BH-6515  Orgy Slave
(Jack Angleman)


INTRODUCTION 

Usually, when a writer proposes an idea for a novel in which the basic 
background is to be the publishing industry itself, we throw up our hands in 
despair. The reason is not that we have any special secrets we wish to 
conceal from the reading public. More realistically, it is our strong 
feeling that there is nothing particularly glamorous about the business we 
are in, any more than there is in the manufacture of ships or shoes or 
Chevrolets. A writer using publishing as his theme may be relying on his own 
experience to avoid the work of doing research, and his own experience is 
usually duller than he thinks it is. Worse, he will probably tend to write 
about the difficulties and frustrations of finishing the great American 
novel, and the result is usually a terrible bore to read. 

There are exceptions, of course. Thomas Wolfe, in such novels as You Can't 
Go Home Again and The Web and the Rock, was obviously writing about himself, 
and his books are "must" reading, even though somewhat long-winded and 
pompous by today's standards of criticism. View from the Fortieth floor by 
Theodore H. White is a gripping, compelling novel, encompassing contemporary 
history as well as writing and publishing. Asleep in the Afternoon by the 
English author E. C. Large is a completely fascinating story, although not 
as well-known as it deserves to be. We have probably not seen the end of the 
spate of books, both fiction and non-fiction, about the death of The 
Saturday Evening Post. We could go on citing such examples, but each has 
special qualities that makes it an exception to the general rule. 

That general rule, unfortunately, seems to be that when writers write about 
writers and writing they are taking the easiest way out. The supreme 
example, perhaps, is Clifford Irving, who sold McGraw-Hill a plagiarized 
biography of Howard Hughes and is now writing a book about how he did it. 
Even honest writers, however, can be lazy, and laziness results in bad 
books. It is the job of publishers and their editors to keep writers on 
their toes. As Nancy Mifford has said, "I want every bit of critical acumen 
an editor possesses leveled at the text; I am not looking for friendly 
persuasion." 

This quotation was printed in the centennial issue of Publishers Weekly, the 
invaluable trade magazine of the industry. It was included in a forum on the 
editor-publisher relationship along with many other pithy thoughts by those 
in the business. Arthur Hailey said: "No matter how skilled the editor and 
how talented the author, unless they can understand and appreciate each 
other mentally, their relationship must fail. Luck and chance are 
involved.... The two people who would form an ideal combination may never 
have the good fortune to meet." 

Ann Birstein put it this way: "A good editor doesn't have to agree with what 
you're doing, only agree that you know what you're doing.... A good editor 
is your fight manager, your intercessor in that big outside world, but 
without making a great issue of letting you know that. (A bad editor is 
somebody with a lot of silly temperament and no talent of his own.)" 

Such insights are interesting, but we think it can readily be seen that more 
than a few of them would become a bore to the average reader. At any rate, 
when Jack Angleman originally proposed the idea for Girl in a Cage to us, we 
were not particularly enthusiastic. It sounded at first like just another 
novel with a publishing background. However, Mr. Angleman is definitely one 
of our more talented writers, and he usually does know what he is doing. So 
we listened as he went into more detail, and when he described his proposed 
leading characters to us, we were convinced that he was going to produce 
another winner. 

The protagonist is Karen MacLean, a girl who has just turned nineteen as the 
story opens and, since she is a product of a real backwash of society, is 
extremely inexperienced even for that tender age. She has obtained a degree 
from a small private college some two years earlier than most students 
graduate, but of practical matters she has virtually no knowledge at all. A 
major in English literature, the one thing she knows is that she has a deep 
desire to get into the publishing world, and eventually to become a writer 
herself. She is naive, but she is intelligent enough to know that she needs 
experience in many areas. She is far from prepared, however, for the kind of 
experience she actually gets as the story unfolds. 

Karen is fortunate enough to obtain a job as first reader in a substantial 
Madison Avenue publishing house, but she soon begins to wonder if her 
fortune is good after all. Roger DeWilde, her new boss, turns out to be a 
very strange man indeed. In the office, he praises her work; but outside the 
office, he expects and demands other services from her-services that to 
Karen's bewildered mind seem perverted in the extreme. Her first impulse is 
to flee, but she finds that there is no escape for her; truly she is a girl 
in a cage... 

This new novel will provide some behind-the-scenes looks at the publishing 
industry, but that is not its purpose and these scenes certainly do not get 
in the way of the vivid, entertaining, and enlightening story. We are sure 
our readers will welcome the book and remember it long after they have 
finished it. And we are convinced that they are intelligent and objective 
enough to be aware that not all publishers are monsters like Roger DeWilde! 

The Publishers 


Chapter I 

Karen lay back in the bathtub and wished that the hot water could soak the 
unhappiness, the loneliness, the despondency out of her body as easily at it 
removed the grime of New York from its surface. It wasn't at all the way she 
had thought it would be when she was back in Rancho Santa Madre: exciting, 
cosmopolitan, sophisticated. It was dirty and scary. People were mean, not 
urbane and charming. Oh, there were concerts and theaters and night clubs, 
all right, but all of them so expensive that for her they might as well not 
exist. 

Her long golden hair pinned up on top of her head stayed dry as she 
reclined, soaking the tiredness out of her lovely nineteen-year-old body. As 
she worked up a lather in the washcloth, her elbows created little ripples 
which splashed against her firm young breasts, jutting high out of the tub's 
water like twin reefs along a rocky shore. The ripples moved on down to 
break against her thighs, twin pillars of white flesh against which the 
water shoaled. Between them a patch of equally golden hair curled, 
surprisingly thick and luxurious to be found concealing the womanhood of so 
young a girl. 

Washcloth lathered to her satisfaction, she laved her thighs, working the 
suds vigorously into her skin. Spreading her knees, she lathered away the 
soil of the day from her private femininity, soaking the golden curls and 
the red, young flesh between them. 

For some reason, as she did so the thought of Doug Morgan popped into her 
mind. What a groovy guy he was. His flaming red hair curled over his head 
like statues of Greek gods in her school books. It was longer, of course, 
but not too long-just about shirt-collar length, curling over his ears and 
joining his sideburns. 

