm sorry if 
it upsets her," she murmured. "But Donald does have his nice side. Nobody's 
all bad. And I still feel if he were taken out of his environment and given 
a chance, he'd turn out to be some one worthwhile." 

"Stop talking like a sociology major," said Carole. "He's the way he is, and 
if you're honest with yourself, you'll realize the only thing about him is 
his cock. Remember, I had a taste of it a year ago, and I still remember it. 
He's the best-hung stud I've ever seen, and he must be wild for sex, but 
other than that, what is there? He may use the word 'shit' but I doubt if he 
knows how to spell it properly." Suzanne nodded. 

"I know. I know. That's what makes it so awful." 

Yvonne came back, carrying a small overnight bag. 

"I've got our toilet things and a change of underwear," she said. "Are we 
ready?" She sounded her usual pleasant self. She smiled at Suzanne. "Sorry I 
blew," she said briefly. "Let's forget it, huh?" 

"Sure." Suzanne stood up and slipped off the robe reaching for her clothes 
which were folded up on a chair. Yvonne and Carole stared at her body, which 
was covered with red weals. "I thought you wanted to clean-up a little, 
first?" Suzanne stepped into her underwear. 

"I'll do that at home," she said. "I just want to get back there. I'll feel 
better out of here, I think." 

"Okay." 

In a few minutes Suzanne was dressed and they moved to the door and down the 
stairs. As they emerged from the building, Yvonne looked up-and-down the 
sidewalk. "Well, all's clear," she muttered. Carole laughed. 

"Stop being paranoiac," she commented. "Crap. I don't trust that little 
bastard." 

"Look, he was beaten-up so bad, I'm willing to bet he's home now, or even in 
the emergency clinic. Those guys were pretty brutal. I saw him. You were 
taking care of Suzanne. But I watched, and, by-damn, they pulverized him." 

"Good. I hope they cut his cock off." 

Suzanne laughed, and walked over to her car, inserting the key in the lock. 
A few minutes later, with Carole sitting in the back, and Yvonne in front, 
Suzanne started the motor and the car pulled slowly away from the curb. A 
few seconds later, unknown to them, another car pulled out and began 
following them slowly down the street. 

"Which way are you going?" asked Carole, curiously, as Suzanne turned up 
Cass Avenue. "I'm going over to Warren and then west to catch the 
expressway," was the reply. 

"I don't think you can get through," said Yvonne. "They're tearing down all 
those old buildings, remember." 

"Well, if the road's blocked, we can cut across the vacant lots," said 
Suzanne cheerfully. "It'll save time, and I'm anxious to get home." 

"All right." 

The car sped down Cass, and turned at Warren Avenue, passing the darkened 
outlines of the apartment houses on each side. Yvonne stared up as they 
drove. 

"This is really the end of the world," she commented. "I wonder if they'll 
ever rebuild this area completely." 

"I read they planned to expand Wayne over as far as Trumbull," said Carole, 
"but not for about five years." 

"Yeah," said Yvonne cynically. "In the meantime, we put up with boarded-up 
empty houses that are condemned, half-dilapidated buildings and a slum 
atmosphere. Christ, this city is too much." Suzanne laughed. 

"So why not move out to Farmington?" she asked. "It's clean, pretty and no 
hillbilly hoods to bother you." 

"Maybe so, but it's still a helluva drive. If we lived there, we'd be 
wasting two hours a day driving back-and-fourth to town. No thanks. I'll put 
up with the slums, even though I wish they'd get off their butts and speed 
up this urban renewal." 

Up ahead they saw the flashing yellow markers and the outlines of a 
barricade. 

"I told you Warren was blocked-off," said Yvonne. 

"Relax," said Suzanne, easing her foot down on the brake. "I can cut-over 
just this side, go through the alley and over a vacant lot, and catch the 
service road." 

"You like to live dangerously, don't you?" She giggled and swung the wheel 
over. "Watch it," cried Carole. "There's a car right behind." 

"I see it." 

Suzanne negotiated the turn and drove slowly up the alley. In the mirror she 
saw the stabbing circles of headlights behind them. 

"That other car must have the same idea." 

Carole turned round and stared out the rear window. 

"He's sure sitting on our tail," she murmured. 

Suzanne swung the wheel to avoid a large hole in the alley and, then, ahead 
she saw the vacant lot. 

She veered to the left and they all swung from side-to-side as the wheels 
mounted the remains of the sidewalk. The car jerked and jolted across the 
empty space, which once had been the front yard of a respectable mansion in 
downtown Detroit. 

"Take it easy," said Carole. 'You're not doing your springs any good." 

"Oh, hush!" 

Suzanne steered around the piles of brick that had been left lying there. Up 
ahead, she saw the service road leading to the expressway. "We're almost 
there." 

At that moment they heard the roar of an exhaust. The car behind them 
accelerated and swung round, coming alongside. "That idiot, trying to pass 
us here," snapped Yvonne, staring out the window. "Must be a bunch of 
drunks." 

Suzanne stepped on the brake. The other car moved forward, then, with a 
sudden movement, veered to the left, right in front of them. Suzanne jammed 
her foot on the brake and swung the wheel over, turning away from the other 
vehicle. 

"Christ Almighty!" exploded Yvonne, "they're out of their minds. Watch it, 
Suzanne." 

"I am. I'm" The other car had pulled right across their path. In her 
headlights, Suzanne saw figures in the front seat and one in the back. With 
a scream of tires, the car came to a halt, and she gasped as the doors swung 
open and three figures came tumbling-out. She turned the wheel and tried to 
move, but a pile of bricks was in the way. Her front wheel hit the 
obstruction and the car jolted violently. 

"For Chris'sake!" Yvonne's voice cut through the air. 

Suzanne jammed her foot on the brake and the car lurched to a halt. At that 
moment, they all saw, in the glow of the headlights, that the three figures 
were moving towards them. "Oh, God no!" 

Suzanne's blood froze as she recognized Ted and Clayton. And coming behind, 
more slowly, and limping, his face terribly bruised, was Donald. 

"Lock the doors!" shrieked Yvonne, and in a flash, her had pressed down the 
bottoms by the windows. The three young men came up to them, and banged on 
the windows. "Okay, open up." It was Clayton's voice, thick as though he had 
been drinking. "Oh, God, what are we to do?" 

"Drive on, drive on, dammit." 

Yvonne's mind was functioning like a whiplash, but Suzanne was numb with 
fear. 

"Suzanne, get going!" Carole shrieked from the back seat as the pounding on 
the windows increased in volume. 

Suzanne put the car in reverse, and gunned the motor. She felt the car 
lurch, then start to move, and the tires spin. 

"We're stuck," she wailed. "The wheels must be in a hole." 

"Keep gunning," snapped Yvonne. "Rock it back-and-forth. 

Suzanne pushed down on the gas pedal and slipped the shift lever from 
reverse to forward. The car began rocking, and slowly, with each jolt, it 
seemed to grip a little more, and they felt themselves moving backward as 
she moved the gear to reverse again. 

"Quickly, more, more!" 

Suzanne was sweating and her hands were trembling, but she continued, and 
gradually they moved back. Then, with a rush, they were out of the hole, and 
the car was rocketing backwards. "Okay, okay!" 

