BH-6495  The Debutante Whore
[aka 'The Hungry Debutante']
by Cory Randolph


FOREWORD 

It is with a great deal of pride that the publishers offer The Hungry 
Debutante to the reading public, a literary achievement that has been 
described by advance reviews as "the most important commentary on the 
ever-changing class war since Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities." 

The Hungry Debutante author Cory Randolph, widely read San Francisco society 
columnist, drew from his first-hand experiences from many years of covering 
the fables and foibles of the so-called upper crust. Without taking a biased 
editorial view on the seldom talked-about caste system that exists in the 
United States, Mr. Randolph skillfully and with subtlety demonstrates 
vividly what F. Scott Fitzgerald first touched on in his acclaimed novel The 
Great Gatsby when he wrote, "The rich are very different than you and me." 

The Hungry Debutante will make many readers wonder if the privileged members 
of American society consciously perpetrate a serf system in which the lesser 
fortunates toil as virtual slaves to unfeeling masters. 

When agreeing that this indeed is the case, the reader readily will 
understand how the events drawn by the author, a symbolic uprising of the 
oppressed against the offspring of their oppressors, should naturally come 
to pass. 

Author Randolph, replying to critics who have accused him of being unfair 
for singling out two beautiful young rich girls and making them the targets 
for the pent-up hatreds and frustrations of the men who serve them, argues 
that in every war it is the helpless and innocent non-combatants who suffer 
the harshest treatment. 

It is the skillfully drawn Grayson who best illustrates the underdog forces 
in the never-ending conflict between the haves and have-nots. Employed as a 
maintenance man at the country club, Grayson has the ideal platform from 
which to view the milieu of the privileged. He resents the fact that while 
all men are created equal, the rich are created a little more so. Being a 
functionary in the pleasure dome of the wealthy, Grayson is unable to 
deliver the decisive frontal blow to The Establishment; instead he must 
conduct a guerrilla attack, singling out a token representative from the 
foe's fortress. 

The unfortunate victim is Kathy Carlson, beautiful and virtuous daughter of 
a prominent professional man. It is hardly a fair contest, but there are no 
Geneva Convention articles that govern the timeless battle to erase social 
barriers. 

From his years of deprivation and servitude to others, Grayson has developed 
an animal cunning that has enabled him to survive-with his burning hatred 
intact. This fundamental instinct, keeping the species alive, has often made 
Grayson a companion to humiliation and degradation, and it is from cruel 
lessons in his own experience that he is able to mete out mental anguish to 
Kathy with methodical precision. 

As Grayson represents one level of status, the opposite layer is personified 
in two persons: Jean, Kathy's best friend, and Craig, Kathy's fiance. With a 
delicate handling of nuance, author Randolph employs dialogue of revealment 
and flashback scenes that make the "beautiful people"-as chroniclers of the 
Jet Set have felt free to not altogether accurately categorize the rich and 
youthful -come to life on the pages. It may be somewhat shocking for readers 
to learn that the rich are not free of pettiness, base motives and the other 
malaises we are prepared to concede to persons who already have more than 
their share, greed. Nor does this caste that Jean and Craig represent lack 
in the passions of the flesh, but these two characters are shown to practice 
their sexual prerogatives with twisted savagery born of prior emotional 
experiences, Jean with an unwanted fetus in her womb and Craig with his 
haunting memory of a "woman of the streets." 

We commend this valuable human study to the readers. It is a novel of social 
importance that you will feel compelled to refer to time and time again as 
some of the social conditions capsuled in these pages begin to take on 
global implications. 

-The Publishers 

 January 1971, EL CAMINO 

If it was for sale, you could buy it in El Ca-mi-no. Anything. Five hundred 
shares of General Motors, live lobster fresh from the Maine seacoast, shoes 
hand-stitched in Italy. 

All this and more were available, quickly, though the nearest stockbroker's 
office, seafood distributor and custom bootery were forty miles south in San 
Francisco. You simply said, "I'm calling from El Camino," and the people at 
the other end of the line busted their asses to satisfy. They knew that 
anyone with an El Camino address had it made. Services follow wealth the way 
a hound trails the bitch in heat, with his nose in it. 

The luxurious life of rural seclusion in El Camino was enjoyed by an elite 
corps of seven hundred, who retained an almost equal number of servants and 
owned half as many horses. 

But their money, all the millions in real estate, securities and numbered 
Swiss bank accounts, did not intimidate the elements. 

There was no one they could pay to influence the sudden fierce streams of 
air, whipped up by bellows from somewhere far out in the Pacific, that 
nourished and angered the ocean breakers until they threatened to impale the 
small sailing craft on the treacherous underwater reefs or smash them 
against the jagged rocks that lay offshore. The helpless helmsman could only 
shake his fist at the sky and strongly steer a course for protected calm 
water, to wait. Wait and watch as the waves pounded harshly at the sandy 
stretch of private beach that leveled off from awesome steep cliffs topped 
by wind-misshapen trees. The cliffs served as the rock solid foundation for 
the estates of El Camino, surrounded by gently rolling greenery that 
contrasted sharply with the unpredictable foamy turquoise Pacific below. 

When fog appeared, life in El Camino held its breath. The lush hills 
submitted to suffocation in the damp dense clouds without a protest. Nothing 
moved save the pleasure horses, snorting fearfully and nervously pacing and 
pawing in their stables. The women dialed the plush Bay Area offices of 
their commuter husbands and advised them to spend the night in town, 
wondering if they had something stashed away on the side for times such as 
this. 

Nature, more often than not, smiled benignly on El Camino. Understandably 
so, or the favored ones would have chosen to live elsewhere. 

If any one thing tangibly symbolized the genteel lifestyle of El Camino, it 
was the Seaview Country Club, a low rambling monument to wealth designed by 
the best California architect money could buy and constructed of native 
stone and mortar. 

It was nestled in a protected valley like an impregnable medieval 
castle-fortress, an appearance that had been the stated desire of the 
syndicate of landowners that financed it. They wanted an imposing structure, 
one that said, "Stay away, riffraff, until you've made it like us." The 
master planners, every single one of them quick to contribute generously to 
humanitarian causes from their temples of commerce in the city-providing 
they could write it off-exhibited a more basic nature in El Camino. Here 
they were country squires, ruling lords of households and of the castle they 
had paid to see erected, and no threat to their ex-halted social station 
could be tolerated. They were entitled by the fortunes they had inherited or 
amassed to expect finery and to demand obsequious conduct from all those 
beneath them. 

The serfs who tended their country club, with its golf course, tennis 
courts, swimming pool, bowling lanes, polo field, bars and dining rooms, 
were faceless replaceable cogs in a machine built solely for their regal 
leisure, mere bootblacks undeserving of notice, with no bodies or passions, 
no thoughts save how better to serve their masters: stupid inferior peasants 
they, these lackeys who fed on crumbs from the floor at the castle-fortress. 

Chapter I 

They were two hours out of San Francisco Harbor, slowly steaming south, when 
all hell broke loose in the wheelhouse. There was no threat from an enemy 
mine, or an ugly deadly torpedo from nowhere surfacing near the stern of the 
luxury cruiser of Italian registry. War was thousands of miles from this 
part of the Pacific, where the craggy California coastline was visible in 
the distance on a perfect bright warm day. 

The captain, a ruggedly handsome Italian of forty-five, did not feel 
compelled to bark sharp commands to his subordinates. Instead he calmly lit 
a panatella and elbowed himself a place among his international officers and 
crew members who were pressed against the wall of glass overlooking the bow 
deck. 

"Blimey, them's the sweetest pieces o' cake these eyes has seen this side o' 
Liverpool," said the valet assigned to the captain. 

"Nein, Englander, not since Frankfort," corrected the man at the wheel, a 
well-built Teuton with closely cropped fair hair, his eyes lured away from 
the broad expanse of ocean highway by the sight below. 

The captain lifted his binoculars. He had not seen the young women board in 
San Francisco. There had been hundreds of people marching up the gangplank 
to the ship, true, but it must have been a consuming distraction that caused 
him to miss their arrival. 

The girls, epitomizing the beauty and wholesomeness the captain had grown to 
appreciate in American women, were taking off their short beach robes and 
stretching out on deck chairs to sunbathe. Why they had chosen a spot facing 
the wheelhouse, instead of the aft section with its fresh water swimming 
pool favored by the majority of guests, was a mystery to the man. 

Both were wearing bikinis made of even less material than he had seen on the 
women at Riviera beaches. The darkly tanned blonde girl had chosen a 
brightly hued Hawaiian print. She unlaced the shoulder strings to prevent 
them from interfering with the work of the sun on her gently rounded 
shoulders. A light tug on the line dangling at her side would spring out one 
of the broad full white breasts battling for freedom with each breath she 
took. She pulled mirror-lensed sunglasses from the robe pocket and 
challenged the bright sun with her protected eyes, her chair adjusted to a 
half reclining position. She raised one knee slightly, revealing the soft 
golden hair of her inner thigh. 

The captain turned his glasses on her companion. Her chair had been unlocked 
to the full flat length and the dark-haired girl lay on her belly 
surrendering her back to the rays of the sun. Her feet were spread wide with 
the toes squeezed between the mattress and aluminum frame of the lounge. The 
captain moved the powerful binoculars up her well-turned calves, over the 
firm inviting thighs, to a spot on her rounded buttocks where the black 
satiny bikini panties had slipped into the crevice. While he watched, the 
thumbs of her limp upturned hands slipped into the back of the tight elastic 
leg bands and tautly stretched the material gradually working into the 
crack, her pelvis imperceptibly undulating into the lounge as if the 
inanimate object had sprouted a prick for her to secretly admit through the 
fleshy lips of her cunt. 

"Burton," the captain spoke softly, "please extend my compliments to the 
young ladies and ask when I may have the pleasure of their company for 
dinner at my table." 

"The pleasure of their what, sir?" the valet said straightfaced. 

Others in the crew who had served years with the captain laughed outright. 

"Use your own discretion in the phrasing, my good man," the captain grinned, 
not taking the glasses from his eyes. "However, I don't believe 'the 
pleasure of your pussies' is advisable." 

"Aye aye, sir," the little Englishman saluted smartly. "Your valet and chief 
pimp will carry out 'is orders." 

He left and the wheelhouse rocked with lewd laughter. 

Kathy raised a hand and combed back the long blonde hair hanging freely over 
an ear. She tilted her body to one side and reached underneath a hip, 
squeezing gently, relieved that while a dull ache persisted in answering her 
questioning touch, at least the ugly red welts on her thighs and buttocks 
had disappeared. 

She wondered if the wounds that had been inflicted on her in the last weeks, 
the ones no eye could see, would heal and vanish as magically. Her friend, 
Jean, on the verge of an innocent sleep on the lounge next to her, looked no 
worse for wear. 

Jean, in fact, readily admitted that she was ready for new adventures. 
Jean's voracious appetite was only whetted when others would be satiated, 
Kathy thought. A slight smile tugged at her lips. How much we have in 
common. 

Kathy began to consider the first of a whole series of questions she hoped 
to answer for herself during the cruise to Mexico. 

Had she been born the way she felt now, or was it something that had sparked 
within her at the age of ten and then smouldered, to be fanned into a 
roaring furnace by the unexpected events of recent days? 

"Folks, now we're going to musically bridge the generation gap." 

The leader of the combo winked maliciously at the well-dressed crowd milling 
on the dance floor and then the room exploded with the throbbing beat of a 
hard rock number, heavy on drums, electric organ and amplified guitar. 

Parents and older guests at the Welcome Home Ball at the Seaview Country 
Club in El Camino beat a hasty retreat to the tables ringing the floor to 
get a better idea of what the thousands spent for tuition and room and board 
had produced in their offspring, home from their colleges for the summer 
recess. 

Simon B. Carlson, the prominent San Francisco attorney, watched amused as 
his blonde only child, Kathy, writhed in faultless tempo to the deafening 
din. Her fiance, Craig Nichols, responded from a distance, his arms flailing 
the air like palsied pistons. Simon grinned across the small cocktail table 
at his escort, Kay Randall, a Bay Area fashion designer weekending at his 
home. 

"Doesn't this kind of ritual usually end up with a virgin being offered to 
the flames?" 

"Be prepared to sacrifice your daughter, lover," Kay replied. "Kathy 
probably is the only girl on the floor with her maidenhead intact." 

He signalled a cocktail waitress to bring more drinks. Simon edged closer to 
Kay. 

"It's a mystery," Simon sighed, lighting a cigarette and handing it to Kay, 
then lighting one for himself. "Three years away at college and I'm willing 
to bet a thousand bucks she's still cherry. It scares me a little. I think 
she's afraid to let herself go because her mother was such a slut." 

"You mean she fears being a latent nymphomaniac?" 

"Could be," Simon said, his mood suddenly brightening. "Did I ever tell you 
how I unhinged the judge at my divorce hearing? I described my ex as a 
'porcupine in reverse.' Judge Fletcher is a pious old fart and he says, 
'Please explain yourself, Mr. Carlson.' Then I let him have it. 'Your honor, 
my wife's got more pricks going in than she has coming out.' He nearly 
swallowed his upper plate." 

Kay leaned her elbows on the table and slowly exhaled smoke in his face 
through her circled full lips. 

"How are we going to behave later with Miss Goodie-Two-Shoes traipsing 
around the corridors with her milk and cookies?" 

"You're a morally bankrupt old broad, aren't you?" Simon teased. 

Kay fished under the table and gripped his knee, her hand tantalizingly 
sliding up the inside of his thigh and coming to rest against the tip of his 
prick. He felt the involuntary stiffening. 

"One is as old as one feels. How do I feel, Simon?" 

Simon first met Kay, almost by accident, as he was leaving his office one 
afternoon for lunch. He overheard the argument she was having with his young 
probate clerk and stopped by the door to listen and learn if the longhaired 
hotshot from UCLA was driving away another client. Her husband, a wealthy 
building contractor, had been killed several months before in a hunting 
accident and Kay was planning to cash in some stock. The goddamn kid, who 
read the underground press instead of the Wall Street Journal, was giving 
her advice that would cost her a bundle. Simon had intervened and wound up 
taking her to lunch. Afterwards he invited her to his townhouse where, to 
his delight, he found out that Kay loved to blow and had been starving for 
cock since the funeral. Their relationship had blossomed. 

Kay made Simon feel like a young stud again. She sucked him until the sperm 
gushed from his cock faster than she could swallow it and flowed back down 
the length of his prick into the tight tangle of hair at the stump. After a 
brief rest, her talented and teasing tongue could rejuvenate his worn-out 
pecker into the driving tool he used to fuck her to the edge of madness. The 
second climax took much longer for Simon, and Kay would cum once, twice, 
sometimes even three times, screaming and thrashing on the rumpled bed in 
blissful agony at each mounting pleasure peak, until his testicles heaved 
and pressured out their freshly produced contents into the damp and dark 
depths of her twisting cunt. 

Kay had a crooked smirk she could use to inflame Simon with guaranteed 
results. When he saw her lips curl in that telltale manner, a bell in his 
head sounded the news that Kay was drooling to taste his prick, to lick away 
the dewdrops that already would be formed in anticipation of her hot mouth 
sliding down the full length of his cock until it was fully enveloped in the 
moist cavern. While her tongue tried to force its way into the pee hole, or 
her lips tightened and drew the flesh of his blood-filled member in with the 
pressure of the backstroke, she would at the same time perform marvelous 
feats with her hands. Simon turned into putty as Kay's inhaling throat and 
probing tongue worked a corkscrew motion one way and her hand turned half 
circles around the stump of his prick in the opposite direction. Meanwhile 
the other hand kneaded his balls until the inquisitive fingers began to 
dance little designs in the soft hairs up the inside of his inner buttocks. 
Reaching the rubbery ring of his anus, the fingers would hesitate as if 
wondering what to do next. The fingers would withdraw momentarily, until one 
had been wetted in the flowing inkwell of Kay's pussy, and then returned. 
The underside of the dampened digit would lazily sketch circles around the 
ring of the asshole and then come to rest with the mound of the finger 
intruding into the rectum. 

The twisting of the base of his cock by the one hand, the lips pulling and 
skipping along the wet length of his prick during the backstroke, and the 
other finger gently massaging and probing the outer edges of his asshole 
made Simon buck and snort like a rodeo bronc until that instant when his 
loins exploded into her mouth, spraying his seed like molten lava through 
the passage of her throat, where later it would be joined by the hot jizz he 
pumped into her womb. 

Kay gently nudged Simon's semi-erect prick and then demurely removed her 
hand from his thigh as the waitress arrived with the drinks. Kay gave Simon 
that giveaway smirk, changing it into a decorous, Orphan-Annie-eyed, 
schoolgirl smile. He threw her a mock mean glare, telling her without words 
just what she wanted to know: "Just wait until I get at your furry little 
pussy, you prick-teasing bitch." Kay was certain Simon would fuck her 
tonight even if he had to scale the ivy-covered trellis under her bedroom 
window. 

Youthful dancers were sardined on the floor as the sound of their generation 
continued to assault the eardrums and nerve ends of the elders. Most of the 
onlookers had given up their attempts at conversation to nurse their drinks 
and hold their breaths for a blessed break of silence, to be followed, they 
hoped, by the more recognizable melodies of musical standards from the World 
War II era. 

Craig edited his dancing motions to a minimum, finding it much more 
enjoyable to keep his eyes on Kathy and see how she reacted to the savage 
music with utter abandon. She was an inspired dancer and replied to each 
suggestion of the rhythms with creative innovations all her own. 

Her eyes were clenched and her luscious inviting lips were drawn back over 
the perfectly formed bright white teeth. She lashed her head from side to 
side and the long yellow-gold hair flogged violently at her shoulders and 
breasts. Her arms and hands drew surrealistic canvases in the air, and her 
hips and thighs struck out at wild angles, returning in place to gyrate 
sensuously. 

Others on the floor had stopped dancing, many of the young men mopping 
perspiration from their brows as they feasted on Kathy's frenzied body, 
being burned from inside by the demons who possessed her, and her face, 
locked in an unfluctuating strained expression as though she were in a 
hypnotic trance. 

Craig barely breathed as he saw Kathy's plump firm breasts fighting the 
confines of the bra, the harness that blocked her body from total freedom of 
movement. A deep tingling in his balls made him feel weak at the knees. Her 
mini-length cocktail dress was working up her tanned thighs. He thought, for 
a flash, that he saw the crotch of her panty hose. He pictured her on her 
back, naked, performing the same wild motions. Oh, sweet Jesus, he thought, 
it's as if she has a gigantic burning cock stuffed so deep and painfully in 
her belly that she's fighting for her very life to shake it out. 

Kathy had grown more beautiful, if that was possible, in the year they had 
been apart, she finishing her junior year at Mills College up the coast in 
Oregon, while Craig completed the second year of law school across the 
continent at Harvard. 

The guys in the fraternity house blew a lot of smoke up his ass about his 
girl humping every lumberjack in the Great Northwest while they were 
separated by the entire width of the United States. He took it in stride, 
good-naturedly, and turned the same line of jazz on the others at every 
opportunity. Once he found a terrific photo in one of those magazines from 
Sweden. The girl, a big-titted redhead with dimples in her cheeks, was an 
absolute lookalike for the steady of the jock from Tennessee who lived 
across the hall. Craig's roommate forged the inscription and the signature 
on the picture to perfectly match the writing on the portrait the student 
from Nashville kept on his dresser. Then they bought a gold frame for the 
magazine photo and shipped it to a mail forwarding house in Tennessee. The 
whole second floor of the fraternity house gathered around when the bundle 
marked Fragile, addressed in a feminine hand and postmarked Nashville, was 
unwrapped. The shit really hit the fan. The girl in the picture was being 
fucked dog-style by a giant black and the inscription read, "Dearest Powell: 
Until you learn to ball as good as he does, don't bug me." The slow 
Southerner had been completely taken in by the prank. He skipped a football 
game and hopped a plane home that very weekend to straighten things out. 
Craig would have liked to have seen that. 

Small beads of perspiration had appeared on Kathy's upper lip. All eyes in 
the big dining room were focused on her and she didn't even know it. Craig 
imagined the churning of her pelvis working up dripping candied juices to 
line the walls of her cunt, a thick layer of wetness that would enable him 
to sink in his entire prick in one neat smooth thrust. 

He had never eaten pussy before, only seen it being done in the pictures in 
the Swedish magazine, but he wouldn't hesitate to drive his sweets-seeking 
tongue to the roots inside Kathy's sugared snatch. He wanted to cannibalize 
her. He wished he could marinate the length of her body with his tongue, 
starting with her pink little toe. He longed to taste every crack and 
crevice of her frame, to propel his starving tongue over every hill and 
mound, to work his mouth on her sensitive parts until Kathy cried aloud for 
him to heighten the intensity of her pleasure by parting the lips of her 
soaking sweet vagina with his prick, driving through the membrane that 
attested to her virginity and plunging into the untouched region of her womb 
until his balls smacked hard against her upthrust little asshole. 

Craig was positive he would be the only man ever to know Kathy's body so 
thoroughly, inside and out. But when? Her innocence, which made her so 
maddeningly desirable, formed the cornerstone of the pedestal upon which he 
viewed her. That very innocence was also his own worst enemy. She was firmly 
and unalterably opposed to premarital relations. Perhaps this explained why 
he could endure the bawdy fraternity house joshing in good spirits. If he 
had any reason to doubt, Craig would have gone out of his mind worrying that 
she was putting out. Craig saw nothing wrong with being intimate with the 
girl you were pledged to marry. It probably was a good idea. An 
introduction, so to speak, to smooth out the wrinkles of fumbling 
inexperience to insure a healthy, wholesome and pleasurable sex life after 
marriage. Craig had a good business head on his shoulders. That was plain or 
Kathy's father wouldn't regard him so highly and hold out the vice 
presidency in the law firm. Even Kathy's old man wanted Craig to give her a 
bang; he'd hinted about it often enough, telling the young man, "It's okay 
if you knock her down now and then, just don't knock her up." Craig was 
convinced, even more so as the music ended and a laughing Kathy threw 
herself into his arms in exhaustion, that she would thank him in the future 
if he slipped her the meat tonight. Fucking her now, later to gradually 
instruct her in the finer techniques he shared with the prostitute at the 
fraternity Pig Night, made sense. It was a good investment. A good fucking 
investment, he smiled to himself. 

"Whew, I'm beat," Kathy panted, drawing away from Craig as she felt a 
disturbing pressure against her stomach. Her eyes fixed on his faraway face 
and then dropped to the front of his pants. She thought she saw the bulge 
twitch. She felt her face redden and she looked around quickly to see if any 
others had noticed. Fortunately the lighting was dim and the other couples 
were too busy threading their way to the tables around the floor. 

He's gotten himself that way again, Kathy thought, hoping it would go away 
fast before someone saw. He had brought it on to embarrass her, she 
believed, not understanding that she was the party responsible for the 
semi-hardon leaking on Craig's thigh and making him squirm. 

"Let's get over to daddy's table so you can sit down," she said 
reproachfully. 

Craig followed, his famished expression replaced by a sheepish grin. She 
raised pricks all over the house, Craig shook his head, and doesn't 
understand how or why. 

The young couple joined Simon and Kay. Carlson, moving his chair forward to 
let them pass, upset his drink and the glass rolled to the floor and 
shattered. He motioned to the waitress. 

"Tell the janitor to mop up the mess." 

Grayson, the country club maintenance man, appeared promptly with a broom 
and dustpan, and started to sweep up the glass. He worked double slowly 
beneath Kathy's chair, glancing longingly at the point in mid-thigh where 
her mini-dress ended. His eyes traced down her firm thighs to the smooth 
knees pressed together primly. Grayson wished she would uncross her ankles 
and part her young well-conditioned calves slightly so that when he stooped 
to pick up the glass he could sneak a glance up her skirt. 

Kathy felt a strange chill and turned to look in the direction of Grayson. 
He had his head near her shoulder as he lazily looked for shards of glass on 
the floor. The man is staring at my legs, Kathy realized with a start, 
automatically tugging at the hem of her dress and feeling goose bumps rising 
on the insides of her thighs. Grayson detected the modest gesture and turned 
his face to hers, wearing a leering grin that disclosed stained chipped 
teeth. 

"You'll have to move your dainty dancing toes, miss, so I can get my broom 
under there." 

Kathy gripped the seat of her chain with both hands and pushed with her feet 
to slide back. Seeing her leg muscles tighten and her full breasts heave 
with the simple motion made Grayson's throat spasm and a cough escaped, a 
rheumy wheeze that brought phlegm up from deep in the lungs to his mouth. 
Grayson choked and his eyes watered. He pounded his chest with his palm. He 
couldn't control the coughs that crackled one after another from his 
pounding chest. 

Through tear-filled eyes he saw the look of horror and disgust on Kathy's 
face as she shied her body away from him. Grayson clutched at his back 
pocket and produced a filthy handkerchief, pressing it to his lips. The 
coughing fit died and he spat the contents of his inflated cheeks into the 
rag. 

"Christ, man, you better see a doctor. You shouldn't be allowed around food 
and drinks." 

It was the voice of Kathy's father, Simon Carlson, a country club trustee. 
Grayson wished he had spewed the bloody mucus into his face, the wealthy 
unfeeling sonovabitch. 

"Only a slight cold, Mr. Carlson. Too many cigarettes. Sure hope I don't 
pass it on to any of you folks." 

The thought of picking up an infection from Grayson, or anyone like him, was 
repugnant to Kathy. His clothing was filthy and a size too large for him. 
There was a stale perspiration odor that combined with another pungent 
smell, possibly from something he used for cleaning the floors or toilets, 
that made it unbearable to be as near to him as she was now. His hands were 
raw red and chapped, the nails cracked and grimy. He had a whiskery stubble 
that was flecked with gray and grime. His breath, when he first spoke to 
her, was an assailing mixture of rotting impacted wisdom teeth and cheap 
wine. 

Grayson stooped and stretched under the table, reaching for a last invisible 
fragment of glass. His head was level with Kathy's knee and she could see a 
reflection from the overhead chandelier on the baldness of his head. Kathy 
momentarily turned her attention to the table conversation, but when she 
looked back the custodian had turned his face and his eyes were brazenly 
searching the tunnel between her thighs formed by a small opening between 
her knees. 

Kathy's mind raced, wondering what to do in near panic. She felt a wave of 
nausea flit through her intestines. She considered screaming, but she 
realized it would cause an awful scene that would crush her with 
embarrassment. Tears of humiliation welled up in her eyes at the thought of 
the dirty man attempting to look into the very fountain of her womanhood and 
she feeling totally helpless to stop him. Through the misty film in her eyes 
she saw that his face was twisted with a look of unbridled lust... and he 
was licking his lips as if preparing to make a meal of her body. 

Kathy trembled, wondering why her father and Craig kept up their silly 
debate on judicial reform when they should be able to see in her face that 
something was very, very wrong. She wanted to lean over and nudge Kay, to 
alert her with a look another woman immediately would recognize, a terrified 
face to convey Kathy's great distress. But Kay seemed absorbed in the 
conversation, hanging on the every word of her father. 

A hand settled on Kathy's shoulder and brought her up out of the chair with 
a stifled scream of alarm and a shudder. 

"My God, Kathy, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a corpse." 

It was Jean, Kathy's best friend and nearest neighbor. She felt like 
embracing her for freeing her from the predicament in which she had been 
helplessly trapped. She hung on Jean's arm and followed her away from the 
table. 

"Am I glad to see you," Kathy said, trying to get a firm grip on her runaway 
emotions. "You have no idea what I've been through." 

"What the hell are you talking about? 

"That man," Kathy said, indicating the custodian at the table with a sharp 
nod of the head, "was staring up my dress. It was awful." 

Jean's hand flew to her mouth to stifle the laughter. 

"God, Kathy you're such a lamb. Why didn't you pop open your legs and wink 
at him. The poor old fellow would have had a seizure." 

Jean's easy dismissal of her dilemma made Kathy's face color. She felt like 
a silly goose again. Jean was much more mature in worldly matters, language 
and conduct, although only a year older than Kathy. She depended on Jean's 
good judgment in coping with many of her personal problems. 

Kathy now felt guilty for being stupidly unfair to the poor sick janitor. 
The sight of the living instrument in Craig's pants had set her mind to 
creating sexually oriented fantasies that had no basis in fact. The stooped 
fellow nearly had strangled during his coughing spell and the fact that he 
moistened his lips while appearing to be looking up her thighs merely could 
have been a coincidence. Yes, that had to be the case, Kathy decided, 
knowing the maintenance man never would make open advances to her. 

"I'm sorry, Jean. I'm such a dummy sometimes. I must have worn myself out 
dancing." 

"You wore out the eyes of most of the men in the room too," Jean said. "But 
look, sweetie, I have something important to discuss with you. Can't talk 
now. Can you make it for tennis tomorrow at one?" 

"Yes, I suppose so. Won't you give me a hint? You know how I hate 
surprises." 

Jean frowned, thinking. She put her head close to Kathy. 

"Big problems spring from little seeds," she whispered. "Mull that awhile." 
Jean turned away. 

Perplexed by the riddle, Kathy slowly returned to the table. The man 
straightened up with the last of the glass in the dustpan. He flashed a 
yellow-tooth smile at Kathy. It must not have been the awful leer she had 
first suspected, but the only way the poor ugly man can manage to grin, 
Kathy thought. Feeling awful for allowing her imagination to run amuck, 
Kathy graciously returned his smile. 

"Hey, whatever your name is, get a mop under here before somebody slips and 
breaks their neck." 

"Right away, Mr. Carlson. Yes sir, I'll be right back with the mop in a 
flash," the maintenance man said, bowing over and over in humble servility 
as he backed away from the table. 

"Daddy!" Kathy protested when Grayson was out of hearing range, "You 
shouldn't talk that way to the help. You're never that harsh with the 
servants at home." 

"That Grayson, now I remember his name... he's a regular deadass," her 
father said. "I've been meaning to have the club manager can him. He's 
keeping house in the boiler room and lays around down there most of the day 
with his pictures of naked women." 

Kay stretched in the chair, arching her back like a feline caged too long 
without exercise. 

"Those who can't... look," Kay drawled sensuously. 

Her tone of voice did not go unnoticed by Simon. 

"Look, you kids, it's time for us old folks to head back to the house and 
hearth." Simon faced Craig, raising his brow to be sure of having his full 
attention. "Be sure to buy Kathy an ice cream soda before bringing her 
home." Simon and Kay turned to leave. 

"My stomach feels pretty empty. I bet I've danced away five hundred 
calories," Kathy said. 

Craig, with her father's blessing clearly implied, was thinking of his own 
way to fill Kathy's belly. 

So was Grayson. 

The maintenance man slammed the door to the mop closet and gave it a vicious 
kick. He squeezed the handle of the mop until he thought it would splinter 
in his grasp. He thought of better ways of breaking it, either across the 
bridge of the nose of Simon Carlson, who treated him like so much cow dung 
beneath his expensive custom boots, or up the snatch of his full-titted rich 
bitch daughter after he first split her pampered pussy with his own 
hard-driving cock. 

Grayson hated privileged people, unfeeling assholes who believed they were 
justified in spitting and shitting on others because of money that was 
handed them or they stole outright in sinister ways called legitimate. He 
despised them with each degree of fury he could muster, and he schemed with 
all the deviousness at his command to get even with them. 

He knew for a fact that the women of the rich were dirty fucking pigs, 
because he had unplugged the plumbing packed with their bloody menstrual 
rags. And he was sure the men were no better than he, once parted of their 
money. He had watched them in the locker room after their golf games, 
preening, boasting about women they had made to one another and announcing 
the name of the new conquest-to-be. They were able to afford fancy meals and 
drinks in expensive restaurants, and then screw the shit out of their 
mistresses on satin sheets in costly hotel suites. The moneyed cock-suckers 
would notice him listening and shoot him a knowing grin, as if they thought 
Grayson himself often had the opportunity to dance with cultured cunts in 
exclusive bistros, dine on champagne and the finest cuts of meat, and then 
to sink his prick into the warm wet fleshy snatch of a broad whose earrings 
alone cost more than he earned in a year. 