She continued to soap her patch of womanhood as she thought of his heavy, 
broad shoulders and his powerful arms. He must be a lot older than she, 
Karen speculated-at least twenty-six or twenty-seven. He was the head of 
Packaging and Shipping, she knew; he must have worked at the publishing firm 
for some time to get so responsible a position. Doug was the first man she 
had met when she went to work only three days ago on her very first job. 

Except for Roger DeWilde, of course, the owner of the book publishing firm 
and the man who had hired her. At thought of him her feeling of depression 
returned. A little shudder of distaste went over her and she forced her 
thoughts back to Doug Morgan as a sort of mental chaser. 

No real reason that she should, actually. He'd never been more than polite 
and friendly. She'd only seen him a few times in her three days on the job. 
But he was there and he was groovy and certainly nothing else nice had 
happened to her in her many weeks in this frightening city. 

A pleasant tingle spread through her body; a tightness, a warmth, began to 
glow in the pit of her tummy. She realized she had dropped her washcloth and 
had been rubbing the warm red flesh inside her cuntal opening with bare 
fingertips as she thought about Doug; the sensation was highly pleasurable. 

An emotion of utter shock chilled her. She sat upright instantly, splashed 
some water over her body to remove the suds and scrambled from the tub. She 
swathed herself in a towel before pulling the drain plug and wiped herself 
vigorously as a fiery red blush spread over every inch of her bare body. 
What an utterly shameful, filthy, disgusting thing for her to do. She'd had 
no idea that if she rubbed herself there too long it would feel like that. 
Somehow it was Doug Morgan's fault that she had done it. She hurried into 
her housework clothes and went to the kitchenette to fix herself some 
dinner. 



Just turned nineteen, alone in New York, Karen MacLean was unbelievably a 
virgin. Not only virginal, but utterly innocent. So innocent was her mind as 
well as her body that she was only vaguely aware that some girls her age had 
sexual intercourse. 

To Karen, sex was a thing which unequivocally went with marriage, after the 
ceremony, for the purpose of creating babies. Perhaps somewhere deep in her 
subconscious was a feeling that a wife might also do it with her husband to 
make him happy, in between children, men being the coarse creatures that 
they are, but certainly one never talked about it, not even with the husband 
in question. 

It would seem incredible that a girl, especially such a beautiful girl, 
could reach the age of nineteen in our modern age and be in this condition, 
short of having been raised in a Sultan's harem, guarded 'round the clock by 
a staff of eunuchs. 

In a sense, that is just about the way Karen was raised: in a quiet 
backwater of society as remote from modern reality as a cloistered cell. She 
was born and brought up in Rancho Santa Madre, a tiny town tucked away in 
the orange and avocado ranching country in southeastern Orange County, 
California. The town itself was originally a land grant to some Don from the 
Emperor of Spain, when the Golden State was a part of the Spanish Empire; 
became ranching country in the 1880s; has changed very little since. 

If you were to walk the main street from one to the other of Rancho Santa 
Madre, a task which would take perhaps five minutes, it would be hard to 
believe you were only a two-hour drive from the bright lights of fabulous 
Hollywood. It is less than an hour from the cosmopolitan city of San Diego. 
The center of the pot-smoking, amoral, free-love, hippie culture which runs 
from Laguna Beach on up to Venice is only an hour or two from here by car. 

For Karen, as for most of the rest of the kids in her town, these 
sophistications whether they be good or bad might as well have been on the 
moon or Venus. The closest she had ever been to Hollywood was Disneyland in 
Anaheim, and then with her family; the only time she had ever seen San Diego 
was on a school-sponsored trip to Sea World and the zoo, closely chaperoned. 
That her personal chaperone, a Miss Tallman, was sleeping with the 
vice-principal was completely unknown to her-as it was to the 
vice-principal's wife. It was very fortunate for Miss Tallman that this was 
so, because in Rancho Santa Madre had it been discovered, Miss Tallman would 
have been instantly discharged and possibly drummed out of town for such 
scandalous behavior. 

Such towns, and such seemingly chaste societies, do exist in the United 
States today, and in far greater numbers than headlines in newspapers about 
delinquent youth and the widespread drug culture would lead to believe. They 
are most frequently not out in the boondocks, but close to major 
metropolitan centers as is Rancho Santa Madre. The reason is that this 
location permits the responsible adults of the town to practice their 
personal depravities in the big city but keep their own home territory clean 
and their families pure. 

The wife of the vice-principal with whom Miss Tallman was sleeping, for 
example, made a shopping trip to San Diego at least once a month. On this 
jaunt she invariably dropped in to the bar at the El Cortez Hotel for a 
drink at five o'clock, met some charming businessman who would invite her to 
dinner, then checked into one of the city's many motels to ball the hell out 
of him all night. She would be back home by ten in the morning, refreshed, 
relaxed, and ready for another month of helping her husband administrate the 
town's school system. 

She would have been the first to blow the whistle on Miss Tallman had she 
discovered that the young teacher had been going down on her husband in his 
office once or twice a week for more than a year, something which she 
refused to do with him but delighted in doing to the various men she met at 
the El Cortez. 

The purity of the town and its young people was protected because Mr. 
Ekkleman, owner of the largest spread of avocados and the chairman of the 
city council, thus the most powerful man in town and arbiter of its morals, 
could get up to Hollywood every week or two. This permitted him to sneak 
into the Paris Theatre on Santa Monica Boulevard to view films of 
unparalleled raunchiness; movies of detailed sex acts shown in closeup and 
living color which in a small town out in the boondocks of the Midwest he 
would had to have gone to a stag dinner at the American Legion Post to view. 

Leaving the theatre with a monstrous erection, he would invariably hurry to 
an apartment on St. Andrews Place where two professional call girls he knew 
lived together. By giving them one hundred dollars apiece he persuaded them 
to make Lesbian love together, an act which both thoroughly detested, while 
he watched. He would then finish his evening by pushing his erect penis into 
them alternately, one stroke for each, until he ejaculated. He was never 
sure in which one of them he would come, which for him was the supreme fun 
of the whole evening. 