But before Suzanne could put her foot on the brake, they had rushed back. 
There was a loud crash as they backed into a small concrete abutment. There 
was a grinding sound as the back-end lifted and then they came to an abrupt 
halt. 

The three figures ran up to the car, and Suzanne saw that Clayton had a 
brick in his hand. "Okay, you open up or we're gonna break the windows." 

"Forget it," shouted Yvonne, her voice sounding like a bullhorn in the close 
confines of the car. "The cops'll be here any minute. They patrol this area 
every ten minutes." 

"Tough shit, baby," came Clayton's voice, and a second later, the windshield 
dissolved into a million cracks as the brick came forcefully. Suzanne 
screamed and covered her face. 

"It's all right, it can't break. It's shatterproof." said Yvonne 
practically. 

"They'll break in and then... oh, oh," Suzanne's voice rose, hysterically. 
"You comin' out now?" 

"No, we're not." 

"Quickly, press the horn," said Carole, "That'll scare 'em off." 

"Good idea." 

Yvonne's hand jammed down on the horn and the raucous sound broke the early 
morning stillness. They heard muffled curses from the boys, and subdued 
murmurings. Then the car shook with a metallic clang as they opened the 
hood, which sprang up, obscuring what was left of their view through the 
broken windshield. 

"Oh, Christ, they're... " Carole began and, at that moment, the noise of the 
horn ended, leaving them in an unearthly silence. 

"They disconnected the battery." 

"Okay, any more tricks?" 

It was Ted's voice, rough, rasping and filled with hate. 

The girls looked at each other, and even Yvonne's normally enigmatic face 
was creased in an expression of fear. She bit her lip and shook her head. 

"I... I don't know what we can do now," she murmured, realizing that the 
others were looking to her for leadership. 

"And you know what they're after," whispered Carole, her voice shaking. 

They saw the outlines of a figure approach the driver's window. Then a hand 
came down and the window shattered, but did not break away from the plastic 
lining which was standard in all auto glass to prevent lacerations. 

Suzanne jerked herself away and screamed. 

"Oh, oh, Yvonne... " Her voice rose and she began screaming loudly. Yvonne 
reached over and slapped her cheek gently. Suzanne subsided. 

"Sorry, dear, but this is no time for hysterics." They heard muffled voices 
and then Clayton's tones rang-out. "Okay, we're gonna flip you over. You 
still ain't comin' out?" They remained silent. 

"They'll never turn this car over," whispered Carole, but her voice betrayed 
her uncertainty. 

"Of course they can," snapped Yvonne. "It's a small car and the back end's 
already halfway in the air." 

Suzanne looked around. The neighborhood was dark. There was nothing but 
boarded-up houses and demolished shells for four blocks all round them. 
There was no hope of help from neighbors who might hear their screams. 

"We can't sit here while they wreck the car," said Carole. "Even the 
windows'll break if they push hard enough with a brick or something." 

"They're shatterproof," Yvonne insisted. 

'Yes, but that only means they don't splinter," said Carole. "They can sure 
poke a hole in one though, and then they'll get us anyway." 

"Tell you what," said Yvonne. "They sure as hell can't grab us all right 
away. Carole, you're good at running. We'll open the front doors, and while 
they're grabbing Suzanne and me, you open your door and run like hell. 
There's a gas station on the corner of Warren and Third. That's only about 
five blocks. If you make good time, you can get help there. 

Suzanne shook her head. 

"No, no, she couldn't possibly, Yvonne." 

"Okay, what do you suggest?" 

"I don't know. I'm terrified. I can't even think." 

"All right, then." 

They looked outside and saw the three figures standing huddled together a 
few yards from the car. "Okay, we'll open up," shouted Yvonne. The figures 
moved over and Ted's voice was heard: "Now you're bein' sensible." Yvonne 
looked at Suzanne. "Ready. One, two, three." 

She and Suzanne opened their doors at the same moment. Clayton reached-in 
and grabbed Suzanne. Ted was on the other side and he took hold of Yvonne, 
jerking her out of the car violently. 

As they moved, Carole opened her door, slipped out, and leapt-away, running 
furiously across the vacant lot. Her breath was gasping, and she was trying 
desperately to watch where she was going. There was no moon and it was 
difficult to determine where the holes and lumps of concrete were. She heard 
their shouts, and Donald's voice rose: "Hey, get her, she's beating it." 
Fear lent speed to her shoes, and Carole leapt over a pile of bricks, and 
felt solid sidewalk under her. She turned and began running down towards 
Warren Avenue. Behind her, she heard footsteps. A moment later, Clayton's 
heavy hand descended on her shoulder, spun her round, and she slipped. She 
felt the rough concrete tear at her leg and she cried-out in pain. He 
reached down, jerked her up, and slapped her hard across the face. "Doan you 
try nothin' like that, you hear, white girl?" 

He bent her arm behind her back, and frog-marched her back to where Ted and 
Donald were holding Suzanne and Yvonne. 

"Well, well, now we're all here," drawled Ted, "and I got something to say 
'bout the way you beat up my brother here. He's plumb beat to death, you 
know." 

Suzanne looked at Donald and, even in the dim light from the car's 
headlights, she could see the handsome face, swollen almost beyond 
recognition. His eyes were almost closed, with large blue patches under each 
socket, and his lip was cut and bleeding. 

"And don't you try no more tricks, like kicking or anything," warned Ted, 
"because you'll get just what my brother got and you wouldn't want those 
pretty faces all scarred-up, would you?" He reached in his hip pocket and 
they heard a click. The silvery blade of a switch-knife gleamed before them. 
"I might just carve his initials on your faces," Ted continued, leering at 
them, "But before we do that, we've got a little plan." 

He closed the knife and replaced it in his hip pocket. 

"I aim to get that son-of-a-bitch who beat up Donald," he said, "But before 
we take care of him, he's gonna see a little show. He's gonna watch while we 
all fuck you, baby." He leered at Suzanne again. "You'll have enough cock up 
your cunt to last you a year, if you live through it, that is. 

Suzanne began whimpering. 

"Shut up," said Yvonne. 

Donald came forward and glared at them. 

"We aim to take you all back to Suzanne's," he said, his voice indistinct 
through his swollen lips. "And we're gonna git that husband of hers. I'm 
gonna cut his balls off, so help me." 

"Okay, okay, into the car," said Clayton. "We'se wastin' time, and I'm in 
the mood to fuck every one of these white chicks. I dig it when someone's 
watching, 'specially her husband," and he laughed, obscenely, and bent close 
to Suzanne. "You reckon your husband'll dig watching me fuck that white 
pussy of yours?" 

She remained silent, her heart beating so loudly she thought she would 
vomit. 

"Okay, where's them rags?" 

Ted's voice brought an added prickle of fear to their hearts, and, in a 
moment, they understood what he meant. Clayton took a dirty, oil-soaked rag 
from the back seat of their car, tore it into three strips and, very quickly 
and very effectively, gagged them all. Suzanne almost puked from the smell 
and taste of the cloth in her mouth and she felt she might faint again. 

They were pushed into the other car, Clayton holding Yvonne, Ted holding 
Suzanne and Carole. Donald got behind the wheel and drove across the lot 
onto the service road. A few moments later, they were on the expressway 
leading north to Farmington. 