The truth was that Grayson's last piece came from the obese black slut who 
scrubbed windows at the country club until she was fired for stealing 
half-empty bottles from the bar. That was two months ago. He fed her wine 
until she was blubbery. When the goddamn nigger lush finally got around to 
removing her soiled panties and spreading her legs. Grayson had been 
repulsed by the layers of lard between her thighs. His cock met no 
resistance when he plugged in, and he discovered that her snatch was such a 
yawning wide-stretched cavern that there was no friction to trigger the 
blast from his swelling nuts. He felt that he could have driven in the 
flagpole at the front gate of the country club and she wouldn't have known 
the difference. Grayson humped over her for what seemed like ages, the 
tightly curled steelwoolish triangle above her vast vagina cutting into the 
tender flesh beneath his navel like the needle of a tattoo artist, until he 
collapsed in worn-out defeat on her fat belly and massive breasts. If he had 
the strength, he would have rolled her over and tried his prick up her 
asshole, where there might have been a better chance for success. 

"You needin' some 'sistance, white baby?" the barrel-assed wench taunted 
him. 

With that she had ringed his cock with her short fat thumb and forefinger 
and twisted her hand clockwise and counter-clockwise, hand masturbating him 
and seesawing her cunt at the same time so that the plum-sized clitoris 
rubbed rawly against the head of his unsheathed cock. Almost in spite of 
himself, Grayson's balls grew tight and he unleashed a few unenthusiastic 
spurts of cum into her bulging black belly to float in the sea of muscatel. 
She fell asleep while he was cumming and he held a lighted match to the tip 
of the thick slab of meat she called a breast to waken her long enough for 
him to boot her waddling black ass out the door. The next day he stole the 
liquor from the bar and fixed it with Barker, the bartender, so that she 
took the rap. 

Grayson had stored it since then, what did not evaporate from his frequent 
nocturnal emissions, and now he was certain why. He was going to pump it 
into the mink-lined tight cunt of Simon Carlson's gorgeous daughter. He 
would spurt and flow until the cum ran out of her pretty little ears. Rich 
pussy was the same as poor pussy, only better. It would have a richer taste 
and scent. Her clitoris would smell like gardenias and the juices of her 
twat would resemble mulled wine. Once his prick was buried in her cunt, she 
would beg and cry for more. Her hips would ratchet the soft teeth of her 
pussy until his tool was pulled in firm and fast within the fleshy folds of 
her tightening vaginal walls. Then Grayson would bide his time, torturing 
her with his deliberate slowness, nibbling at the raised pink tips of her 
unlined breasts, stretching his tongue into the depths of her throat until 
the tip found her tonsils, sliding his hand into the crack of her ass and 
tantalizing her with tickling fingers that circled until the tight asshole 
pounded against them screaming to be plundered. She would cum over and over 
again, whispering impassioned entreaties for him to deliver the torrent of 
burning sperm into her belly. But Grayson would be running a tight ship, 
controlling the impulse of his balls to rocket their creamy ammunition into 
the womb of the enemy. He would pace himself and fuck her until the walls of 
her cunt no longer produced the natural lubricant. Then he would make her 
spread petroleum jelly on his relentless prick so that he could fuck her 
some more. 

Grayson dreamed of fucking Kathy Carlson to the point that afterwards she 
would require a motorized wheelchair to get around. He would bang her until 
she passed out. He would grab her ankles and force them high over her head, 
splitting her snatch with the message that her father and all of her rich 
friends were no better than he. They put their pants on one leg at a time, 
the way he did. Kathy would learn from him that the rich don't make love as 
rawly or as well as the poor. And, with that lesson fucked into her, she 
would be back begging for more. 

When Grayson returned to the table with the mop the Carlson party was gone. 

Chapter Ii 

Craig piloted the little roadster expertly, dogging the water as it backed 
up to form a new breaker and then turning sharply and gearing down, causing 
the rear wheels to spin and slap until they bit into the wet sand and 
propelled the little convertible back toward shore just ahead of the new 
wave that would wash away the tracks. The powerful engine and Kathy's 
laughter were the only sounds to pierce the silence hanging over the 
deserted beach. 

It was a warm and clear night, without a sign of fog or the trace of a 
breeze. The full moon played hide and seek behind the high drifting clouds, 
blinking on and off like a heavenly neon sign when a cloud passed under it. 
Had it not been for the dance at the country club, this was the kind of 
perfect evening that would have attracted the residents of El Camino en 
masse to their private beach. Fires would dot the shoreline and the steaks 
being grilled over the flames would compete with the smell of the sea air. 

Playing tag with a rushing and retreating surf from Craig's car pushed from 
Kathy's mind the doubt she had felt when he veered from the highway and 
began the winding steep descent to the beach. Yes, it was a lovely night. 
And, yes, she would enjoy kicking off her shoes, the wet sand beneath her 
feet and the cool waters teasing her toes. But, contrary to their custom, 
Kathy had no prior role in making the decision. He simply had cornered 
sharply from the main highway and there they were, beach-bound. It was 
almost as if he had a secret plan for the balance of the evening. Once the 
car was heading down the narrow rocky road, Craig had asked the questions 
she could not answer honestly without sounding encouraging about the whole 
idea. What really bothered her was that while the incident with Grayson 
earlier that evening was a mistake due to her creative imagination, the 
bulge she saw in Craig's trousers at the dance was very real indeed. Worse, 
he knew she looked at it, making it a shared secret experience of the most 
intimate variety. 

She was afraid of secrets. She worried when others wanted to confide in her, 
weighting her down with the burden of their trust. Kathy had only one of her 
own, one she had never revealed to anyone, not even Jean. In spite of her 
strenuous efforts to blot it forever from her mind's eye, it flared up time 
and time again, a cruel brushfire in her memory, when she was least able to 
drive it away. The scene from the past manifested itself in her brain while 
she slept. The defenses of her body fought to extinguish the flames by 
releasing cold perspiration through her pores until she snapped awake with a 
heart-stopping shock, soaking wet. The sound of her soft cries would fill 
the darkened room and the tears streamed from her eyes down the sides of her 
face until she convinced herself it was only the dream again. 

Kathy dreamed of a little girl of ten playing quietly in the loft of a 
stable separated from the two horses below by a thin wooden flooring 
punctuated with knotholes. Her playhouse is an exciting place because, for 
her own safety, she has been forbidden to go near the large animals without 
the company of an adult. It is thrilling to disobey, particularly since the 
threat of punishment came from her father, an affectionate man who has never 
raised an unloving hand to her and who even had to work hard to appear 
strict and crabby when he issued the order. 

The sound of shuffling feet and the welcoming snorts from the horses alert 
the little girl to the arrival of someone in the stable. Her body tenses 
with a fear of being discovered. Then there are voices, a man and a woman, 
the familiar voices of Jake, the handyman who has a gift for the horses, and 
her own mother. 

The little blonde girl cannot resist the lure of a new game, one that 
carries with it a penalty if she is found out. She locates an apple-size 
flaw in the lumber floor and quietly crawls over to it, pressing her body 
flat on the rough unfinished grain with her eyes directly above the 
peephole. She has a full view of the stable floor and can hear without 
straining her ears. 

Her mother, dressed in riding breeches, feeds an apple to her favorite, an 
Appaloosa mare named Candy. The hired man is standing strangely close to her 
mother, stroking the neck of the animal while she munches the apple and then 
nuzzles her mistress for another treat. 

"That's enough for now. An expectant mother has to watch her diet. How long 
before she foals, Jake?" 

"Another month or so. I made a note of the date we took her to stud if you 
want me to figure it down to the day." 

Her mother lifts her face to the man. 

"It must have been quite a sight." 

"You ought to have a good idea, 141." 

The girl is shocked. She has never heard the man address her mother with 
such familiarity before. Lil? No one calls her by that name. Even her father 
refers to her mother as Lillian. Jake slips his arm around her waist. The 
eyes of the little girl bulge in amazement. 

"A horse has such a long thing. Does the stud actually get it all the way 
in?" the woman asks. 

"Enough to do the job. Poor ol' Buck here would've liked the work if he'd 
been able." 

Buck, the other riding horse, was a large gentle chestnut, given to the girl 
for Christmas. 

"It's cruel to make them geldings. Does it really calm them down?" 

"Uncut, that stallion would run wild all over the countryside whenever he 
smelled a filly. Wouldn't be much of a riding horse for your little girl." 

Jake puts his hand in the back of the woman's riding breeches, sliding it 
from one side to the other, the knuckles showing through when he squeezes 
the flesh of her buttocks. The little girl's eyes fill with hot tears of 
protest. 

"They should do that to you... to keep you from chasing the fillies." 

Jake presses his other hand on the front of the riding pants and quickly 
lifts it up beneath her sweater to cup a breast. 

"I don't go galloping after it. I just hang around and all the hot pussy I 
can handle comes right through that door, usually wearing khaki-colored 
riding trousers." 

"You dirty fucking bastard. You heavy-hung Texas stud." 

He kisses her hard and her mother's hand claws wildly at the front of the 
man's pants. The girl wants to cry out in pain. She had never heard her 
mother employ such awful language. She had never seen her in the arms of a 
man other than her father, accepting the stranger's hands on her private 
parts eagerly and returning his caresses with ones of her own. The woman's 
hand opens the front of the handyman's pants. She holds something. 

The tears dry up at the source, the little girl overwhelmed by mounting 
curiosity. She had seen boy babies. She is aware that, different from her 
own body, there is a limp round tubular length of flesh between the legs of 
the male. But she has no idea it is anything like Jake's long thing being 
squeezed in her mother's hand. 

The woman spins free from the hands prying into her clothing and faces the 
handyman. She unbuckles his belt and pulls Jake's pants and underwear down 
to his knees, stepping back to look. 

"My, my, cowboy, you'd give Candy's studhorse a complex." 

Jake looks down his shirtfront amused. 

"That comes from pumping it when you're a growing boy." 

The thin white flesh hangs down slack, the pointed end nearly level with the 
middle of his pale inner thighs. Behind it is a heavy-sagging wrinkled skin 
sack sprouting long black hairs. 

"You don't have all your growth yet, country boy." 

"That so, ma'am? You going to leave me with my ass flapping in the wind, or 
you aiming to do something more about it?" 

"Oh, I aim to, all right, big fellow. Just make sure you aim when the time 
comes." 

She reaches forward and lifts the length of flesh in her hand, gripping it 
from where it begins in his lower abdomen. More than half still is uncovered 
to the little girl's eyes. The other hand quickly envelops the remainder, 
and the pointed tip continues to elude the two-handed grasp. The woman looks 
down and intently tightens her fingers, and the penis begins to expand in 
her hands. 

"God, each time I see you it's grown larger." 

"In horse talk, Lil, you could say it's better'n two hands high." 

The woman thrusts both hands forward and the little girl catches a fleeting 
glimpse of a shiny smooth-looking redness emerging from the pointed skin. It 
reminds her of the tubes of lipstick on her mother's vanity table and the 
way you can make the colored mounds appear and disappear with a turn of the 
fingers. 

"Don't talk horse talk. Talk love talk," the woman says, her voice a harsh 
whisper. 

One hand works the flesh forward and backward and the other reaches beneath 
to the wrinkled bag, first tugging it downward with a milking motion and 
then cupping it from underneath and gently circling upward, flattening the 
pouch and its contents high between his legs. 

"You don't mean love talk, Mrs. Carlson. You want fuck talk. Why not admit 
it?" 

"Yes. Oh, yes. You know I'm not afraid to say it now. I want you to fuck 
me... this minute. I want you to jam your huge Texas longhorn deep in my 
cunt, until your big balls beat against my asshole. I want you to make it 
hurt." 

"My pleasure to serve you. If you'll just wet my cutting tool..." 

The girl watches in bewilderment as her mother, pale and breathing hard, 
drops to her knees. Her hands clutch the man's bared hips and she begins to 
run her tongue over the erect pole growing from Jake's loins. The tiny pink 
tip of her tongue probes the pointed end as if it contains a secret 
something sweet to the taste. Then her tongue extends full length and bathes 
the instrument on our sides with long slow swipes. 

The man's hands find her hair and hold her head rigid. He pushes the end of 
the hard blue-veined flesh against her lips. 

"Open," he commands. 

"No, I can't. It's too... aarghh!" 

The protest is muffled as Jake thrusts his hips forward sharply, burying 
half of his shaft in her mouth. 

"Hmmmmra," the woman croons contentedly, sliding both hands from his 
backside to the dangling hairy bag. The thumb and fingers of each hand 
locate something inside and press gently. The girl can see the outline of a 
walnut pressed tight against the flesh, and is wondering if the bag is going 
to inflate like a balloon as her mother fills up her cheeks blowing air into 
the white pole. 

"Easy with my jewels, bitch," the man warns. 

Gagging and puffing, making slurpy wet sounds when she gasps for breath, the 
woman little by little noses nearer to the oily matted hair at the trunk of 
his giant growth, tugging forward on the bag to pull Jake's flesh deeper 
into her throat. Finally she gives up and throws back her head, staring up 
at the man's face through glazed eyes, swallowing huge gulps of air. 

"No one could take it all without strangling." 

The little girl can see a pearl-colored dewdrop materializing at the end of 
the glistening pole. The woman spots it also and wipes it away with a swipe 
of the tongue. 

"You'll do better with practice. You'll drink a whole tankload of my cum one 
day soon." 

Her mother leaps to her feet, fumbling with the zipper on the back of her 
riding pants. 

"Now, Jake, while you're wet and ready." 

The man grabs her by the shoulders roughly and turns her around, duckwalking 
with his knees bound by his own clothing as he pushes her forward to where 
bags of feed are stacked. He finishes opening the zipper on her pants and 
shoves her belly down on a three-high stack, placing her raised buttocks 
slightly higher than his bared loins. He plunges his fingers under and 
wrestles the tight-fitting riding pants and sheer blue panties down her 
thighs and calves, slipping off one of her boots to fully free a leg. 

The girl struck dumb and frozen in fear, sees her mother directly beneath 
her not six feet away, her creamy white buttocks exposed to the eyes and 
rough touch of the handyman. She still wears the beige cardigan sweater. The 
riding breeches and her panties hang to the stable floor, trapped by the 
boot. The other leg is totally bare except for the stocking on the foot. The 
trousers of the man droop about his knees and he is rolling his flannel 
shirt and undershirt one inside the other up the sides of his body. 

"You being so taken with how horses fuck, it's time someone showed you first 
hand," the man says. 

Her mother's buttocks grind forward, pressing her uncovered front into the 
coarse feed sacks as if straining to satisfy an itch. 

"I don't care how. Just get it in. Fast!" 

She sees her mother's face, turned to one side, wince as Jake plunges a 
finger deep into a spot somewhere between her slightly spread thighs. He 
moves it back and forth, pulls it out, and raises the finger to his nose. 

"Yup, it's the right time to fertilize this hot little mare." 

She twists her head. 

"Hop to it, you cold-blooded sonovabitch, or you're never seeing me again." 

The blonde girl's eyes widen as she sees the man take her mother's leg below 
the knee and force it up and out until the heel of her stockinged foot digs 
into a fleshy buttock and her thigh is pressed out as far as it will stretch 
away from its partner. 

The man grips his stiff member and places it against the soft folds of 
hair-lined red flesh that must open to her mother's very insides. Why 
doesn't mother scream? If she cries for help, the little girl will rush down 
the ladder steps from the loft and rescue her. There is a pitchfork down 
there and she will plunge the sharp prongs into the man hurting her mother. 

But she does not shout. There is no plea for rescue, and the little girl can 
only watch. 

The man nudges his hips forward and she sees the end of his maleness 
disappear partway inside her mother. The woman squeezes her eyes shut and 
tightens her hand into a claw on the feed sack. She shifts the position of 
her hips, not to repel but to adjust them to welcome the awesome intruder 
into her body. 

"Ready for more?" the man drawls calmly. 

"This part of me can take anything you got, mister, with room for more." 

The man chuckles and suddenly thrusts forward violently, burying the entire 
length of his tool inside the woman. 

The shriek that is ripped from her mother's throat is forever burned in the 
child's mind. The little girl is dizzy, feeling faint, realizing she waited 
too long to help her mother. She saw her mother about to be speared and 
killed before her eyes and she hesitated. The girl finds the courage to look 
down again at her mother's bloody, still body. But she is not dead. She is 
an animated rag doll with arms and legs thrashing wildly, beyond control, as 
if being jerked by unseen puppet strings. The man over her body has his 
hands up inside her sweater cruelly twisting at her breasts while his loins 
pound a steady slapping cadence on her straining upraised buttocks. 

"When you cum," the girl hears Jake telling her mother, "I want you to 
whinny like a horse. From now on you come running when I whistle and I'll 
make you whinny some more. You never going to have a better stud." 

"Just don't stop. Don't ever take that horsecock out of me," the agonized 
female voice cries. 

It was always the same sound that revived the sweat-soaked Kathy from the 
never-changing nightmare... her mother's frenzied whinny ringing in her 
ears. 

As Kathy grew older and capable of forming her own moral code, she drew more 
heavily from that traumatic experience of her childhood than common sense 
would demand. 

Kathy devised a doctrine made up of splinters, twigs and limbs from the 
faiths she studied, but never the whole tree of any one denomination. 

When all was boiled down to the specific act of sexual intercourse, her code 
stated it was a privilege a divine power had bestowed only upon a man and 
woman joined in marriage, and for the sole purpose of procreation. Sexual 
relations outside of marriage, deviations and exaggerations upon the 
divinely described style of copulation, were expressly forbidden, the cost 
being a life of wanton lustfulness and eternal damnation. 

Kathy had laid down her beliefs with fervor and conviction the night a year 
before when Craig slipped the engagement ring on her finger. 

Craig listened quietly throughout the discourse, and she felt certain she 
was winning him with her sound reasoning and extensions of logic. They were 
on the couch in her living room. She completed her long and impassioned 
remarks with a flourish of one tying down the last knot of doubt securely. 
She turned to him with a beaming face, waiting for the words expressing his 
willingness to share a non-physical love until they were married and desired 
children. Craig stared straight ahead dumfounded. 

"I just engaged myself to a kook." 

With that his hand tickled up inside her sweater and latched on to a plump 
breast, the finger and thumb tweaking the nipple into a tingling hardness 
within the confines of the bra. It was Kathy's introduction to the 
involuntary work of her own lush young body. 

"Honey," he said, welding his fingers to her breast as she struggled to push 
the hand away, her elbow brushing against an odd hardness in his lap, 
"that's the biggest crock of bullshit I've listened to in my entire life." 

Kathy convinced him of her absolute sincerity and Craig, shaking his head 
perplexed, made no further advances. He had not tried to be physical with 
her since that evening. Kathy believed they were both agreed on the need to 
remain chaste until their wedding night. 

She tried never to think about the after-effects of that first touch on her 
breast, how the strange sensation in the nipple lingered long after Craig 
took his leave, rippling down her body to the vagina entrance behind the 
golden triangle between her legs. Kathy experienced a twinge of doubt. Was 
her code of conduct in truth a crock of what Craig called it? Was it 
constructed on a foundation of intellectually defensible principles, or was 
it the twisted rationalizations of a frightened and disturbed young woman 
who never fully recovered from a sight she looked down upon at a tender and 
impressionable period of her life, that of a woman she recognized as her own 
mother absorbing a massive stiff male instrument first deep into her mouth 
and next to its hairy hilt, her buttocks rising high from the feed sacks and 
gyrating obscenely, in the orifice to the womb from which the same viewing 
child had emerged a short decade earlier? 

Kathy wondered if she would ever reconcile this conflict that raged inside 
her. 

The salt spray softly stung her face and neck as Kathy's fiance eased off 
the throttle and turned the wheel gently, guiding the sports car away from 
the water's edge and up the damp incline to dry sand. The car bumped over 
small soft dunes and abruptly came to a halt. Craig revved the 
high-performance engine and cut the headlamps before switching off the 
ignition. He reached under his bucket seat and withdrew a blanket. 

"End of the line. From here the safari moves on foot." 

Craig wrestled out of his coat and removed his tie. He unlaced his shoes and 
removed them, slipping out of his socks and wadding them inside. Craig 
opened his door and stepped out of the car. He crossed around the front to 
Kathy's side and opened the passenger door. Kathy leaned forward in her seat 
and slowly looked around the beach. Not another living soul in sight. No 
fires to add to the moonlight, no portable radios competing with the 
constant breaking of the surf, no tempting odors of flaming marshmallows and 
overcooked frankfurters to spice the salt air. She looked then at the face 
of her fiance and found it expressionless, the eyes appraising her coldly. 
Were they glazing over out of boredom while he patiently waited, as she had 
seen them a number of times when she was a half-hour late for a date? Or was 
it the same unfathomable look he had earlier when she rushed to his arms to 
be greeted by the unwelcome nudge against the softness of her belly? 

If Kathy could not trust Craig, who could she rely on? Who or what could 
betray her? Certainly not her own convictions. She would be able once again 
to neutralize whatever blandishments, if any, Craig offered, no matter how 
enticing. 

Kathy kicked off her heels and stepped out of the car, dismissing the ping 
pong game in her head as more of her girlish foolishness. After all, she 
considered with finality, if everyone had been petrified by all the "what 
ifs...?" each new challenge presented, man would never have left the Stone 
Age. 

She allowed Craig to slip his arm around her waist as they strolled away 
from the car toward the never-still surf. Craig chose a spot on a rise 
overlooking the water and spread the blanket. He plopped down and drew up 
his knees, gazing out across the dark sea. 

"Just think," he said, not looking at her, "out there lie Hawaii and Tahiti. 
How about honeymooning there?" 

Still standing, Kathy found herself peering out at the ocean as if she 
expected the horizons of the faraway islands to materialize. The vision of 
spending their beginning days together in a thatched hut on a serene lagoon 
of a Tahitian outer island was appealing to her Platonic concept of their 
romance. Slowly she sank down beside him on the front of the blanket. Their 
shoulders and heads leaned together, and Kathy felt they were communing with 
the ocean sounds and star-t added darkness with the same eyes and ears. 

"Tahiti would be wonderful," Kathy nodded, snuggling closer in her 
excitement. "To see the land and people Paul Gauguin painted, and to walk on 
paths Robert Louis Stevenson captured in words." 

Craig took her chin in his hand, turning her face toward him. He kissed her 
on the lips lightly. 

"Don't forget, we'd swim in the same waters as the mutineers from H.M.S. 
Bounty," he said softly. 

Kathy smiled contentedly. What a wonderful preface it would be to the 
satisfying chapters that would follow. She found herself wishing the wedding 
date nearer, not a year away after both finished their schooling. Craig's 
hand found her petite foot, his fingers absently massaging the arch through 
the fabric of the panty hose, tightening and relaxing, a good sensation 
after the hours of dancing in high heels. She sighed and leaned more heavily 
against Craig. 

"Umm, yummy, that's delicious." 

Craig massaged the other foot tenderly, allowing his fingers to ripple 
slowly and tantalizingly on the sole, sending ticklish feathery arrows 
climbing up her legs. Kathy giggled. 

"Stop, Craig. You know how ticklish I am there." 

He took her beautiful laughing face between his palms and again kissed her, 
softly and enduring, ending with the tip of his tongue wetly circling her 
hot full lips. He held her against him tightly, pressing his mouth to her 
ear, first nibbling at the lobe and then darting his tongue lightly inside. 
His hand moved to her back and his thumb and finger gently traced the length 
of her spine on each side of the zipper of her dress, from the base of her 
neck down to her tailbone. She tilted her head to escape the teasing tongue 
and stiffened when she heard the soft whisper. 

"Make believe we're in Tahiti, Kathy. Let's take a moonlight swim." 

She pulled back and stole a quick glance at the front of Craig's trousers. 
There was nothing discernible, and his legs were now out in front of him so 
that it would be impossible to hide. It was a warm and lovely night, and 
they were sitting on a blanket only ten yards from the churning surf. What 
invitation could be more natural? Except... 

"We don't have our suits." 

Craig gave her a look of total exasperation. 

"I can't begin to count the number of times we've been together and you've 
worn a two-piece suit that barely covered the essentials. Surely you have 
that much on underneath now. And I happen to be wearing very distinctive 
Scotch plaid boxer shorts." 

Kathy couldn't fight the laugh, picturing Craig in the bright colorful 
underwear. Goodness, she thought, it's a wild, fun and outlandish idea, and 
all the more intriguing for being just that. Feeling the excitement mount in 
her muscles the way it did when she was stirred by rock dance music, Kathy 
reached behind her neck and unfastened the eye to her dress. She unzipped 
partway down her back until her arm could go no further and then caught the 
tab in the fingers of her other hand, pulling it all the way down. She 
leaped to her feet twisting her shoulders and the dress crumpled down to her 
thighs, sliding from there to her ankles. She stepped out and hooked her 
thumbs into the waistlining of the pantyhose and began peeling the clinging 
nylon over the hips and down her thighs. 

"Last one in's an Army draftee," she shouted merrily. 

Craig was stiff everywhere but where he would need to be, flatass frozen in 
place. I'm halfway home, he told himself, feeling like an Irish Sweepstakes 
winner, unable to believe his good luck. His chin dropped slack and his eyes 
riveted to Kathy's body as she hunched over working the panty hose off her 
legs. He could see her silhouetted against the moonlight. Her straight 
golden hair hung free across the side of her face, obstructing Kathy's view 
and making her unaware of his eyes nibbling greedily at her flesh. The broad 
plump breasts, incredibly aglow with whiteheat beneath her tanline, strained 
to escape-roll over the top of the brief lace bra as Kathy bent to free the 
body stocking where it was binding at the knees. Craig yearned to throw 
himself amidst the triangle formed by her legs and the arms down-stretched 
to her knees, to rip the titholder upward over the inhumanely imprisoned 
mounds toward her throat, and then to know the crushing impact of the 
mammaries falling free, one heavy weight to smother his face, the nipple 
elongating and stiffening under the prodding of his tongue and teeth and 
transmitting the electrical signal that would unleash the damwalls of her 
vagina, spewing forth her liquid ambrosia lubricant that he would blend with 
his saliva to create a gushing cuntal waterway against which his prick would 
swim upstream like a salmon to spurt a cargo of searing sticky cum to drown 
the fissures and faults of her willing wanting womb. 

Craig blinked as he fully realized he was very close to claiming her cherry 
tonight if he continued to hang loose and play his hand in the proper 
sequence. And now he had to drive back the tightening in the crotch he knew 
would soon reshape his still-limp cock into a visible threatening foe to his 
virtuous Kathy. He struggled with the curtain to his masculine subconscious, 
concentrating on his aching testicles and trying to dull their stimulation 
the way he remembered doing in prep school when he had to discourage a 
hardon before the annual cough-cough examination by the nearsighted 
physician retained by the physical education department. 

He ground his back teeth together and swallowed, as if this somehow would 
dampen the fuse that raced for the powderkeg in his scrotum. He ought to 
close his eyes, he felt, to black out the moving body standing before him. 
She was shedding the last of the snug-fitting hose, which had held as 
flesh-close as he wanted to be to the in-sides of her firm tan thighs, a 
silky curvaceous snake finally victorious in disposing of its unwanted skin. 

Craig's eyes refused to obey. His fingers clumsily sought the buttons of his 
shirt, but he could not take his eyes off Kathy's living, breathing, moving 
profile. She wore hip-hugging bikini panties of the same white lace texture 
as the bra. They were more brief than her swimsuit pants, leaving a 
half-inch gap in the tanline on her hips and thighs, above and below the 
gripping elastic. Craig thought with delight the lines were top and bottom 
halos sanctifying the loins he worshipped-and intended to supercharge with 
stimulation from his fingers and tongue and then assault and enervate with 
piledriving pounding from his pressure-packed prick. 

"Surfs up, slowpoke. You lose," Kathy cried, tousling Craig's hair playfully 
and then sprinting away from him toward the water, leaving him dumbly 
fingering his still-buttoned shirtfront. He marveled at the moment, her hair 
flying every-whichway and her firm slender rump bumping saucily, the cheeks, 
alternately grinding high and low. If harnessed, Craig conjectured, the 
friction energy from her inner buttocks might spark a nuclear power 
plant-particularly once he had split her figurative vaginal atom. 

Without conscious effort on his part, Craig was on his feet, shirtless, 
seeing the surf suck up Kathy's calves and thighs to possess them the way he 
wanted to do. The gorgeous girl who soon would belong wholly to him turned 
and beckoned with a curving arm. His pants dropped to his ankles and he 
almost tripped and fell on his face in his rush to reach the water. Kathy 
had dived and disappeared in the midsection of a large wave. Then Craig saw 
her streaming hair bob up as he reached the water and thrashed in to join 
her. When the water covered his waist, Craig pulled off his shorts and left 
them to float ashore. The cooling water surrounding his balls caused the 
creased pouch to constrict, the nuts huddled for warmth closely to his 
loins. The drop in temperature, he noted with masculine pride, did not daunt 
his prick, which hung hot, hard and heavy in his hand as he worked his way 
nearer his girl. 

Kathy, chest deep in water, watched Craig approaching and slapped water in 
his direction with the heels of her hands. 

"Chicken!" she shouted. "Your hair isn't even wet yet." 

Craig ducked under the water, pushed off with his toes and submarined at her 
legs. 

Kathy guessed what was up, that Craig was going to grab her by the legs and 
pull her under, the smarty. Then she felt queasy. In the instant before she 
felt his hands reach her waist, she saw a flash of whiteness between Craig's 
tanned back and thighs. He was naked! Craig's submerged hands groped at her 
waist and then quickly slipped underneath the elastic of her panties and 
tugged them down. They were at mid-thigh before Kathy recovered sufficiently 
to resist. 

"Craig, don't!" she screamed at the unhearing body under the water in front 
of her. Her hands rushed over the contours of her naked hips and thighs to 
do combat with his downpulling fingers. Craig outmaneuvered her. He locked 
an arm behind her calves and lifted Kathy's legs out from under her. Her 
arms flailed up and out automatically as she fought for balance. She felt 
the panties slipping first off one struggling foot and then the other as she 
went back-first under the water. Craig released her legs and they parted 
involuntarily, as though each limb was striking out as a separate buoy for 
her sinking body. The heavy dark water rushed in to taste samples from the 
bareness of her lions as Kathy's body sank in the shallowness until her nude 
rump gently touched the hard sand bottom. Despite her shock at Craig's 
dirty-minded trick, Kathy could not help but notice the unfettered sensation 
that came over her in that second it took her to pull her way sputtering to 
the surface, the saltiness of the clinging water unceasingly stinging softly 
the tender entrances to her loinal orifices. 

"Give them back!" she demanded, pushing strings of wet hair away from her 
eyes. "I don't think you're one bit funny." 

Craig took the flimsy briefs and rolled them into a rag ball, lifting them 
high over head like the panties were a prized trophy. 

"Come get them," he taunted. 

Kathy had the appearance of being held afloat by the fully inflated white 
band, suspended by two shoulder straps, that ringed her back and bosom. The 
cool water continued to probe her loins, trying to perform a healing miracle 
on the revealed crevices in her otherwise smooth flesh. While she was chest 
deep in the water, it only reached to Craig's navel from where he stood 
facing her some four feet away. Kathy speculated about the size of his male 
thing hidden beneath the surface, and then she realized she wanted to see 
it. She had absolutely no idea what it looked like. 

"Toss them... from there," Kathy said, the anger gone from her voice. If she 
had such thoughts, Kathy mused, the very same ideas probably are running 
through Craig's mind. He wanted to see her naked body. Kathy held no views 
detrimental to the appreciation of the human body as an art form, studying 
the shapes and geometric precision of design. Her concern was with the 
abuses that could be inflicted upon the body in the name of free sexual 
expression. 