In a sense Mr. Ekkleman was a Sultan, and every lesser man in town was his 
eunuch, and the children of his community were raised in an atmosphere more 
pure than that of many a convent. It was simply that when you reached a 
suitable age, you went to one of the nearby metropolitan cities to satisfy 
your desires. 

Miss Tallman had been raised in a remote town in Nebraska and had been 
sucking off her stepfather for years, which was why it seemed quite natural 
for her to do it to the vice-principal. 

As for the drug scene, there had once, just once, been a pusher in town. It 
was about two years before Karen left for New York. A young chap about 
twenty or so had gotten ten pounds of marijuana and a few pills, uppers and 
downers, in across the border from Mexico, only a few miles away from the 
town. He parked his camper-equipped van in the local county camp grounds, 
made friends with a few of the high school youths and tried to introduce 
them to his weed-rather good grass, at that. 

In less than two days his activities came to the ears of the responsible, 
moral adults in Rancho Santa Madre. They in turn informed the chief of 
police, who also happened to be Mr. Ekkleman's son-in-law. The town has no 
vice squad, no narcotics officer. None are needed, because the young 
would-be pusher was not arrested. 

Instead, the chief of police and three of his best men visited him in his 
camper to persuade him to leave town. They broke both of his arms with 
clubs, smashed three ribs with their blackjacks, beat his face out of all 
recognizable proportions with their nightsticks, then put him in his van and 
drove it up an onramp onto the San Diego Freeway where they smashed in into 
a guard rail and left it and him. 

A little while later the California Highway Patrol who police the freeways 
found him, arrested him for fleeing the scene of an accident-it didn't 
matter which one because they had plenty of them-and somewhat later found 
the grass. The young man is now doing ten years to life in Soledad although 
he coughs a lot and can't use his hands very well. 

No one else has ever tried to peddle narcotics in Rancho Santa Madre. 

So, no, it is not unbelievable that Karen should be a virgin, and an 
innocent virgin, at nineteen, if you take into consideration the feudalistic 
society in which she was raised. No wonder she flushed when, by accident, 
she found herself indulging in erotic self-stimulation in the bathtub. She 
had never even heard of masturbation until three days earlier. 



Karen flushed again as she seated herself behind her desk at the Garden 
Books Publishing house the next morning and stared at the pile of 
manuscripts on it. Hateful things. She had to read every one of those awful 
things and decide if it should be rejected or sent on to the editorial board 
for further consideration. Her job carried the title of First Reader, an 
important-sounding name but really the lowest person on the editorial totem 
pole. She was the rock upon whom many a would-be novelist's ship would 
founder. 

Karen could say no, but she couldn't say yes. That is, she could reject a 
book after reading it if she felt it had no merit, but she couldn't tell the 
author yes and buy it if she thought it was good. She could only send it to 
another office for editorial consideration. 

Not that she found anything in the preceding three days in this awful stack 
of wordage she felt was worth publishing. Her cheeks flushed again at the 
thought of what she would read today. She had an urge to tell Roger DeWilde 
that she was quitting and stalk out of the office. Her thoughts brought his 
face to mind and she felt disgust. 

She hadn't liked him from the first, even if he had been the one to hire her 
and give her the first job she had ever had. She should have been overjoyed. 
She was three weeks behind in her rent and Mrs. Martino had told her pay up 
by Friday or get out. She had just five dollars left in all the world when 
DeWilde had smiled at her in his unctuous way and told her he'd give her a 
chance at the job of First Reader. 

Oh, he had been gracious and charming enough; smooth-pleasant, actually. But 
she hadn't liked his pudgy figure that might have once been athletic but now 
merely flabby; his straight-across dangerous eyes; the bluish color of his 
face from having a heavy black beard which he had shaved so closely as to 
almost remove the surface skin. He was a one-eyebrow man; that is, his heavy 
black brows had no hairless separation in the middle. 

But he had been polite, and he had offered her fifty dollars more a month 
that she had expected to get. With the grim face of Mrs. Martino in the back 
of her mind, she had accepted gratefully, in spite of his conservative dark 
blue suit fitting him just a little too tightly and too well; that his 
loosened necktie and unbuttoned collar revealed a wedge of coarse black hair 
unavoidably sticking up from the opening, like the tuft of hair which hangs 
down from the neck of a plucked turkey gobbler. 

She didn't really have any cause to worry about him, she told herself as she 
settled down to her task of reading for the day. She'd only seen him once 
since he hired her. That was the first morning of her first day on the job; 
actually, she had been at work at her reading desk about fifteen minutes. 
She had started in on page one, chapter one, of the manuscript on top of the 
pile, determined to be the fastest and best reader the firm ever had. She 
became engrossed with the lead characters, a little intrigued by the 
author's editorial hook, a little involved with the protagonist. 

And then all of a sudden there it was-a dirty word, and then several of 
them, and then the author was describing a terrible act that shouldn't be 
thought of, let alone printed. The manuscript fell from her hands onto the 
desk, and then she was picking it up again to study the words on the paper 
carefully to make sure she wasn't mistaken; that these were actually the 
words she thought they were. She had seen them just once before in her life; 
on the walls of a women's rest room in a gasoline station where she and her 
parents had stopped. Somehow she had guessed at their meaning and was as 
appalled by them then as she was now. 

Determined to do her duty, she had clutched the offending manuscript and 
hurried into DeWilde's office. Trembling, she blurted out her accusation to 
him as she held out the pages. 

He seemed very concerned as he took the script. "Bad, huh? Hell, this is 
from Barney Jones." He had flipped to the title page. "He knows we don't buy 
junk and I didn't think he wrote any. Let's see-" He quickly scanned the 
paragraphs she had indicated. 

He seemed puzzled as he read them; turned the page to read what came after 
it, then back to read the page before. He looked up at her and shook his 
head. 

"Sorry, Peaches, I just don't get it. What's wrong with it?" Her pointing 
finger shook. "That." 