Suzanne had a feeling of complete unreality about their situation. This was 
something they read about in the Detroit News; something that happened to 
others, not to her, to Yvonne, to Carole. Yet here they were, gagged and 
pinned by strong, vicious arms; and they were being taken out to her own 
house, ostensibly to be raped in front of her husband. Oh, no, this is a 
nightmare... this isn't happening. This is part of her wild fantasy. She was 
really back in her own room at home, tossing and turning in her bed, trying 
to wake up. 

"Now let me tell you chicks something," said Clayton, his voice breaking 
into her reverie. "When we git to your house, Suzanne, we'se all gonna walk 
up on your porch like we'se makin' a nice friendly visit. You hear?" 

Yvonne made an obscene sound through her gag. The boys all laughed. 

'Yeah, I'm with you, baby," said Clayton, reaching over and tweaking her 
breast harshly. She flinched and pulled away but did not cry out: her eyes 
flashed, conveying her feelings even better than her voice would have done. 

"So you'd better behave, you heah? Otherwise it'll be even worse. Ted's jist 
itchin' to use that switch blade on your pretty faces. And I know he's gonna 
use it on your husband, Suzanne, and I won't tell you where." 

Suzanne felt her gorge rising, and fought to remain calm and conscious. She 
could picture Ted approaching the bound form of her husband, pulling out his 
penis and balls, and with a vicious slash, his hand coming down... Oh, God, 
she mustn't think things like that. This is a nightmare; it's not real. She 
kept repeating over and-over in her mind, it's not happening, it's not. 

She turned and stared out of the car at the houses whizzing-by. Donald was 
driving very fast. She glanced at the speedometer. It registered 85. Oh, 
please God, let a cop stop us. Send a traffic cop... send a cop. And she 
remembered Sam saying once: there's never a cop around when you want one. 

The car rushed on through the night and finally turned-off and wound its way 
through the maze of streets, ending-up in the driveway of her house. Suzanne 
looked out and saw the living room aglow with light. Sam must be there, 
sitting, waiting for them, never dreaming that they would have three 
unwelcome and unexpected visitors. 

They climbed out, the boys pushing them in front, holding their arms behind 
them, and they moved silently up to the porch. Ted pushed Suzanne forward so 
that she stood first in line. "Okay, where's your key?" he whispered. She 
shook her head. 

"It's in her purse," said Donald, and he grabbed it from her hands and 
rummaged through it, his hand emerging with the shining key. With a 
triumphant expression, he inserted it quietly in the lock and turned the 
handle. 

"Okay, in," he said softly, pushing her forward. She stepped into the 
hallway, and her foot caught on the edge of the sill, and she stumbled 
noisily forward, trying to keep her balance. She entered the living room, 
and Sam rose from the couch, his face smiling, and then when he saw the 
others, he turned white. 

"Okay, white boy," said Clayton, "You got company, and you'd better not try 
anything, otherwise Ted's gonna use his knife sooner than he means to." 

Sam backed away, his eyes darting from one to the other. They all came in, 
and Ted closed the door behind them. He had taken out his switch-knife and 
was holding the blade dangerously close to Carole's throat. 

"Okay, we're gonna have a party," drawled Clayton. "A nude party." He 
laughed obscenely, and Sam clenched his fists and shook his head, 
helplessly. 

"Oh, God," he murmured. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

"First off, Ted, you stay right here with that knife, in case this white boy 
starts thinking of acting smart," drawled Clayton. "I'm going to get that 
rope from the car. We got to tie him up so he can have a grandstand view of 
the proceedings." He laughed loudly. "You see, you no-good white bastard, 
you're going to watch us while we have a little fun here with the girls." 

Sam took a menacing step forward, and Ted's knife came flat against Carole's 
neck. She made desperate noises in her throat. Sam stared helplessly and 
stepped back. 

"That's better," said Clayton. "No use trying to get loose, so you may as 
well enjoy it, baby, while you can." He added, menacingly, "because if you 
don't, Ted's gonna use that knife on you, baby, and if he does, I reckon his 
brother's gonna be the only one able to fuck that wife of yours, because you 
sure won't." 

He dissolved into loud, raucous laughter, and Sam felt his stomach slowly 
turning over. 

Clayton turned and went back out to the car, returning a few minutes later 
with a roll of dirty rope in his hand. 

"Now you sit down in this here chair," he commanded, pushing Sam forward 
roughly, "because I'm gonna tie you up, sonny boy." 

Sam sat in a side chair, and Clayton expertly tied the rope around his body, 
first pinning him back against the cushion, then winding it around each 
wrist and through the arm of the chair, then around each ankle, securely 
binding him. 

"There, I reckon that'll hold you awhile," he commented, stepping back to 
survey his handiwork. 

The others had walked all the way into the living room and Ted had pushed 
them down on the sofa, telling them to remain still or his knife might slip 
against Carole's throat. Suzanne stared around her home, still not believing 
the situation. This must be a nightmare, she kept repeating in her mind. 

"Okay now who's gonna be first?" asked Clayton, stepping back and casting 
his eyes over the three girls. 

"I got a groovy idea," said Donald, his voice still blurry from his swollen 
lips. "Suzanne's got the tightest ass in town. I reckon Ted should fuck her 
while she sucks me off." 

"Hey, that sounds like a wild scene," said Clayton. Sam cried-out, his voice 
pitifully pleading, "No, no!" 

"Oh, oh, a noisy audience," said Clayton. "I reckon mebbe he should have a 
gag, too, huh?" 

He pulled out a filthy handkerchief from his pants-pocket and walked over to 
Sam, prying his mouth open and stuffing the soiled piece of cloth inside, 
silencing any further outcry. 

"Okay, Suzanne, you gonna git undressed or do we tear those things off?" 
Clayton asked, taking out her gag- She remained silent, her eyes staring 
fearfully from one to the other as they stared back. She couldn't bear to 
look at Sam. She knew if she did, she would break down completely. 

"Okay, if that's the way you're gonna be," said Clayton, "you help me, 
Donald." Clayton laughed evilly. 'You must be gittin' used to undressin' 
this broad, huh?" 

Donald attempted a grin, but his swollen face merely puckered-up in a thick 
crease. He walked over to Suzanne, looked down at her, then reached for her 
blouse. 

"Donald... please," she whimpered, but he laughed. 

"See my face?" he snapped, indistinctly, "you want to feel my arms, my 
stomach, everywhere that son-of-a-bitch and his buddies stomped me? Shit, it 
was plumb easy, five against one. I bet they felt real proud of what they 
did, huh?" He walked over to Sam and belted him hard across the face. 
"That's just for starters, you fucker." He went back over to Suzanne and 
grabbed her blouse, tearing it away. He got her bra and tore that off, 
allowing her breasts to flop in front of her. Clayton whistled. 

"Wow, her tits've got bigger since last time," he said, and he turned to 
Sam. "I fucked her about a year ago, white man. Got her all broken-in for 
you. She's pretty good as I recall." 

Sam's eyes flashed angrily, helplessly. 

Donald lifted Suzanne up, and with a violent tug, he tore her dress off and 
her panties, and she was standing, naked before them, shivering with fear. 