"I'll bring them," Craig volunteered, closing the distance between them with 
long powerful strides against the pressure of giftwrapping sea. 

"Don't come nearer," Kathy urged, turning away to move, to maintain the 
proper distance between bare genitals, but her feet churned futilely against 
the slow steady sucking of the undertow. Craig grabbed her shoulders, the 
hand scratching down her spine as his fingers found the elastic back of her 
bra. Kathy's forward lunging body was braked sharply by the tightening 
pressure on her breasts as the material edges of the punishing tit pockets 
dug into the tender flesh. 

Craig clenched the wet panties in his teeth while both his hands struggled 
to unhook the bra. Kathy's thrashing feet painfully landed on his own as she 
fought to break his hold on the tit leash. Angered, Craig jerked back hard 
on the elastic, colliding Kathy's body against his own and folding the 
length of his still-hardening prick into the crack between her water-chilled 
buttocks. Craig's breathing picked up as he worked the first hook free, 
followed in nothing flat by the second and third locks. Next he dropped the 
hands to the front of her thighs, pressing tight against her tensed 
firmness, at the same time gently rotating his pelvis to inter his cock more 
deeply into the break between her muscular buttocks. The electric charge of 
contact made the sinews of her ass tighten and Craig's prick responded to 
the welcome pressure with growing stiffness. 

Kathy fought at the hands binding her thighs and drawing her back against 
the living fleshy tool that opened the door the length of her buttocks and 
allowed water to seep inside to wetly kiss her tightly puckered anus. She 
elbowed loose and faced Craig, her hands over her breasts to keep the 
unlocked bra in place. Her initial suspicions about Craig's innocent beach 
outing were being confirmed, and it was becoming an ordeal. He had her 
panties in his teeth and his damp hair hung in his eyes to give him the 
appearance of a deranged stranger. 

"You must be out of your mind, Craig. What's come over you?" she demanded, 
frightened, the tears coming to her eyes. 

"Give me that," Craig growled through the skimpy underthings hanging from 
his mouth. His hand shot out quickly, finding an unguarded place in the 
valley between her breasts. He pulled and Kathy felt the evening air strike 
her hulking bared bosom. The bra straps burned down her upper arms as if the 
hide were being stripped by a skinner's knife. 

Kathy never had experienced such a feeling of total humiliating nakedness, 
made even worse by the sight of Craig continuing to advance with a piece of 
her underclothes held in each hand. She hunched forward in the water trying 
to conceal her exposed breasts in her hands. They reminded Kathy they had a 
mind of their own as she felt the nipples tingle and stiffen against her 
fingers. In addition, the cool salt water teased mercilessly at her 
vulnerable asshole. 

Craig rolled her lingerie into one wet rag ball and heaved it into the surf 
rushing toward the shore. He grabbed her by the hair and crushed her body 
against him, feeling the hard rivets of her breasts bore into him as the 
plump ripe globes flattened firm on his chest. He kissed her savagely, 
forcing his hot tongue through her resisting teeth and deep into her throat. 
His hands worked down the smooth unblemished surface of her back until they 
cupped the underside of her pale slender buttocks, his fingers digging 
deeply into the flesh as he lifted her up to the tips of her toes, the head 
of his hardening cock cleaving into the tautness of her stretched 
underbelly. 

Her struggling had weakened. He continued to kiss her, trailing his hungry 
lips over her eyes, nose, cheeks and neck, savoring her salty flesh, 
famished to lip the nipples of her unnursed tits. 

"Please... oh, please. Stop before we go too far," she pleaded hotly in his 
ear. 

She shifted her belly slightly to ease the digging pain. Craig's rockhard 
cock lay sideways imprisoned by embracing bodies. His feet spread wide on 
the sandy floor, Craig pressed and nuzzled her mouth open wider as his 
tongue searched deeply into her throat. He heard the soft yielding moan as 
she began to answer his kisses, breathing hotly in his mouth as her tongue 
painted wetly on his own and she sucked it into her mouth. 

Her knee climbed Craig's inner thigh, hesitating and then coming to rest 
easily against his tightened scrotum. Craig moved his hand along the 
underside of her hip, finding the top of the crack in her ass. He felt her 
shiver against him as the fingers worked their way inward from the rear 
passage, pausing briefly as they trailed lightly over the puckered rubbery 
ring of her anus and then coming into contact with the hair-lined lips 
opening to her cunt. 

Kathy rolled her head, groaning uninspired protests into Craig's burning 
mouth as she felt the soft fingers digging in and spreading the 
never-before-touched hair-fringed tissue between her legs that guarded the 
mouth of her vagina. She considered dropping her raised knee to trap the 
hand and bring the tingling in her loins to an end, but that would mean 
removing it from the tight wrinkled sack between Craig's legs. She had no 
idea how her apprehensions had so quickly been consumed by curiosity and the 
raw pleasure from the mutual exploration of one another's bodies. She 
enthusiastically reacted to Craig's newest piece feeler by softly thrusting 
her knee higher into his bulging bag, harshly increasing the knowledge of 
her presence against the tightly enclosed orbs. Craig twisted his head and 
grunted into her mouth, pulled his hands from her body and backed free, 
staggering and clutching his lower abdomen. Kathy did not understand what 
had happened to bring pain to Craig, causing him to suck in huge breaths of 
air as he massaged his hairy belly. Kathy had to know if his hurt extended 
to the stiff flesh that had straightened out from its crimped place between 
them to float on top of the water like a huge fallen swamp tree with a 
weather stripped bulbous head still connected to the hairy roots at the 
base. 

Craig's brief contact with Kathy's vaginal lips had set off a strange and 
furious chain reaction in her body, a series of eerie sensations she had 
never known so completely. When his fingers tenderly parted the fleshy 
gateway to her womb, they were greeted instantly by a rush of lubricant 
along the inner walls of her cunt and a further hardening of the nipples on 
her breasts, both already swollen to the bursting point. Kathy also realized 
her pelvis, on its own volition, lurched forward to meet the touch and then 
rocked there, setting off still another symptom, a squirminess in her anal 
passage. It was clear to Kathy that her female parts paid little heed to the 
commands of her obdurately catalogued mind and instead hungered for more of 
the dreamlike inner cunt stroking, the way a cat arches its back and rubs a 
leg to attract petting. 

Kathy was amazed and bewildered by the feats her body performed with no 
conscious effort on her part. And she was intently interested in learning 
how, if at all, her self-powered stunts compared with the invisible forces 
in Craig's body that transformed his male thing from the semi-limp meat 
wiener her innocent buttocks had been forced to embrace into the thick 
fleshy rod that now periscoped up at her from under the water as Craig 
tilted backward sucking air, pushing down on his abdomen with clenched fists 
in an attempt to ease the mysterious suffering that besieged him. 

She took the end of his hard member in the vee of two fingers, gripping it 
just behind the ridged dark head and lifting it as though she expected to 
keep it from sinking and drowning. 

"What's hurting you? I'll do what I can to help," she told him. 

Craig recovered quickly. 

"Help me back to the blanket. I'll try to explain," he said through dying 
lips. 

Craig put his arm around Kathy's waist, the hand slipping down to rest with 
a tight grip on her buttock. 

"No, don't let go," he said hoarsely. "Keep hold." 

Kathy shifted her loose two-finger grip and wrapped the front half of 
Craig's member in her hand, leading him as if by a tether connected to his 
groin, as they struggled, seemingly uphill into a strong wind against the 
jealous consuming forces of the water retreating through their legs, until 
they reached the dry sandy beach and the blanket. 

Craig fell back on the cover with his knees in the air and opened his legs. 
The pain was gone, but Kathy didn't need to know. She sat close to his side 
favoring one bare hip, her knees pressed together and drawn up against the 
underside of Craig's raised thigh. Her anxiety over Craig's condition made 
their nakedness seem very minor. Craig had his first clear view of her 
remarkable breasts when she freed them of clinging wet hair. They were 
magnificent monuments out of proportion to her slim waistline, slender hips 
and delicate shoulders. How she was able to walk holding them erect and ever 
reaching outward, instead of stooping forward under the weight, amazed the 
young man. The nipples stood erect from dark brownish rings the size of 
small pancakes. He didn't think his mouth would cover all of one. 

"Show me where you hurt," Kathy encouraged him. 

Craig knew a suck would put him in heaven, but he stopped short of saying, 
"Kiss it and make it well," knowing also that it would spook the quarry out 
of reach. He had made it this far and wasn't about to jeopardize the final 
objective with a stupid slip. Instead he took her hand and placed it over 
his tightly wrinkled scrotum. He braced himself to withstand the spasms 
inside his prick from the warmth of her small hand on his balls. 

"You pushed too hard and drove them up inside my stomach. It stabbed like 
the devil. A man's balls are sensitive, something like your nipples and 
clitoris. Rub them softly and you'll be able to feel them relax as the pain 
goes away." 

Kathy followed Craig's instructions and gently fingered the tight pouch 
crowding up against his loins. She also used the time to further study his 
prick, rising straight up from his lower abdomen like a dark-topped 
long-stemmed mushroom. 

"It helps if you hold the penis," Craig prescribed eagerly. 

Kathy was happy he mentioned it, for she was very curious now that she 
finally had touched a man's prick. She tried to measure it with her hand. 
When she placed her thumb at the stump, the tip of her little finger reached 
almost to the slit on the peak of the ridged head. She circled it and her 
thumb and middle finger barely met. 

Craig groaned. 

"Keep your fingers tight like that and move them." 

Kathy obeyed and discovered there was a giving looseness that permitted her 
to grip the penis firmly and still move the hand half an inch either way. 
The flesh became warmer and fuller in her hand. She saw Craig burrowing the 
back of his head into the sand beneath the blanket, his mouth agape and his 
eyes wide and staring blankly above. 

"Something wrong?" 

"God, no. Everything's right. Don't stop... donnn't!" 

Craig's tight pouch was loosening, the tight flesh gourds hanging freer in 
the other hand as if being lowered gradually by rope from inside. She could 
pull the skin up and away from his thighs. She was reminded of bubble gum 
and how it is hard until softened by saliva and working teeth to an 
inflatable softness. Kathy knew she was ignorant about so many things and 
she was feeling secretly grateful to Craig for acquainting her with the male 
body. 

Craig lifted an arm from the elbow, like a beggar pleading for alms, and 
cupped it beneath Kathy's right breast, the one with the twin beauty marks 
on the side as if from a vampire's bite. He tested the firmness and weight, 
a finger supping up from the underside of the mound to scratch gently at the 
nipple. 

"Oooh, that gives me a funny feeling below," Kathy squealed. 

"I know, baby. No, no, don't pull away. See how it's gotten hard." 

"I ought to, I'm holding it." 

"No, dummy, I mean your nipple, not my thing." 

"Oh, yes. Now I understand what you said about sensitive nipples. But you 
also said something about the clitoris. What happens there?" 

Craig lay still for a moment, opening his legs wider and burying his hips 
into the blanket, as if he were weighing an important decision. 

"Stop! Now, quick!" 

Kathy released the prick and looked closely at Craig's face. He was holding 
his breath, his face contorted as if fighting back tears. She turned back to 
the stiff flesh and saw that it was moving of its own accord, the veins 
bulging and lightly jerking. Then it was still. 

"Too... too goddamn close," Craig muttered between heaving breaths. 

"There's something coming out the end, Craig. Have I hurt you again?" 

Kathy gently took Craig's tool in her hand and ran her thumb over the 
seepage at the end, spreading the liquid around the head, enjoying its 
running yet semi-sticky composition. It reminded her of diluted clear syrup. 

"Let go, dammit, I told you to let go," a strange voice ordered. 

Kathy pulled her hand back like it had been resting on a burner. 

"You needn't curse. I only want to help." 

"Okay," he said, catching his breath anew. "You want to help me and I want 
to help you. We're going to help each other." 

"I don't know what you mean." 

"I'll show you. You asked about your clitoris. Lay down on your back." 

Kathy scooted up to the middle of the blanket and fell back, stretching her 
legs straight out in front of her. Craig moved down to her feet and rose to 
his knees over them, his prick suspended above her toes like the baton of an 
orchestra leader. 

"The next thing you feel will be your clitoris," he announced. 

Craig took one of her knees in each hand, spread them wide apart, and fell 
open-mouthed into the soft golden mink fleece covering her womanhood. 

Kathy jumped as if the tip of his tongue on her clitoris was an icepick 
splintering her body into a million little pieces, and shocking back into 
place all of her strayed beliefs and backsliding resolve with cold exact 
precision. She sat bolt upright. 

"Craig, what are you doing?" 

Craig was on fire and butted her belly with his head, rooting between her 
thighs like a crazed hog on the scent. 

Kathy was shamefully aware that she had gone crazy temporarily and allowed 
herself to lose control. She would lose more if she didn't act quickly. She 
had to snap Craig out of his sex-crazed spell before he did irreparable harm 
to their patient understanding relationship. 

She slapped his face hard, the flat palm of her hand landing squarely over 
the opening to his ear, scrambling his brains with an aching stinging 
ringing. He flew back to his knees howling, instantly hauling back his fist 
to instinctively kill whoever was responsible for the agony in his head. 

"Craig!" 

He couldn't smash that face, those gorgeous innocent features that were even 
more beautiful with her cat-narrowed eyes disarming him as totally as if a 
six-inch pane of glass had been put between their naked bodies. 

"You're crazy," he pleaded, fighting to gain back some control, the upper 
hand that had slipped away from him. "Look at us. We're completely nude... 
two young beautiful bodies needing to make love." 

"No!" 

Kathy's voice was cold. She jumped to her feet, trying to hide her naked 
body from him. She found her dress and pulled it over her wet hair. 

"You can't leave me like this." 

Kathy saw Craig gesturing toward his stiff thing and she looked away. He had 
hypnotized her, mesmerized her with touches and kisses, but she came out of 
it just in time. He had planned the whole evil thing this way, including a 
phony injury to enlist her sympathy. He had coolly planned her seduction and 
she almost stepped in the trap. 

"You made it that way," she declared spitefully. "Now make it go away." 

"Kathy, you don't understand. I've been trying to make you see the light. 
Girls turn on, not off, when a fellow kisses their clitoris." 

It was the wrong thing for Craig to say. 

"You've done that horrible dirty thing with other girls! You make me sick. 
Get dressed and take me home." Kathy stalked down to the water's edge to 
retrieve her underthings. 

Craig watched disbelieving, his prick shriveling in dishonorable forfeit. He 
wondered why he hadn't popped her in the chops and fucked her then and 
there. It could have been a blessing, because things couldn't have worked 
out any worse. He had his big chance and blew it. It was weird, more than 
that, outright spooky, how a luscious piece like Kathy could transform 
herself from a yielding warm creature to a granite shell with ice water for 
blood. Where was his masculine violence? Why hadn't he creamed her and raped 
her silly, that abstinent nun in the flesh of a sex goddess? Craig was 
concerned that possibly his virility, not her frigidity, was to blame. Had 
he been lacking? But what could have been handled differently? He was 
gentle, considerate and conventional. That must be it! He was so fucking 
thoughtful she had no compelling reason to respect him as a man. Craig knew 
he was a man; the whore in the fraternity house told him after she turned 
him every way but loose. (Or was that something she told all the boys?) All 
right, Craig thought, he would score another round for her. He pulled on his 
pants. Fuck the shorts. Let some goddamn beachcomber wonder about them. 
Craig conceded the skirmish, knowing he would behave much differently in the 
battles ahead. 

The drive home could have been in a snow shoveling truck for all the warmth 
Kathy radiated. Craig let her out at her front door. Kathy was away and 
fumbling with her key before he had time to crawl out his own side. 

"Call you tomorrow," he called, not certain she heard him over the sound of 
the door slamming. 

Kathy leaned against the door and sobbed. What had she done? She knew she 
had been a minute, an inch, a sensation away from willingly contributing her 
virginity. Somewhere in her own body was a chest that could be unlocked, and 
its contents were capable of sapping her strong reserve. It was terrifying 
to Kathy when she considered the numerous access routes to her strongbox of 
passion: a tender wet kiss, fingers on the nipples of her breasts, the tip 
of a tongue making obscene and unexpected contact with her clitoris. So many 
enemies to defend against. 

Craig had gone mad, it went without saying, but Kathy's own emotions were in 
such turmoil that she did not know if she wanted to forsake or forgive him. 
If she allowed the relationship to continue, Kathy would be forced to 
maintain the decorum. Craig had sacrificed her trust. His flesh was weak and 
Kathy would need to be strong enough for both of them. She relented and 
decided to forgive Craig for his lust-crazed lapse, but she would not 
forget. She would be ever alert. 

She tiredly trudged the stairs to her room, the sand in her wet underthings 
irritating the tender flesh between her thighs. She noticed the line of 
light beneath Kay's door at the far end of the hallway. She must be reading 
in bed, Kathy supposed. Maybe she, an older and more worldly woman, would 
give answers to some of the questions burning in her confused mind. Kathy 
quietly approached the door, pausing abruptly in her tracks upon hearing the 
muffled cry from inside the room. 

"Simon, you master fucker, ram in your huge cock. Split me, you bastard." It 
was Kay's whiskey voice, strained as if life was being squeezed from her. 

Kathy pressed an ear to the door and detected the sounds of wet flesh 
slapping, of the bedsprings creaking, of her own father grunting like an 
animal that's been run to the ground. The slam of the front door had shaken 
the whole living room, Kathy knew. Could they be so oblivious to the outside 
world that they did not know Kathy was in the house? Or didn't they care? 

"Work your cunt like your mouth. Tight... tighter... pull!" Simon Carlson's 
voice directed with a detached hardness Kathy had never heard before. 

They were coupled obscenely on the bed, Kathy saw without seeing. Her father 
and Kay were interlocking their loins like her mother and the hired man did 
those short years ago. Kathy was stunned by the generation of insight she 
had gained in only a few hours. She tiptoed to her room, undressed, chose a 
nightgown and slipped into bed. Kathy thought she could hear emotional 
profanities and the pounding of flesh on flesh from Kay's room, the way she 
waited and listened for the next drip after a leaky faucet had been 
tightened. Her chaste world was spinning in confusion, her mind reeling from 
an overexposure of raw sex being practiced out of wedlock. Kathy's beliefs 
were being put to a severe test. She needed an explanation to satisfy her 
immaculately catalogued mind in the light of this night's evidence. Jean was 
a peer who refused to shelter herself the way Kathy did. Possibly she would 
help unravel Kathy's moral dilemma. At tennis tomorrow. 

Craig couldn't sleep. The dull ache in his swollen unrelieved testicles 
wouldn't permit slumber. He was thinking of the sweating young whore at the 
fraternity house, how she had admitted him a strong and handsome young man 
full of false bravado, and released him an hour later a quaking mass of 
jelly. God, that mouth, he remembered, a tingling chill gripping his scrotum 
and snapping his prick erect. He gripped his hardened rod firmly and pumped. 
That tongue... where she put it? He had almost jumped out of his skin. And 
what she did when she knew it was his time. How he had cum and cum and cum, 
actually crying out loudly in pain as the spent balls contracted themselves 
hopelessly dry. The hot prick in his working hand jerked and fired. Craig 
groaned and squeezed his eyes shut as the sperm spread over his covering 
sheet, trying to make himself believe that the ingenious whore was 
methodically working the cum out of him, spurt on top of spurt after spurt, 
but knowing sadly that he would never, not in ten centuries, convince Kathy 
to apply the prostitute's special techniques after they married, if indeed 
they married. 

Chapter Iii 

Kathy was glad her father and Kay had left for the city the next morning 
before she finished dressing. She was certain her face would tell them 
something. She knew she never would look at them in the same way, just as 
she had seen her mother with new eyes after witnessing the horrible 
spectacle in the stable as a little girl. 

Unlike most cases, the divorce of her parents had not been an emotional 
circus with the lone adolescent child the prize in the center ring. There 
was never any question about custody. Her father had anted up a large cash 
settlement on the condition that Lillian never again set foot in the State 
of California, or make any effort to contact Kathy. 

From the age of twelve, Kathy was the mistress of the Carlson house, the 
only woman other than servants. She quickly mastered the supervision of a 
household, leaving every duty to be performed by others. The major 
disadvantage in the new solo arrangement came the day she did what she had 
been doing ever since when confronted with a problem of a personal feminine 
nature. She had gone to Jean. 

Kathy ate a light brunch and packed her tennis costume in a bag. She climbed 
in her car and drove over to the country club. The old man at the gate, a 
cripple Kathy had long ago decided was senile from the eager delighted grins 
he always gave her, waved her through with his cane without leaving his 
stool in the tollhouse. 

Jean, who had driven from home wearing her tennis clothes, was waiting for 
Kathy in the parking lot, sitting on the fender of her new Mustang smoking a 
cigarette. Jean stalled the welcome until Kathy had joined her alongside the 
car, and then she dropped the bomb. 

"I'll give it to you straight. I'm pregnant." 

She said it evenly, as a simple statement of fact, without the slightest 
show of emotion. 

"B-but how?" 

Under different circumstances Jean would have laughed out loud. 

"The usual way. You mean who?" 

Kathy nodded, or she thought she nodded, not sure it wasn't just the weight 
of her jaw dropping. 

"He's a medical student from Southern California. We met at a party over the 
Memorial Day weekend. I had too much to drink and... well, it happened." 

"He took advantage of you." 

"Advantage, hell! I loved every minute of it. I never felt so gloriously 
female and wonderful in my whole life. It was great. I was stupid, that's 
all." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Oh, Kathy, when are you going to stop behaving like you're starring in old 
Margaret O'Brien movies? Doesn't that dreamboat Craig ever stick it to you? 
I'd let him if he was mine." 

"Heavens, no!" Kathy replied. "Not until we're married." 

"That's your hangup. Mine is that my period is four weeks overdue." 

"Have you seen a doctor?" 

"You nuts? My father's a dear and glorious physician, remember? The medical 
Mafia has a pipeline that puts the CIA to shame. Dad would know the minute 
the rabbit died. I have to handle this on my own. With your help." 

"What do you want me to do?" 

"Be my cover. Go with me on a cruise to Mexico. You see the sights and I'll 
see an abortionist." 

Kathy was staggered by such an idea. 

"That's terrible. Doesn't the fellow want to marry you?" 

"He doesn't know and I'm not going to tell him. We're big girls and we have 
to be responsible for our mistakes. I wouldn't marry him regardless. He's 
studying proctology. Can you feature talking hemorrhoids at the breakfast 
table?" 

Jean's brash proposal made Kathy's head spin. What made it all the more 
strange was that Jean had no remorse whatsoever about giving up the 
virginity that Kathy valued so highly. And to a virtual stranger. In fact, 
she relished the memory of surrendering it. Jean no longer was a fit person 
to hear Kathy's problems; she, like the others near to her, was committed to 
the life of the flesh, from which there was no turning back. 

"I was going to ask your advice today... about a personal matter," Kathy 
shook her head, seeing the irony. 

"I presume about S-E-X. Take my word, it's groovy. But be smart. What do you 
say about Mexico?" 

"Let me think about it while I change," Kathy said. 

"Okay. I'll be waiting on the court." 

Jean left for the clay playing courts and Kathy walked with her head in a 
fog in the other direction, toward the women's locker room beside the pool. 
Grayson, the maintenance man, was coming out as she entered, carrying his 
toolbox under his arm. She tilted her head in thanks as he held the door 
open for her with his back, Kathy hardly noticing who it was, the silly 
notions of the night before overwhelmed by the weight of subsequent 
developments. 

"Afternoon, Miss Carlson. Fine day for your little tennis game," he said, 
glancing up and down her body with undisguised longing. 

Kathy didn't even hear him, too preoccupied was she with the lewd images of 
Jean and her faceless man, her father and Kay, and even herself and Craig 
naked on the dark beach, all blurring together in her head. 

She stepped inside a dressing cubicle and drew the curtain behind her. She 
was startled to see her own reflection, her troubled face straining in a 
futile quest for answers, looking back at her. A new full-length mirror had 
been installed, a good idea probably suggested by some of the older women 
who were weary of bending over backwards like contortionists to see if their 
slips showed while dressing after a day at poolside. 

Kathy kicked off her sandals and changed into sweatsocks and sneakers. She 
pulled the bright paint-splashed granny dress over her blonde head and 
unhooked the bra, tossing both down on the bench and picking up her tennis 
suit. She turned to the mirror and hesitated, naked except for bikini 
panties through which bulged the golden triangle above her vagina. 

Kathy closely studied herself in the mirror, mystified by what it was there 
on her body that turned a sensible young man like Craig into an unreasoning 
animal. Her breasts were large and full, but they were only breasts. Every 
woman had them. She took a lot of envious ribbing about their size from Jean 
and girls at school, which made her blush. Jean told her if they swapped 
some ass for some titty, both of them could have perfect hourglass figures. 
Jean's hips were full and rounded, while Kathy's were slender and compact. 
Jean mercilessly kidded Kathy about her thinner hips: "Honey, the guys say 
the sweetest meat is closest to the bone." 

Kathy was beginning to see everything with a sexual connotation, and that 
worried her. She remembered the damage of promiscuity. It had cost her 
mother a good marriage and was about to result in the destruction of an 
inborn fetus in Jean's womb. Kathy herself had gambled by not letting Craig 
take excessive liberties, and she was certain he respected her more for it. 

Thinking of Craig, her hand absently slid down the front of her belly to her 
crotch, gently feeling for the clitoris through the panties. The effect was 
instantaneous. The sensory nub of her vagina filled to a bursting hardness 
and Kathy's body jerked as if the finger had wandered into an open light 
socket. She had to see, to closely examine this part of the body that 
operated independently of her conscious commands. Kathy poked her head out 
the curtain and looked around. The locker room was empty. She slipped out of 
the panties and moved closer to the mirror, her hands parting the golden 
patch and peeling back the fleshy cunt-lips to expose the raw pink mouth of 
her unmolested vagina. The clitoris protruded like a bud, tingling and 
throbbing, crying to be stroked back to peaceful inactivity. 

Kathy touched her clitoris again and felt her knees give forward, her loins 
instinctively leaning into the stimulation and the automatic pump in her 
vagina clicking on to feed liquid lubricant to its walls, drooling out the 
open mouth of her cunt. Now her hand was drawn to the pulsating bulb 
magnetically, soothing it with a single stroking circling digit, gradually 
applying greater pressure, keeping alive the foreign flowing current that 
made her thighs tremble and the nipples on her breasts smart with 
prickliness. 

Kathy felt something building from deep inside her, as if little balloons 
packed inside her womb were waiting for instructions to burst. She was 
standing flat-footed, knees bowed out, her head turned upward and eyes 
clenched shut and straining, her every body fiber reaching out to that spot 
where her finger worked magic on the sexual control box of her womanhood. 

Goosebumps broke out on her flesh and a chilly phantom finger crawled up her 
spine. Her loins were bucking, sweeping the clitoris up against the charged 
finger in a conflicting direction. 

She pitched her head forward and her whirling brain was unable to guarantee 
balance. Kathy opened her eyes in fear of falling face forward into the 
mirror. What she saw horrified her, the wanton, contorted, crazed expression 
on her own face. A wave of shame swept through her body, drowning the fires 
that had been ignited by her manipulating finger. Kathy found her panties 
and pulled them on, afraid to face her own reflection in the mirror. She 
hoped she never again would wear such a look of uncontrolled abandonment. 
She shuddered as she felt the crotch of the panties filling with her 
vagina's sensual excretion. She hurriedly put on the tennis costume and 
threw open the curtain to the dressing cubicle. She put the bra, dress and 
sandals in her locker, and removed her covered tennis racket and a can of 
balls. She closed the metal door with a slam that cleared her head of the 
last dying pleas for fulfillment. She passed by the open curtain on her way 
out, but kept her eyes on the concrete floor, too ashamed to look at her own 
face in the mirror and see the self-rebuke she knew was there. 

Grayson had been converted. He now believed there was a merciful God who 
favored him from somewhere in the heavens. He had a massive leaking hardon 
that stained the front of his trousers and threatened the very strength of 
the denim material. He could have masturbated, but he was supremely 
confident he was going to do better. Better than he had ever done in his 
entire life. 

He was going to screw the snotty blonde babe. 

He knew it as sure as he was standing there in the darkness, in front of the 
full-length two-way mirror looking into the now-empty dressing cubicle, with 
a Polaroid camera in his feverish hands. 

The country club architect had thought of everything, including concealed 
utilities, electrical, gas, water and telephone lines that ran through a 
shaft, big enough for a man to enter to repair without having to tear up the 
fucking walls of the joint, separating the locker rooms near the pool from 
the main banquet room in the clubhouse. What the architect forgot, Grayson 
took care of, cutting out two doorways linking the tunnel to the women's 
dressing cubicles and installing a pair of mirrors, camouflaged on the shaft 
side with twin thin sheets of easily-removed paneling no one would ever 
think to look behind. 

At best he hoped for a few snaps of rich broads to add to his collection of 
naked pictures, just something he could invite the guys on the staff over to 
see for laughs. They would be impressed as hell, because Grayson wasn't 
going to let them in on how he got the pictures. He'd smile and let their 
imaginations do the rest. He figured if he got real lucky he might get a 
snatch shot of the Carlson girl, hopefully a double feature with her 
dark-haired girl friend naked in the next cubicle. But it worked out better 
than he might have dreamed. 

He had only just finished the mirror job when he met her coming into the 
locker room, waltzing by him without looking, treating him like something 
she found on a toilet seat in a whorehouse. Grayson hightailed it to his 
quarters down in the boiler room and found the camera, then back out and 
racing alongside the pool, slipping on the wet surface of the deck and 
nearly breaking his ass, over to the narrow unnoticeable door opening to the 
utilities tunnel, for which Grayson alone had a key. He was afraid to use a 
flashlight, not knowing if the illumination would show through on her side 
of the glass, and so he felt his way along the dank walls in the darkness 
until his fingers found the rough edge of the first sheet of paneling and he 
detected the vibration of a body moving on the other side of the glass. He 
softly removed the covering and that was when the hardon arrived to stay. 

She was pulling off her low-cut panties and then she turned to face the 
mirror, spreading her snatch right in front of his eyes! The ragged pink 
hair-lined lips of her cunt called to him to burst through the transparent 
barrier and taste the inner sweetness they protected. 

The tunnel was steamy hot, but Grayson was hotter. He could feel the sweat 
rolling down off his forehead and burning into his eyes. He mopped his brow 
with his sleeve and fell back against the wall facing the mirror for added 
support as he steadied the camera. Then he remembered! Shit, there were only 
two exposures left. He had wasted all the other shots on the flabby slut who 
had been almost as good a fuck as a pile of rising pizza dough. 

No matter. He'd have to make the two he had count. He wanted the most erotic 
ones he could get and he shuttered quickly on the split beaver, a pose where 
her face had a curious expression, as if contemplating the size of an 
off-camera dong about to split her pussy. Grayson waited quietly, watching 
the necessary minute spin off on the luminous dial of his wristwatch with 
one eye while the other grew wide in depraved glee as the bitch began to 
softly finger her clit. 

Everything suddenly fell into place in Grayson's mind. This was a picture 
that could be converted into a currency more meaningful than the money that 
separated them socially. He would have that rich bitch's body twisting and 
cooking on his spit of a prick before the day was out. 

He tore out the first picture and loaded for the last, one that would win 
him the cunt of someone who spurned him and viewed him as a bug. 

Grayson breathed quietly, his eyes shifting from the finger in the wet cunt 
up over the mountainous tight tits to her working face, aiming the camera 
and holding out for the right second. 

Then it was there, an unearthly immoral face above the straining stance of a 
savage African dancer, and Grayson clicked, capturing and freezing on a 
chemically treated small sheet of paper the single most impassioned second 
Kathy Carlson had ever known. 

Grayson acted just in time, for then the girl changed as though someone had 
dumped a bucket of snow over her head. She didn't look at the mirror again. 
Her face was flushed with exertion, Grayson presumed, leaning forward as the 
aroused cunt disappeared inside the panties and then to see the heavy 
heaving tits jacketed into the skimpy tennis suit. He pocketed the second 
print and waited until she walked by the dressing cubicle on her way out 
before he folded the camera and began feeling his way out of the tunnel. 