His tone was apologetic as he replied: "Oh, for Christ's sake, Karen, it's 
only the word 'fuck.' It's perfectly legitimate; the boy has dated this girl 
several times and he asks her if she'd like to fuck. She says yes but she's 
not on the Pill, so they go down on each other. Now, what the hell is wrong 
with that?" Then he added morosely: "Except that it's not very original." 

It takes quite a shock to leave a person truly speechless, unable to gasp 
out a single word in reply. Karen was literally unable to give voice to any 
word in the language, so stunned that she could not even croak. She looked 
at him a long minute, turned and went back to her office. She sat down at 
her desk and wondered if she could stall Mrs. Martino off for another week 
if she quit now; speculated on what chance there was of any other job 
turning up in the next seven days. 

Karen was quite wrong, as she was to be about so many other things in the 
days to come. Whatever his personal life might be, DeWilde ran a respectable 
publishing house. Garden Books put out hundreds of paperback novels each 
year, all of them no better and no worse than you will find for sale in any 
drug store in a big city. 

Lacking any standard of comparison, Karen sat for quite a time at her desk 
before timidly picking up the manuscript and going on with it. She completed 
her reading by noon, decided to reject it on the basis that she didn't want 
to be too enthusiastic about anything for fear of being labeled not a 
sufficiently critical reader, and picked up another. She finished that just 
before quitting time and returned it, too, to its author because it was late 
and she didn't want to take the time to go up to the next floor to the 
Advanced Reading office. 

By the end of the day, Karen knew more about sex than any other girl in 
Santa Madre. 

Her education continued the next day and the next. She also taught herself 
to skim, her eyes picking up only salient passages, and for some reason she 
didn't understand these always seemed to be the sexual ones. Her reading 
speed increased and by the end of the third day she had come across one book 
she felt was worth taking upstairs. 

Now, on the morning of her fourth day at work, she found herself wondering 
if anything would be in the pile she wanted to advance one rung on the 
ladder of acceptance. The manuscript stack had become taller rather than 
shorter; a dozen new ones had been added to the bottom of the pile after the 
morning mail. 

She flipped through the first chapter of a Western and rejected it by page 
twelve; the author had a tribe of Paiutes attacking a wagon train moving 
through the open range country of the Southwest. She decided that if he 
didn't know they were mountain Indians, mostly inhabiting the area where 
California and Nevada adjoin, and were mostly diggers rather than a warlike 
tribe, then the author probably hadn't done any of the rest of his homework 
any better. 

The new one she rejected because it was typed on a machine having a script 
typeface and it was too difficult to read; the next because it had so many 
editorial corrections made by the author with a pen that it was hard to 
follow and she suspected that it was an off-the-top-of-the-head effort. 

The next manuscript was well-typed, properly spaced and easy to read. Its 
author caught her with a good strong hook in the first paragraph and instead 
of skimming the first chapter she read it word for word. She went on to the 
next, still interested. She didn't even wince when she came to the first sex 
scene. It was well integrated into the story line, the characters referred 
to it as "balling" instead of "fucking," but above all, the author had 
created a living character instead of a plastic figure. Karen found herself 
identifying with the girl, even younger than herself, who was having this 
experience. 

As she read, she wondered about this girl; what did it mean, to have a boy 
do this thing to you? The author described her feelings so keenly; the 
touch, the penetration-the horror at first and then the wild-eyed ecstasy. 

Engrossed, she read on, feeling a funny little tingle in her mid-section. 
She was at first unaware of it enjoying its warmth at a subconscious level. 
As she read the feeling grew until it impinged upon her consciousness, 
strengthened until she recognized its similarity to the way she had felt 
when soaping herself in the bathtub the preceding evening. 

Somehow it was more acceptable this time. She continued reading until she 
had finished the book. 



She stood uncertainly in front of DeWilde's desk. She had forced herself to 
tap on his door in spite of her dislike for him, because she felt she ought 
to call this manuscript to his attention before sending it upstairs. 

"I wanted to talk to you about this book, Mr. DeWilde," she began. "I think 
it's awfully good, but before I send it up to the editorial board I want to 
ask you something." 

He looked a query at her as she hesitated. 

"Well, there's this one scene where the girl-uh -makes love to a-well-a 
Negro," she blurted out. "It that all right for us? I mean-do we have any 
color taboos or anything?" 

DeWilde grinned a heavy, thick-jowled leer at her. "Honey, in our books the 
characters can do anything except be dull. She can ball a cactus if she 
wants to as long as it's an interesting fuck." 

Four days earlier Karen would have screamed and rushed from the room at such 
a coarse remark. Now she merely nodded and replied: "I understand, Mr. 
DeWilde. Anything goes so long as it's well-written." 

She started to leave but he stopped her by asking: "How do you like your job 
so far?" 

She considered. "Well, fine, I guess. Books of this kind take a little 
getting used to-they're so, uh, frank-but I'm sure they're what a lot of 
people want to read." 

"We published 172 books last year and most of 'em made money." 

"It's kind of discouraging, though. I majored in journalism and creative 
writing because I wanted to be a novelist. That was why I came to New York- 
I wanted to work in a publishing house for a few years, then start writing. 
But now"-she stopped, helplessly-"I never in a million years could write 
anything like these." 

He chuckled. "You read a couple hundred of them and you'll find they're not 
all that hard to turn out. And you're in a good position, you know-direct 
pipeline to the boss. Get together a synopsis of a story line, write the 
first twenty or thirty pages, and let me take a look at it personally." He 
rose from behind his desk, walked to where she was standing and slipped a 
fatherly arm around her waist. She tensed to pull away but his words stopped 
her. Looking up at his face, she asked: "You mean, if I did write something 
you'd look at it?" 

"Honey, I'd like to look at everything you've got." The fatherly arm slipped 
down from her waist; in one quick movement the hand darted up under the rear 
of her skirt, to cup one buttock lovingly while the fingers dove into the 
crack between it and the other cheek. The top of her pantyhose prevented any 
direct contact of his flesh with hers, but the pressure was there and she 
gave a gasp as she jumped away from his touch. 