"Hey, lookit that pussy," said Ted, his eyes on her, but still holding the 
knife at Carole's throat. "Sure like a little of that." 

"You'll have your turn," snapped Clayton. "Go to it, Donald. Git that big 
whonker out. Show this white husband what a cock really looks like." 

Donald slipped his sneakers off, skinned out of his jeans and removed his 
shirt. Suzanne gasped, seeing the bruises and cuts on his body. 

Her expression registered with him, and he tried to smile again. "Yeah, they 
did a good job," he muttered. "So mebbe you can make me feel good again." 

He lifted his penis in his hand and moved towards her. Seated as she was, 
his crotch was level with her mouth. Her eyes widened as he approached, 
holding his flaccid phallus in one hand, coming closer until the end touched 
her lips. She heard Sam groan, and look away in disgust. Clayton went over 
and jerked his head round. 

"You gonna watch, you hear?" he snapped. 'You gonna see the kinda action 
this broad puts-out." 

Suzanne felt the growing pressure as Donald thrust his hips forward, and 
then her lips parted and the end of his penis entered her mouth. 

"Suck it, bitch," he snapped and she responded, her mind fleeing-back to the 
moments earlier that night, and the night before, and a year before... Her 
lips enclosed his soft shaft, and her tongue caressed the end, thick with 
foreskin. Her teeth came down on his flesh, pushing the skin back. She felt 
his glans slide forward and her tongue pushed between his skin and the head 
titillating the corona, sliding around it underneath, on top, every part of 
it, as he jerked, and gasped. 

"There you go, baby," he whispered. 

The rod began stiffening in her mouth and she began up-and-down movements 
with her mouth along the length, marveling (despite everything) that it 
could grow in thickness and length to such a degree. She went on sucking 
him, and, slowly, the penis expanded and thrust back until the head was deep 
in her throat and her lips were licking his sac. 

"Yeah, man, dig that broad giving a blow-job!" Clayton's voice rang-out, and 
his hand began caressing his genitals through his pants. Ted's eyes were on 
her body, taking in her breasts, her thighs and her bush, and through his 
pants they could all see his rising erection. 

"The hell with this," Ted said, and began taking-off his clothes. "You take 
the knife, Clayton. Keep it on this chick." 

Clayton moved over, taking the knife and positioning himself next to Carole. 
He held the knife to her throat, and took her hand, placing it between his 
legs. 

"You make him feel good," he said threateningly, "and don't try no funny 
business. Just play with that cock, baby, the way you know how." 

Carole's fingers closed around his stiffening penis, squeezing it gently. 
The thought ran through her mind to clamp her fist around it so forcefully 
he would jerk away in pain; but he held the knife firmly against her throat. 
She decided against it. She had no desire to end up in the city morgue. 

Ted had removed all his clothes and stood, naked and rampant, his penis 
extending between his legs. Suzanne stared over and saw it, remembering, 
now, that it was almost as big as Donald's, and certainly as thick. Both 
brothers had been blessed with enormous penises, and each shared the same 
desire to use them as often and as indiscriminately as possible. 

"Okay, get her ready for action," Ted said, walking over to where Donald 
stood, his penis still within Suzanne's mouth, moving his hips slowly to 
thrust his sex in-and-out of her. Donald pulled-out and together they 
grabbed Suzanne and pulled her on to the carpet. 

"Okay, get on your hands and knees," said Ted. "Make it dog-fashion." He 
laughed coarsely. "Ain't that the right position for a bitch, huh?" 

Sam groaned again and struggled against the rope which bound him helplessly 
to the chair. Clayton looked over and laughed. 

"Ain't no way you're gonna get out of that," he commented. 

Suzanne assumed a position on the floor, her body shaking uncontrollably. 
She stared up, pleadingly, but Donald's eyes were merciless. 

Gone was the vestige of tenderness they had shared, albeit momentarily, 
earlier that same night, and in her own heart, she felt nothing but loathing 
for him. She would not deny that he had been very badly beaten, but he 
deserved it; and whatever she deserved for her conscious enjoyment of sex 
with him, certainly did not warrant her having to submit to this depraved 
scene of sex in front of Sam, in front of her friends. 

She stared over at Yvonne, unable to speak because of the gag. For a flash, 
Suzanne thought: it's the first time ever that Yvonne had been silenced. 
Usually her stentorian tones would dominate a conversation; but now she sat 
still, her eyes flashing with hate, her mouth closed by that filthy gag. 

Carole, her hand on Clayton's crotch, was sitting, an expression of extreme 
distaste on her face, smeared with some of the grease from the gag in her 
mouth. 

Suzanne wondered whether the boys planned to include Yvonne and Carole in 
their orgy, or whether she was going to be the focal point, out of their 
resentment of Sam and what he had done to Donald? As she crouched on the 
carpet, she really didn't care what happened. She just wanted it to be over, 
because something told her that once they had done their worst, that would 
be that. Suzanne didn't know how but she felt something would happen to save 
them from whatever worse things the boys had in mind. They had talked about 
mutilating Sam; surely they wouldn't go that far. They'd know they would run 
the risk of lengthy prison sentences. 

"Okay, spread those buns." 

Ted's voice resounded through the living room and Suzanne felt his rough 
hands on her buttocks, pulling them aside. Then he knelt behind her and 
clasped her body to him, lowering his head to her anal crack, his tongue 
pushing in. She gasped as she felt him penetrate her anus with his tongue. 
It was still loose from Donald's fucking earlier, and still tender. She 
jumped as Ted's mouth slobbered around her orifice, sucking, licking, while 
his hand slid around to the front of her crotch, his fingers poking into her 
bush, feeling for her clitoris and rubbing it violently. She responded, 
feeling her vagina begin to flow its juices. Christ, why did she get so 
turned-on by this sort of thing? Her mind rebelled, rejected it, yet her 
body wanted it, cried out for more. She began moving her hips slightly, and 
she spread her knees even further apart, allowing his hand to reach in 
deeper into her cunt, and his tongue to push more into her anus. 

Clayton chuckled. 

"Lookit. She digs that, man. She's gittin' with it!" Donald looked down at 
her and he laughed. 

"Sure she digs it," he commented. "You hear that, Sam? This chick of yours 
digs being fucked in the ass, fucked anyway, but only with a big dick like 
this." He waved his erect penis at Sam. "You know somethin'. Would you 
believe I'm all set to fuck, and I gotta take a piss. And I can't think of 
anything better to piss-on than you, Sam." 

Donald walked over, climbed up on the end table next to the chair in which 
Sam was imprisoned and stood over him, laughing. Everyone in the room was 
watching him and Donald was aware of it. He was also aware that, despite the 
girls' disgust, they had a tinge of envy and erotic delight, watching his 
muscular body, silhouetted against the wall, the erect, enormous penis 
jutting-out, now not completely hard, but enough so to make it a mammoth 
projection. 

Donald turned towards Sam. 

"Hey, mother-fucker, look up at me." 

Sam remained staring straight ahead. Ted climbed off Suzanne, and went over 
to Sam, slapping his face hard. 

"He said look up," Ted said menacingly. 