Back in his boiler-room quarters, Grayson massaged the straining front of 
his pants as he carefully examined the two photographs. He returned one to 
his shirt pocket and put the other in a plain white envelope, deciding 
against sealing it. Then he reloaded the camera with a roll of film from his 
trunk. He checked his watch and calculated that Barker, the bartender, would 
be finished with his luncheon shift upstairs in a few minutes. He gently 
slid the envelope into his back pocket and left the room to wait for Barker 
in the kitchen. 

The volleying was more with words over the net than tennis balls. They 
weren't bothering to keep score, each girl halfheartedly swatting the ball 
and not stretching to return a shot just out of reach. It was a slow-motion 
physical background music, that was all, quite a contrast to the usual fiery 
tournament-style of their competition. Jean noticed a change had come over 
Kathy when she arrived at the court and felt a stab of guilt. It was her 
predicament, Jean felt certain, that had made Kathy finally aware that 
life's harsh realities are far different than she had imagined in her 
Pollyanna world of innocence. 

They met over the net after an unspirited warm-up exercise. 

"What exactly do you want me to do?" Kathy asked, staring at the tennis ball 
in her hand as if it were a crystal containing the secret of her future. 

"Agree to go to Mexico. Cruise ships leave San Francisco every other week. 
I'll dip into the trust fund and pay all expenses. It won't cost you a dime. 
It'll be more comfortable in Ensenada with you there... just in case." 

"You've thought about that?" Kathy said, raising her face to Jean. There was 
a flicker of fear, disappearing as easily as Jean might have swept back an 
irritating lock of her dark hair. 

"Everything's crossed my mind, but I'm not afraid. It's as simple as pulling 
a loose tooth at this stage. Any later and there could be complications." 

"I'm not sure daddy will let me go to Mexico." 

"That's baloney, Kathy. The way I get it he's scared to death he raised a 
potential nun. We're liberated modern women and your dad's a worldly 
understanding guy. Didn't you notice him practically screwing that Kay with 
his eyes last night?" 

Kathy pulled back, debating whether or not it was incumbent upon her to 
defend the morals of her father. Sounds through the closed door to Kay's 
room re-echoed in her ears and she remained silent. 

"I'm right," Jean said prophetically. "You haven't learned the signs yet. If 
you were better trained you'd also know how much poor horny Craig is 
suffering because you won't let him in your pants. Do yourself and him a 
favor, Kathy. Just be careful." 

Kathy was appalled by the suggestion and backed up to the service line. They 
hit a few balls back and forth, the exercise helping to settle Kathy's 
jangled nerves. She wondered how her whole life had been altered 
irreversibly by the sordid events of one evening and an afternoon. Confused, 
she had allowed her emotions full rein until her remaining good sense 
checked them at the very edge of a plunging precipice. Jean's return of her 
serve zinged by to the right, but Kathy made no effort to reach it. 

"All right, I'll do it," she called. 

Jean rushed to the net. "Thanks, Kathy, I'll never forget," Jean said, 
almost bursting into tears of relieved joy. Kathy joined her at mid-court. 

"I want to discuss some things with you on the trip. There are a number of 
questions you may be able to answer for me. Let's leave as soon as we can." 

"That's all I want to know. I'll make arrangements this very afternoon." 

Jean dashed off the court, sprinting for the parking lot. Kathy walked over 
to the bench wearily and mopped her forehead with a towel. She hooded the 
racket and canned the tennis balls. She went to the drinking fountain and 
tasted a cooling sip, spotting someone entering through the chain-link gate. 
It was the country club custodian and he had an envelope in his hand. 

"Miss Carlson, I was asked to give this to you." 

She took the white envelope curiously. Perhaps a quickly scribbled note of 
thanks from Jean, she thought. The man stood his ground, smiling at her 
strangely, the look that made her feel so uncomfortable and afraid at the 
dance. 

"Thank you," she said, dismissing him with her tone. "I'll read it later." 

"Read it now," he replied with a directness Kathy thought rude and 
frightening. "The party is waiting for an answer," he added softly as if 
trying to explain his bluntness to her. 

Kathy's displeasure was gone as she looked into Grayson's unusual eyes. The 
envelope was not sealed and she was able to remove the contents without 
taking her eyes off his face. The note paper, little more than the size of a 
playing card, had a strange sticky substance on it that made her look down 
inquisitively. 

The first sight of the pornographic photograph, the vile, disgusting paper 
in her hand, made her want to heave up the contents of her stomach. But in 
the next split-second she realized that the twisted spellbound face beneath 
the long blonde hair was her own. Now she could feel Grayson's eyes burning 
into her body even though she dared not look again at his face. 

"There is another picture, much more lively, that a certain party has for 
you in the boiler room. Unless you arrive to pick it up in the next ten 
minutes, it goes in the mail somewhere you wouldn't like." 

Grayson turned abruptly and sauntered off, leaving the gate to the tennis 
court open wide behind him. 

Kathy ripped the offensive photo to pieces, stuffing the fragments back into 
the envelope and wadding it into a ball so tightly that it hurt her fingers. 
She threw the paper into the trash barrel by the drinking fountain, wishing 
she had a bar of soap to scrub the filth from her hands. 

What could she do? She saw Grayson's slouched figure shrinking as he spread 
the distance between them, on the way to the boiler room. It was clear to 
Kathy that the unnamed "party" was Grayson himself. 

She had no time to listen to the pros and cons from the debate going on in 
her mind. Ten minutes. Six hundred seconds stood between her and a disaster 
unknown. Kathy would make the custodian understand the pain she felt, the 
shame that coursed through her body, the humiliation she wallowed in from 
head to toe because of one deranged moment in which she had yielded to 
sensual temptation somehow being preserved on film. 

She had to have the picture at almost any price. Grayson was a reasonable 
person she could convince with her entreaties, her kneeling prayers if need 
be. Human beings were rational. She was certain she could make him see. 

Kathy ran in Grayson's tracks. 

Chapter Iv 

Nothing in Grayson's history equipped him for the thin-air heights of the 
feeling of complete and absolute control over another human being. The 
beautiful blonde young woman standing defiantly in front of him in the 
obviously expensive brief white tennis outfit was his to use fully, to do 
with as he pleased. He would take the Chippendale chip off her shoulder and 
stick it up her ass. He would degrade her to the limits of his inventive 
mind. She would be unable to protest. She was totally at his mercy, as if 
she were a slave he had purchased from among the human wares of an Arab 
flesh peddler. He was going to let her know it-in the best basic way. The 
consciousness of power was increased in Grayson's mind by the fact that she 
was rich and young, a living symbol to lash with invective and his seething 
hatred for the privileged class who robbed him of his youth, forcing him to 
kowtow to their demands and rewarding him with shit. 

"How much do you want?" Kathy said. 

"Strip," he ordered. 

"No, Mr. Grayson. I can give you money, but that's all." 

Grayson's laugh was a snorting snarl, his cracked lips stretching back to 
reveal decaying stained teeth that would drive a dentist to despair. It was 
a sinisterly non-human sound that chilled Kathy to the very marrow of her 
bones and made her feel wobbly on her feet. 

"You'll pay. You'll pay plenty, bitch. From here... your tight pussy of a 
purse." 

Grayson's language and vehemence so unnerved Kathy that she didn't have the 
presence of mind to attempt to dodge the stubby fingers that shot up to the 
front of her tennis shorts. She gave a startled gasp as the back of his hand 
slipped inside the loose leg opening and the knuckles grazed through the 
panties against the soft fur mound above her vagina. A look of open-mouthed 
horror was on her face and she cried out and fought to pry loose the hand 
tightening beneath her clothing. He had shoved it in all the way to the 
wrist and there was no escaping short of ripping the entire one-piece 
costume from her body. 

The full impact of what he expected now struck Kathy with thudding force. 
There were to be no negotiations over blackmail money, the very least she 
had expected, or a payoff with the pleasure of her company and possibly a 
few distasteful kisses, the very worst she had feared. This man, whose smell 
of sweat and cleaning fluids made Kathy nearly physically ill, thought that 
she would willingly yield her body to him in return for the incriminating 
photograph. 

She pushed hard against his chest trying to drive his body back, but the 
futile gesture only unbalanced her and gave his hand freer access to her 
crotch. He threw his other arm around her back and crushed her against him 
while the hand buried in her private parts twisted over and worked into the 
passage between her thighs, the unkempt nails digging painfully into the 
smooth resisting flesh. Grayson had forced the whole of his hand beneath her 
hot cunt until the short thick fingers could touch the crease where the 
buttock folded over the thigh. Now he squeezed lightly as he would do to 
half-drain a sponge. 

Kathy was on the verge of hysteria, becoming aware that she was a captive in 
the grip of a sex-crazed maniac. He was trapping her so tightly with the arm 
around her back that she could hardly breathe and thought she might faint. 
The hand cruelly hurting between her legs served as a double lock to the 
imprisonment of her body. Tears of fear and helplessness rushed from her 
eyes. 

One of her arms was a useless stranger stiff against her body inside 
Grayson's bearhug. The other hung limp and free, but it might as well have 
been tied. She knew if she used it to claw at his eyes, or to rip at the 
dandruff-specked graying greasy hair beneath the freckled bald dome, the 
muscled forearm with the bulging tendons and arteries could command the 
buried hand to close like a vise and crush her pelvis. She could scream, but 
the cries would only bounce back and forth off the thick concrete walls in 
the humid boiler room sunk in the earth beneath the large kitchen of the 
country club. 

Her acceptance of the total helplessness of the situation involuntarily 
untensed her muscles and she felt as if she were shrinking and the full 
weight of her body was being redistributed to her lower parts. She was 
sinking within herself until she existed only as a side of beef being 
supported in a vertical position by Grayson's hand uplifting tightly against 
her cunt, and he was the meatcutter about to cleave through her hide to 
select the tender cuts. 

"Please give me the picture and let me go. I won't say a word. Oh, please... 
please..." 

Grayson had felt the first signal of submission from the girl's body and he 
replied with a slow sawing motion of the hand, hooking his middle finger to 
insert the crotch of the panties into her vaginal slit. The material skipped 
and pulled unevenly over the arid hair-lined cuntlips and burned abrasively 
until the trenching finger reached the sensitive budlike clitoris, springing 
it instantly into a hardened knot and triggering the automatic sprinkler 
system inside the vaginal walls. At almost the same instant Kathy felt a 
strange stirring in her breasts, as if they were growing fuller while being 
crushed against the man's chest, the nipples sympathizing with the clashing 
in the cunt below by bursting out as hardened blisters. 

Kathy's breath was coming in tight gasps and the burning sensation bubbling 
in her belly grew in maddening intensity as the finger now slid smoothly 
over her moistening slit. The lubricant was pouring out of her cunt from the 
little-tapped spring inside. Beads of perspiration formed on her upper lip 
as the flood from between her thighs soaked the crotch of her panties and 
seeped through the material into the thick palm of Grayson's hand. 

"That's the idea. Get lathered up good. You'll be needing all the cunt juice 
you can produce." 

"No, stop now! No one's ever talked... treated me this way," Kathy pleaded 
in a daze. 

Grayson made that cold and frightening sound that passed for his laughter. 

"Don't shit me, rich bitch. This velvet-lined snatch has squeezed half the 
young pricks in El Camino. The only difference between you and poor girls is 
that they have to get theirs on the wet grass while you fuck in comfort in 
Cadillac back seats." 

"Believe me," Kathy protested weakly, "no one has ever..." 

He interrupted. "Somebody taught you something, missy. You were doing a fair 
job finger-fucking for the photographer." 

Grayson found the zipper on the back of the playsuit. The shrill zinging 
sound of its parting from one long downward stroke was a further grim 
warning signal to the girl. He grabbed a handful of the material at the 
chest and stripped it away from the top of her body, his eyes widening as 
the large breasts with pink peaked brown nipples sprang into view, the heavy 
bags jiggling with the effort of Kathy's uneven breathing. 

"You like to hang loose to bounce free and easy-like playing tennis. Feels 
good to have the material scratching the end of your nips like a cat's 
tongue. That's why you do it, ain't it, bitch? You like the tingling it 
starts down in your cunt." 

Kathy saw through her tears that Grayson's unfeeling eyes had grown even 
more cruel as he hungrily feasted on the bareness of her upper body while 
the wrist continued to disappear between her legs, the finger gouging deeper 
into previously unexplored regions of her vagina. Did he actually expect her 
to answer the taunting and obscene questions he was spewing at her? Could he 
be so sick and depraved as to find enjoyment, a perverted form of 
self-gratification, by soliciting replies to such crudely phrased queries? 
He was demanding answers that would imply, from her own lips, that she was 
as lust-crazed as he. Kathy shook her head rebelliously. 

She was unprepared for the sharp pain from between her legs. Grayson had 
located vaginal hairs protruding from her panties and pulled until she 
thought they would rip from the tender flesh by their roots. He slapped his 
hand over her mouth to stifle the scream that was building from the very 
center of the pain cores in her body. Salty indignant tears washed down her 
face to the muffling hand of her oppressor. 

"Things'll be easier when you cooperate. Now you just answer the questions 
or I'll pluck your pussy bald." 

Seldom in her life had Kathy known true physical pain, and Grayson had the 
looks and demeanor of a man who knew how to inflict hurt skillfully and 
ingeniously-and enjoy himself immensely at the same time. Her only thoughts 
were how she could get the picture and be free of this ordeal with the least 
amount of lasting harm. He wanted her to make untrue sexual admissions. He 
wanted to hear the obscenities roll from her own mouth. All right. Kathy 
would invent lies and speak profanely. She would say anything that would 
help bring this nightmare to an end. Kathy knew she had better do what he 
asked, or those flat blunt instruments at the ends of Grayson's short hair 
arms could maim her for life. 

Her head weakly bobbed surrender and Grayson took his hand off her crushed 
lips. 

"That's better, bitch," he said, smiling evilly in victory to offset the 
angelic softness of his voice. "Tell how you like my hand on your pussy." 

"I like your hand..." she faltered, unable to form the word. 

"Cat got your tongue?" Grayson's fingers found more loose cunt hairs and 
brutally braided. 

The wet rattle in her throat was changing to a piteous howl of excruciating 
agony when Grayson relaxed his hold. The sound died deep in her chest, 
broken by quick relieved gasps. 

"... on my pussy," she said, caving in completely to Grayson's dirty word 
game. 

"Now tell me some of the other names your pussy is called," he said, 
addressing her like a stern headmaster during a Latin drill. 

Kathy frantically searched the trash bin of her memory for bits and pieces 
of conversation overheard at her college dorm. 

"C-cunt... snatch," she said, little above a whisper. 

"Very good. Louder next time, please. A few more and we'll start the next 
lesson." 

Kathy's mind raced. She knew there were more vulgar words used in 
analogizing the female genitals. 

"Box... slit... hothole... cockpit..." 

Grayson tilted his head as if listening to music, a satisfied smirk on his 
lips. 

"I like cockpit best," he said. 

His hand pushed from its nestling place against her cunt back and over the 
slender hips until the fingers found the elastic waistband of her bikini 
panties. He pulled and she felt the crotch-soaked briefs sliding down her 
legs to the top of her tennis socks, trailed to the floor by the white 
costume that had been bunched at her hips. She stood, naked except for shoes 
and socks, a dull defeated look in her large brown eyes. Grayson stepped 
back to more fully survey the attributes of his chosen receptacle for the 
hot sticky sperm generating furiously in his fuck-starved balls. 

The long light hair fell straight to her bare shoulders, as if protecting 
them from his hot eyes, and framed the wholesomely colored outdoorsy face. 
The wide hazel eyes were downcast behind the long curling lashes, 
contemplating the dainty small hands demurely crossed in front of her 
vagina. The full slightly parted lips wore a perpetual pout and the cheeks 
hollowed beneath the high facial bones, creating a picture in Grayson's mind 
of his thick cock lying stiff on the back of her tongue while her mouth 
inhaled air around it. She needed no makeup. The breasts rose majestically 
like massive pale dunes on the white highway ringing the upper half of her 
body between the darkly tanned shoulders and belly. He had to see those tits 
move. 

"Hand behind your head!" 

Kathy had no will to resist and she laced the fingers of both hands behind 
her head. A prisoner of war, she thought. 

Grayson's breathing grew labored as the upraised arms lifted the breasts to 
an even greater uncreased firmness, the elongated nipples giving the 
impression of a finger inside the globe trying to push its way through the 
flesh. 

"Drop 'em, bitch. Hands behind your ass. Open your legs." 

Kathy stalled, pleading with her eyes. Grayson's look threatened mayhem. 

"How you plan to explain a hairless snatch to your boyfriends?" 

"God, please don't hurt me again." 

She dropped her hands, resting the backs against her buttocks, clenching 
them into tight bloodless fists, the knuckles pressed hard into the 
resilient flesh of her ass. Her ankles opened only a foot, trapped by the 
confines of her clothing. 

Grayson crouched and freed her legs, also pulling off the shoes and 
stockings. From his kneeling position he could have been one of the faithful 
praying at the loins of a beautiful nude statue to a fertility goddess. He 
looked head on at her cunt, which started terrain level with the firm flat 
belly and then plunged into the protective valley formed by contours from 
her sound thighs. 

Kathy was naked, in the military "at-ease" position, engulfed by waves of 
humiliation and shame as Grayson's eyes freely traveled over the secrets of 
her body never before seen so clearly by a man. She wished the nerve ends 
would flee her flesh just as the spirit of resistance had vanished at the 
first flash of pain. Instead each uncovered pore seemed to ignite on contact 
with Grayson's searing eyes. A knuckle rapped her ankle bone sharply and she 
obeyed the unspoken command by slowly inching the foot out across the 
concrete floor, feeling the damp pubic hairs parting and the air rushing 
into her open cunt, the dripping fountain of womanhood she now expected 
Grayson to violate again with his hand. But Kathy was wrong. 

Grayson stuck his head in. 

She looked down horrified, repulsed by the sight of Grayson insinuating his 
scaly skin-covered pate against her vagina, ramming and rolling his head 
amid the tender fleshy folds of the cunt lips as if believing they formed a 
soft bristly archway to a reservoir of magical hair restorer. A terrible 
taste came to her mouth and her insides convulsed as though she might vomit. 
There was a humming noise emanating from his body like the drone from a 
beehive as he bobbed his small evil head, painting his bare scalp with coat 
after coat of the secretions from her vagina. He grabbed the cheeks of her 
ass with both hands to keep his balance as he bored his whole head between 
her legs, now oiling the hair fringe on the back of his skull with the 
lubricant from her cunt. His unshaven cheeks scraped against her smooth 
inner thighs and her buttocks bounced from the subterranean buffeting they 
received. Grayson eased back slightly and tilted his head up. She saw his 
neck muscles tense as he corkscrewed his crown hard into her cunt. The 
demented animal must be trying to return to the womb, Kathy thought, before 
a sudden thrust from below nearly lifted her off the ground. 

Grayson caught her before she could fall. He stood up and unbuckled his 
belt. His head shone in the dim light of the room and there were patches of 
the hair horseshoeing his skull that had been slicked down by her cunt 
juice. 

"Unbutton my shirt." 

Grayson liked the way her hands flew to his shirt without hesitation and 
began nervously to unbutton their way down the front. He liked it because it 
meant she had snapped like a twig, this haughty blonde bitch who got 
everything she wanted because she could pay the price. She hadn't been able 
to settle the score with Grayson by offering legal tender. He would make her 
pay the tab with sweat. He was going to sweat her until she was parched and 
screaming for him to fill her dehydrated body with his thick life-giving 
cum. The delicious thrill of turning the tables on this richly endowed rich 
girl, of jamming and fucking his ripping prick deeper into her belly until 
she begged, yes, begged for the first time in her entire pampered life for 
him to end it with wild waves of his white washing cum, set up a tingle of 
excitement in Grayson as his pants fell to the floor, the belt buckle 
striking the concrete with a clink, his heavy sagging balls adjusting to the 
change in temperature. 

He had rutted his head into her cunt and the wet lips had parted and tried 
to cover the whole top like an oily fur skull cap. The high-class bitch 
thought her pussy was full of gold, but she split apart the same way every 
female animal on earth did, and Grayson was going to make sure she realized 
it. She had a hole between her legs the same as the fat nigger he had fucked 
until frustration, except that her snatch would be tighter and her face more 
interesting to study, twisting and crying out passion-filled curses as he 
jackhammered his blunt thick spear up the warm dark tunnel into her 
midsection. 

Grayson knew how he would complete the humiliation of the stunning sex slave 
completely under his domination. The master's stroke of his genius made him 
grin widely as the naked girl came to the last button on his shirt. Born 
with a silver spoon in her mouth, fed on genuine sterling silver dinnerware, 
clothed and cared for with silver that her father extorted from poor people 
like himself when they ran afoul of the regulations enacted and enforced by 
silver-tongued lawyers like her dad. He knew exactly what he wanted to do 
after he slowly withdrew his deflated cock and watched as his cum overflowed 
the hairy pink lips of her cunt and worked its way down to the puckered ring 
of her anus. Wasn't her fancy world founded on silver? Just so she would get 
the message that she was no better than a slut he could pick up out of the 
gutter for a fast cheap fuck, Grayson was going to wedge a quarter up her 
ass. 

Grayson spread open his shirt like parting a curtain and Kathy blanched as 
the thick upturned prick came into full view. It was huge, long and thick, 
and leaking a clear fluid from the skin-covered end. The uncircumcised cock 
was repugnant to her with its bluntness. It looked more like a dark heavy 
clublike instrument of harm when she compared it in her mind to the pale 
stiletto between Craig's legs with its forthright exposed ridged head. 
Grayson's cock flared out from his fishbelly white lower abdomen and was 
surrounded at its base by a thick tangle of cum-matted hair, making Kathy 
suspect that the filthy man's concealed penis head could be infected with 
any of those awful venereal diseases she had read about. Kathy shrank away 
from him with a growing dread of his touch. 

There was a sound trying to tell her something, a deep reverberating echo 
bouncing against the walls of her audio reception room, but being 
out-shouted by the pounding of her heart inside her eardrums. 

While Kathy could not unscramble outside sounds because of the confusion 
boiling in her brain, she did recognize her own lungs when they produced a 
shrill scream. 

"Aarreeeeiiieeeeee!" 

The irregular, gurgling lunatic outcry had emitted from her throat, Kathy 
realized, because the flesh was being stripped away from her body at one of 
the most sensitive places. Grayson had the dark skin beneath the pointed 
peak of her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and was pulling and 
twisting murderously. Then he released the breast and grabbed her hair in 
both hands, shaking Kathy's head violently until her teeth rattled together. 

"Slut, you listen when I talk to you!" he screamed in her face. "Goddammit, 
I told you to take off my shoes." 

Grayson jerked down on her hair and she sank to her knees in front of him, 
tear blinded, her hands groping for his shoes. She found them and untied the 
knots, slipping off the leather workshoes and peeling away the smelly 
tight-fitting stockings. She detected a softening in his voice as she felt a 
light stroking in the silkiness of her hair. 

"That's a nice girl," his voice was crooning. "Do exactly what Mr. Grayson 
tells you and everything will be fine." 

She wondered if the pain and dishonor he heaped upon her finally had gotten 
through to his conscience, that perhaps there was an ounce of human decency 
in the depraved man who was tenderly smoothing over the soreness he had 
inflicted on her head. 

She tilted her head... and nearly gagged. 

Grayson was petting her with his prick, squeezing it near his stump so that 
seminal fluid oozed out into her hair and filtered through to the scalp. 

Kathy needed no more proof that he was dangerously insane, a degenerate who 
was capable of strangling her with his hands and then sexually abusing her 
corpse. Suddenly the issue shifted to one of simple survival. If she hoped 
to live, she would have to do exactly as he ordered, fully and without 
hesitation, no matter how painful or depraved his wish. 

She arose with his shoes in her hands and stood before him waiting for the 
next command like a spaniel with the master's slippers in its mouth. 

Grayson slapped the shoes to the floor and took her by the wrist, leading 
her to the rumpled bunk, a light oasis in the dim room from a shaded coldly 
bright bulb overhead. 

Now it's coming, Kathy thought. He'd throw her down on the dirty blanket and 
ravish her the way he would a filthy whore off a Skid Row street. Grayson, 
holding her by the wrist firmly, surprised Kathy by stretching himself out 
on the blanket, thrusting his ugly dark prick higher in the air as he 
smoothed the lumps under his buttocks. 

"Now you find a seat," he said, jerking her arm. 

"W-where?" 

"On my face." 

He pulled her wrist until she loomed over him from the top of the bed, 
staring down the length of his body from behind his bald head. 

"Get up on your knees." 

She crawled forward on the bed and he roughly prodded until she was in a 
kneeling position with the back of her buttocks level with his upturned 
eyes. She had to press forward against his chest to stay upright. 

"Settle down, easy like," he said, pulling back on her thighs and descending 
the darkness of her open crotch down over his face. 

Lightning struck inside Kathy when his tongue first contacted her clitoris. 
The stupefying electrical shock made her body pitch forward out of control. 
She fell face down on his hairy thigh, her breasts cushioning the impact on 
his bloated belly. She tried to squirm forward down his leg and away from 
the rigid prick leaning against the side of her face, but Grayson dug his 
sweating fingers into her thighs and brutally shifted her hips so that his 
upturned animal face could feed at her trough of a cunt. 

She struggled to close her thighs, but it was hopeless, only serving to 
implant his mouth deeper into her vagina and force his nose against the 
rubbery ring of her anus. Her knees dug into his shoulders to no avail and 
her feet, toes curling inward tightly as if to block and ricochet the 
strange current coursing down her legs, flailed futilely in the empty air at 
the head of the bed. 

The pink moist flesh of her naked vagina was presented down to his working 
lips in defenseless sacrifice. Kathy lay frozen on Grayson's midsection as 
his tongue tortured her by running circles over the ragged pink edges of her 
cunt and flicking at the clitoris until it was a throbbing tight bud. She 
groaned like a victim on the rack as he pushed his face forward and the full 
length of his slippery snake of a tongue buried itself into the warm flowing 
walls of her pussy. 

"Oh, God... ooohhh, God," she heard herself moaning, pounding her perspiring 
forehead against his thigh as if searching blindly for a button to turn off 
the machine lewdly ravishing the entranceway to her womb. She could not 
believe such a depraved attack actually was happening to her. 

Her virgin genitals were being crudely plundered by a despicable madman only 
a matter of hours after she denied a similar intimacy to the man she loved. 
What pitiless irony. 

It can't be happening to me... such a humiliating attack by this unsanitary 
animal with unwholesome indulgences, she tried to tell herself as the tongue 
repeatedly speared in and out the involuntarily dilating lips of her cunt. 

She convinced herself it would be possible to be considered a virgin after 
her relentlessly licking despoiler took his fill of the oral outrage to her 
loins and set her free. In her pounding heart she knew the face barbarously 
raping her vagina with a thick twisting tongue had succeeded in its mission 
by employing sheer force. No man of reason or spiritual force would view her 
as a willing accomplice to the abomination. No countenance, human or divine, 
demanded that she lay down her very life rather than open her thighs. 

Grayson pried apart her buttocks with his strong fingers and his slavering 
tongue tip flickered against the tight puckered ring of her anus. 

"Oooooooohhhh, geeeezus... geeeEEEEzus!" 

A sadistic smothered laugh helped weaken Kathy as she tried with all her 
remaining strength to force shut the flesh mound doors to her asshole, to 
push out the featherlike tickling of her anus that threatened to push her 
over the brink to madness. 

"Oh, p-please, p-please, ooooh, ooooh, stop, stop, stop! That's driving me 
insane." 

Grayson drew his face back and blew a hot pointed stream into her asshole, 
as if trying to fan up the flames he was lighting in her sensitive anus. 

"You have to speak louder. Use the microphone by your head. Maybe I'll 
stop." 

Grayson's face plunged back into the crevice, and he worked the muscles of 
his tongue until the tip broke through the tight rubbery ring and penetrated 
inside the virgin asshole. 

"Aaaaaaaggg," she gasped between clenched teeth, flailing her head from side 
to side, her face scrubbing Grayson's thigh with her tears of anguish. Her 
fingers stretched and dug into the filthy blanket. One hand flew to her hair 
to tear it out from the side, self-inflicted torture to clear her head from 
the thought of the bloodthirsty assault on her asshole that caused an ache 
in the depths of her bowels. Her hand was detoured by the thick flesh of 
Grayson's cock beside her head. 

The microphone? 

Her hand gripped the swollen prick and the awful tonguing paused. Kathy 
hesitated in doubt, turning her face on the thigh to face the monstrous 
member. She focused through the tears and saw her small hand holding the 
dark fat cock just below the covered head, only inches from her eyes. 
Grayson's tongue impatiently shot up her backside. She gently squeezed the 
prick, feeling a response from within, and the tongue popped out of her ass. 
It was Pavlovian; ring the bell and the dog's mouth waters. If she attends 
the cock, the tingling tongue lashing of her twitching asshole ceases. 
Grayson was driving another hard bargain, but Kathy would do anything to 
bring to an end the maniacal moist manipulation of her asshole. Kathy 
discovered she had a lower threshold to soft sensation up the ass than to 
harsher pain elsewhere on her body. 

Kathy worked the penis as she had with Craig, watching closely as she pulled 
the flexible skin and unmasked the raw red head of the prick, hiding like a 
tightened turtle inside a foreskin shell. Sticky clear seminal fluid 
dribbled from the end as she worked the cockskin furiously, relieved that 
her effort was paying off with the terrible tongue in her anus taking a 
recess. Fortunately she had discovered the Stop button for Grayson's 
ass-licking machine and she pumped on the prick with grateful vigor. 

The resting tongue suddenly snaked back up her asshole, telling the scouring 
Kathy that she no longer was satisfying the insane inquisitor of her loins. 

"Suck it!" 

She wasn't certain she heard correctly. She twisted her head to look back 
over her buttocks. 

"W-what did you say?" 

Grayson's bald head and mean dark little eyes surfaced over the twin rounded 
mountains of her ass. She could see the droplets of sweat on the brow formed 
by the long interment of his face against her steaming bubbling crotch. 

Like a nearsighted surgeon making an incision, Grayson held the part in her 
ass open with the fingers of one hand while he moistened the index finger of 
the other hand in the juice running from her cunt. The finger poised over 
her tightly closed anus and then ruthlessly and without warning plunged 
inside to the first knuckle, the ragged fingernail scratching the 
unstretched rubbery ring. 

Kathy hollered and jerked uncontrollably, her limbs flying straight out from 
her body as if the bones hoped to cannon free from her wrists and ankles. 
Her throat belched unintelligible protests as Grayson hooked his finger and 
probed in a circle, spooning deeper and deeper, expanding the tightness of 
her rectum until she knew she must lose consciousness from the intense 
suffering. The finger withdrew with a slight popping noise, like the cork 
from a wine bottle, and her injured asshole ring rushed to seal shut the 
breached gateway to the rectum, shooting spearthrusts up her back. 

"Suck that cock or next time I'm jamming in a cucumber." 

Whimpering softly, Kathy took the end of the stiff cock between her lips and 
choked at the first strange taste of the leakage. She pulled a piece of the 
dirty blanket to her face and scrubbed the seminal fluid from her tongue. 

Grayson bit her ass with a new warning. 

"Keep it in. Swallow every drop." 

She covered the end of his prick with her mouth, trying to keep her tongue 
off the wetness by drawing it back into her throat. Grayson parried with a 
short jab of his loins against the underside of her half-rolled tongue, 
driving it back into her throat to block the breathing passage. She 
struggled to get air, finding it possible to inhale only if she allowed 
Grayson's prick to rest on the surface of her tongue and breathed through 
the corners of her mouth. As she adjusted her mouth to accommodate the 
gagging intrusion, Grayson's nose submerged in the crack in her ass and his 
mouth once again concentrated on the pussy. 