The conditioning she had received from the manuscripts prevented her from 
screaming "How dare you, sir," or slapping him, or even being insulted. The 
man himself was revolting to her but she tried to keep it from showing in 
her face. 

DeWilde lifted the hand and gave a general wave in the air between them. "If 
you're nice and cooperative with me, we'll have you between covers in no 
time." He winked an eye at her to punctuate his meaning. "Bed covers and 
book covers-I'll give you something to write about that you couldn't learn 
from those hick boys parked in an orange grove." 

The thought of letting this man do the things to her that she had been 
reading about hit her with a feeling of nausea. His offer of publication of 
a book to be written by her was lost in the feeling of disgust he evoked. 
She steeled herself to give him a half-smile as she said: "I really don't 
think I'm ready to write anything yet, Mr. DeWilde," and slipped from his 
office. 

She glanced at her watch. An hour until quitting time. She couldn't go back 
to her desk; she was too upset. Her buttocks still burned from the touch of 
his hand. She could hardly wait to get home and into the tub and lave away 
the filth of him from her body. This manuscript-she'd take it upstairs and 
turn in at the editorial board offices. 

She did, and found herself turning down the corridor that led past Shipping. 
The back staircase was really more convenient, she told herself, and faster 
than the elevator. Besides, it led almost directly to her desk. As she 
walked past the bins of books with their neatly stacked titles, she saw the 
glow of Doug Morgan's red hair. He was checking an order invoice which the 
packers had readied for shipment. 

"Hi, Karen," he hailed her as she came up to him. "What's the good word?" 

"Nothing much, really. Read a script today that the front office might like, 
so I took it up to them. Now I'm just waiting until time to go home." 

"What do you do for entertainment in the evenings-read?" 

She smiled ruefully. "Not hardly. I think I'm going to start sitting with my 
eyes closed all evening to rest them." 

He asked her in genuine curiosity: "Isn't it a hell of a dull job, just 
sitting and reading all day long? Any time you're not reading you're goofing 
off." 

"I haven't been here long enough for it to be a drag yet. I'm sure it will 
be eventually, but by then maybe I'll be ready for something else." 

As she spoke, she looked with pleasure at his smiling face. He certainly 
wasn't good-looking; he was much too rugged, even craggy, to be handsome. 
His nose was uneven, pushed off a little to one side, as if it might have 
once been broken, and the smooth line of his forehead was decorated by a 
couple of scars. She couldn't say he was "charming" either, she reflected; 
they'd really never talked about anything but the most superficial office 
affairs. 

All she knew was that he was nice; that she liked very much chatting with 
him about nothing; that she felt good standing here and talking with him. 
That warm little glow began again in her tummy, only this time it was just 
fine and she did nothing to shake herself out of it. A character in any of 
the books she had been reading would have said she was getting "hot pants," 
she realized, and for some reason she did not even blush inwardly at the 
thought. 

There was a little pause between them which Doug broke by asking: "Say, 
Karen, would you like to go someplace one of these evenings? Not to the 
movies-I know you wouldn't want to watch anything-but maybe-oh, skating, or 
a baseball game, or something like that?" 

She hesitated just long enough to keep from sounding too anxious before 
replying: "Why, yes, Doug, I'd like to very much. I really haven't seen much 
of New York City at all." Not quite sure what to say after that, she 
breathed a quick: "See you tomorrow" and trotted off down the hall. 

She was careful to soap herself quickly in her tub that night and not think 
of Doug at all while doing it. 

 Chapter Ii 

Karen finished a manuscript and leaned back in her chair for a few minutes 
rest before picking up the next one. Strange, she thought-it seems as if 
I've worked here for years. The vision of her paycheck, now in her 
pocketbook, came to her. It was the second one she had received, so it meant 
she had been here only one month, as of today. 

The job was routine by now. Read 'em, try to find some merit; if she did, 
send it on upstairs. She had been keeping a little score card of her own. As 
of yesterday, she had sent ten books upstairs for further consideration. Of 
the ten, four had actually been purchased. A very good score, some of the 
other readers had assured her. Most of them averaged nine turndowns for 
every one book accepted by the higher echelon. 

That brought to mind some of the other people in the office, and that in 
turn took her thinking around to Doug Morgan. They'd been out together three 
times now, she reflected; once a week for the last three weeks. Dinner, and 
then the rest of the evening at a few kooky little places he knew where the 
music was wild and the people likewise. They'd shaken hands good night after 
the first date. She'd let him kiss her at the end of the second. Most of 
their third evening together she had spent looking forward to a good night 
kiss and worrying a little that he might not try to, for some reason. 

He had, He'd done an amazing thing. As he was kissing her in the privacy of 
the little front vestibule between the outer entrance doors and the hall, he 
had thrust his tongue between her teeth and into her mouth. Shocked, she had 
tried to pull away, but he had held her motionless with a hand behind her 
head. Then, in a second or two, it hadn't seemed so shocking any more. With 
a sucking action he had drawn her tongue inside his mouth, titillating the 
tip of it with the tip of his, sending all sorts of wild sensations she had 
never known before flowing through her. 

At the memory of it she found herself flushing; hoped no one would come up 
to her desk until the redness had gone from her cheeks. 

She didn't know just what was going to happen between her and Doug but the 
prospect was exciting. 

Doug seemed-well, rather serious. About her, that is. She wasn't quite sure 
just how she knew, but even in her complete inexperience with men the thing 
within her which was woman knew. 

Like-oh, like when he had scribbled his phone number on a piece of paper and 
told her to tape it to the base of her phone. He said he wanted her to call 
him if an emergency ever arose-if she woke up at night sick or something. 
She had done so. Not that she'd ever phone him, of course. In the social 
structure from which Karen came girls just don't call boys for any reason 
whatever. Still, it was kind of a thrill to think about it. Most nights, 
just before going to sleep, she would read the number taped to the 
instrument and think: "Good night. Doug." 

And now that was enough daydreaming. Time to get going on another script. 
She glanced at her watch; an hour until quitting time. She could skim one 
book and make up her mind if she wanted to go through it more thoroughly 
when she came in Monday morning. 