Sam finally raised his head, staring up at the naked body above him, its 
penis pointing straight down at his face. A few seconds later, a stream of 
urine shot forcefully from Donald, splashing over Sam's face, stinging his 
eyes and running down his face on to his clothes. Clayton, Ted and Donald 
roared with laughter. The girls looked away, their faces reflecting their 
disgust. 

"Stop it, stop it!" Suzanne's voice shrieked across the room, "Do what you 
want to me, but leave him alone." 

Donald continued urinating over Sam's face and head, and when he was 
through, he jumped down and came over to Suzanne. 

"He's gone soft, baby," he said sensuously. "Make him stiff again." 

He thrust it forward into her mouth and, without a murmur, she took it, and 
began sucking it hard, closing her lips around the shaft and letting her 
tongue lick around the head. Almost at once she felt him respond and regain 
his completely rock-hard erection. 

Ted came back, and kneeling-down behind her, he forced the head of his penis 
between her buttocks. Her anus, already slick from his saliva, felt the 
pressure and she gasped as her sphincter clamped tight. He thrust forward 
and, slowly, she relaxed and it slid in, first the head and, then with a 
rush, the rest of it entered her. His hands came round her body, feeling for 
her breasts. She felt his rough, callused fingers violating her soft, smooth 
orbs, his thumbs rubbing across her nipples, making them even harder, 
sending stabs of sensual eroticism through her body, already responding to 
his thrusting in-and-out of her rectum. 

She heard Sam groaning in horror and Clayton's coarse loud laugh. 

"Lookit that bitch fuck," he said, "Wow, that's great stuff." He turned to 
Carole, "Hey, cunt, take out my cock and feel it up." 

Carole's trembling fingers unzipped his pants, pulled out his long, black, 
erect penis and began manipulating the foreskin up-and-down, exposing the 
dark purplish head every time. He sighed and nodded his head. 

"Yeah, baby, play with that thing!" 

Ted was squeezing Suzanne's flesh with increasing violence. She whimpered 
and he laughed. 

"S'matter, bitch? Am I hurtin'? Good, mebbe you'll feel like Donald does 
now, after bein' beaten up." 

His hands gripped her and she cried-out in agony. Sam strained against the 
ropes and made gurgling sounds through the gag. His eyes were almost popping 
from his sockets as he gazed, horror-stricken at the defilement of his wife, 
arching her back on the carpet as Ted thrust faster-and-faster in-and-out 
her anus and her mouth sucked on Donald's phallus. Donald was groaning with 
appreciation. 

"Yeah, Suzanne, baby, suck it hard. I'm almost there." Then, Clayton cried 
out: "Hey, Donald, don't shoot in her mouth. Shoot all over that 
mother-fucker there." And he pointed at Sam. "Hey, groovy." 

"Yeah, make her jerk you off and come over him." 

Donald withdrew his penis from her mouth and stood up, looking evilly at 
Sam. 

"Yeah, that's groovy. Anything to make that bastard feel more miserable than 
he is." He turned to Ted. "Hey, pull out, man. Make her come over here. You 
can still fuck her." 

Suzanne gave a gasp as Ted withdrew his organ quickly, leaving a gaping 
feeling of sudden emptiness within her intestines, which had become used to 
the enormous intrusion, albeit painfully. 

"Okay, over there," Ted commanded and she crawled across the floor until her 
face was almost touching Sam's knees. She looked up at him. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and his eyes conveyed his feelings in return. 

Ted positioned himself behind her again and grabbed her viciously, 
thrusting, once more, between her buttocks. She felt his thick length 
penetrate her and began defiling her anus, in-and-out. Donald stood beside 
her, his penis projecting towards Sam's body. 

"Okay, bitch, start jerking." 

Numbly she reached up and took his penis in her hand, gripping it tightly 
and moving the foreskin back and forth over the head. She felt it flex 
beneath her fingers, and jerk, and Donald began moaning. 

"Yeah, yeah, harder, harder," he cried out, moving his hips in a frantic, 
increasing rhythm. 

She felt his shaft expand, quiver and then as he cried out in ecstasy, she 
saw the end spurt forth its load of semen, shooting out with fantastic 
force, dropping over Sam's shirt and trousers, dripping-down obscenely. 

"More, more," Donald shouted, and she pumped his cock harder, her fingers 
squeezing the last drop of come from his tube as his orgasm subsided. The 
she felt the stickiness in her hand. She released it and he grabbed her 
fingers and pushed them to her mouth. 

"Lick it off," he ordered, and, dumbly, she closed her lips over her hand, 
sucking off the sweet-salty come. She heard Sam's throat making frantic 
moans of horror. Donald turned, pushing his cock into her face. 

"Suck it dry," he said and she closed her lips around his softening shaft, 
pressuring it and pulling on it. A few drops emerged and touched her tongue 
with the muskiness before she swallowed. 

Ted's thrusting in-and-out of her rear-end was getting faster and faster, 
and his groans became louder as he approached his climax. His rough hands 
were rubbing over her breasts and down around her bush, pushing his fingers 
roughly into her flesh, probing and touching her clitoris, sending shivers 
of sensual excitement through her, though not enough to overcome the growing 
pain in her rectum. 

"Kee'rist!" Clayton's voice rang out. "That stud sure is fuckin' her 
asshole. 

Ted's body was covered with sweat and he lunged forward, hugging her body to 
his, his balls slapping forward against her buttocks each time he penetrated 
all the way in. Trails of perspiration ran down his sides, and Suzanne could 
feel the slickness of their skins together as they met, his chest against 
her back; she could feel the hair on his chest rubbing over her skin, 
roughly caressing her flesh and sending chills of disgust through her. Oh, 
God, she prayed, let him come soon; let this misery be over. 

Ted pushed his hand as deep as he could into her cunt, and she cried-out as 
she felt his fingernails tear at her flesh. His hips banged against her and 
his penis touched deep within her intestines, and he cried out, "Yeah, yeah, 
here it comes, baby. Fuck, fuck!" 

She felt him shudder and then her anus was awash with his sperm as it was 
pumped out of him by his thrusting as he shot into her, load-after-load of 
thick, creamy hot love-juice. And, at the same moment, she felt her own 
vagina contract and a violent spasm shook her. She lifted her head, closed 
her eyes and felt her orgasm shake the roots of her being. Unconsciously she 
cried-out, and she heard their obscene laughter and Clayton's comments, "Oh, 
wow, she's coming herself. Lookit!" And she knew that Sam was probably dying 
a thousand deaths, strapped in the chair and having to watch, and then 
knowing she was coming, she enjoyed it in a perverse, degrading way. 

She opened her eyes, not daring to look up at him, and turned. Ted's penis 
was relaxing, and he pulled out and lay back full-length on the carpet, 
sighing loudly. 

"Oh, wow, she does have a tight asshole," he said. "Best fuck I've had in 
months." 

Clayton's voice broke-in. 

"Okay, you studs, get over here and hold this knife. I want a little action 
now." 

Ted crawled over, took the knife and positioned himself next to Carole. They 
all stared as Clayton disrobed, taking-off all his clothes until he stood, 
naked, his penis projecting, hard as a rock from Carole's manipulation of 
it, earlier. He flexed himself, and Suzanne stared up at his muscular build, 
his dark-brown skin and that enormous black penis jutting out from his hips. 