Kathy's snatch reminded Grayson of the warm and soft lusciousness of a sweet 
peach after the first bite has been removed, the furry tickle on the edge of 
the lips as you press and suck hungrily for the seed in the center. The rich 
aroma of Kathy's cuntal perfume filled his nostrils. He had eaten stinky 
pussy before where the taste had stung his tongue and the acrid fumes had 
almost knocked him out. And he had sucked bland pussy, juicing tepid 
distilled water and with an odor that would be undetectable to a horny 
bloodhound. But this pussy was unlike any other. Nature douched the rich 
bitch with nectar from a private supply. Since feeding on the affluent cunt 
he now owned, Grayson had felt no need to cough. Instead he was drawing from 
her cunt a warm honey butter that teased slowly down his tongue and throat 
and coated the ruptures in his lungs with a soothing sticky sealing 
substance from under the influence of which they had neither the strength 
nor desire to burst open. 

Grayson could feel the sweat pouring off her belly onto the hair of his 
chest, and the perspiration from her hot inner thighs blending into the cunt 
juice covering his face. She wasn't much of a blowjob artist, he could tell 
as the lips toyed and tugged half-heartedly over barely one-third of his 
cock. He bit into a cuntlip and thrust his pelvis up sharply, giving a 
better idea of what he expected. His prick muffled her sob and she got the 
idea, accepting the cock further into her throat, haltingly bringing her 
tongue into play against the surface of the prickskin. Her hand found his 
balls and softly crushed them up into his groin. 

Kathy began working to end it, even if she would have to choke down and 
swallow a quart of his punishing putrid sperm. It would be over. She could 
vomit it out of her system. Healing time would lift her from the degrading 
gutter in which she was wallowing. She knew she could find the strength, 
eventually, to overcome this ultimate humiliation that Grayson was forcing 
upon her. 

She sucked at the choking cock hungrily, her elastic lips pulling with all 
their might as they fucked the fattened prick deeper into her throat. Her 
cheeks hollowed on the outstroke and expanded obscenely on the instroke as 
she labored with her mouth and hands, the fingers cajoling the 
jawbreaker-size balls to ignite and blast spurts of hot sperm against her 
tonsils. She wanted to gulp it down with bulging eyes and then puke it up 
with revulsion once free of this stinking room and her mad captor. 

The change in her sucking tempo did not go unnoticed. Grayson was glad he 
had chosen his position well, on his back where gravity was his aide. The 
bitch pulled with all the strength in her lips and lungs, sucking on his 
cock as if it were a straw leading directly to the cumwells of his nuts, 
sucking to oilstrike and bring Grayson's hot liquid seed up to drown her 
thirsty belly. 

Grayson might have shot his wad had their positions been reversed, if he 
were fucking her mouth from on top, making her afraid he would ram his prick 
through the back of her neck. He wanted to smile at her agitated effort as 
he continued to burrow his tongue in her cunt. She could try all she wanted 
to get him to cum, to influence his heaving balls to unload in her mouth 
until his sticky juice flowed from her ears, but Grayson was in full 
command. He noticed the first backheave of her snatch against his face, a 
sure sign that the patient ministration of his tongue had taken its toll. He 
fought back the frantic message from his balls pleading for permission to 
unleash their lava up his fleshy chimney into the warm wet sucking vessel 
plaintively beckoning to them. Grayson saw she was near the moment when her 
will would collapse, when she would plead with him to end her suffering by 
replacing his tongue with his deeper-reaching cock, shoving it into her 
crying bucking cunt until it cured or killed her. 

Grayson wanted to cure her first, his huge prick as the medicine giver. He 
would treat her cunt with his filled prescription of prick pounding in the 
discovery that all men are created equal, his injection forever ridding her 
body of the disease that told her well-manicured men like her father and 
shithead boyfriend, because they had money, were a little more equal than 
he. The cure might kill her, but Grayson, like an insane man of medicine, 
was prepared to bury his overdose victim. 

Kathy's head bobbed wetly along Grayson's thick cock, her face on the 
instroke like an innocent surprised child's with a corndog wedged too deeply 
in the throat. Fluid dripped from the corners of her mouth and ran in tiny 
rivulets back down the length of the glistening dark pole that impaled her 
mouth and cut off the air in her windpipe. 

Strangely something was spreading through her body that made her gradually 
forget her humiliating posture, which was higher in elevation to her master, 
but none the less one of total servility to his depraved demands. An utterly 
foreign sensation creeped up from her loins to compete for attention with 
the prick in her mouth she was trying so hard to detonate with constant wet 
sucking. 

Her body was beginning to desert her under the prodding of Grayson's tongue 
in her cunt. 

In spite of the mortification she felt at the scene she knew they presented, 
each feeding like a crazed animal at the loins of the other, Kathy's pelvis 
began to respond as if it were instinctively aware of suggestions her mind 
could not yet comprehend. Her back arched and the flesh of her buttocks 
tightened as she strained to work her flowing vagina higher so that the 
slavering tongue could concentrate its full fury upon the bulging bud of her 
clitoris. The darting tongue answered with two tantalizing teasing touches 
of the tip to the tightened lightswitch, throwing out a series of impulses 
that flowed through her body to charge and illuminate every raw nerve end in 
her feminine sensory machinery. 

The long low howl crept up from her toes and escaped with an indescribable 
bubbling babbling over the sides of the prick buried in her mouth. 

Grayson caught his second wind, gleefully concentrating on the clitoris 
pressing like a hard seed into the hollow of his all-encompassing tongue. 

Kathy felt the control slipping away with the overflowing dam in her body 
and there was nothing she could do except ride the crest. There was no 
recalling the demons that had been unchained inside her by the ceaseless 
licking at her naked clitoris that had spread sparks now bursting into 
uncontrolled flames to devour her. Kathy's shamelessly aroused loins jerked 
spasmodically and began to slowly move the clitoris in a circular motion 
against the divine wet rough texture of the outstretching tongue. 

Forgotten was the prick still pressed against her tongue as her mouth flew 
open wide; gone was the feeling of abject surrender to the depraved lust of 
the man Grayson; erased from her mind were thoughts of fiance, father, home, 
shame and humiliation. All that mattered in the shabby room, on the face of 
the earth, in the entire universe, were the delicious shafts of pleasure 
previously unknown that were being propelled through Kathy's flesh like tiny 
pricking needles of fire, spurred into life by the tongue of the horrible 
stranger whose face rubbed raw the insides of her sweaty thighs. 

"Aaaiiiiii... Don't stop... noooo, aaahh, don't stop!" Kathy slobbered, out 
of her head, around the shaft shoved into her mouth. 

Grayson buried his nose against the anus and once again thrust his thick wet 
tongue like an arrow into the quiver of her vagina to meet and absorb the 
milky outpourings of her climax. He could feel the soft silky pubic hairs 
tickling the sides of his rough cheeks as she ground her spreading cunt in a 
slow hypnotic rhythm down against his face, her cumjuice flowing wetly over 
his lips and down his face and tensed stretched neck to the hair forest of 
his chest. His prick slipped from her mouth as her head collapsed hard on 
his thigh and he felt the full weight of her drained body settle on his head 
and torso. 

Grayson pulled back his face to stare up over the soft untanned mounds of 
her ass while he caught his breath. Now it would be his turn, he gloated 
with excitement. Now he would jack it up her tight pussy, ripping and 
smashing into her crotch until the hydrants in his balls opened and he hosed 
in a substance to drown the new fires he would torch in her belly. He had 
shown Kathy that her rich ass wasn't out of his league. She was just another 
burning pussy dying for a cock, for a fucking from any long round thing she 
could wrap twat flaps around. She had a bite of Grayson's cock in her mouth, 
and now she was going to get a real hard-driving taste from the other end. 
She would never forget it, Grayson vowed, if she was banged ten thousand 
times by Mongols in the next week. 

So that was it. 

That was the roller coaster ride she had been trying to forestall ever since 
her body had been old enough to experience it. Kathy was flopped on her 
belly in an uncaring boneless heap, her arms and legs spread wide, on a 
strange lumpy human mattress she didn't want to think about. She had 
forgotten who she was, why she was where she was, and with whom. It all 
happened at the peak of an unearthly trip induced by what means she didn't 
want to try to remember. All that mattered was that at last it had happened 
from a source outside her own powers and it had been unbelievably good. She 
had been a surfer hanging on a nine-foot-high ride that had disappeared 
beneath her, and all of her insides had churned up into her breasts as she 
fell... to return like an anchor settling into her lower parts after she 
crashed through the veil of water. Since then she had been sinking and she 
never wanted to hit bottom. She had been soaring aloft like a human glider 
until a wing fell away and then she had plunged twisting wildly toward the 
earth, the friction of re-entering the atmosphere nibbling at her every 
naked pore like fiery kissing lips, but somehow she had not yet crashed. She 
was still circling, nestled in the embrace of a spongy soft cloud that 
reluctantly swayed downward and downward. 

The afterglow of her climax was so intense that Kathy was only vaguely aware 
of Grayson turning her body over, his runny prick sliding down between her 
breasts as he lifted his groin from her reclining head, straddling her body 
briefly from his knees until he climbed off the edge of the bunk. He looked 
down at her naked nearly-unconscious body with a grin of cruel determination 
as he slipped his hands under her arms and slid her body the rest of the way 
up the blanket. 

Kathy was dreamily unaware of what caused the lifting pressure in her 
armpits and sighed half-smiling behind closed eyes when it subsided and 
instead became a gentle kneading from the outside of her swollen breasts, 
forcing the nipples together high over the plunging chasm of the flat bone 
valley that separated them. 

She could not feature in her mind a force that now pressed her knees 
together and lifted them erect until they stood on their own, supported by 
her own little feet on a surface rumpled and scratchy to her unknowing 
touch. Then she felt her knees parted wide, and her wet warm relaxed 
clitoris being introduced to the open air, the drenched lips of her vagina 
inhospitably squeezing shut protecting against the sudden drop in 
temperature. A new weight on her cloud mattress, one which made her think 
her ass would slide off the edge and fall crashing to earth, convinced Kathy 
to open her eyes... thus shattering the subliminal spell. 

Grayson, from a kneeling position between her widely splayed thighs, rose 
over her, his leering face gleaming with the rich outpourings of her loins, 
which he hungrily licked from his lips. Kathy's eyes sunk and she froze in 
terror, petrified by the sight of the huge blunt cock being stroked by 
Grayson's stubby fingers only a few inches above the golden carpeting paving 
the path to her vagina. His thing was still moist from her mouth and gleamed 
in the light like an unsheathed killer blade. 

"Ask Mr. Grayson to fuck you in the cunt, bitch." 

A sweeping sickness flowed out from the pit of Kathy's stomach. She would 
have heaved except for the dryness in her mouth suddenly brought on by the 
anticipation of the most tormenting pain imaginable to her, that of being 
impaled and split apart from her loins by the huge wedge Grayson held iii 
his hand. 

"God, no!" she rasped through the cotton stuffing in her mouth. "Don't hurt 
me more. I'm too small for... t-that. You'll kill me." 

Grayson's heartless laugh cut like razor blades through the stale air of the 
room. 

"I can see the tombstone now... fucked to death." 

Kathy pushed with her feet and tried to slide up the bed away from him, 
using her elbows as ski poles and climbing with her buttocks. 

Grayson dropped his cock and thrust his thumb into the entryway of her cunt, 
the middle finger searching and finding the tight puckered anus and driving 
inside to the first knuckle. He had her like a bowling ball and his mean 
meaty hand clenched tightly in an effort to bridge her flesh separating his 
fingers. Kathy's head flopped and her mouth flew open wide in a soundless 
scream. Nothing, nothing in the world, could equal this pain digging into 
the tender twin sphincters, or the inventiveness of the agony-oriented 
perpetrator. 

"You were saying...?" The ominous growl, dripping with venom and the promise 
of greater degrees of discomfort, assaulted her ears. 

The finger digging in the asshole mined her final ounce of resistance. The 
fighting thighs relaxed and fell useless, spread to their limits to ease the 
pressure from the vise closing between her cunt and asshole. The elastic 
ring of the anus gave to welcome the finger. Words from her own mouth, 
filtered through gritted teeth, sounded to Kathy's ears as if spoken by a 
stranger capitulating to the deathbed. 

"F-fuck me in the cunt, Mr. Grayson." 

Another squeeze piercing the tenderest of female flesh. 

"Say please." 

"Oh, please." 

Fingers withdrew and Kathy lay still to allow her manhandled orifices to 
reshape themselves, the only sound in her ears a heavy thumping inside her 
chest from the adrenaline pain-pumped into her heart. 

Grayson leaned over the prostrate body and harshly fastened his teeth into 
the nipple of Kathy's large left breast. He switched to the other breast, 
leaving the wet imprint of his teeth around her twin beauty marks. Kathy 
groaned, but lacked the strength to struggle away. His greedy lips wetly 
roamed the white mounds, and again to her surprise the breasts automatically 
telegraphed a blissful twitch down the belly to her open wet cunt. Her 
buttocks ground into the mattress to combat the tickling. 

Grayson raised up over her, gouging his stiffening arms into her shoulders. 
He dropped one hand down between their bodies and guided the hard throbbing 
cock forward until it gently parted the full fleshy hairlips of the cunt. 
Kathy shuddered and threw her head to one side as she felt the uncomfortable 
electrical contact against the sensitive ragged edges of her moist pussy. 
She held her breath for what seemed an eternity, lying still in utter 
subjugation beneath him, waiting for the final awesome thrust that surely 
would kill her with tearing pain and mercifully end the rite of human 
sacrifice she was forced to perform. 

Suddenly the patiently cruel grin on Grayson's face faded and was replaced 
by a contorted expression of raw lust. He could stand it no more, seeing the 
helpless innocent girl spread-eagled beneath him with just the tip of his 
dick splitting her snatch. His stimulated balls demanded that he fuck her, 
to deeply penetrate the tight cunt now before he exploded. The muscles of 
his ass tightened and he rammed forward with a vengeance. 

"Aaaaaaaggggghhhh!" 

The cry was forced from deep inside Kathy, driven out of her chest by the 
blast in her loins as a broad red-hot poker skewered like a spinning bullet 
into the smooth virginal flesh of her cunt, bursting through the tight ring 
of her virginity and on into the wet and warm cavern beyond. The white hot 
ingot plunged endlessly and without mercy deep into the expanding channel. 
Kathy groaned and twisted in anguish beneath the depraved attack on her 
unprotected genitals. Through the failing consciousness of her tortured 
brain, she felt as if her entire lower body had been descended into a 
bubbling pot of molten lead. The flaccid symbol of her virginity had been 
ripped away savagely, but all she could think of was the shock and pain as 
her body went limp from the giving and tearing of her flesh. Grayson's thick 
destructive cock tore into her cunt like a burning freight train, pushing 
and bayoneting the moist flesh of the vaginal wills in front of it without 
thought of injury, ripping apart a tight seam that had protected her womb 
for so long. The surging waves of agitated cuntal flesh went before the 
driving pressure of the rock-hard drill until suddenly Grayson's pelvis 
smacked solid into the split loins and his balls bounced heavily into the 
upturned cheeks of her tightly clenched ass. 

Her agitated lips struggled to define and form into words the incoherencies 
rushing from her throat. The spear ripped through a thousand tiny threads 
inside her and now the head was sunk deep in her belly, filling the space 
available and throbbing for more. She felt the hardness of the tip pressed 
tight against the end of her cervix. Grayson lay heavily on her breasts, his 
hands slipping under her buttocks to part them as if trying to open her cunt 
more to assault whatever remaining obstacle blocked his prick from absolute 
interment. 

Grayson was still for a moment, staring down into her pained wide eyes until 
the pupils rolled back into place. He could feel the stiffness in the body 
beneath him, clinging to one posture as if any movement would restore the 
splitting pain. 

Kathy felt her soft wall passages expanding more and more apart in 
stuttering jerks to accept the bulk of the invading cock. She could smell 
Grayson's vile breath as he panted unevenly in her face. She felt a sharp 
throb deep inside as he cruelly flexed his buried cock. Miraculously the 
walls, already stretched beyond her endurance, adjusted to accommodate more. 

"You weren't lying when you said you were virgin. You must like sucking cock 
more than fucking," he tormented her. 

Kathy was amazed at being alive, at seeing a human face over her, smelling 
the foul odor from his mouth, feeling the pain inside subsiding. She had 
survived a killer attack, losing her virginity much in the manner of women 
before her who were violated by Huns, Vikings, Vandals, Christians, Moslems, 
Turks, Nazis, Japanese. It didn't matter, she conceded as she learned the 
lesson millions of women had learned. A membrane inside the cunt is not 
important; survival is all that matters. Women can adapt to a terrible prick 
rack stretching their very insides... and survive. 

Her tears of shame and humiliation would not cease, but now Kathy understood 
they were merely cosmetics protesting the parting of her maidenhead by a 
stranger. Kathy appreciated the fact that at least she might live to be 
married. 

"How d'ya like getting it from a real man?" Grayson pulled an inch back on 
his vacuum-sealed cock and then accelerated forward to be sure her 
attention, at least, was undivided. 

There was no answer. The cords in Kathy's neck bulged with a fresh onset of 
pain. 

"Good, ain't it, bitch?" he persisted, flexing his cock. 

"Ooooh, yes, yes," she cried, fearing the wrong answer would aggravate him 
into deeds of greater brutality. 

Grayson clamped his sticky wet lips down on her mouth and drove his tongue 
between her teeth. He began a slow rocking motion between Kathy's thighs, 
his fingers folding into her buttocks and pulling her high onto his jabbing 
shaft. He rammed with mounting abandon into the dark depths of the 
unresisting beautiful tender flesh beneath him. He could feel his heated 
cock increasing in size and pressuring out the walls of her cunt to their 
strained limits as he savagely ground into her. His fondest wish had been 
granted, that of brutally banging the insides of this lovely rich girl and 
for her to tell him that he is a masterful fucking partner. 

Kathy felt the tight narrow passage widening with each smooth short stroke 
against it, and her mind recalled the lewd picture of the two dogs she saw 
fucking, oblivious to the outside eyes on them. She could feel her vagina 
behaving as she had seen the female dog's hind quarters acting, the lips of 
her cunt holding tightly to the pumping prick on each outstroke and 
reversing and folding inward as he pushed forward. 

There was no way to resist the fleshy instrument burrowing deep inside her 
burning vagina, pinning her hand-cupped ass deeper into the mattress with 
each thrust. The slurping sound of his prick withdrawing played at her ears 
tantalizingly. It was the most unusual sound she had ever known, and the 
awareness that it came from a rigid cock deep inside her own flesh quickened 
the involuntary reactions of Kathy's old feeling of helplessness and abuse 
had given way to lewd flames of desire licking through her veins. Her total 
degradation no longer was an enemy, but was soldered as an ally to 
sensations within her produced by the first fuck. Since Kathy could sink no 
lower in her estimation of herself, she smiled in that she was free to ride 
the unexpected heady experience to the fullest. Her acceptance of the 
inevitable sent chills running along the base of her spine, swelling in 
intensity as Grayson set a slow and regular cock-versus-cunt skewering 
rhythm with his loins. 

Her body began to twitch and writhe in time, and she groaned as his tongue 
probed as a bonus into her open mouth. With sudden complete abandon she 
responded with her own tongue and attempted to catch the beat of the music 
from her groin. She began to ride the relentless cock, adapting to the gait 
as if her body were astride a cantering horse. 

A steady low passionate hum crawled from deep in her chest as her face 
contorted in ecstasy, mouth working feverishly on Grayson's lips and tongue, 
neck straining, nostrils flared, a light sweat breaking out on her forehead 
under the disheveled blonde hair. 

Grayson tightened his grip on her buttocks, holding one slender cheek in 
each hand, feeling them flex and unflex, submerging his fingers down against 
the cuntlips to feel his fullsize prick pulling out and pushing in, his 
hands monitoring the cockwork through her velvety flesh curtain. Grayson 
felt the limp thighs come to life, striving forward until her hot wet hole 
of a cunt had swallowed his cock to the greatest depth allowed. 

Kathy felt no discomfort and the groans had turned into mewly sounds of 
pleasure to be transmitted into Grayson's open mouth. She writhed beneath 
him with the intensity of her feeling, straining for the climactic peak his 
mouth produced earlier. She had no thoughts except how to get the most from 
being fucked against her will. Her body was giving back to Grayson what his 
prick was giving her. 

Grayson lifted his face from hers and stared down past his paunch as he 
shifted into a longer stroke, seeing the glistening cockveins stand out as 
he withdrew until only the head was inside and then watching her muff flail 
hungrily as it gobbled on the crushing instroke when their pelvic hairs 
meshed together and his balls smacked wetly into the crevice of her ass. 

He slid a hand inside the crack until he felt the tightly puckered tiny anus 
cradled defenselessly below. It was stretching with the intense movement of 
her buttocks pushing against his loins. Grayson cursed himself for 
forgetting to leave his pants nearer to the bed. He would be unable to fish 
in the pocket for a silver coin to shove up her asshole as his final gesture 
of supremacy over an offspring of the rich. Instead he pushed a finger in 
with a quick movement, feeling the soft rubbery flesh yield once again to 
his sodomizing digit. 

"Ah!" she gasped in painful surprise. 

He thrust harder, shoving the finger in to the second knuckle. Grayson 
relished the fact he now had deeply violated her every sensory orifice 
capable of rape. 

"Aaahhhhhh!" she groaned louder this time from the further outrage against 
her defenseless asshole. 

Grayson had her good. He wished he wasn't ready to cum so that he could roll 
her over and give her tight little asshole a well-deserved stretching with 
his prick. He worked the finger around inside, pulling the rubbery softness 
open wider and wider as he continued to slam into her cunt with long strokes 
increasing in their velocity. He slipped in a second finger and smiled when 
the tightness gave way to the twisting of the two deep in her rectum. 

The noises coming from her chest became broken gasps of pleasure as her anus 
grew accustomed to the unnatural invasion, and Grayson's lips split wide in 
victory as he felt her begin slowly screwing her rectum back on his fingers 
as they probed methodically around the warm rubbery depths. He finger-fucked 
her asshole in concert with the drubbing of her cunt by his huge blunt 
instrument, and she twisted and squealed from the pain and sensual delight 
of the double impalement of her loins. 

Grayson flattened himself heavily on her breasts, making her breath come in 
labored gasps, and reached with his other hand to above where his cock 
pounded into her snatch until his prying thumb located the swollen clitoris. 
Resting his hand on the sweat-soaked pussy hair, he pressed the bud as if it 
was a doorbell, lightly skimming the wet smooth surface and pressing again. 

The legs on either side of him flew up and open and she shrieked 
hysterically. She opened herself in total offering to the ravishment of her 
asshole, cunt and clitoris by the inventive lust-crazed demon assaulting her 
loins. Her drive for fulfillment surpassed even his as her groin bounced 
back from each jab of cock and fingers like a masochistic punching bag. 

"Fuck deeper... I'm going to..." 

Her face was contorted and pale with strain as she drove her body against 
him violently, the hardened nipples digging into his chest like vest 
buttons. Grayson tore his fingers from her asshole with a wet sound and put 
his hands beneath her knees and pushed them back and hard down against the 
mattress on either side of her shoulders. The plane of her crotch was 
stripped of any protection from the pile-driving prick that slapped brutally 
into her. 

"Ah... ahh... oooohhhhhh... good, good... yesssss," she groaned as if in 
anguish, her hands clawing at his back, sliding down to his buttocks and 
pulling in an attempt to make his prick pierce through to her vital organs. 
Suddenly her body stiffened and it was as if she hung in the air supported 
only by the length of stiff flesh inside her. She shivered violently. 

"I'm cummmming! GeeeEEEzus! I'm c u m m m m m m i n g!... Oooooooooooh!... 
Ooooooooooh...!" 

Grayson felt her cunt opening and the warm gushes of wet sticky liquid 
flooding hot around his pistoning cock. He released her legs and 
concentrated on thrusting faster, digging deeper and deeper inside her 
punishment-demanding cunt. Her legs shot straight out into the air, frozen 
there as she reached for the full intensity of every split second of her 
prolonged climax. 

He could feel the muscles inside her stomach working the lips of the vagina 
as if trying to snip off his penis at the stump, sucking tightly as she 
milked it to keep her own orgasm alive. While Kathy did not appear even to 
be breathing, Grayson's chest was heaving so hard that he was afraid he 
would fall into one of his coughing fits before his moment arrived. 

But the insane wildness of her climax had an effect on him too. As her warm 
wet vaginal walls continued to tighten around his hard-driving cock he threw 
back his head with a wild animal grunt and exploded his lewd hot sperm deep 
into her womb, his prick jerking and spurting the long-stored cum like from 
a sputtering geyser into her body. He emptied himself until his aching balls 
twitched blanks, satisfied in the knowledge that his poor man's cum was 
forming a deep dense pool that threatened to burst the belly of a beautiful 
rich blonde girl. 

Both bodies went limp and they collapsed in a heap on the rumpled bunk. 
Kathy, her eyes glazed, gasped what seemed the first breath in an hour, 
filling her lungs with the perspiration smell of the man sagged on top of 
her, mixed with the pungent overflow of his cum now running out of her 
gently palpitating vagina and down her asshole. 

The thick penis inside her cunt was shrinking to softness and Grayson 
withdrew it with a wet sucking noise, a transparent thread of cum still 
seeping from the head. He rolled over her leg and stood beside the bunk 
looking down at her. Kathy's body was beaten and used as it never had been 
before. She lay completely exhausted and lifeless, her legs still splayed 
obscenely as he had left her. She saw how he was looking at her like a 
conqueror. The wave of shame and humiliation returned and she closed her 
legs suddenly and struggled to a hunched sitting position, drawing up her 
knees and attempting to conceal her breasts with her arms. 

"Real modest now that you've had the best fuck you'll ever get." 

Grayson edged up to the bed and rubbed the sperm residue from his prick 
against her bare shoulder. 

Kathy said nothing. There was no evil he could subject her to that would 
surmount what she had just suffered. She climbed off the bed and picked up 
her clothing. As she stooped over, Grayson snaked a leg around behind her 
and stuck his toe up her bruised open asshole. 

Kathy jumped away and dressed hurriedly. Grayson took his time finding his 
clothes, whistling softly to himself as he put them on. Kathy held her face 
away from him until he was fully clothed, then she faced him with eyes aglow 
from new tears of bitterness and rage. 

"Give me the picture," she demanded. 

"Why sure, lover," Grayson smiled, reaching into the pocket of his flannel 
shirt and producing the photograph. He held it out just beyond her reach. 
"You've forgotten your manners. Remember how I taught you to say please?" 

"Please." 

"That's nice," he said, holding the picture out closer to her. "Just one 
more thing. Thank me for fucking you." 

Kathy felt the blood rushing to her face. The sordid man wanted the last 
ounce of his flesh. Then she realized she was being foolish under the 
circumstances. What more could he do to her? What humiliation could exceed 
what she had just endured? 

"Thank you for fucking me. Mr. Grayson," Kathy said, her words covered with 
frost. 

"I'm a man of my word," Grayson said, handing her the photograph. "You'll 
never want to fuck your hand again now that you know what's in my pants. 
Come see me again soon." 

Kathy ripped the terrible picture into confetti and scattered the shreds on 
the concrete floor. She faced Grayson with contemptuous eyes. 

"You're a janitor. Sweep it up." She turned for the door. 

"Not so quick, bitch. We haven't set up our next meeting." 

Kathy wheeled on the steps to the doorway, leveling a murderous glare at 
Grayson. 

"Don't think you can ever do that again. You took me by force. Remember, 
there are rape laws in this state." 

"Rape!" Grayson chortled, stroking the fly of his trousers. "I'm going to 
fuck you in your smartass mouth for saying that. Tomorrow you're going to 
meet some pals of mine. And you're going to bring along that little number 
in hot pants who plays tennis with you." 

Kathy stared at the leering lunatic in outright amazement. 

"You're crazier than I thought. If you so much as look at me again, I'll 
have you put behind bars." 

Grayson cocked his head to one side and glared coldly. 

"Those are the words you're going to eat... right off the end of my prick. 
May I introduce Mr. Barker, a dear friend of mine who's ready to swear you 
came to me on your knees begging to be fucked." 

Kathy's legs went limp when she saw the figure stepping out of the darkness 
near the noisy boiler only six feet from the bed. Barker, who she recognized 
as a country club bartender, smiled evilly as he moved out into the light of 
the room. Then she saw he was carrying a Polaroid camera. She thought she 
was going to be sick. He not only witnessed, he had photographed the entire 
loathsome episode. Kathy sank to the steps and buried her face in her hands. 
Uncontrollable tears washed out of her eyes and her shoulders were wracked 
by wild sobs. 

What sin had she committed that would result in her life taking such an 
unpredictably dirty twist? Must she forever pay for her one lust-driven 
attempt at self-gratification, responding to the spark of damning curiosity 
Craig placed in her innocent body only the evening before? 

"Some real collector's pieces here, Grayson," she heard the bartender say. 

She looked up and saw Grayson smiling down at a half-dozen or so photographs 
spread like poker cards in his hands. He approached her and dropped one of 
the pictures in her lap. 

"Take a look. Your screen test came off real good." 

Kathy reluctantly picked up the picture. Steadying her trembling hand, she 
saw a crazed expression on her face, the arms pulling on Grayson's bare 
buttocks with all their strength, sucking him deeper into her cunt. 

"No, no, no!" she cried out in nauseating remembrance, shuddering with 
revulsion as she ripped the picture to pieces. 

"Doesn't matter, miss fancy bikini panties. I have much more interesting 
shots. They'll be yours after we do some trading," the bartender sneered. 

He stepped up and dropped a piece of paper in her lap. 

"That's my address," he said. "Be there tomorrow night at eight. There are 
still a few things you need to learn." 

"Don't forget to bring your little friend," Grayson added. "You wouldn't 
want me to have to send this here picture to your boyfriend. Your sweetie 
might not like to kiss a cocksucker." 

Chapter V 

If she lived to be a hundred Kathy believed she always would feel Jean's 
eyes after they had changed from the look of unbelieving surprise to one of 
unmasked loathing that consumed her very soul. 

It was the first wrong that Kathy ever committed against another human being 
with cold premeditation. There was no other way. It was out and out, 
fundamental, classic blackmail. Kathy laid it squarely on the line with no 
preface, no soft-soaping. Just the bare facts. 

"Screw a bunch of strangers? You've flipped your lid, Kathy." 

"You don't have any choice. You're pregnant and once more won't matter." 

"But Kathy, there's a big difference." 

"If you want me to help you out of your mess, first you have to help me out 
of mine." 

"They might hurt us, even kill us." 

"That's a chance we have to take." 

The drive to the address Barker had given Kathy was made in total silence. 
Jean, from the passenger seat, fixed her eyes on Kathy's face and never once 
moved them, penetrating her with a look of absolute hatred of an intensity 
usually reserved for an accused toward a hanging judge. 

Kathy viewed herself as a Judas goat leading an innocent lamb to slaughter, 
and she tried to rationalize, to see Jean as the black sheep, tainted. It 
didn't work. The horrible scheming Grayson, that filthy heartless beast, had 
discovered a humiliation overcoming even his animalistic attack on her 
virgin body. He had changed her from an innocent victim into a monster 
capable of delivering her best friend, like the lowliest of procurers, into 
the lap of debauchery and whoredom. 

Her whole lifetime of rigid observance of moral principles had been flushed 
down the tube in one day. Kathy wasn't beyond seeing the gallows humor of 
the situation. This must be what they mean when they say masturbation makes 
you crazy, she thought. It would be simple if only she could be a poor 
loony, a mute unfeeling vegetable. But Kathy's faculties were very much 
present and active as she parked the car behind the others in front of 
Barker's secluded beach cottage. 