As she picked it up, DeWilde appeared in the doorway and beckoned to her. 
The slight stab of uneasiness which every employees feels when the boss 
signals flickered in her but she shrugged it off. Obediently she rose, 
paused long enough to check her makeup and then trotted down the corridor 
toward his office. 

He was seated behind his desk when she entered, shuffling stacks of papers 
and looking a little harried. There were two huge piles of galley proofs; 
sample pages printed from newly-set type which would have to be read and 
corrected for typographical errors before they could be locked up in the 
printing forms and the press run begun. 

Karen left the door to his office open but he signalled to her to close it. 
She did. The pudgy face broke into a smile as he said: 

"I don't know how you'll feel about this but I'm hoping you'll be pleased. 
It's a chance for you to make some extra money. I want you to read these 
galleys this weekend and correct them so that the-typesetters can get to 
work on them the first thing Monday." 

Karen hesitated. "I did some proofreading in school, Mr. DeWilde, and I know 
the correction marks, but I've never done it professionally." 

He brushed it aside with a wave. "It's not all that hard," he assured her. 
"Of course readers don't usually correct galley proofs but this time we're 
stuck. Two proofreaders are sick and production is waiting for this." 

"I'm willing to try." 

"I'll be there to help you. I'm going to take them home with me tonight and 
get started on them. Tomorrow morning you come out to my place on Long 
Island and complete the job." 

It didn't sound right although she couldn't explain why. 

"Couldn't I do it just as well at my place?" 

He shook his head. "Not on your first time at proofing. I want them 
double-read. You go over them first and then I'll read them to pick up what 
you miss." Then, with what was probably intended to be a winning smile: "You 
understand, you'll be paid for this. Regular overtime; time-and-a-half of 
your usual daily rate." 

That made it sound better. With an extra check she could clear up a couple 
of small bills. Or, maybe get a new blouse to wear with that pink skirt on 
her next date with Doug. 

"How do I get out there?" 

"Take the 9:14 tomorrow morning out of Long Island Railroad Station. Change 
trains at Jamaica onto the South Shore local and get off at Baldwin. That's 
the first stop after Rockville Center. I'll meet you at the station and 
drive you to my place in Baldwin Harbor. It's about forty-five minutes on 
the train and another five in the car. 

"Here-he held out a ten dollar bill-"this will take care of your train and 
subway fare and leave some over for pocket cash. Your extra pay will be in 
your next check." 

She took the bill, thanked him and left. On the way back to her desk she 
kept telling herself that she ought to be happy that it was a nice break, 
that she hadn't had anything planned for the weekend. 

It did very little good. She was still up tight about the whole thing. 

DeWilde was waiting for her at the station when her train pulled in. He was 
wearing light yellow wash slacks and deck shoes. A startlingly colorful 
Hawaiian print shirt was open at his throat. Somehow he looked more 
Californian than anything she had seen in the east. It provided a little 
nostalgia for her. 

He gallantly assisted her into his car, then headed down Central Avenue 
toward the harbor, turning left when they got to the waterfront. 

"My place is a little further around the cove," he explained. "I'm right on 
the Sound and have a boat dock on the water, but I like lots of privacy so 
when I built I also bought the property on each side of me. 

Karen caught her breath when they came to the house. It was like something 
you'd read about in Better Homes & Gardens. An eight foot high, solid brick 
wall screened it from view of the road, giving only a glimpse of the house 
through high wrought iron gates. They swung open electrically as the car 
approached, closing behind it as DeWilde drove down the curving driveway and 
up to the Colonial front door. High, white colonnades supported the veranda 
around the second story: on each side the shimmering blue of Long Island 
Sound stretched away, a few sail boats dotting its azure surface. 

"It's just utterly beautiful," Karen murmured. 

"I'm very proud of my place," he replied with simple sincerity. "I'm happier 
here than I've ever been before in my life. Sometimes the ride into town on 
that Toonerville Trolley they call a railroad is a bit of a blister, but 
when I get home here again in the evening it's worth it." 

The uneasiness flickered into life again. "Do you live here alone?" 

It brought a sort of half-smile. "Well, I have lots of friends who stay with 
me from time to time, but right now I'm alone. A housekeeper comes in five 
days a week but I always batch it on Saturday and Sunday." 

Karen had an urge to run but fought it down. Get to work. Start reading 
galleys. She was sure that if she just got to work and kept at it steadily 
all day it would soon go by and she'd be on her way home. 

He led her into a study which faced the water. The sliding panels of a glass 
wall opened out onto the boat dock, where a large cabin cruiser was tied up. 

"Like boats?" he asked, as he gestured toward it. "Maybe we'll go for a ride 
later if we get enough work done." 

"Oh, I'll really have to go as soon as we're finished with the proofs," she 
replied quickly. "I have some things I want to do tonight." 

"So have I, honey, so have I." 

She didn't like his reply at all so she sat down and attacked the first 
stack of proofs. She flipped through a few of the pages, found no correction 
marks at all. Apparently he hadn't done any work on them the night before. 

She picked up a pencil from the desk top and started to read, rapidly but 
carefully. She concentrated almost hypnotically upon her task, determined to 
be oblivious to DeWilde and the sound of his movements around the room. By 
the time she got to page ten she heard his steps recede. Even the thick 
carpet couldn't muffle the sound of his going. 

She breathed more easily for a few minutes but tightened up again when she 
heard him return. From the comer of her eye she could see he was now dressed 
in bathing shorts, also a colorful Hawaiian print such as men wore back 
home. She simply had to glance at him. She noted expensive thong sandals on 
his feet. He wore nothing on the upper half of his body and Karen was 
revolted by the thick mass of black hair which curled from every portion of 
his chest and back. Its black swirls were relieved only by the white skin 
around his paps; otherwise, she thought with an hysterical inner laugh, he 
looked like an animated bear rug. One could skin this man and make a fur 
coat out of him, she reflected, and the idea of doing it pleased her. 

She only flicked her eyes over him and was again engrossed in her reading. 
She heard the thong sandals scuff across the carpet until he was behind her 
and then, with a shock, felt herself being surrounded by those great, pudgy, 
hairy, bear-like arms. 