"Okay, Suzanne, you're gonna git a big black dick up that soft white pussy 
of yours." He turned to Sam. "Watch closely, you white stud. You might learn 
something." 

He grabbed Suzanne and threw her over on her back on the carpet. She 
cried-out in fear and stared-up as she saw his figure descending upon her, 
one arm on each side of her head, supporting himself while he dropped to his 
knees and brought his hips forward, the end of his penis dropping-down until 
the dark, throbbing end touched her white flesh. She shuddered and he 
laughed. 

"S'matter, honey? You don't like the way he looks? Well, he feels good, even 
if he ain't white." 

He pushed forward and the end disappeared into her bush and she felt her 
outer lips penetrated, being squeezed aside. Oh, God, she thought, he's as 
big as Donald. Maybe he grew some in the year since she had last been 
violated by him. Further-in he thrust, until his entire black length was 
contained within her throbbing vagina. She felt his enormous sac touching 
her skin and he eased-back, resting on his haunches, his rod still encased 
within her flesh. "Hey, look at this," he said exultantly. "Ain't that 
somethin' to see?" 

Ted and Donald moved forward. Ted held Carole, pulling her off the couch 
down on the carpet so he could get a closer view and still keep the knife at 
her throat. She stared numbly at Suzanne, impaled upon that black penis and 
she felt her gorge rising. 

She looked over at Yvonne, who shrugged her shoulders. She could almost read 
her mind: there's nothing we can do but pray. 

Clayton reached over and grabbed Suzanne's breasts and began kneading them 
firmly, pushing them around like he was rolling a lump of dough on a board. 
He giggled ridiculously and began moving his hips, rotating his penis within 
her, keeping just the end inside her lips. She could feel the wide head 
rubbing against her clitoris, sending renewed stabs of pain and pleasure 
through her. He did know what to do with his tool, she had to admit. He 
remained squatting, and his length enabled him to keep the head inside her, 
giving him the added visual tit-illation of his cock within her cunt, 
dark-black-brown against pure-white-and-pink, with her light-colored bush 
contrasting with his jet black curly, pubic hair. She began groaning, and 
Ted laughed loudly. 

"Good, sock it to her," he said. "Shove it all the way in. I want to see 
that thing go into her." 

Clayton moved up and, with a quick, convulsive movement, rammed his prick 
in, through her red-hot, slippery twat so hard that she cried-out as she 
felt the end of it push all the way in, right up to the mouth of her womb. 

"Oh, Christ," she muttered. 

"He ain't gonna help you," said Ted. "So move that cunt, baby. Let's see 
some action." 

She felt the throbbing shaft within her, her vaginal walls gripping it 
firmly as its thickness pushed aside her flesh. She felt his foreskin 
wrinkling-up and rubbing her clitoris as he thrust in-and-out. 

The sensations were greater than ever before. She felt a perverse thrill 
building-up within her. Here she was, a beautiful, white girl being violated 
by a coarse, unfeeling youth who was black, who had no regard for her 
feelings; his own sensual satisfaction was all that mattered. 

"Yeah, baby, this is good," Clayton muttered. "Like I say, man, I do good 
when someone's watching." 

She felt her stomach heave for a moment. Yes, he was getting all that thrill 
out of fucking her while others looked-on; and she knew their reaction was 
as horrified as her own; and there was nothing they could do to help; 
nothing they could do to stop this ghastly gang-rape that was threatening to 
push her sanity over the edge at the same time as her physical resistance 
was fast-crumbling beneath the continual penetration of her body by penis 
after penis, rough, coarse and with no hint of the tenderness that she 
wanted to feel. Donald had been tender; it was possible. Why not with the 
others? Yet she knew this was expecting the impossible; they were fucking 
for revenge, now. Revenge was theirs, because of what Sam had done to 
Donald. And she was taking the punishment. Maybe this was her own punishment 
for her enjoyment of sex with Donald; maybe it was poetic justice that Sam, 
who hurt Donald, was forced to witness the violation of his wife. Oh, God, 
stop it "Yeah, baby, that's more like it. See, she's gettin' with it. She 
loves that big, black cock up her pussy." 

With a thrill of horror, Suzanne realized that, unconsciously, she had begun 
to rotate her hips in rhythm with his, and that their bodies were blending 
in the age-old movements, in, out, around, up, down, his prick delving into 
her innermost cavern, giving her sensation-after-sensation; this was 
indisputable despite her mental rejection of what was happening. 

"I figure she's gonna come real soon," said Ted, grinning down at her. 

"I'm gonna come, that's for sure," said Clayton, his dark brown skin shining 
with sweat, his muscles tensing from the activity. He kneaded her breasts 
even harder, his fingers digging in deep as his penis thrust deep into her. 

"Lift those legs, baby, I need mo' room," he said, his voice rising 
excitedly. He grabbed her ankles, lifting her up and bending her in-two, her 
knees pressed-up under her chin. And then he lunged forward and she 
screamed, feeling his rod go in even deeper, fucking her faster and deeper 
than before. She felt it thicken, and his breath came faster, and then he 
cried-out, and she felt his come spurt-out into her, wave-after-wave, great 
gobs of his seed, lubricating her vagina, even more, and running down and 
out her crack on to the carpet. He moaned and continued thrusting, then 
suddenly he stopped, raised up and pulled-out. 

He sat back on his haunches. 

"You say her ass is tight? I'll say her pussy's tight enough for me, baby. 
Wow, you jest about bit-off my dick." 

He sat there, feeling his penis tenderly, and pulled the foreskin back over 
the end. Suzanne stared up at them. 

"Okay, you've had your fun," she snapped. "Now... " 

"Shut up!" 

Ted's voice rang through the room, and Suzanne noticed that even Yvonne 
jumped with fear. Ted stared at them all and grinned sadistically. 

"We've only started, " he said. "There's still these two chicks." 

"Oh, no, Ted, please... " Suzanne's voice whimpered. "I told you to shut 
up!" 

She began weeping, her body shaking uncontrollably, her face buried in her 
hands. 

Sam glared up at Ted, unable to speak, but his eyes reflected his fear and 
terror. He gazed down at himself, seeing his genitals exposed, his penis 
shriveled to its smallest size from the mounting horror within him. The way 
Ted spoke and acted, Sam knew he meant to carry out his threat. 

"Okay, who's next?" 

Ted looked around and Donald spoke up. 

"Take Yvonne," he said thickly. "She's a good fuck. I remember her from last 
year. She's got a tight twat. Can't be getting much lately, huh?" He leered 
at her. 

Ted walked over and pulled Yvonne to her feet. As he stood before her, she 
glared at him, then quickly she lifted her knee and felt the end bury itself 
in his groin, squashing his penis and balls. He gave a loud cry, and 
doubled-up, cursing. He fell to the floor, groaning. 

Donald moved quickly across, and belted Yvonne across the mouth, ripping out 
her gag with the movement of his hand. 

"You dirty bitch," he shouted. 

Ted was still doubled-up, groaning. 

Clayton rose, and moved over, his hands outstretched, his fingers extended. 

"Now you just did the wrong thing," he said menacingly. "Because I don't 
like to see my friend hurt that way. You're a no-good white whore, you know 
that?" 

He lifted his hand and Yvonne backed away around the couch. Ted looked up. 