"Now that we're here and there's no turning back, tell me what they have on 
you," Jean said coldly as they walked toward the lighted house. 

"Photographs." 

"Photographs? What kind?" 

"The only type that would make me do this to get them back," she said, the 
aches in previously unused muscles bringing back with clarity the memory of 
the day before with Grayson. 

"Fuck pictures! Now I get it. The virtuous Miss Kathy Carlson has been 
screwing around all along. You rotten hypocrite," Jean screamed, each word 
cutting flesh from Kathy's body. 

"Please, Jean, don't make it worse." 

Jean was beyond convincing, spewing out her pent-up hatred like machine gun 
bullets as they reached the door. 

"I see it all. They threatened to show them to Craig. They wouldn't take 
money, so you give yourself and your best friend to bail out your ass. You 
would have sold your own mother if you'd known what cathouse she works in." 

Kathy, her ears burning with the abuse, choked back an outraged sob as she 
knocked at the door. 

"I'll get you for this," Jean said, smiling grimly as the prospect of 
retribution edged aside her anxiety at what was beyond the door. 

Barker answered the knock. 

"The guests of honor. Please do come in," he said, excitement showing on his 
hardened features. 

The large living room of the A-frame beach house was illuminated by candles 
and the light from the fireplace in a corner. Another corner was occupied by 
a small bar. Kathy saw that the furnishings had been shifted to one side of 
the room and wondered why. Then she discovered. The other side was cleared 
like a bare stage, except for two mattresses side by side on the hardwood 
floor. 

Kathy gripped Jean's arm and turned back toward the door, in time to see 
Barker double-bolt the escape route, then lean back against it with his 
prizefighter's muscular body as further insurance against the quarry 
fleeing. 

"Quit being a lousy fucking host, Barker. Bring in the broads." 

Kathy recognized the voice. It was Grayson, half hidden behind the bar, the 
firelight mirroring on his scalp. She held Jean's arm and noticed his cruel 
mocking voice had a similar effect on her. It was almost as if the two girls 
were exchanging a current that made flesh crawl and goose bump. 

Barker parted them and put an arm around each of their waists. He led them 
through the maze of relocated furnishings, talking softly as he pressured 
their hesitant feet forward toward the figures huddled over bottles and 
glasses on the opposite side of the room. 

"I think you ladies know most of the gentlemen. You might refer to them as 
the blue collar workers of the Seaview Country Club. You probably don't know 
their names, but most of them have been silently and loyally in your service 
since you were little girls. It's so thoughtful of you to volunteer to be 
here tonight to express your appreciation." 

The taunting cynicism in Barker's voice made Kathy think he-must be 
Grayson's prize student of sadism. He was relishing his role as deliverer of 
the lush beautiful maidens to the altar. His hand had slipped down to 
Kathy's hip, massaging the firmness beneath her skirt each time the muscles 
flexed with her steps. Kathy wondered if Jean was receiving the same 
attention. 

"There's no need to introduce Mr. Grayson there behind the bar. You know 
each other quite well, as I'm sure you've told your friend. Since he 
organized the program tonight, I have consented to let him act as 
ringmaster. Would you care to take a bow, Mr. Grayson?" 

Barker turned the girls roughly to face the bar as Grayson stepped out. 
Kathy froze and she heard Jean gasp. Grayson was naked from the waist down 
and held his stiff prick in one hand as he approached. Kathy tried to back 
away but Barker held her firmly. 

"It's good to see my favorite rich tight pussy again. We'll take up where we 
left off," Grayson grinned menacingly. "And you," he said, turning to Jean, 
"Just shivering with desire, ain't you? We'll feed the fever burning in your 
hot pants." 

Kathy felt the rushing return of revulsion for the master torturer Grayson. 
He reached into the pocket of his shirt, the same one he wore the day 
before, and pulled out the Polaroid pictures. He held one in front of Jean's 
eyes. 

"See what a good teacher I am." 

"And what a good student she is," Barker added, squeezing Kathy's ass. 

Jean tore her eyes away from the picture and faced Kathy with a look of a 
wounded frightened animal pleading to be made well again. Kathy could not 
meet the eyes of the friend she had betrayed, the wide tear-filled accusing 
eyes of a child being punished wrongly. 

"There are six pictures. Each man will have one as his ticket. He gives the 
picture to the girl...." Grayson chuckled obscenely, "... who punches his 
ticket." 

Grayson returned one picture to his shirt pocket and gave another to Barker. 
He moved in among the furniture passing out the photographs. Barker prodded 
the girls to follow. 

"This is Billy Bacon," Barker said. "He's the chief golf caddy. He used to 
be a jockey and he's anxious to get in the saddle again tonight." 

The little man, his face flushed with liquor, looked up from his picture and 
Kathy felt his crazed billygoat eyes eating through her clothing. 

"You ride like I say or I'll whip shit out of you," Billy said. 

Barker nudged the girls on. 

"This is Mr. James. I'm certain you've seen him often." 

He was the gatekeeper, the ancient cripple with the cane who waved Kathy 
through to the country club grounds countless times. Kathy wondered why he 
was there, what a man of his years could hope to accomplish. His eyes 
watered behind gold-rimmed spectacles as he looked up at them, clicking his 
plates nervously. Kathy felt Barker tighten his grip on her as the old man 
slyly darted his hand up her skirt, reaching the crotch and fingering the 
hair-covered mound gently, as if reading Braille, through her panties. Kathy 
squirmed to be free of the ugly old claw, as repulsive to her as a poisonous 
spider would be on her loins. Meanwhile Barker slipped his hand up her side 
and over a bra-covered breast, squeezing the nipple until it filled out to 
hardness in spite of the pain. 

"Be nice to the old geezer," he whispered in her ear threateningly. "Show 
some respect for your elders." He led her away and she felt the arthritic 
hand scratching down her bare thigh. "Leave something for the rest of us, 
pop." 

"This is Milo, the groundskeeper," Barker went on, stopping in front of a 
pimply young man who was puffing a cigarette uneasily. He picked up his 
glass and took a long pull before looking at the girls. Kathy's stomach 
flip-flopped at the sight of his gaunt, haunted face, the eyes set deep 
within dark hollow sockets. Milo looked as unsure of himself as the young 
women. 

"Hurry up, goddammit, I gotta see." 

"Our friend Milo is a little shy... one shy, to be exact. He's only been 
back with us a year after a tour of duty ill Vietnam. He lost something 
there most fellows consider rather important." 

Milo flew to his feet. 

"Shut your fucking mouth, Barker, you cock-sucker. I'll show you bastards 
I'm okay." 

"We'll see, boy," Barker replied evenly. "We'll even let you have first 
pick, won't we, Grayson?" 

"Hell, yes. It ought to be quite a show," Grayson said. 

"I want her," Milo demanded, pointing to Jean. "I'm going to screw her until 
she can't walk. She's the cunt who won't give me a second look at the club. 
I'm fixing her so she remembers my face." 

Kathy heard Jean whimpering. She saw Barker now was roughly handling her 
breasts and Jean was struggling against his arm. 

"No, I can't go through with it. Take your hands off me. Let me out of 
here." 

"You ain't going nowhere 'til I get mine," Milo shouted, grabbing her around 
the hips and forcibly taking her away from Barker. His arms gripped tightly 
around her waist and the hands groped for the zipper on her capris. Jean 
screamed as he opened her pants and pulled them down to her knees, baring 
the lean firm thighs. 

Jean, shrieking in terror, tried to get away, but was trapped by the bonds 
of her own clothing. Milo caught her by the arm and threw her roughly toward 
a chair. The chair arm hit the spinning girl at mid-thigh and tripped her 
backwards into the cushion, her legs flying high in the air. Milo pounced 
forward like a panther and pulled off the capris and her sandals. He fell 
across her body and ran his hands up beneath the sleeveless pullover 
sweater, working them around behind to unfasten the bra. 

Kathy's instincts told her to help, but now Barker had her more firmly in 
tow. He had moved around behind her and was cupping one of her breasts in 
each hand, driving a hardness from his groin into the crevice of her 
backside in mounting excitement as they saw Jean continuing to struggle. 

"Let go of me, you sonovabitch," Jean screamed, clawing out at Milo's face. 

Milo stiffened, running his hand across the scratch mark. He felt the blood. 
He hauled back his hand and viciously slapped it across Jean's face, 
snapping her head sharply to one side. 

"That's it, Milo. Teach the bitch some manners," Grayson applauded. 

Milo got up and stepped behind Jean, who was sobbing and trying to curl up 
tightly in a ball in the chair as if it were a kangaroo's pouch. The young 
man straightened her by twisting an ear. He pulled the sweater and 
unfastened bra up over her head. The luxurious pale breasts fell free, the 
tiny pink nipples hardening instantly. Milo took the firm young breasts in 
his hands and lifted from behind, the tugging pressure forcing the girl to 
scramble to her feet to keep the mounds from being torn off. He held her 
facing Kathy, harshly pinching the nipples between his thumb and forefinger. 
Clad only in panties, through which the triangular shape of Jean's mound of 
dark pubic hair was visible, the helpless tearful girl presented an enticing 
abused innocent sight to the depraved men, who were on their feet clustering 
around her to examine more closely. There was no trace of the pregnancy. 
Jean's bronzed abdomen ran smoothly from the hand-held breasts to a 
provocative narrowness below the rib cage, beneath which the hips flared out 
sensuously in firm rounded fullness. 

"If ever a body was made for fucking, that's it," said Grayson, stepping 
forward and stripping Jean of her panties with a single violent jerk. He 
took her leg at the bend and lifted it, running his hand underneath the 
exposed vagina. "Hot as a firecracker and leaking like a sieve." 

"Let me see," cried the dwarflike Billy Bacon, falling to his knees to peer 
up the wide open snatch. 

Kathy felt as though she had drawn a knife across her friend's throat and 
was standing ankle-deep in the blood flowing from her lifeless body. Jean 
had been pacified quickly. Her head hung limp and her whole body sagged. 
Instead of being supported crane-like by the one leg, Jean appeared to be 
held in place by Milo's hands on her breasts. It relieved Kathy, as Barker 
dropped one hand and snaked up under her skirt to fish beneath the elastic 
of her panties, that she did not have to look into Jean's eyes as she was 
being scrutinized by Bacon as thoroughly as if he was her gynecologist. 

"Can you tell if she's cherry, Billy?" the old man with the cane cackled 
excitedly. 

Bacon twisted his middle finger up her cunt. Jean's loins flinched at the 
touch. 

"Cherry, shit," Bacon said scornfully. "That hole can handle a rolling pin." 

"You motherfuckers keep your hands off my meat," Milo yelled, trying to pull 
her away. But Grayson still held the leg. "Let go, Grayson, I'm gonna stick 
her right now." 

"We said you could fuck first when it's fucking time. Let the boys have a 
little look," Grayson said. "Hey, Claudio, get your black ass over here." 

A huge bulk stirred in the darkness near the fireplace. He had been sitting 
so quietly that Kathy had not even noticed his presence. Now he stood up. He 
was enormous. He slowly plodded over to the group surrounding Jean. Kathy 
recognized him as the hulking mulatto who worked in the kitchen at the 
country club. He must stand six and one-half feet tall and weigh close to 
three hundred pounds, Kathy estimated. She could feel the floor vibrating 
with each heavy step he took. 

"Now the introductions are complete," Barker said behind her, releasing her 
breast to slide the second hand under her skirt to assist in pulling off her 
panties. She made no move to resist as Barker dropped to one knee to 
carefully slip the panties over her high heels. The air funneled up her 
dress to the unprotected vagina and her clitoris stiffened as if affronted 
by its new nakedness. 

"Claudio is from Cuba and his English ain't so good. We use a special kind 
of sign language with him," Grayson explained with delight. "You'll like the 
way it works. Bring her here, Barker." 

Barker kneed Kathy to move to Jean's side and she responded numbly. Grayson 
released Jean's leg and picked up her torn panties off the floor. He spotted 
Kathy's briefs and retrieved them. Then he took the big man by the arm and 
brought him around to face both the girls. 

"Show her snatch, Barker," Grayson said. 

Barker lifted Kathy's dress up above her hips. The mulatto's face remained 
expressionless as he slowly shifted his eyes from Kathy's bared cunt over to 
Jean's naked body. 

Kathy felt panic slowly climb up her back. She turned to Jean and saw that 
she was facing the big man, her face pale and lips quivering, both of them 
thinking the same thing. The gigantic bronze beast could snap a spine or 
fracture a pelvis as easily as breaking a pretzel. 

Grayson read their faces and his whole body rocked with swallowed laughter, 
backfiring with a crackling cough from deep inside that made his rigid penis 
flail weird designs in the air until he got the hacking under control. He 
choked down the phlegm and grabbed a fast breath. 

"Show 'em your cock, Claudio," Grayson said, wiping the cough spittle from 
his lips with a sleeve. "You know, el pricko, you dumb jig," he added, 
pointing to his own stiff flesh. 

The mulatto leaned his massive head to one side, reaching to comprehend. 

"Yo, si, si," he grunted finally, smiling wide to reveal perfectly formed 
ivory white teeth behind the broad lips. He unzipped his trousers and pulled 
and pulled and pulled out his dick. 

Kathy saw Jean's knees buckle and she would have fallen if not being held 
upright by the cruel hands digging into her flaccid breasts. Fear-stricken 
herself, Kathy instinctively drew back her bared loins, only to be met by 
Barker's prick jabbing into her ass through his fly. 

"Christ, is he hung!" the shrill voice of Billy Bacon exclaimed. 

"He'd make fifty pricks your size, shorty," the old cripple said wistfully. 

Kathy's creative mind never could have conjured up a cock of such massive 
proportions. Even limp in Claudio's hand it resembled a thick dark salami, a 
killer club that could bludgeon the owner of a tight cunt to death as it 
knocked to enter. Because enter it could not, not without ripping asunder 
the flesh of the vaginal walls. 

Kathy's stunned disbelief at the sight of the gargantuan sex organ of the 
mulatto made protesting too much of an effort as Barker unzipped the back of 
her summer frock and slipped it down off her shoulders to the floor. He 
opened the back of the lace bra and drew it down over her arms, the nipples 
of her huge breasts leaping to attention. The girls stood in naked 
formation, the pair of heels on Kathy's small feet the only covering between 
them. 

Grayson positioned himself between the girls and Claudio. He looked at the 
panties in his hands and selected Kathy's. 

Barker pressed close against Kathy's back, fingers laced around her bare 
midriff, his bulging fly tapping out a code in the crevice of her ass. She 
felt his belly muscles contracting to fight down a sniggering laugh. 

"Okay, Claudio, try these," Grayson commanded, stuffing Kathy's balled-up 
panties beneath the huge man's nose, pressing them tightly against the 
nostrils as if trying to knock him out with chloroform. The mulatto's 
nostrils flared, deeply inhaling the secret fragrance of the girl. 

Grayson dropped his hand and turned to Kathy. He heaved his hips forward and 
banged his rigid cock in her direction. 

"Them belong that cunt, black-assed man. Wanna fuck her?" 

Kathy recoiled as the vulgar message filtered through the mind of the 
simpleton and he grinned wider as the meaning struck home. The sadistic 
Grayson and his lust-crazed accomplices were totally enraptured by the crude 
game of offering the beautiful rich girls as fleshy food to feed the 
voracious appetite of the giant mulatto. The dark kinky-haired behemoth, 
suddenly aware of the offering of the white-loined blonde girl, pinched his 
penis to a growing hardness and nodded vigorously, his eyes bulging in 
mounting desire. 

"Si, fuck her!" 

He started to step forward and Kathy felt she might lose control of her 
bowels. Grayson restrained him with an upraised arm, and a pout formed on 
the fat lips of the mulatto. 

"Don't get upset, Claudio," Grayson teased. "There's more to shop from." 

He lifted Jean's torn panties to the face of the giant, daubing with the 
crotch like a mother treating a child's running nose. The huge nostrils 
flared again, the eyes rolling in his head, as he sucked in the feminine 
odor like a tracker dog learning the scent of an escaped prisoner. 

Grayson pulled them away and turned to Jean, cock in hand. He repeated the 
same obscene bumps in her direction. 

"Them her pants, dumb nigger. Wanna fuck her?" 

Claudio didn't wait for a translation. His aroused penis had reached a full 
erection, protruding from the zipper of his trousers like a third leg 
looking for a hole to step into. He lunged at Jean. 

"Si, fuck her!" 

"He'll kill me with that thing. No woman could take it," Jean screamed in 
terror, turning to Kathy with hate-filled saucer eyes. Kathy did not see 
Jean's look, unable to take her eyes off the awesome tool of the mulatto. 
Grayson held back the big man. 

"Nobody's fucking this one before me, particularly no dimwit nigger," Milo 
said, dragging Jean's stumbling body toward the mattresses. 

"The kid's right," Grayson said. "Claudio's the main event after all the 
preliminaries. Then we can all watch. Since he can't decide which of them 
tight little snatches he wants most, we'll let him have both of them." 

Kathy felt herself being pulled backwards and spun like a staggering drunk 
in the footsteps of Milo and Jean. Everything was so unreal, this awful 
slave market lineup she had just been through before a bunch of degenerates 
anxious to first use their bodies themselves and then to witness and cheer 
the final bruising brutalization by the massive Claudio. 

"Loosen 'em up good. Them holes had better be opened wide for our 
coonskinned friend," the insane Grayson called after them. "Step up to the 
bar or fill your own, boys. The first show's about to begin.". 

Kathy saw Milo throw Jean down on the mattress and anchor her with a foot in 
her midsection, pinning her like an insect to a collector's board, while he 
loosened his belt and dropped his pants down his thighs. Kathy felt herself 
pitch forward by a pressure on the small of her back and she landed face 
down on the adjoining mattress, her head only a few feet from Jean's. 

Now, now that it was too late, Kathy realized that whatever the jeopardy to 
her own future, it had not been sufficient reason for her to destroy her 
friend, to blackmail the guiltless Jean into such undeserved servitude to 
the depraved sexual wishes of Grayson and his strange assortment of 
maladjusted friends. She realized she no longer could use girlish fears and 
ignorance as excuses, thanks to the lessons from Grayson. She had to accept 
full responsibility for her conduct in demanding that Jean join her as a 
common gutter prostitute to protect Kathy's virtuous reputation. It mattered 
little what happened to Kathy this night. She knew she had been completely 
subjugated by Grayson, and there could not be an indignation in the sphere 
of sex she was incapable of surviving... except possibly the fearful bronze 
specter of Claudio and his freakish firehose of a cock, but that was in a 
future her brain was unable to comprehend. But Kathy sorely wished she could 
find a flicker of warmth and understanding in the eyes of her best friend, a 
look of forgiveness that said, yes, she understood that Kathy would bear a 
cross for the rest of her life for having made her suffer so. 

But Jean had her eyes clenched tightly as she lay tensed on the mattress, 
and when they did fly open and her face slapped down on the cushion looking 
at Kathy, a groan bellowed out from the deepest pit of her body, it wasn't 
to communicate recognition and forgiveness, it was because the devil-driven 
Milo had jammed his cock all the way to the stump in her unprepared cunt. 

Kathy had little time to meditate on Jean's suffering as Barker's arm knifed 
between her belly and the bedding and lifted her up to her knees. She 
supported herself on her arms as she felt his fingers parting the hair-lined 
cuntlips and she knew he was guiding his prick to the mouth of her feminine 
harbor. The head of the cock peeked inside, bobbing back and forth as if 
arguing whether or not to proceed further, at the same time giving her 
vaginal juices an opportunity to line the cuntal hallway with a wet welcome. 

A series of images suddenly flashed through her mind, the way a lifetime 
dances through the head of a drowning person in split seconds. The channel 
selector in the TV set of her brain was on a wild spin, flicking from a 
horror film, on through other jumbled scenes, and ending with a torrid 
late-night European film in which the contorted face of Jean is that of a 
French lover welcoming the intimate embraces of her soldier returned wounded 
from Algeria. Things began to make sense for Kathy, about to be backfucked 
as she had seen her mother screwed like a dog at the age of ten. The 
passionate groans emanating from Kay's room were caused by her father, 
undignified and raw, doing something like what was being done to her now. 
The scene shifted to Grayson, in all his hideous splendor subjecting her to 
the grossest imaginable abuses and grinning evilly all the while, enjoying 
himself immensely and finally, she almost spat rather than admit it, making 
her like and beg for it. Next she saw Jean's face, the twisted disfiguration 
yielding to something quite the opposite as the phantom lover above crashed 
unceasingly into her loins Kathy's whole silly book of rules was a crock, 
just like poor Craig, the fiance she had heartlessly held at arm's length, 
had maintained. Yes, a worthless crock. Kathy determined that the name of 
the game is Get It While You Can, while you're young enough and good enough 
to appreciate it. Her new resolution suffered a slight setback when she 
considered Jean's predicament, the seed of an unwanted child in her womb. 
Kathy suddenly feared, the first time the thought had occurred to her since 
the debauchery of so long ago, that Grayson may have made her pregnant, that 
his foul cum may have instructed the indiscriminate keepers of her womb to 
build a nest for the bastard byproduct of his filthy loins. Kathy brightened 
and reared back on her haunches in relief, sucking Barker's lingering cock 
in halfway. Kathy remembered the trip to Mexico. If she carried Grayson's 
stinking seed, she would see that it was poisoned there, sharing that uneasy 
operation with Jean as they were now sharing a measure of discomfort. 

Barker ran his fingers up her thighs and belly until he held the heavy 
hanging breasts in his hands like money-filled bank sacks. He plunged his 
hips forward and drove his thirsting cock in Kathy's hole to the hairy 
stump, his low-slung balls bell-swinging between the soft tanned flesh of 
her inner thighs. 

The pussy had been unresisting, in fact at one point it seemed eager to 
accept him, the cuntlips sucking his cock in to a deeper level of the wet 
warm expanding passageway. Barker was sorry there was a line behind him. He 
would liked to have aroused this willing pussy with his tongue and tasted 
the flavor of those pansize brown nipples capping her tits, the peaks of 
which he now coaxed into even greater hardness with his fingers. She was 
built, built like nothing he had ever hosed before. He thought dog-fucking 
her would humiliate her worse than he had seen Grayson destroy her. He had 
secretly hoped such a debasement would heat her highbred blood to the 
boiling point of outrage so that he could beat her into bloody submission 
and then fuck her back into reality. But she surprised him. She welcomed his 
cock. In fact her hand had pushed between her thighs and now urged his balls 
to come alive. If that's how bad she wanted the pictures, trying to make his 
unload quick like a teenager, he'd see that she worked her rich sweet ass 
off before he gave up his print. He knew all about saving something for the 
late rounds of the fight. He had waited all his life for a memorable 
beautiful young cunt like this and he was going to draw every delicious 
second out of it. 

"Man, that Billy's a liar. She's tight," Kathy heard the voice of Milo 
saying, followed by hard driving grunts. "God, what a snug snatch!" 

She felt the heavy weight of Barker's hard muscular loins crashing hard into 
her buttocks, as though answering Milo with an admission that he too was 
working a tight pussy. He split the crevice of her ass wider and wider apart 
as he pushed forward with all his strength to sink his cock inside her 
quivering belly as far as it would go. 

She was wet and open and the cuntal muscles fit as closely around Barker's 
prick as another layer of skin, rippling forward like waves off the bow of a 
ship with the instroke, sucking hard and joined by tightly closing cuntlips 
on the out-stroke. The backstroke made Barker grimace, so tight was the grip 
of the cunt on his cock that it felt like his very innards were being sucked 
out the head of his prick. His hands worked Kathy's swelling breasts like an 
automatic milking machine, pulling them harshly for the leverage he needed 
to bury his expanding cock into the deepest regions of her womb. 

Kathy groaned from the twisting of her firm tender breasts. Barker, 
misinterpreting her sound as an admission of pain from the skewering in her 
backthrusting cunt, smiled sadistically and rose straight up on his knees, 
bringing her ass higher into the air by the lifting pressure of his cock 
inserted in her vagina. Kathy dropped her head on the mattress, her face 
turned toward Jean, and adjusted her buttocks to ease the discomfort of the 
new position. Barker slapped her upturned ass. 

"That's it. Show a little life." 

She complied without hesitation, having learned from Grayson that one pain 
leads to another worse one if the sexual command is not followed. She 
rotated her buttocks slightly, testing for a new hurt from within her body. 
Finding none, she let herself follow his rhythm, grinding and twisting her 
ass back against his hard driving pelvis as if they were Siamese twins 
joined at the loins in a wrestling match. 

"I got the live one, Milo, you one-nut sad sonovabitch," Barker chortled. 
"That dead pussy can't make a man out of you." 

Kathy moved her head and saw that Barker was right. Milo worked furiously 
above Jean's splayed naked thighs, but she was limp and lifeless beneath 
him, enduring the rape stiff and stoically, waiting for it to end just as it 
had begun, without any encouragement whatsoever from her. 

"Roll her over, Milo. Billy here'll give you a hand. He's got something to 
light her fire." 

It was Grayson's conniving voice and Kathy remembered that there was a live 
audience for this performance. She and Jean were executing disgusting lewd 
acts on a mattress stage for a crowd of degenerates. She wondered how they 
looked, the men who were viewing them, and what they were doing with their 
hands. She tried to imagine the activity on the mattresses as seen from 
their perspective, she face down with her rump in the air being split wide 
open by Barker's driving pole, and the comatose Jean flat on her back with 
her firm open thighs admitting the pelvic jackhammer of the frenzied Milo. 

"Turn her up this way so my slut can watch," Barker said. 

Milo lifted his body and Kathy heard his cock come free with a wet sucking 
sound. She saw him take Jean's bare ankles in his hands and turn her around, 
her buttocks serving as the swivel, until her head was positioned at the 
opposite end of the mattress. 

Milo was standing higher than Kathy, looking down into Jean's open 
juice-drenched cunt, holding her feet apart like plow handles. 

"Billy, get your runty ass up her before she dries out," Milo said. 

Kathy could see Milo's slender white cock glistening in the dim light and 
then she noticed something peculiar. The scrotum was not the full dangling 
pouch she had learned to expect in men. It was only half there, as if 
someone had opened a zipper on the side and stolen a handful of the 
contents. 

Barker caught Kathy's attention being diverted by the sight of Milo's 
deformity. He rammed in a deep thrust and leaned over her back. 

"He's only got one nut. Caught some shrapnel in Vietnam." 

"You don't have to tell the whole fucking world, Barker," Milo spat out in 
their direction. 

"Your girlfriend's going to have to hump some to earn his picture," Barker 
continued to whisper audibly. "He hasn't shot a load since he got back." He 
slapped Kathy's ass again. "And so are you, bitch, if you want mine." 

Kathy started up her motor again, working her ass backwards in a spiraling 
circle, feeling the prick sheathing and unsheathing amidst the muscular 
folds of her cuntwalls like a cased letter opener in the hands of a fidgety 
businessman. But she couldn't keep her eyes off the other mattress. 

Billy Bacon joined Milo. He was naked and looked like a dissipated and 
depraved Cupid, his diminutive body the size of a boy's and his stiff cock 
not much more than the length of Kathy's biggest finger. The cock? There was 
something strange about it. It was enclosed in some type of close-fitting 
protective covering that shone from a lubricating film and, unless Kathy's 
eyes deceived her, there was a small feather standing straight out from the 
end. 

Billy ravenously eyed the open wet cunt. 

"Don't dare think about the snatch, it's mine," Milo warned him. "She'd 
never even know you was in." 

"Then hurry up and get her over. We'll sandwich her until her eyes pop out," 
Billy cried, shuffling his feet anxiously. 

Milo dropped one of her feet and sharply twisted the other ankle. Jean's 
chin shot up and she groaned piteously. 

"Over on the belly, cunt," Milo demanded. 

Jean had no choice but to follow a direction that freed her ankle from pain, 
flipping over on her stomach as if Milo were a chef tossing pancakes. 

Milo lay down in the middle of the mattress, his gleaming erect cock at 
Kathy's eye level. He grabbed Jean by an arm and slithered her body on top 
of his. He forced apart her thighs and moved his hips sideways until the 
searching cock located the entry tunnel. Milo pulled Jean's legs forward 
until they were jackknifed along his sides, the knees reaching up to his 
chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around her back, pressing her breasts 
firmly against his chest, and quickly thrust up his buttocks, driving his 
cock to the stump in the open-stretched vagina. Jean groaned at the vicious 
re-entry. Then she sagged, lifeless as a rag doll, permitting him whatever 
abuse he desired, but not cooperating. 

Billy Bacon took a step forward, toward the defenselessly bared rear of the 
girl. Kathy, held to the scene by grim fascination, felt the floor vibrate 
as heavy feet rushed up to get a closer view. 

"That French tickler'll bring her out of her stubbornness," she heard the 
lecherous old cripple say. "Let me soften her up with this first." 

"Okay, you old fart, if that's the only way you get your kicks," Billy said 
and backed away. 

The cripple replaced Billy in Kathy's line of vision. He began unscrewing 
the handle of his cane and Kathy gasped when she saw him remove a thin 
headless rubber phallus, six inches long, attached to the curved handle. 

"This is one I use for asshole work," the old man said, displaying it to 
Billy. "I have another larger one with a head for snatches." 

"Just stick it in a little. I don't want her too loose," Billy instructed. 

The harsh realization of what they were going to do to Jean struck Kathy 
like a breath-stealing blow to the midsection. God, that dirty old man was 
going to stick that awful thing in her backside while Milo continued to rape 
her from underneath. Kathy had a clear view of Milo's long cock sliding back 
and forth in Jean's unresisting but lifeless vagina, the fleshy dark 
hair-lined lips inhaling and exhaling as if breathing from an outside 
source. But now this further devilish indignity was unfolding before Kathy's 
horrified eyes and Jean was totally ignorant of what was going to happen. 

"Hurry up, you bastards. This cold fish is killing my hardon," Milo called 
out. 

"Stick it a ways in her cunt to get it wet," Grayson, arriving on the scene 
with a fresh drink in his hand, suggested. 

"Hey, my prick's in there," Milo protested. 

"Shit, boy, there's plenty of room. These wealthy cunts been fucking since 
they were five," Grayson said. 

The old man's bones cracked as he got down on his knees and peered closely 
into Jean's cunt with Milo's prick buried full-length inside. 

"Hold 'er still, Milo. Let your dick out some." 

Barker had stopped fucking Kathy, resting his prick tight inside and locking 
his arms around her belly, as they both watched captivated. He flexed his 
prick once to let her know he was still in command of the situation, and she 
automatically flexed her own cuntal muscles in acknowledgement, tightening 
her fleshy garrote around the long intruder inside her. 

The arthritic James, using the satanic sexual accessory like a teacher at 
the blackboard with a pointer, placed the tip on the underside of Milo's 
half-exposed cock and flattened it to the same trajectory. 

"Let's go in together fast. She'll think she's being screwed by a 
double-decker bus," James said in a voice that broke with his eagerness. 

Milo drove in his cock, the flesh-tearing device propelled by the old man's 
hand following beneath his prick like a strapped-on torpedo. 

"WhaaAAA!" 

The chilling climbing one-note scream flew out of Jean's body like from a 
talking doll struck harshly on the voice box. Half the rubber phallus had 
disappeared inside her cunt, a passenger riding on Milo's cock. 

"That'll help get her ready for ol' Claudio," the old man giggled, twirling 
the handle of the cane, spinning the rubbery end inside Jean's cunt like a 
high-speed drill. 

The girl, locked in place by Milo's squeezing arms, pounded her head on his 
shoulders and sobbed out of control. 

"Get the fucking thing out. It's tickling my cock." 

"In her ass now. Quick," Billy pleaded. 

The old man withdrew the phallus and Kathy could see the moist film covering 
the end. With one hand he spread the cheeks of her buttocks open wider, 
exposing the tight puckered ring of the anus, and placed the tip of the 
phallus against the defenseless tightly closed flesh. He pushed it in an 
inch. Jean's loins jolted and she cried out as she felt the unnatural 
intrusion into the tight rubbery opening. Her buttocks tensed together to 
try to repel the wet artificial device being thrust into her ass. Her 
struggle was useless and the old man pushed again, sinking it in another 
inch. 