"Please, Mr. DeWilde," was all she could gasp out before a hand was cupping 
itself over each of her breasts. 

She didn't scream. Without even thinking about it she knew to do so would be 
useless. Instead she threw her body forward, trying to break free so that 
she could run. He seemed to be expecting this for as she moved he clenched 
his fingers into the soft flesh of her breasts, digging them in until she 
did scream-a shriek of pure pain. 

An evil voice breathed into her ear: "Did I hurt you, honey? I'm sorry, but 
you shouldn't jump like that." 

She tried to twist away from him but his strength was too great. She was 
horribly frightened-more terrified than she had ever been in her life. Her 
only thought was that he had gone mad and was going to kill her. So great 
was her innocence that the idea he might be lusting for her never entered 
her head. 

As she hesitated for a fraction of a second, he slid one hand down to 
encircle her wrist, placed the other on her shoulder and twisted her around 
so that she faced him. 

"Now, don't get excited, honey. We're going to have fun and you're going to 
enjoy every minute of it." 

Again she tried to pull away but the movement put a strain on her wrist. The 
pain made her stop. She managed to gasp out: 

"Please, Mr. Wilde-you're breaking my arm." 

"No I'm not. I know how tightly to hold a girl. Now, relax and let's enjoy 
ourselves." 

She tried to control her emotions; appear calm so that he'd let go of her. 
That would give her a chance to run. She ceased struggling but DeWilde kept 
his grip on her wrist; a grasp so tight that it shut off the circulation to 
her hand. She could feel her fingertips already beginning to tingle in pain. 
She remained motionless, hoping to lure him into releasing the pressure. 

With his free hand, DeWilde gripped the waist band of his trunks and pulled 
them down below his hips, working them loose until they slid down to his 
ankles. Lifting each foot alternately he kicked them off. They sailed across 
the room and he stood before her naked except for the thong sandals on his 
feet. The pendulous, pudgy belly swung free, but below it bulged a fully 
inflamed penis; a huge, ugly, mottled man tool which projected straight out 
from beneath the shelf of his belly. 

It was obscene, that turgid cock; vulgar in its sheer size and strength and 
rigidity. No man should have a cock like that. It ought to be attached to a 
horse or a bull. He had been circumcised and the missing flesh of the 
foreskin left the purple-blue glans even more prominent; even more utterly 
revealed as a great ugly cock head. 

It would have been a little frightening even to an experienced woman but to 
Karen it was an unbelievably monstrous sight. She had read much about sex 
acts in recent weeks. Unavoidably she had thought about sex a little and 
wondered what it would be like when the time came for her first experience. 
However, nothing in her imagination had prepared her for the situation she 
was in now, or for the sight of that terrifying cock which confronted her. 

This was the second when the realization came to her. This man wasn't a mad 
killer. He was going to -to do sex to her. So confused was her mind that the 
word "fuck" could not be formed mentally in spite of the many times she had 
read it recently. She was driven to the most abject reaches of terror by the 
idea that this man was going to try to place that awful thing within her 
body. 

She threw herself backwards in another attempt to pull away from him. Her 
wrists didn't hurt so badly this time, since his numbing grip had brought 
with it a certain anesthesia. She got away to arm's length but DeWilde 
roughly pulled her back to him. With his free hand he grabbed the front of 
her dress, his fingers curling down inside the modestly veed neckline, 
grabbing dress, underslip and brassiere all in one handful. 

He ripped at it and even the three layers of material were no match for the 
man's bull-like strength. The garments tore but their resistance pulled her 
down to her knees in front of him as the fabric gave way. He grabbed the 
edges of the rip and brutally stripped the ragged garments from her as one 
would shuck an ear of corn. As he leaned over her, Karen looked up and saw 
his great sagging balls swinging back and forth above her in their sack of 
flesh. On top of them stood that terrible tool, its cock-head visibly 
throbbing with lust for her. 

It only took one fast swipe of his hairy arm to rip her flimsy underpanties 
from her thighs and then she lay before him on the carpet nude, blushing, 
terrified, frantically trying to cover her nakedness with her free arm and 
failing. The ripe, full, young breasts poured over her forearm; the silken 
peach of hair gleamed between her legs. She tried to roll over but only 
revealed her fine, young buttocks by so doing. 

For the first time, DeWilde spoke. "For Christ's sake, don't be a God damned 
prick teaser with me, you little slut." He stopped speaking long enough to 
plant one brutal, stinging slap of his open hand across her face. The blow 
had such force behind it that it snapped her head to one side, producing 
almost as much pain in her wrenched neck muscles as it caused her cheek. 

Then he went on: "No fucking broad is going to get me all hot and then walk 
out on it, you understand? You got it hard and by Christ you're going to 
make it soft again." 

His words had no impact on her fear-numbed brain. She continued to struggle 
on the floor even though he was kneeling on her now, one paunchy leg doubled 
beneath him and his knee pushing its way into her soft belly. 

The pressure forced the wind from her. Some consciousness of his words 
seeped through to her. She heard him grating through his clenched teeth at 
her: 

"Now, there's two ways we can do this, baby. I can slap the shit out of you 
first and then fuck you, or you can quiet down and take the fucking without 
the beating. Which shall it be?" 

She was incapable of making a decision. Terror, disgust, shame, sheer horror 
kept her from forming a conscious thought. She had to gasp to get air into 
her lungs because of his knee in her belly. She had to lie quietly to 
breathe at all. Taking her quietness for consent, he swiveled around until 
he was kneeling astride her supine body. His huge testicles dangled above 
her delicate chin. His swollen penis stuck out above her head. 

Holding her down with his thighs, he twisted the fingers of both hands into 
her hair; pulled her head up to him, straining her neck muscles cruelly. 

"Get it nice and wet for me, baby, to make it go in easier." 

With that he thrust his hips forward, slamming the end of his cock against 
her clenched lips. In her fear she was hardly conscious of its pressure. 
Seeing her resistance, he gave the hair in his hands a vicious twist. As she 
opened her mouth to scream he crammed the end of his cock into it, ramming 
it so far down her throat that she gasped and choked. 