"Hey, Clay," he said faintly. "Take the knife. Fix her face but good, the 
dirty cunt." 

Clay moved over to the carpet where the knife had been lying. He picked it 
up and came forward again. 

"That purty face ain't gonna look so good," he said. Yvonne continued 
backing-away across the room. She looked wildly from side-to-side, and then 
her eyes caught a flash of light against the drapes. At that moment she ran 
to the window and screamed. 

Even Suzanne jumped. She would never have thought Yvonne could have screamed 
so loudly, so high-pitched, so like the standard scream on radio or 
television... the obvious, fear-filled shattering of a woman's control, the 
final outburst of terrible emotion. And Yvonne continued, louder, longer... 

At that moment, there was a loud knocking at the front door. Two seconds 
later, it burst open and blue uniforms filled the hallway. 

"Help, help," cried Yvonne. "They're attacking us." 

The first policemen pulled his gun, and stepped forward. 

"Okay, move over there," he said, lifting the barrel and indicating Clayton, 
Ted and Donald. 

There was a sudden, terrible silence, made all the more oppressive by the 
cessation of Yvonne's screams. 

Suzanne looked up and began weeping again. 

"Oh, thank God, thank God," she whispered. 

"Get your clothes on," snapped the policeman, and then he turned to Sam, and 
undid his gag. "What the hell's going on here?" 

Sam wiped his mouth, and shook his head. "These bastards broke-in and held 
us at knifepoint. They've raped my wife and were just starting on the 
others... " And then his voice broke, and he began crying, tears streaming 
down his face, his relief so pitifully obvious. 

The policeman knelt down and undid the ropes that bound Sam to the chair. 
Immediately he was free, he went to Suzanne, lifted her in his arms and 
carried her into the bedroom. 

"You stay there," he said, "I'll take care of everything." 

When he returned to the living room, Yvonne was sitting, talking to the one 
policeman. Carole's gag had been removed and she was leaning back, crying 
softly. "It was horrible, horrible," she kept saying. The first policeman 
turned to Sam. "You want to come down and make a statement?" 

Sam nodded, and looked over at the three hoodlums, who by this time had put 
on their clothes and were standing to one side, looking very sheepish. 

"I sure do," Sam replied. "I want to make sure these bastards are put away 
for a long time. This is the second time they've attacked my wife, but it's 
sure as hell going to be the last." 

"You've been lucky," said the policeman. "A neighbor across the street 
happened to be walking his dog, and saw them arrive. He said he's kinda used 
to kookie things that kids do, but it looked suspicious, the way the girls 
were ushered into the front door, with gags in their mouths. Anyway, when he 
got home, he called us. I took the call myself. I figured it was some stunt, 
but he kept insisting I come by. So we did." 

"Thank God you did," said Yvonne. "I was just about to get carved-up with 
that knife for kicking one of them in the groin." 

"Well, you can tell us about it all later," said the policeman, moving to 
the door. "Come on, out you go." Slowly they all moved out and at the door, 
Donald turned and stared back. His eyes caught Yvonne's and, despite the 
bruises, the swollen sockets, she detected tears there. "Yeah, cry," she 
spat out. "I hope you roast for this." 

And then they were gone, the front door closing behind them. Sam looked at 
Carole and at Yvonne and he went to them, putting his arms about them both. 

"Come, let's go talk to Suzanne," he said, "and then we can all go to bed." 
Yvonne shuddered. 

"Yes, let's," she murmured, "though I doubt if I'll sleep." 

"You will," said Sam comfortingly. "It's over now. It's all over." 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

The sound of laughter filled the living room and Suzanne smiled happily, 
seeing the glowing faces of her friends and, at the end of the room, Sam, 
who had just finished telling one of his more questionable stories. Brett 
looked up and shook his head. 

"Psychologically speaking, I think that story was quite reprehensible," he 
said pompously. "And you 're full of shit," said Yvonne, grinning over the 
top of her martini glass, and obviously feeling the effects of the drinks 
she had been consuming. 

"Physically, correct," said Brett. "Psychologically, no." 

They all laughed again and Suzanne rose, moving to the kitchen as she heard 
the coffee pot perking. Carole followed her in and stood-by while Suzanne 
began arranging cups and saucers on the tea wagon. "It's been a wonderful 
evening," she said. "You and Sam make a gracious host and hostess." Suzanne 
laughed. 

"And we're making a great husband and wife," she murmured. "Which is a 
miracle, I feel, after all that happened." 

Carole nodded. "Yes, you might say that. But then, sometimes it takes a 
major tragedy to bring two people closer together." 

They turned as Yvonne came in, swaying slightly, an overly bright gleam in 
her eye. "You know something?" she said, her voice slurring slightly, "I 
think Grant is really quite handsome. I might even say I have the hots for 
him." Carole glared at her in mock anger. 

"And what has he got that I haven't?" she demanded, putting her arm around 
Yvonne and holding her tightly. 

They kissed gently and Yvonne looked dreamily into Carole's eyes. 

"Well, that'd be getting too personal," she said. "So maybe I'll just settle 
for you, after all." 

"You'd better," said Carole and she turned to Suzanne, who was grinning 
broadly at them. "You know, Yvonne and I have been together almost three 
years, now." 

"Crap," said Yvonne. "We've been together ten thousand years. And I hope 
we're together another ten thousand. Who says gay marriages don't last?" 

"I think it's wonderful," said Suzanne, "because I love you both dearly, and 
especially after what we've all been through." 

Carole nodded. 

"Well, Yvonne and I have had our problems, too, but we've come through, just 
like you and Sam," she replied. "But I do believe Sam's been wonderful about 
the whole thing these last few months." 

Suzanne nodded, remembering for a moment, the horror of the days following 
the arrest of the hoodlums, the ensuing fracas in court, and their final 
sentencing. But more than that, she remembered the awkward moments with Sam 
in the days following the gang-rape of her, the shyness, and finally the 
moment when they came together again, complete in their marriage, physically 
and mentally. 

"Well, what the hell, it's love that counts in the long run, not sex," said 
Carole. Yvonne giggled. 

"Yes, but sex still is mighty important," she said. "Tell me, Suzanne, do 
you ever think of Donald anymore?" 

Suzanne shook her head. 

"Nope. That last evening was my cure. I don't even have any fantasies over 
him. It took me long enough to chase the nightmares. I told you, didn't I, 
how I used to wake up screaming, and Sam would have to slap my cheeks to 
wake me, because I thought I was still dreaming, and was going through it 
all again. It was pretty bad for awhile. But I'm okay, now. And Sam and I 
are getting along better than ever before." 

"I wonder why," murmured Yvonne, looking slyly at her. "Could it be he's 
gotten a little more aggressive in bed?" 

"I'll never tell," smiled Suzanne, unplugging the coffeepot and putting it 
on the tea wagon with the cups and saucers. "Besides, that's really none of 
your business, dear." Yvonne made a face. 

"Sorry, but I figured as we were such good friends, you might let me know." 

"I might have once, but not now," said Suzanne. "After all, there's very 
little of my private life you haven't witnessed, so leave me one or two 
secrets, will you?" 