"Aaaaaag, God!" she uttered pathetically, Milo's cock sinking deeper into 
her cunt as she thrashed wildly like a fighting fish trying to dislodge the 
killing lure. 

The old man, beside himself with sadistic pleasure, twirled the handle to 
bore in deeper, a millimeter at a time, and the frustrated Jean, hardening 
her ass cheeks with all her remaining strength, was unknowingly assisting 
the in-drilling. 

"Take it out, she's ready for me," Billy screamed. He ripped the phallus 
from her ass and pushed the old man to one side. Billy grabbed Jean's ass 
with his clawing childlike fingers and spread open the soft white mounds of 
her trembling buttocks. He lowered his loins so that the feather-tipped 
condom was in a straight line with her helpless anus, partially stretched 
from the rummaging rubber prick. 

"Milo, close your legs and hold her tight," Billy ordered. 

Milo pressed his thighs together, the disfigured scrotum nestling in the 
hairy valley formed between them, and Billy straddled his legs with his 
knees. He pushed his hands under her loins and once again stretched open the 
soft white moons, guiding the feather into the misshapen asshole. Jean 
squirmed her buttocks as the feather entered and the head of the cock came 
in contact with the tiny puckered hole. 

Kathy's heart leaped out in sympathy to her friend as she saw Billy's 
stomach muscles tense as he strained forward against the tight hairless 
opening. The prick was worming its way in behind the feather, and then 
suddenly the battered nether ring gave way under the constant pressure and 
the swollen sheathed head of Billy's cock popped inside. Without hesitating 
to allow the plundered asshole to adjust to the sodomy, Billy pitched 
forward on her back, throwing his head high with a satisfied whoop of 
victory as his pelvis smacked loudly against the softness of her twin white 
buttocks. 

Jean's whole body stiffened and bucked as she screamed in delirious pain, 
succeeding only in burying the cruel feather-tipped stabbing cock to the 
hilt in the warm rubbery depths of her rectum. Jean, her every sensory nerve 
end alive as the feather maddeningly rested inside her rectum, was loath to 
move for fear of the pain that might rip through her inflamed anal passage, 
but she was also unable to stay still and stand the torturous tickle a 
second longer. Her ravished loins were being punished further by two cocks, 
the one in her pussy sliding smoothly along the tight walls from the 
releasing fluids of her own body, and the other that had entered her dry 
anus abetted by its own lubricant and now threatened to drive her out of her 
mind with a tingling that made the pain of penetration an insignificant 
memory. 

Jean lay moaning and sobbing in pain and shame, meat sandwiched between two 
cruel degenerates, a thin wall of her flesh separating their impaling cocks. 
She wanted to claw through her own body to treat the infuriating voluptuous 
itch up her backside. 

Billy wasted no time. He began furiously fucking her tight hot asshole while 
Milo beneath continued to thrust up into her cunt with long hard strokes. In 
a matter of seconds they found a common rhythm, skewering the warm 
neighboring orifices of the suffering girl in harmony, she the buffeted 
common dance partner in an obscene sexual ritual. 

Kathy and Barker, locked together but still, watched intently. The low 
animal howl coming from Jean's throat continued as the men ground into her, 
and was broken only by punctuating grunts as they smacked into her body with 
greater force. The sight of Milo's slender long cock appearing blue-veined 
and glistening when it withdrew with the familiar sucking sound, the prick 
hairs plastered flat by the ragged-edged wet embracing cuntlips, and the 
dwarflike Bacon's small sheathed prick disappearing into Jean's split smooth 
asshole, its feather tip tantalizing the sensitive rectum walls with an 
ungodly touch that released thousands of other feathers to tingle her every 
pore, unlocked in Kathy a trunkful of lascivious desires she had never 
dreamed could exist in her newly awakened woman's body. 

Kathy lifted herself up on her elbows when it became clear to her that 
Jean's pelvis no longer was a mindless volleyball being batted between the 
loins of the two men. She had seen the muscles of her thighs and buttocks 
tighten and the tempo of the twin-fucking she was receiving had picked up, 
not from the acceleration of the panting men, but from the sensuous steam 
engine in Jean's own body. The howling had changed to a different tone, 
little by little, and now there was no doubt in Kathy's mind. Jean was 
whimpering passionately. She liked it! Jean's face no longer lay lifeless on 
Milo's shoulder. She was kissing his face and neck amorously, driving the 
length of her red wet tongue into his open mouth. 

The same electric current was coursing through Kathy. Barker sensed it and 
screwed her from behind like a wildman. And she screwed back, driving for 
delicious pleasure. The whole complexion of the evening had changed from one 
of servile acceptance of humiliating abuses to a careening climb for 
self-gratification. Kathy wanted prick and she felt cheated because Jean was 
getting two. She wanted the Big 0, the crowning orgasm, the same as her 
friend would reach soon. 

Kathy's arms buckled as a new weight settled in front of her on the 
mattress. She tore her eyes away from Jean's abandoned face and smacked her 
nose into a prick. It was Grayson, on his knees, holding his shirt back and 
waving his stiff thick dripping cock in her face like a snake ready to 
strike. 

"I told you I'd fuck your face. Suck it until I cum." 

Grayson was aroused by what he saw, the two affluent cunts being treated 
like military camp followers by men they looked down upon because of their 
social differences. Grayson had choreographed the entire evening carefully, 
assigning the roles of the participants to milk the last lingering drop of 
snotty aloofness from the well-to-do wenches. He had shown them what 
flophouse tramps they really were and his mission would be complete when the 
mulatto rammed his tree trunk into their proud pussies and ruined them 
forever. Because search as they may in the years to come, in all the corners 
of the earth, they'd pay hell finding a fat cock to fill them to the 
bursting point the way the half-nigger would tonight. Grayson was amused to 
see Barker dog-fucking the blonde strumpet, because he knew it humiliated 
her even more than he had the day before, forcing her to ride the driving 
stiff cock like an animal, turning her vulnerable asshole and vagina up to 
her master as the ultimate sign of submission. Then seeing her saucy-assed 
friend being buggered first by the cane of the impotent old fart and then by 
the feathered cock of sawed-off Billy Bacon, who could still make jockey's 
weight if his pecker was any indication, was more than he could have 
invented. And all the while the dark-haired slut was being boned by 
one-nutted Milo, who was only an inch from flipping out over his disability 
under normal circumstances. Grayson knew if the girl failed to bring his 
lone testicle to life, Milo would fuck her raw and probably carve her up 
with his shiv to boot. It was all too gorgeous. Grayson had felt ready to 
jack off for joy as he watched his masterful production near its 
cunt-cleaving finale with Claudio when he remembered an available orifice 
and the day-old debt he had to settle. 

Grayson put both hands in Kathy's hair and pulled her head forward, until 
the stickiness of the cock tip kissed her sealed lips. He jerked slightly 
and the lips parted, admitting the covered head to her clenched teeth. 
Grayson swayed, whitewashing her perfect straight teeth with his seminal 
fluid, and then he twisted her head back hard and breathed liquor fumes into 
her face. 

"Gobble! Suck it like you blow your rich fag boyfriends." 

As if on cue, Barker gave an extra strong lunge at her rear and Kathy 
gasped. Grayson, holding her head between his hands, rammed his thick dark 
cock through her soft, moist lips and into the wet warm cavern of her mouth. 
She could feel the hardness of it slithering up the length of her tongue and 
filling her mouth completely with its full fleshy hardness. 

The old man murmured happy little notes, his bright twinkling eyes hopping 
from mattress to mattress in greedy voyeurism, wishing he could find a hole 
somewhere to stick his phony phallus. He once considered jamming it up 
Barker's thumping asshole, but he was afraid the host would order him out of 
the house. He didn't want to leave. At no time in his seventy-one years had 
he witnessed such an exciting gang-fuck of two beautiful rich girls, and he 
was devastated that he was unable to participate more fully. It's terrible 
to grow old. He remembered reading about a special condom, equipped with a 
spring, that simulated erection and he made a mental note to see about 
getting one before the next party. He saw the big mulatto watching silently 
from the shadows, holding his huge telephone pole of a cock, standing guard 
like a dark sentry with his spear. James could hardly wait until the others 
crawled away so that he could find out what kind of stuff the nigger was 
made of. 

Kathy unwound her hips as she sucked, at first coughing and sputtering until 
she grew accustomed to the irregular fat fleshy boarder in her mouth. She 
closed her eyes and tried to forget the owner of the instrument that gagged 
her, nibbling lightly at the thrusting stiff flesh and closing her nostrils 
to the unwashed stench wafting from his groin. His testicles slapped saplike 
against her chin as he thrashed his prick deeply into her throat. Grayson 
had been ready to cum when she swallowed his cock and he wouldn't need much 
more encouragement. 

Behind her Barker also felt himself building toward the end. His fingers dug 
into the flesh of her belly as the tubes to his nuts inflated. Barker 
mercilessly battered into the quivering cheeks of her ass with his 
open-throttle hips as he sought to quickly find relief for his bound-up 
balls. 

But a powderkeg on the other mattress blew up first, setting off the chain 
reaction. 

"Shit, shit... oh, shit!" screamed Billy Bacon, ripping his covered cock 
from Jean's backside, slipping off the feathered condom in the same motion, 
and jamming his bared cum-spurting prick back into the asshole before it had 
time to close. "Ah, shit... ahhhh, shit!" His body jerked spasmodically as 
he fired into her rectum. 

"W-w-whoooahh, it's h-happening!" Jean cried shrilly, rolling her head on 
Milo's shoulder and moving her outstretched arms like a blind swimmer in 
search of water. She bucked her ass and Billy's deflated prick slurped out 
as she drove down harder on Milo's pleasure producing cock, trying to 
stretch her climax to the fullest. Milo was glassy-eyed with a look of 
open-mouthed disbelief as he felt a nearly-forgotten discomfort in his 
scarred scrotum. It was like someone had untied the knot in the garden hose 
and the long held-back water finally had somewhere to go. 

"Ooh, oooh, ooooh," Milo crooned like a baby, body relaxing, contenting 
himself to let Jean's solo speedy stoop-tagging on his firing cock pump up 
the long-siloed crop within his lone testicle. 

Kathy went berserk, the saliva in her mouth becoming sticky from the small 
emissions of lubricating fluid from the tip of Grayson's cock, her hardened 
clitoris transmitting flowing, tingling messages of pleasure throughout her 
body from the friction of Barker's long slippery prick plunging deep within 
her tightened cuntwalls. 

The hoarse panting she heard from front and rear blended with her own grunts 
of effort, and the slurping from her mouth and cunt, forming a concerto 
played by exhausted human musical instruments striving for a finale. The 
fiery hot balls in her belly screamed to be released. Her toes dug against 
the bottoms of her high heel shoes as she bucked and sucked, a helpless 
slave to the pricks flogging her body from each end. The rising tide was 
creating inside her fuck-racked body, heated to boiling by the ripples of 
fire dancing through her tattered nerves. She sucked and worked her buttocks 
to end it for all of them, as the hot wave in her body splashed out burning 
forerunners to tunnel through her veins in a ceaseless stream of 
insurmountable pleasure. Suddenly her wave came crashing down and the 
passionate scream of announcement building in her lungs was drowned as she 
heard Grayson groan above her and his cock erupted in the warm wet interior 
of her sucking mouth. His shout was echoed behind her by unintelligible 
profane grunts and a final battering ram thrust that forced Grayson's 
spurting prick into her mouth to the choking hilt. 

Kathy thought she was drowning. Grayson's prick was strangling her and she 
had to swallow huge mouthfuls of hot sticky cum before she could catch a 
breath. Barker's cock drenched her womb, firing explosive hot batteries of 
sperm through the vaginal passage and filling the depths beyond until Kathy 
thought her belly would break. And she was cumming too, in great sensual 
waves released around the still spitting prick in her cunt, the body liquid 
seeping in warm rivulets out the vaginal lips clasped tightly around the 
base of his cock and down her lush soft inner thighs. Her whole body inside 
was filled with thick sticky wetness. Tears of unconscious joy came to her 
eyes and fell on Grayson's naked thigh. 

There was a soft plopping sound as Grayson withdrew his cock from her mouth, 
a thin string of semen sticking to her lips as he pulled away. He moved to 
one side and the exhausted Kathy dropped to her face on the mattress, 
feeling Barker's limp prick slip from her cunt with a sucking noise and the 
weight of his body collapsing on her buttocks. Barker rolled off to one side 
and Kathy's uncovered ravished and wet loins were caressed by cool rushes of 
air. Her throat convulsed and she re-tasted Grayson's pungent cum. 

There was no movement or sound on the mattresses. The leering old man 
shuffled about giggling obscenely as he viewed softened spent pricks and 
oozing orifices, as if he was the only survivor on a sexual battlefield. 
Kathy felt the phallus tip testing the crevice between her buttocks. She had 
neither the strength nor the inclination to resist, and so she spread her 
damp thighs and relaxed her anus to take his depraved abuse with as little 
discomfort as possible. The old man pulled back, disappointed. 

"No fun when they don't give a shit," he said and dragged himself away. 

Kathy heard the rustling of human flesh on the next mattress, but didn't 
care enough to look. She lay still, unable to move, savoring the climax that 
was now the merest trace of a memory. There were new aches in her body 
joining those from Grayson's rape of the day before. Her thighs hurt from 
the cramped position they were in while Barker fucked her from behind. Her 
back and neck throbbed from straining to suck Grayson's cock. 

Grayson shattered the blissful stillness. 

"Come on, Claudio. Get your ass on over here." 

"Oh, God." It was a weary deep death gurgle that Kathy barely recognized as 
Jean's voice. 

Kathy felt Barker nudging her naked hip. "Over on the other mattress." 

She pulled herself on her arms, like a crawling serpent across to the 
mattress where Jean was crouching like a cornered rat. She seemed unaware of 
Kathy, as if in a drug trance, her eyes not leaving the huge cock standing 
out from the open fly of the mulatto's trousers. Tears streamed down her 
face and she shook her head from side to side. 

The naked men gathered around Claudio and removed his clothing. The upper 
arms were as big around as Kathy's thigh. The huge head seemed to rest on 
the massively proportioned shoulders without benefit of a neck. The men 
struggled to get the pants down his muscular thighs. Finally he was naked, 
the prick standing out like a cannon to fire the wet ammunition stored in 
the grapefruit-size constricted scrotum. 

"We've done enough," Kathy heard her own weak voice pleading. "Please let us 
go now." 

Grayson had collected the pictures. He dropped all but two in front of 
Kathy. She tore them to pieces without so much as glancing at them. 

"The last two are yours after Claudio gets fucked. The old man was only a 
spectator so the Cuban gets his ticket too. That means both of you screw." 

Jean turned on Kathy with burning, hate-filled eyes. 

"You go first." She looked to Grayson. "Make her go first. She's the guilty 
one." 

"Smart thinking," Grayson smiled sardonically. "You figure she'll empty him 
and you get off scot-free. No chance. Claudio's an iron man. You'll spit up 
his nigger cum for a month." 

The men got the mulatto on his back on the empty mattress, the huge staff 
rising above him like a tall fire hydrant. 

Grayson grabbed Kathy's arm. "You sit on his cock." He turned to Jean. "And 
you plant your pussy on his face." 

"Good, good," the old man giggled lewdly. "Make them look at each other 
while the nigger's doing it." 

"You really come up with the ideas, you stinking old fucker," Billy said 
with admiration in his voice. 

Milo massaged his aching testicle. "I got to sit down. I feel weak as all 
get out." 

"Push up the couch, kid, and we'll all have ringside seats," Barker called 
after him. 

Grayson yanked Kathy up by the arm and she wobbled on her high heels. He 
bent down and pulled the shoes off her feet. 

"Can't have you digging holes in the host's furniture." 

Grayson lifted her bodily over the prone Cuban until her bare feet straddled 
his wide hips. The mulatto's eyes bulged wide as he looked up into her 
dripping cunt. His large hands closed around her ankles like leg irons, 
trapping her helplessly. The hands worked up her legs, crushing the firm 
young flesh in a strong grip, downpulling in unrelenting determination to 
impale the golden-covered cunt over the ridged bluish head of Claudio's 
immense cock. 

"Fu-huk... fu-huk... fu-huk," the giant grunted animal-like, as if it were 
the chant for a primitive tribal mating ceremony, bringing the loins of the 
terror-stricken blonde girl down until he felt his pee hole contact the 
cum-soaked disheveled cool pubic hairs around her vagina. 

The tendons in Kathy's legs fought a hopeless battle to resist. She twisted 
her head sideways, her fearful eyes pleading to be rescued, and met only by 
the impassive face of Jean, the heiress-apparent to a wealth of cock. Jean 
studied Kathy's ordeal with clinical interest, as if eager to learn the 
pitfalls before taking her turn at bat. 

"Spike her, Claudio," Billy's high-pitched voice demanded. 

"He'll split her wide open if he does," Barker admonished. "I don't want 
dead bodies around. Just cool it, Claudio." 

"Do something, for crissakes, you overgrown coon," Grayson said, his 
patience wearing thin. 

Claudio released one leg and with thumb and forefinger he spread the ragged 
pink cuntlips until the edges lay on each side of the tip of his knoblike 
prickhead. 

Then with a startling deftness that belied his great bulk, Claudio ran both 
hands between her thighs and cupped a buttock in each huge hand. He lifted 
the girl off the mattress, her feet and legs dangling useless outside his 
arms. 

Kathy reacted to the loss of gravity with a gasp, almost falling 
spine-snappingly backward, but Claudio's great large hands kept her upright 
in his sweaty palm chair, the long fingers like wickers at the base of her 
back. He moved the hands outward slightly, the flesh of her ass glued to his 
palms, and Kathy felt that her cunt opening was being stretched inhumanely 
by ropes attached to each lip. 

Claudio grinned, his lips bared back over the big white teeth as if in 
murderous anticipation. He lowered her body an inch and the great bulging 
head of his cock insinuated itself deeper into the cuntlips, the pulsating 
blood-filled tip stretching the resisting rubbery flesh almost to the 
tearing point. 

"Ahhh!" Kathy moaned, her spine sagging, now aware through the tearing pain 
that her own body was betraying her in a new way, that its very weight would 
be the momentum working her down the blunt spear that was slowly piercing 
her punished cunt. Her bare feet, suspended in thin air, halfheartedly 
searched for leverage, support, anything that would take the edge out of the 
agony she endured as the elastic opening to her pussy stretched to its 
limit. She couldn't take a cock like that in a million years. 

"Nooo, I can't... it's impossible." 

The old man crept up and dropped to his hands and knees, his lecherous face 
only two feet away from the painful union. 

"Atta boy, Claudio. When you're through I'll be able to jam my whole arm up 
her snatch." 

"Out of the way. I can't see," Milo angrily ordered. 

The cripple stumbled back. Claudio, playing to an appreciative audience, 
lowered Kathy another inch, the ridge of the prick vanishing inside her. 

"Uuuuuggg!" 

Kathy's feet recklessly battled the air fighting an unbeatable enemy, her 
cuntlips splitting terribly, the unbearable pain making her tremble and 
clutch her arms closely to her body. There was no sound in the room beyond 
her choked broken sobbing. The men watched hypnotized as the cuntlips of the 
beautiful blonde girl, stretched almost to transparency, clutched the ball 
of the mulatto's prickhead like a child using "chicken claws" on the end of 
a bat handle. 

The rubber bands of her vaginal opening began unknotting in adjustment to 
the domed monument forcing entry, snapping loose little by little in a 
desperate race for survival. Kathy's pain temperature dropped slightly, from 
excruciating agony to humanly unbearable. 

Then the rampageous mulatto laughed, a belly-deep basso room-shaking 
thunderclap that he cut short with a furious upthrust of his loins... as he 
pulled away the hands that supported Kathy's weight. 

The fire sirens went off in her brain, hundreds of them, screaming wailing, 
shrieking their mind-bending alarms. Kathy did not rush down the fire-pole; 
it came to her, tearing up her insides and hot off the branding fire. Shock 
and surprise were so great that she was beyond sounding off as the runaway 
cock smashed through all her resisting flesh, shoving the pink soft 
cuntwalls into distended oblivion before its monstrous doorknob head. She 
was a child on a banister who had overlooked the upturned fracture, and now 
the banister wood was cutting through her vagina en route to her throat. The 
robot prick monster rushed into her in a manner unmatched by anything in her 
brief sexual history, filling every natural crack and pore in the cuntal 
tunnelway to her womb, bullishly pushing the inner organs out of the way, 
intimidating the very soul within her.-She was an open-legged girl on a 
slide who had flown off the end cunt-first onto the barrel of the Civil War 
cannon and it would rip and gouge blazingly up her twat until the backs of 
her thighs smacked against the wooden wheels used to transport it. 

The wiry tight pubic hairs cushioned the shattering jolt as her buttocks hit 
bottom, Claudio's pelvis. His huge upright member was completely inside 
Kathy's torn cunt extending, she was willing to swear, through the top of 
her skull. The dazed, disbelieving expression on her face changed to one of 
wonder as she stared down to where the prick had disappeared inside her, 
expecting a telltale pool of blood to confirm that she had been fatally 
gored. 

She looked around and saw that the men were viewing her with open-mouthed 
amazement. Jean, from the other mattress, searched Kathy's face studiously, 
without words, wanting to know if life managed to go on inside her mortally 
violated body. 

Kathy glanced down at the grinning mulatto. His arms were behind his head as 
he looked back at her in amusement. He saw how her pain-contorted face 
relaxed slightly as she became acclimated to the huge foreign presence that 
her body had accepted with painful, but astonishing flexibility. Her tightly 
clenched teeth opened slightly and she swallowed air in throaty gulps. 

"Oh... oh... oh... oh... oh..." escaped from her mouth in step with her 
frantic heartbeat. 

The Cuban's balls twitched as he inflated his prick and the girl's 
responding groan was pained, her teeth re-clenching, the hot passage 
hurrying to accommodate the increasing size of the fleshy hard intruder. 
Claudio shifted his loins sharply to one side, feeling the bone of her 
pelvis, and she moaned. She repeated the moan when he shifted the other way, 
but each sideways move expanded the resisting walls of her vagina until they 
fit the giant prick better than a surgeon's rubber glove. 

There was no way he could be any deeper in her. 

Kathy sat flat on his embedded cock with her legs straight in front of her, 
and the Cuban kissed the soles of her bare feet and ran his thick tickling 
tongue between her toes. He opened his thighs slightly and nodded, and Kathy 
instinctively knew what he wanted her to do. She reached behind and felt the 
huge tight balls filling the constricted scrotum to the bursting point. They 
must hold pints, she thought, rubbing the firm tenderness, gently pressing 
the oversize bag up against his groin and revolving her hand in a slow 
circular motion. His cock answered with a spasm, but the dreaded pain she 
felt was more pleasurable than harmful. His wide flat yellow palms came up 
and the mulatto pressed them against her breasts, shoving softly to see them 
flare out to rounded fullness at the sides. The hands pulled back and the 
resilient globes returned in shape to abundantly filled mounds swelling out 
to the touch. He rotated his hands in time to the easy motion of her touch 
on his scrotum, the feathery contact with just the tip of the nipples 
drawing them out into hardened capsules super-sensitive to suggestion and 
sending the sensuous alarm to her clitoris, coaxing it into a throbbing 
prick-responsive knot. 

"I think I'm getting a hardon," the old man's cobwebby voice announced. 

"You ain't had a stiff prick in twenty years," Milo's voice sneered. "Relax 
before your ticker goes out." 

Claudio gently pinched her calf. 

"Fuck now," he grunted like a Hollywood Indian. 

Like a gymnast, Kathy worked her legs back, her feet beneath her buttocks, 
and testingly lifted her torso up Claudio's cock. They were sealed together 
so tightly that their meshed flesh was almost as one, and Kathy winced in 
pain at the rending separation. She lifted her cunt until the in-squeezing 
lips found the ridge of the head, what seemed like ten miles above the base, 
and slowly lowered her body down again, carefully oiling his prick with her 
natural flowing lubricant as if it was a new rod about to be inserted in an 
expensive precision machine. Claudio shut his eyes, humming a soft contented 
Latin tune, as if being lulled to sleep by the dreamy sensation of a 
snug-fitting warm buttery doughnut melting into wondrous softness as it 
ringed up and down the full length of his colossal consuming cuntbuster. 

"Is that jigaboo crapping out on us?" Grayson asked loudly. 

"Fuck, no. He's just savoring that raw stretched pussy," Barker attempted to 
calm him. 

"I want some goddamn action." He looked at Jean. "Dump some of your asshole 
cum in his face to wake him up," Grayson shouted. 

Jean looked at the naked man leaning forward on the couch, absorbed with the 
gentle fucking Kathy gave Claudio more than if it were the Rose Bowl game on 
TV. She wasn't sure what Grayson wanted her to do. The ringmaster 
impatiently looked up from the coupling couple and glared meanly at Jean. 

"Move, slut, or I'll break your fucking arm. Give him your used pussy to 
eat." 

Jean got up and went to the top of the mattress over Claudio's head. She saw 
Kathy's eyes turn up... and look right through her. They were drugged and 
faraway looking as Kathy continued to ride herself deliberately down and up, 
up and down, the unmoving rigid dark prick. Jean thought she saw a look she 
first recognized in their childhood. Kathy's full red lips, tense and 
straight in total concentration, were about to turn up slightly, in the very 
same half-smile she displayed when as youngsters they shared their first 
forbidden cigarette. It was her signal of the full enjoyment of something 
deliciously wicked. 

Claudio opened his eyes and saw the dark hair of Jean's snatch above his 
head. He reached back and took her behind the bend in the knees, pulling her 
down to a face-straddling squat until her draining cunt fit snugly over his 
mouth. Claudio's bulbous nose split the crevice of her buttocks and nudged 
against her cruelly plundered asshole. 

The first thrust of the mulatto's thick tongue into her stretched cunt so 
unnerved and unbalanced Jean that she spread her hands on his heaving chest 
to keep from falling forward. Kathy was climbing faster on the cock. The 
taste of pussy ignited the lugubrious Cuban and he responded with his loins, 
rushing to catch Kathy's elusive cunt as it slipped away with her each 
upstroke. Kathy braced herself on the man's belly and the two beautiful 
girls gave the appearance of erotic unmatched bookends, the dark-haired one 
being gently pierced by a long probing tongue, and the blonde slithering 
pell-mell along the greased giant cock of a reclining monster. 

The mulatto bathed his broad flat face in the split wet cunt, using his 
hands to force the buttocks wider apart to have full access to Jean's 
crotch, washing her clean as a cow would a newborn calf. The long slippery 
tongue snaked into the wet warm walls of her pussy like a painless prick, 
something similar to the maddening feather that had tantalized her asshole, 
and Jean moaned and crashed her loins hard into the feeding face as if 
trying to snuff out a new threat to her sensuous system. Claudio feasted 
greedily, his tongue spearing in and out of her dilating cuntlips, and Jean 
answered with soft mewls, tensing her arms against the sides of her rounded 
hard-nippled breasts as if freezing from the massive waves of pleasure 
washing through her belly. She lurched with cardiac shock as the wet probe 
worked back to the damaged anus, medicating her stretched rubbery ring with 
soothing ointment before plunging in unexpectedly. 

"Wha-wow!" she cried madly, hula dancing in place on the softly digging 
moist speartip. 

His mouth slid back to her cunt and there were loud slobbering sucking 
sounds as Claudio milked her flowing juices into his throat, alternating his 
intake of vaginal nourishment with long torturous laps at her throbbing 
budlike clitoris. The fully-aroused Jean wanted to vocalize like a train 
whistle, to alert the countryside that she was back on the track to an 
unforgettable place introduced to her earlier by a pair of pricks pounding 
inside her in broken cadence. Her pelvis pulverized down, she arched her 
back and pointed her breasts high, using the man's tightly kinked hair 
beneath her buttocks as stabilizing handgrips. 

The mulatto's loins kicked into high gear and the pistoning cock plummeted 
inside Kathy with such teeth-rattling impact that her blonde head nearly 
smacked forward into Jean's stretched flattened belly like a battering ram. 
Kathy was riding out the storm, her vagina lashed to Claudio's massive mast, 
stitched together as if with elastic line, her sensitive clitoris flattened 
into screaming submission as she rode it down the prick like the prow of a 
downracing bobsled. Her hands clawed bloodless pathways in the broad 
muscular belly as she rocketed upward in a trajectory toward fulfillment. 

The smothered growl was that of a bear disturbed during hibernation. The 
escaping bass groan continued endlessly, the noise going directly up the 
passageway to the hollow of Jean's womb, sounding much like the 
reverberating faraway echo of rusted twin steel dungeon doors being pried 
apart. The first blast of hot cum splashed into Kathy's cunt like molten 
lead, the monstrous shaft swelling like puffed cheeks as the prick gushed 
mindlessly. 

The screams of the two girls filled the room like the shrill climbing 
untameable cries from a crowded maternity ward at feeding time. 

"Eeeeeeee-ahhhhhhh, whah, whaaaaa...!" Jean's lungs erupted, unable, 
uncaring, unwilling to shape her outburst into recognizable sounds. 

Kathy's lips were blowjob-round, her cheeks huffing and puffing as if she 
had swallowed liquid fire. 

"Who-ah, who-ah, who-ah, who..." she panted at locomotive tempo. 

The mulatto's prick continued to fire, its hot sticky cannonade ricocheting 
off the embattled womb walls and back down the cuntal passage, mixing in the 
hairy stump base with the outpourings of Kathy's climax. 

Kathy could not control her orgasm. It soared to higher and higher 
elevations. It was frightening how her body could run away, existing by 
itself on a plateau separate and removed from her powers of reason. She 
climbed and climbed, her climax an escaped helium balloon that suddenly 
popped, and she stiffened her arms against the Cuban's dry retching stomach 
to steel herself against the fall. Kathy thought she had been straddling a 
high tension line and someone finally had turned off the juice. Her whole 
body sagged and she became aware of her cunt seeping around its prick 
stopper like a partially plugged raindrain. 

Kathy lifted her flowing cunt off the still rigid prick and watched the film 
dissolve from Jean's eyes as she threw a leg across the Cuban's drooling 
mouth as if she was dismounting a horse. They collapsed on their sides on 
the adjoining mattresses, panting into each other's faces. 

"Jesus Christ," Jean said in utter exhaustion, completely drained. 

Then, to Kathy's amazement, Jean smiled at her, a sleepy bedroom grin 
accentuated by a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. And Kathy realized that 
she was smiling too, the same half-drunken slight upturn of the lips that 
had appeared on her face at the moment her body began to run away with her 
while aboard the Cuban's cock. 

My God, what had become of them? Kathy wondered. 

They rested, reacquainting themselves in the light of their new shared 
experiences without speaking. Both realized their lives were altered, that 
every thread connecting them with their girlish pasts had been severed. 

Could Jean ever forgive her? Had she already? Kathy had no more time to 
think about it. 

"Next!" It was Grayson's governing voice, with the threat implied as always. 

Jean pushed herself to her feet with an enthused fatalism that puzzled 
Kathy, whose leaking vagina hurt inside while her ravished walls readjusted, 
trying without success to locate in positions of the pre-Claudio past. 

Claudio fucked Jean oh her back and Kathy was spared from participating. 
Jean, broader through the pelvis than Kathy, met the challenge of the giant 
cock with greater ease, once past the terrible splitting of her vagina by 
the enormous blunt head. 

Kathy was startled by how Jean's wanton lewd exhortations at the apex of her 
intense climax made her own body come alive with intensely rekindled 
desires. 

"Fuck, fuck... oh, fuck!" Jean screamed to the rooftops, oblivious to the 
vile language pounded out of her body by the scourging prick of the mulatto. 
He forced her legs back behind her head until Kathy thought they would break 
off as he unloaded his cumtanks endlessly inside Jean's cunt, the sperm 
overflowing the tight squeezed lips and trailing down over her prick and 
tongue-stretched asshole to drip into a sticky white pool on the mattress. 