"Come on, you drunken old dike," said Carole, tugging Yvonne and moving her 
towards the living room. 'You need some coffee just like everyone else. 
Suzanne, that dinner was delicious, love." 

"Thanks." 

Suzanne wheeled in the wagon and they all waited while she poured coffee and 
passed it 'round. Sam leaned back in his chair and winked at Suzanne. 

"This coffee's pretty good, dear," he said. "Did you get the tip from Mrs. 
Olsen?" 

They all laughed, remembering the ridiculous television commercial for a 
certain brand of coffee that always showed the wife as helpless and stupid 
when it came to making coffee until her friend, Mrs. Olsen, tells her about 
a particular brand. 

Suzanne giggled. "It's instant," she said, and they all raised their 
eyebrows. 

"In a percolator?" asked John. 

"That's just a front," she replied, and then they all laughed again. 

Suzanne looked around, glowing in the intense warmth of the friendliness in 
the room. How wonderful to have friends like these, she thought. Those young 
men who came to her rescue that night, Yvonne and Carole, who had stood by 
her and gone through so much. But that was behind them all. After the court 
case, they had met and promised not to bring up the subject again. It was 
understandably painful for Suzanne, who could scarcely face them after that 
night of degradation. But Sam's understanding, his love and compassion, had 
brought her back from the edge of insanity; and, now, their relationship was 
more solid than before. Even their life together in bed had improved, thanks 
to a frank discussion between them. 

She looked over at him, thinking how handsome he was, how she could ever 
have considered him less than virile enough to satisfy her every whim and 
passion. After the episode with Donald, she realized that Sam was more than 
fulfilling her needs, and that what he may have lacked before in 
aggressiveness, he made up for in tenderness and love. And after telling him 
not to be afraid with her body, he had let loose a little more, and his 
increased lack of inhibition had given her even more wonderful moments in 
bed with him than before, so much so that her fleeting memories of Donald's 
sex were chased completely from her mind. 

"More coffee?" she asked. There was a chorus of refusals. 

"We have to be going," said Grant. "It's been wonderful, really wonderful." 

"Our pleasure," said Sam, rising to see them to the door. 

Suzanne kissed Yvonne and Carole, and she smiled at the young men. 

"Come back soon," she said, "it's been such a happy evening." 

She stood with Sam at the door and watched them all drive off, waving 
happily at the retreating lights of the cars as they disappeared down the 
street. 

They turned, walked inside, locking the door behind them, and Sam took her 
in his arms, and kissed her on the mouth. 

"You're the most wonderful wife in the world," he said, 'You cook, you serve 
great coffee and you make love beautifully, which is what I have in mind 
right now." She giggled. 

"But, sir, I've got the dishes to do." 

"Fuck the dishes," he snapped, his mouth coming forward again and his tongue 
pushing passionately into her mouth. They clung together and broke apart, 
breathlessly. Suzanne stared up into his eyes. 

"I don't think I'll fuck the dishes," she said, "but I'll take you on." 

He laughed, scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. He 
dropped her on the bed and looked down at her. 

"I do love you," he murmured. 

"I know," she said. "Me, too. You want to undress me?" 

"Always." 

Slowly he undid her blouse and slipped it off. He reached 'round and 
carefully unsnapped her bra and, as it slid off, he bent down and kissed her 
breasts, his tongue licking her nipples gently. She sighed blissfully. "Oh, 
you're such a wonderful husband," she sighed, "I think I'll keep you after 
all." 

He undid her skirt and pulled it off at the same time with her panties. He 
bent down and kissed her stomach, sliding his tongue down to her bush and 
licking around slowly before burying his face in her crotch. 

Suzanne spread her legs and opened her outer lips with her fingers, allowing 
him deeper penetration with his mouth and tongue. He sought her clitoris, 
and licked it firmly, tantalizingly, bringing her juices flowing down her 
vagina and starting her old familiar tingle. 

He raised up and grinned at her. 

"Well, that should hold you for a while." 

"I'd like to hold you for more than a while," she replied, her voice soft 
and sensuous beneath the rising passion in her loins. "Come here quickly, 
Sam." 

He slipped out of his clothes and, as he came to her, she noted with 
satisfaction that his penis was erect between his legs, protruding firmly, 
and throbbing. 

He descended upon her, holding her close, and she thrilled to the feel of 
his body on her own, his penis pushing up between her legs to its final 
goal. 

"Now," she whispered. "I want it now." 

Without hesitation, he thrust forward, entered her, and she began moving her 
hips, enclosing his shaft with delicious delight feeling her responses 
growing fast. His hips pounded up and down, driving his penis in and out of 
her, his length and thickness dispelling her thoughts of anyone but him; so 
he wasn't a telephone pole, as she told Carole once, but what's wrong with a 
coke bottle? And Carole had widened her eyes, commenting that if Sam was 
that big, she was sure glad she wasn't married to him. 

No, Sam wasn't a telephone pole, but he was more than enough to set her 
vagina on fire and her insides into convulsions of supreme ecstasy. His 
mouth and hands upon her body were firm, but tender, aggressive but gentle. 
He satisfied her, not in the ghastly, fear-filled manner that Donald had 
done, but in a hotly passionate, yet heart-warming way. He had love as well 
as sex; and she wanted love, something which lasted long after the hard-on 
had gone-down. 

Their bodies blended together, rotating and moving in unison, in and out, 
her vagina gripping his shaft, relishing the sense of abandon, thrusting all 
the way into her, then withdrawing, almost all the way out so that his glans 
touched her clitoris, and his foreskin wrinkled against it, giving her far 
more sensation than she ever got from violent sex. Then back in, and she 
gasped as she felt his length penetrate all the way, right up to the mouth 
of her womb, pushing aside her flesh in a supreme motion of sensuality and 
erotic fulfillment. 

His hands searched for her breasts, kneading them gently, his fingers 
playing with her nipples, touching their hardness and sending new thrills 
through her loins. She began moaning, and her mouth sought his. He brought 
his lips down, covered hers, and pressed his tongue into her mouth. 

She began making little animal noises, and her hips were increasing their 
movements; his body trembled and she knew they were both reaching their 
supreme moment. 

He broke away and gasped, "Oh, Christ, I'm almost there." She increased her 
contractions, enfolding his penis even tighter within her cavern. She felt 
it throb, expand and then, as he cried out, she felt his sperm shoot into 
her; his organ throbbed and jerked as she held it deep within her. 

Her own responses peaked. And she screamed out, her hands clawing at his 
back, her body arched against his, pushing her crotch up to get as much of 
his beautiful organ within her crevice as she could as her own juices 
flowed, letting the waves of pleasure engulf her totally, lifting her up, 
until she was floating in space, suspended on the end of his penis, her body 
one mass of pulsating desire and ultimate ecstasy. 

Slowly she let herself relax, still keeping his penis within her; and she 
wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his shoulders. He sighed 
contentedly and looked down at her. 

"You're a wonderful lover," he murmured. 

"And you're a groovy husband," she replied. "And a better stud than those 
other three put together." 

"Oh, Suzanne." 

Their lips met, their tongues entwined, and Suzanne knew it would a long 
time before they went to sleep that night; and she prayed that every night 
for the rest of her life she would have Sam in her arms, his body in her bed 
and his love in her heart. 


THE END