Afterwards as they dressed painfully to leave, the still naked Grayson 
approached with the two remaining photographs. He held them out. 

"We won't need these any more. You cunts know where to come when you want 
fucking from real men." 

Jean snatched the pictures from his hand. She looked at Kathy. 

"I think I have a right to see what I worked for." 

She studied them closely and her face took on a faraway expression. 

"Yes, Craig would be a trifle upset over these. Allow me to do the honors." 

Jean picked up her purse and walked over to the fireplace. With her back to 
Kathy she fed the damning evidence into the flames. She fished in her purse 
for a cigarette as she watched the paper curl up in blackness and then be 
consumed by a tongue of fire. 

"Let's get the hell out of here," Jean said. 

The young women approached the exit. Barker unbolted the door. 

"Come see me any time, girls," he sang out loud enough for the others to 
hear. 

Kathy and Jean filed through the front door without looking back, the 
obscene laughter of their attackers ringing in one of their few orifices 
still unabused. 

Chapter Vi 

When realization finally struck, Craig's hand shook so badly that he spilled 
coffee on the front of the anonymous envelope postmarked El Camino, which 
arrived at his home in the morning mail. His first thought was that his 
goddamn roommate told the Southerner about the prank and now the unoriginal 
jerk was trying to get even. But how had he worked the El Camino postmark? 

Then he took a harder look at the Polaroid photograph with the sticky 
preservative on the face. He wasn't going to panic. He and Kathy, in a phone 
conversation, had patched up their differences stemming from four nights 
before. She had been in bed with the flu since then and had not felt up to 
seeing him. 

The girl in the photograph had long blonde hair like Kathy's, the same heavy 
full breasts with large nipples, the slender hips and firm thighs. But the 
face was so out of shape from the cock buried deep in the mouth. The man 
could have been almost anyone, his face completely hidden inside the snatch 
of the girl on top of him. The old sixty-niner, Craig thought to himself, 
admiring the Tennessee jock for his resourcefulness in selecting the pose. 

Then Craig made the acid test. Rifling his desk for the magnifying glass, 
hoping not to find it but locating it, he moved to the better light near his 
bedroom window. The profile was exactly right, the sucking lips he had seen 
countless times working on a popsicle as she stood beside him at the polo 
matches, the neck and shoulders, maybe.... But what turned Craig into a 
roaring inferno of mindless rage was the visible right breast, partially 
flattened against the pale paunch of the man she was blowing. The twin 
beauty marks, faint to the unaided eye, were unmistakable under the 
enlarging glass. 

He fought his violent shaking and picked up the phone. He managed to dial 
the number, not certain he could find the words or a human voice to speak 
them. The private line in her room was busy. Her father was in the city and 
she was there alone, in her bedroom, sprawled across the bed in her 
nightgown, no doubt, and talking on the phone to her lover in the 
photograph. She would be laughing at Craig, regaling her listener, he knew, 
with how she was able to heat her fiance's passions and then chill them with 
a word. She was mocking her pansy boyfriend, who she allowed a light kiss 
now and then if he was deserving, to a man she let eat her cunt while she 
sucked his prick. This guy gets gobbled. Craig thought, staring hard at the 
photograph, while I get nutaches. He felt his pecker stiffening, wishing he 
was the guy being eaten in the picture, and the nervous perspiration rolling 
down his sides. 

If some busy bee's been getting into my precious flower of maidenhood, then 
I'm due some fucking honey too, Craig's boiling mind worked out in injured 
masculine logic. He dashed out of the house and vaulted into his sports car, 
leaving six feet of rubber on the driveway when he gunned away. 

Kathy had been sleeping in the last few mornings, believing rest to be the 
only cure for the deadening ache all over her body. It was not several 
aches, in the arms, thighs, back, jaw muscles, inside her vagina, but a 
single all-consuming hurt that was met more than halfway by her feeling of 
mental depression. 

Grimly, the only thought that cheered her was that of suicide. For hours on 
end she contemplated with lively interest the ways she could do herself in. 
The sleeping pills in her father's medicine cabinet, the gun in his den, the 
blade from her own razor. She could wade out into the ocean and keep 
walking, or she could perform a perfect swan dive off the rugged cliff to 
the jagged rocks in the water two hundred feet below. It lifted Kathy's 
spirits to consider the number of ways to destroy herself, hanging, carbon 
monoxide poisoning, hari-kari, driving into a sturdy roadside tree while 
doing sixty-five. 

She knew this was a way to rid herself forever of the self-hate, disgust, 
humiliation and shame that burdened her. But more frightening was that she 
also had a pretty good idea of how to cure her sickness, a means of lifting 
her mind above mundane matters of the world and onto a cloudy, soft warm 
plateau of pleasure. The bruises to her body would fade, the aches in her 
muscles disappear, but how could she deal with the new fire scorching the 
insides of her womb, a fire that flickered lower only after being drenched 
by relief buckets of cum? 

The silly rift with Craig was easily mended. She smiled to herself at how 
juvenile it had been, the centuries of experience she had drunk in since 
then. She thought about the surprise she would have for poor Craig and 
wondered if he would be up to it. She would have to play-act, to nurse him 
along, so as not to arouse any suspicions. She'd let him think that he 
finally convinced her she was wrong about premarital fucking. 

She eagerly looked forward to the cruise to Mexico with Jean. She wanted the 
time it would give her to put her mental house in order, to pick up the 
pieces of her life. She hoped her first truly intimate meeting alone with 
Craig could be stalled until after the trip. She had held him off with the 
flu story and now departure was only two days away. 

The phone rang. It was Jean. 

"Guess what?" the cheerful voice opened. 

"What?" Kathy played along, sincerely happy to hear from Jean for the first 
time since that night. The voice bore no trace of malice. 

"The Red Sea is flowing." 

"I don't get you." 

"My period has started, dummy. It was a false alarm. I'm not P-G." 

"I'll be damned," Kathy said, the unfamiliar expletive dropping out of her 
lips fittingly in astonishment. 

"Yep," Jean chirped merrily, "I must have been so scared that my girlish 
insides froze up... until they were thawed out by a certain firm of plumbers 
you recommended." 

The girls talked on and on, Kathy pouring out profuse apologies for asking 
Jean to sacrifice so much to protect her from Grayson's sinister intentions. 
Jean received Kathy's comments on the subject without any of her own, and 
Kathy might have considered the silence from the other end of the line 
threatening if it had been anyone other than her best friend. Jean's voice 
came through again only after the conversation shifted. 

"What about Mexico?" Kathy asked. 

"Hell, let's go. The tickets are paid for. We'll have a great time now that 
the monkey's off my back... or wherever it was." 

"Good," Kathy agreed. "We'll make it a first class vacation." 

Kathy heard a screeching of tires outside and climbed from her bed with the 
receiver in her hand to glance out the window. It was Craig's roadster. She 
heard the front door slam below. 

"Craig's here, Jean," she said into the phone. "Just a second, Craig. I'll 
be right down," she shouted, reaching for her robe. 

She barely recognized the growling voice. 

"The hell you will. I'm coming up." 

Kathy heard the feet landing heavily on the carpeted stairs as Craig cleared 
them three at a time. 

"I'll have to call you back..." she said into the phone. 

The door burst open and he stood framed in the doorway, his body looking 
larger and inflamed, his teeth clenched together and his lips drawn back in 
a fearsome snarl. Craig lunged across the room and ripped the receiver from 
her hand, slamming it down into the cradle, and then sweeping the phone off 
the bedside table to the floor, the receiver bouncing free. 

Kathy drew the robe around her shoulders tightly. 

"Craig, what's the matter? You look like you've swallowed an overdose of 
drugs." 

Craig threw the picture on the bed. 

"Tell me what you're swallowing here, my virtuous wife-to-be," he said, each 
syllable honed to a terrifying cutting edge. 

Jean had curled up in the leather chair in her father's study while she 
talked to Kathy over the phone. She watched the ash forming on the end of 
her long lighted cigarette, her eyes narrowing, as Kathy pleaded for 
forgiveness for leading her to the gang-bang. Jean's catlike eyes flashed at 
the memory of the mortifying sodomy by the drunken Billy, the physical abuse 
from the cruel deformed Milo, the rubber prod of the old man, the total 
debasement of her proud femininity in front of an audience of sniggering 
degenerates engineered by the despicable Grayson, who was aided and abetted 
by Kathy, her best friend. It was over, ended and she would recover. In 
truth, Jean admitted to herself, it wasn't such a bad night, if only the 
faces and personalities of the participants had been masked. She could 
afford to be lenient and honest now that sue had been spared the penalty of 
pregnancy. She liked to screw, she had found out, and there would be nothing 
to prevent her from safely exercising this prerogative in the future, now 
that she had armed herself with a prescription for birth control pills on 
which she had forged her father's signature. 

The true resentment she harbored toward Kathy was that her best friend had 
resorted to blackmail. Jean might have helped her out willingly if only she 
had asked. But she had threatened, and this Jean would never forgive. And so 
Jean had faked burning both the pictures, secretly slipping one into her 
handbag. She had to make Kathy pay a penalty for the callous affront to 
their friendship. She would do it in the way women have injured other women 
since the beginning of time... by stealing her man. She mailed the 
photograph to Craig and patiently waited to hear the fireworks. After they 
parted, Jean could make her play for him, willingly giving what Kathy denied 
him. 

Jean had stiffened in the chair, listening intently, when Kathy announced 
Craig's arrival. A slow knowing smile played at her lips when she heard his 
threatening voice. Then there had been the sound of a brief struggle and a 
click on the phone line. But it had not disconnected. There was a cushioned 
crashing noise and a bouncing effect, and from the sounds Jean monitored she 
quickly deduced that the loose receiver was laying on the floor next to 
Kathy's bed. It overjoyed her to be able to eavesdrop on a scene she had 
masterminded. 

Kathy looked at the photograph on the bed and her hands flew to her face to 
catch the rush of blinding tears. That filthy traitor Grayson, whose 
appetite for her humiliation would not be satisfied until he destroyed her 
totally. Kathy never wanted to pull her hands down to read the anguish in 
Craig's face. 

A savage tearing pain at her scalp brought a piercing scream up out of her 
throat. Craig whipped her down to the bed by her hair, seizing the picture 
and thrusting it before her eyes with a trembling hand. 

"You tell me to save it for our wedding night and all the time you're 
putting out to other guys," he hissed in hatred. "I lay in bed beating my 
meat while some sonovabitch is being sucked dry. You owe me, bitch, and I'm 
taking it out of your ass." 

"Craig, you have to give me a chance to..." 

He slapped her hard across the mouth and she fell back on the bed. Kathy, 
tasting blood, tried to struggle up to plead with him, but he overpowered 
her with his strength, wrestling the robe off her body. He forced her face 
down on the bed and swiftly slipped his fingers under her hair and into the 
fabric of the sheer nightgown, ripping back with such force that her breasts 
were lifted off the bedspread. 

"No... not like this, darling..." 

She cried in pain as he jerked the remains of the nightgown from beneath her 
body, like the magician's trick with the tablecloth under the dinner 
setting, the nylon scorching across the tips of her breasts and the tops of 
her thighs like fine grain sandpaper. He ground her face forward into the 
bedding to smother her protests, the other hand opening his belt and sliding 
it off his waist. 

Naked and being forced to lay belly-down on the bed, Kathy heard the belt 
coming off Craig's pants and a cold fear gripped her. Craig was going to 
fuck her in anger. He was insane with fury and the way he held her suggested 
he intended to punish her with a fucking in the asshole. Kathy squirmed in 
dismay, the picture of Jean being raped in the tight hindquarters by the 
shrimpy Billy fleeting through her mind. 

Kathy braced herself for the expected assault on her virgin rectum. It would 
be brutal with his cock unmoistened and the tight rubbery ring around her 
anus unstretched by fingers. Surely his driving prick would split her ass 
and join it to her cunt, creating one big common orifice between her legs. 

She had prepared herself for the painful outrage of a throbbing thick prick 
nosing up her backside, but she had not foreseen the agony that came on the 
heels of the odd swishing sound, that of the broad leather belt biting into 
the firm flesh of her buttocks and then slashing into the backs of her 
tender young thighs. Craig was cursing like a raving lunatic and Kathy 
screamed into her gag of bedding. 

Jean excitedly stiffened in her chair as she heard Craig's swearing, the 
sound of leather striking flesh with welt-raising impact, and Kathy's 
smothered cries. Craig had balls after all. This was to be no tongue-lashing 
rebuke, ending with him demanding their defiled engagement ring and storming 
out to sulk in silence. He was going to whale the living shit out of her. 
Jean pressed the receiver tightly to her ear as Craig's voice, dry and 
cracked and crazed, ordered, "Roll over, goddammit!" The command was 
followed by the sound of Kathy's cries coming through the line clearly, "No, 
Craig, please don't hurt me. I had to do it. I swear, they forced me to pose 
at gunpoint." Jean snickered softly, imagining Kathy working to achieve her 
look of wide-eyed innocence as she lied through her teeth. 

"You fucking liar," Craig's voice snarled through the phone line. "I ought 
to kill you for what you've been putting me through." 

Jean detected a subtle change in Kathy's voice. The hysteria was being 
replaced by a little girl's pouting tone striving for his sympathy. 

"I swear it's true, darling. It happened the night you dropped me off after 
the beach. I was confused by the feelings you aroused in me. After you left 
I took the car and went for a drive to clear my head. I was going in circles 
until I finally realized that you were right all along. A car must have been 
following me. I didn't notice until it pulled alongside and they pushed me 
off the road. One of the men had the gun. He forced me into their car and 
then blindfolded me. They took me to a shabby room somewhere and then..." 
Kathy broke down in sobs, a goddamn Academy Award performance, Jean conceded 
grudgingly, "... then they made me do things in front of the camera." Jean 
pictured the tears flowing by the gallon. 

"It's all bullshit," Craig shouted hoarsely, and Jean thought she heard a 
faint note of doubt. "You would have notified the police. You would have 
told me or your father." 

"Don't you see, darling, I couldn't. They had the pictures. They said they 
would make copies and circulate them, sell them in those dirty book places, 
if I opened my mouth." 

Jean thought she could hear the wheels spinning in Kathy's head. With her 
woman's mind, Jean was forming her own answers to the questions Craig would 
be asking Kathy. What was helping make it easy for Kathy was that Craig, the 
dumb bastard, wanted to believe her. 

"How could they send one to me? How did they know my name and address?" he 
said, his voice a harsh accusation. Now he had her, and Jean imagined the 
whip in his upraised arm waiting to fall down across the breasts of the 
cowering Kathy if she answered badly. 

But Kathy was smart. Christ, she had gotten foxy in a hurry. 

"That was the worse part of the ordeal," Kathy said softly, and Jean 
envisioned those huge brown cow eyes lowering in simulated shame. "The one 
who... assaulted me... the dirty man who touched me where only your hands 
are allowed... found your letter, the one I always have with me. It's that 
beautiful letter on your personal stationery you wrote before we were 
engaged. The man was a sickening degenerate. He had his friend read the 
letter aloud while he... abused me. He must have remembered your name and 
address. He wants to hurt me more because I refused to say that he's a 
better man than you. He hit me, over and over, but I wouldn't say it." 

"You're saying you were raped too?" Craig's distraught, funereal voice 
asked. 

"Why do you think I invented the flu story? I couldn't bear to face you. 
Look at my bruises. I feel used and dirty," Kathy said, and Jean guessed the 
look on Craig's face must have changed dramatically to permit Kathy's new 
confidence and inventiveness. 

"Craig," she said softly after a moment, Jean spotting the timbre as silky 
and seductive, knowing the clincher was on its way, "Now I know I was wrong 
in denying you. I've been hurt by strangers, but the greatest injury is that 
I'm no longer a virgin for you. Help wash away my guilt. But, please... 
please be gentle." 

Now Jean saw it, sure as hell. Kathy was stark naked on that bed, flat on 
her back in front of Craig, using every moving muscle to her advantage. Her 
yarn would have been cut out of a B movie script, but Craig heard it from 
the soft lips of a lovely stripped girl who was available to him. Jean, who 
last saw Craig at the dance, understood his whole body was swollen with 
horniness for Kathy, and realized how his common sense could fail him at 
such a moment of raw confrontation. 

"That's pretty farfetched," Craig's voice offered timidly, haltingly, as if 
he was viewing something sufficient to make him forget why he had sped to 
Kathy's home with homicidal intentions. 

"Help me, sweetheart. Prove that lovemaking is beautiful, not something 
painful and unpleasant. I'm afraid, but I trust you. I'll do anything you 
tell me... anything at all you say. Show me what to do, but don't hurt me, 
please." 

Jean wanted to scream into the phone, to make the receiver on the floor in 
Kathy's bedroom leap off the carpet in offense at the calculated charade. 
Jean's whole fucking gameplan was backfiring in her face. Kathy would screw 
him limp and for the rest of his life the jerk would believe he had been a 
good Christian gent comforting his beloved through the worst nightmare she 
ever suffered. She was spinning a web around Craig that was almost 
faultless. Jean would be shut out unless she did something quickly. 

Jean gently cradled the receiver and crushed out her cigarette in the 
overflowing ashtray by her side. Well, why not? Jean decided the best 
defense at a time like this is a direct offense. She would blatantly inject 
her presence into the middle of their tender domestic scene and plant her 
name first on the waiting list for Craig's ass. There was nothing Kathy 
could do about it. Jean realized she would be a wet blanket, all right, what 
with her flowing period, but she had enough on Kathy to work her boyfriend 
inside-out and there wasn't a fucking thing she could say or do to prevent 
it. Not if Kathy valued Jean's silence. Jean had all the chips in spite of 
the surprising developments and she was ready to cash in. 

Craig couldn't think straight. His practiced mind, capable of turning the 
flimsiest straw into a mighty sword in the context of a law school debate, 
deserted him as he looked down at the girl he had loved for so long, 
beautifully naked and offering to fulfill his fondest dream for the price of 
understanding. Kathy lay flat on the bed, one knee raised slightly, her 
moist red mouth and tear-shedding eyes beckoning him to take her. Tenderly, 
but, at last, to take her. The implausible story didn't hold water. It had 
more potholes than a big city street. The steam building in his veins since 
he had seen the photograph, crumpled and discarded on the floor as evidence 
of little consequence now, had been pumped from his system with the effort 
of lashing her creamy buttocks, and his killer rage had waned, for all 
intents and purposes, with the sight of the angry red welts of his violence 
on her flesh and her impassioned pleas for mercy. She had promised him 
anything he asked if he would simply assuage her feelings of guilt for 
refusing him and then having been taken by others. Craig thought of the 
whore in the fraternity house. A repetition of the techniques he had craved 
since that night, sensations he never even hallucinated as being possible 
from Kathy, was his for the asking. The ramifications of Kathy's alleged 
abuse at the hands of unknown assailants, either real or imagined, were 
brushed aside for now. 

Craig, standing over the bed, began stripping off his clothes. Kathy shifted 
around to rest her head on the pillow. She raised her knees and spread them, 
her hair-lined slit watering in invitation. Craig dropped his pants. His 
naked prick leaped out rigid and swollen. Kathy needed no encouragement. She 
rolled to her side and took the cock in her mouth, running an arm behind 
Craig's ass and pressuring the prick deeper into the moist warm-ness. Her 
free hand found the scrotum and gently played it like a fragile harp. Her 
lips and tongue toiled skillfully, intaking like a vacuum cleaner hose, and 
Craig feared that his sleeping nuts would awaken in a tantrum, spill their 
food and cancel the rest of his trip. 

"Save it. I want to go around the world." 

Kathy drew back from his cock and looked up like a student who had skipped 
that page. 

"Anything. What do I do?" 

Craig scooted her to one side and lay on his back on the bed. Kathy's hand 
stayed with his balls and he fought for the breath he needed to speak. 

"Use your tongue everywhere. Last, before we fuck, stick it up my ass." 

Kathy started at his head, kissing his brow and running the tongue across 
his salty eyelids. She wet his nose and kissed his mouth warmly, driving her 
pink wet tongue deeply into his throat. Craig groaned and twisted when she 
darted the tip into each ear, following with a thrust that pushed it far 
inside, taking his entire ear in her mouth. She trailed the tongue down his 
neck and perked up each nipple on his hair-covered chest, moving down his 
belly to pause and fish in his navel. She wet and sucked the prick gingerly, 
working down to the tight wrinkled scrotum and inhaling each testicle into 
her mouth. She moved down his thighs and shins to his feet, sucking each toe 
and cutting her tongue in between them, her tender plump breasts sliding 
across his ankles. Craig curled his toes and tensed his thigh muscles, his 
dripping cock jerking gently in pleasure. He rolled over and she started at 
the back of his neck, coating his shoulders with wet washing tongue kisses. 
She straddled his ass and squirmed there, brushing his rump with her bristly 
pubic hair and wetting it with the lubricant from her cunt, her heavy 
pointed tits teasing his back as her tongue crisscrossed slowly down his 
tremulous spine and her chin kneaded petrified muscles into pliancy. She 
backed down his thighs and slipped her hand under his loins, gripping the 
swollen prick crushed to one side, when her tongue reached the tailbone and 
the top of the crack of his ass. She inserted her tongue sideways at the 
beginning of the crevice and knifed downward between his buttocks, slicing 
the ass pie, parting and opening as if with a surgeon's scalpel. With the 
fingers of the free hand she split the hair-lined assfolds until his 
tightly-clenched anus came into view, agitated like the mouth of a toothless 
hag. She circled the tight puckered ring with the end of her tongue and 
Craig smothered his wild outcry with a pillow, both hands flying to his 
hair. She strained until the muscles of her tongue hurt and finally the tip 
forced through the resisting ring and inside the asshole. 

Craig went insane, his feet flying back and the heels beating against her 
buttocks, the back arching to the breaking point as he stretched his face up 
toward the ceiling in strained silent agony. The prick tightly held in her 
hand fucked into her palm. 

Kathy knew he was going to cum. 

"Turn over. Quickly!" she said, using his penis as a handle to get his body 
over. 

She leaped forward and slid on the twitching cock in the same motion, 
grinding the wet walls of her cunt against the fleshy hardness frantically 
in the hope of catching him. She was much too late. Craig groaned deeply in 
his chest and she felt the first hot splash of his cum, his loins coming 
around to hammer the firing prick rapidly inside her wet cuntal walls. 

"Oh, Craig, you couldn't wait for me." 

His body caved in with the last dying spurt. Kathy tried to take advantage 
of the remaining hardness of his prick with a violent effort of her own, 
riding her cunt up and down furiously on the lifeless cock inside her, the 
lips of her vagina sucking tightly to keep it from melting entirely. 

Craig's face twisted with discomfort, his pale lips stretching at the sides. 
He dug his buttocks into the bedding to escape. 

"Stop, stop! Jesus, you're killing me! Empty... all gone." 

Kathy felt the prick dissolving into limp meat until it slipped out of her 
of its own weight. She fell to her side on his outstretched arm, wanting to 
cry in frustration, Craig's cum flowing from her cunt. 

"My turn." 

Kathy and Craig, as one, both sat upright facing the door, reaching for 
something to hide their nude bodies, finding nothing. Jean was in the 
doorway slowly unbuttoning her blouse. 

"What the hell...?" Craig sputtered, covering his groin with his hands. 

"Jean, what on earth...?" 

Jean came closer removing her blouse and unhooking and dropping the bra. Her 
breasts preceded the rest of her body, the nipples standing out in 
anticipation. She bent to pick up the picture on the floor, smoothing it out 
on her skirt. 

"That's not your best side, love," she said cattily, tearing the photograph 
to pieces and scattering them on the bed. "I'm awfully sorry, dear," her 
voice mocked, "but I was passing by and just had to pop in to chat with my 
dearest, most loyal friend. And now that I've wandered into all this, I'm a 
helpless victim of protocol. You remember the Eskimo etiquette where the 
host, or the hostess in this case, shares their mate with the guest. You are 
such a stickler for good manners and friendship, aren't you, sweetie?" 

Kathy was speechless. Craig felt the blood rushing back to refill his cock 
as he studied Jean's upthrust breasts, smaller than Kathy's but erotic 
when-viewed in her entire conformation, with those sexy full hips 
surrounding a pelvis perfectly built for prick swallowing. Craig noticed 
that Jean had not appeared surprised at seeing the pornographic picture. 
Kathy must have confided the story to her. And if she would tell Jean about 
her so-called ravishment by gun-toting strangers, something so shameful and 
humiliating, there was nothing to keep Craig from suspecting she told her 
best friend Jean everything, every little detail of their own relationship, 
how he was so lily-livered that a single word from her, refusing him so much 
as a feel or taste, sent him home to beat off in his bed. So much for that 
shit! Jean was a tigery piece of tail, he'd suspected for some time. Now, by 
God, he'd show Kathy who ran the show, who had balls built for two, or he'd 
die trying. Fuck the consequences. 

"Okay, baby, get out of that skirt," Craig smiled. 

"Jean, I want to talk to you alone," Kathy said seriously, sliding off the 
bed. 

"You have nothing to say to me in private that I couldn't improve on in 
public," Jean said, reaching down to pick up the phone receiver from the 
floor. "Look, your line has been open. I do wish you'd bothered to let me 
know about... your personal tragedy." 

A frozen manikin smile came to Kathy's face. She fought the urge to laugh 
out loud. It was all so beautiful, so sinfully precise. As ye sow, so shall 
ye reap. Jean had a mind Grayson could aspire to. Kathy now was forced to 
share the one thing she had given up so much to protect. Her moment of truth 
had arrived and all Kathy wanted to do was to giggle at the difference 
between what you want and what you get. 

Jean unzipped her miniskirt and it dropped to the floor. She stood by the 
bed naked, except for the panties, the outline of the straps holding her 
sanitary napkin in place etched against the sheer fabric. 

"I'm wearing the rag. Do you mind?" 

Craig responded by circling her hip with his arm and leaning up to nibble at 
a tit. 

"A bitch in heat? All the better." He pulled her down across his thighs, his 
stiffening prick against her dark hair. 

"I'll leave the room," Kathy said, moving toward her closet. 

"Don't shove off on my account," Jean smiled, taking Craig's prick in her 
hand and pressing it to her lips. 

"No, we're not through," Craig said, savoring his moment to get even. "Find 
a silk scarf and tie a line of little knots in it. While I fuck Jean you 
work the scarf up my asshole. When you see I'm cumming, slowly pull it out, 
one knot at a time. It does wonders for my virility." 

"I won't do it," Kathy said, the disgust plain on her face. 

"You promised me anything, remember?" Craig said, disappointed. 

"Don't worry, Craig, she'll do it," Jean soothed him. She looked at Kathy. 
"You'll do it, won't you, you poor ravished girl?" she said with all the 
assurance in the world. 

Kathy watched as Craig cautiously took the panties off Jean's legs and 
pushed the harnessed rag to one side, swiftly plugging his prick into her 
cunt to keep her blood from running down on the bed. 

Kathy sighed and crossed the room to her bureau to search for her blue silk 
scarf. 

Kathy and Jean sipped their after-dinner brandies, not in the least bit 
curious about the emergency in the engine room that had forced the captain 
to frown and apologize for leaving the table. The strolling mariachis, who 
bribed their way on board only minutes after the ship tied up in Ensenada, 
hoping to have first pluck at the feathers of the turistas, completed their 
song and looked at both girls, in anticipation of an appreciative American 
greenback. 

The forewarned captain's valet stepped up out of nowhere. 

"You bloomin' spies get a move on, hear? Don't annoy the ladies or I'll feed 
the whole motley lot of you to the sharks." 

The musicians slouched away, feeling cheated that the obviously rich 
norteamericanas viewed them so lowly that they refused to volunteer a token 
in tribute to their talents. The faces beneath the floppy sombreros, worn 
only when the owners went after the Yankee dollar, promised revenge at the 
first opportunity for this slight. 

"That number reminded me of our mutual dark Cuban friend," Jean tilted her 
head smiling, the effects of several brandies apparent on her placid 
features. 

A tingle of pleasure slowly climbed Kathy's spine as she thought back. "He 
was humming it at one point... that night." 

"That night he stuffed his gorgeous giant cock up our twats," Jean 
corrected, tempering her observation with an outburst of boisterous lewd 
laughter. 

"You don't have to be so... so explicit," Kathy scolded, her cheeks flushing 
with embarrassment. 

"Explicit, shit! You know the name of the game... cock and cunt, prick and 
pussy, dick and snatch...." 

"Not so loudly," Kathy shushed her companion. 

Jean ignored her. "And tonight we're going to ride the captain's dinghy," 
she sang out, her words running together. "Both of us. We do a fucking good 
job together. I should say a good fucking job." 

Kathy gave up trying to quiet the drunken Jean. Despite the heads turning in 
their direction, she really didn't mind at all. 

Kathy had felt the captain's knee pressuring her thigh on numerous occasions 
during the meal, and he twice brushed her breasts with his arm while 
refilling her wine glass. The privileges of rank, Kathy thought amused, 
visualizing the interesting tall swarthy man with the slight touch of gray 
at his curly dark temples. 

"Goddamn Latin lover," Jean went on. "He practically poked his finger up my 
box during dessert. I saw him bumping your boobs too every chance he had. 
We're going to make his sails flap. He'll cum all over his fucking brass 
buttons." 

Kathy felt an involuntary twinge between her legs and the sudden wetness 
inside the lips of her vagina. Jean's choice of language and her own 
longings she no longer fought to keep buried deep beneath her surface 
combined to pull the hair trigger that mortared the cultured and studious 
college coed out into the sexually-hungry creature she had become in recent 
weeks. 

She signaled the valet. "Please ask the captain to join us in our cabin for 
a drink when he finds it convenient," Kathy instructed. The valet smiled and 
nodded, a little too knowingly, Kathy thought. 

Alone in their cabin, Kathy and Jean peeled down to their undergarments and 
awaited the arrival of their visitor. Jean poured herself a brandy and 
reclined, glass in hand, on the bed opposite Kathy's. 

"You know, baby, if I was lessie I might go for you myself. You're not a bad 
fuck from what I've seen. I'm tempted to buy one of those strap-on jobs with 
a rubber prick to give you a jab on lonely nights." 

Kathy laughed out loud, more comfortable with Jean's drunken nonsense in the 
privacy of their suite. She worked her way out of her bikini panties and let 
the rush of cool ocean air through the porthole do the job on her clitoris. 
A soft wave of sensuous delight passed over her as she imagined the look on 
the face of the captain when he entered. 

"Think we'll ever find anything to match Claudio?" Kathy asked, languidly 
bathing in the light touch of the breeze between her thighs. 

"All we can do is keep looking," Jean replied, her voice sobering 
noticeably. "In the meantime, I expect Craig to be able to throw me a fuck 
whenever we want without any bitching from you. I like what he's got, even 
if he is too asshole-oriented." 

Kathy felt the heavy waiting stillness from Jean's side of the room. It 
wasn't necessary for Jean to elucidate further. What she left unsaid made 
her case a winning one; she would not hesitate to reveal to Craig, in all 
the damning detail, how Kathy sucked and fucked to free herself from 
Grayson's hold. 

"Jean, darling," she said coolly, scrambling to the deck at the first faint 
traces of knocking on the cabin door, "you know whatever I have is yours." 

Kathy knew her world no longer orbited around Craig as she padded across the 
floor and hesitated before turning the door handle. She looked back, 
displaying the hungry fullness of her new face to the friend she once 
betrayed, in whose betrayal both of them had become acquainted with their 
special callings. 

"The world is full of Craigs... and Claudios. It's madness to... to select 
before you have a better idea of what's in the marketplace." 

Kathy, naked beneath her overflowing bra, flashed her most radiant smile at 
Jean, held it on her lips, and turned away, opening wide the cabin door. 


End