"If you bite it, baby, I'll rip your hair out by the roots," he warned her. 
"Just suck it nicely and tickle it with your tongue." 

He began a coital movement with his hips. "I'm fucking you in the mouth, 
baby, and oooh it's wonderful," he crooned, as he pumped his tool in and out 
of her straining mouth, her lips stretched to the limit to contain its 
enormousness. "God, honey, you're playing it like a flute," he groaned in 
his joy. "You're a natural born cock sucker." 

Karen felt a sticky goo begin to leak from the red-eyed hole she had seen in 
the end of it. The warm stickiness of the liquid coated her tongue; trickled 
over it back toward her throat. She realized that this was man juice coming 
put of him and into her. She was afraid she was going to be sick and throw 
up; knew instinctively that if she did it would infuriate DeWilde and make 
him even more cruel. With an effort of will she forced herself to let the 
nauseating juice flow down her throat. 

"That's enough of that," he said in a few minutes, regretfully. "Any more 
and you'll make me come." He lifted himself from her body and lay on the 
floor beside her, giving her a playful slap on her thigh which was hard 
enough to leave the mark of his hand behind. "Spread 'em wide, baby, and 
I'll give you some cock that you'll never forget." 

Karen neither obeyed nor disobeyed his order. She was so far into shock that 
she was incapable of responding in any manner. Dumbly, with eyes of a 
frightened animal, she looked up at him as he rolled onto her body. His 
great, gross weight mashed her flat beneath him. His flabby chest pressed 
down upon her high, firm young breasts, spreading them out into distended 
blobs toward her armpits. 

He thrust his knees between her thighs, spreading her legs. He cupped his 
knees behind hers and pulled his legs upward, spread-eagling her beneath 
him. He slid an experienced hand between their bodies, grabbed his penis 
with it and directed the head of it to her virginal opening. He found the 
lips of her vagina with the tip of his forefinger, brushed them back and put 
the head of his cock against her hole, pushing it down to the rear of her 
slit where he knew the entrance to her body would be. He gave a tentative 
lift of his hips to force the head of his cock into her, past the tightly 
constricted lips which shielded her opening. The saliva from Karen's 
no-longer-virginal mouth had lubricated the first few inches of DeWilde's 
penis and this, plus his own seminal seepage, permitted the huge, 
oval-shaped head of it to slide inside her up to the ridge at the base. Even 
this slight penetration distended her delicate flesh horribly; sent a surge 
of pain roaring through her delicate parts which brought her to full 
consciousness in a hurry. She screamed; a penetrating shriek torn from her 
tortured body. 

The sound excited DeWilde. He began to wriggle his hips back and forth, 
putting pressure on her opening. It took him half a dozen strokes to force 
another inch of cock inside her, the girl continuing to scream all the 
while. Another thrust, and DeWilde felt his cock head enter the beginning of 
her vaginal passage. He pushed fiercely, ramming the knob in further; felt 
the tight flesh around it stretch, distend, and begin to throb against him 
in agony. 

Karen was screaming now as if her tortured organ was being ripped out of her 
by the metal instrument of a Spanish Inquisitor. Her shrieks echoed through 
the huge room. 

DeWilde stopped his thrusting to gasp for breath. While doing so he fumbled 
around for the remnants of her clothing which lay beneath them. He found a 
portion of her dress, pulled it out and stuffed a wad of it into her open, 
screaming mouth. 

"You're giving me a headache with that noise, baby," he grunted. 

He wriggled his hips experimentally. He gave another hard but short thrust 
with his prick; felt the end of it come up against solid resistance from 
uninvaded territory. 

"Jesus Christ, honey, that's the tightest hole I've ever been into in my 
life. Good thing I've got the granddaddy of all hard-ons or I'd never make 
it." 

He continued his prodding of her, holding the cloth into her mouth with one 
hand but feeling her screams still vibrating against the fabric. He withdrew 
his cock until just the head of it was still inside her, then skillfully 
rubbed it in and out, in and out, to work her juices into his flesh. Feeling 
that it was slicker now, he returned to the attack. He pressed it in to the 
point where he had been before, increased his drive and conquered another 
fraction of an inch of the tight passage. 

Again he retreated, satisfying himself with expanding the area he had 
already achieved. He had fully half of his cock inside her now, but that 
half was enough to fill her completely. 

In her excruciating pain, Karen could feel every millimeter of the hateful 
organ's progress. First the bloated head had slid into her and her vaginal 
lips had been stretched around the shaft. Then the horrible snake-like thing 
had gone in further and she had felt her inner passage being stretched to 
receive it. Now the fierce cock head was up into her belly. The lips of her 
vagina which had been stretched at the beginning were now drawn tight until, 
in her pain, they were like a rubber band drawn to the breaking point. She 
could feel them cutting into the meat of the awful shaft which probed her. 

Then he was ramming it into her again and now she felt a sharp, stabbing, 
new pain. The monstrous thing had been shoved clear into her until it was 
encountering her rectum; jabbing forcefully against the thin wall of 
membrane which separated her uterus from her bowels. He was going to kill 
her! He was going to stab her to death from the inside! 

DeWilde rested for a few seconds, forced himself to relax, and found his 
second wind. Redoubling his efforts, he thrust and withdrew, stretching the 
passage to fit his own hugeness, banging up against a solid backstop on his 
inward movement, feeling the tightness of her cunt wrapped around his cock 
on the backstroke, like encircling, tightly clenched fingers. 

Karen's constant screaming had given way now to hoarse moans of exhaustion. 
Her vocal cords were frayed, as tortured as the membranes of her cunt, but 
her agony still required vocal relief. To De Wilde, his half-entry of her, 
with half of his cock still exposed to the air, was the utmost in 
provocation. He became like an aroused bull. 

"Stretch your legs wide, you miserable slut," he raged at her. "Spread that 
cunt and let me in or I'll kill you." 

Karen was past hearing or responding to commands. She had no idea what he 
meant; had no thought of anything. All she knew was the pain of that ugly 
thing she had seen which was now hidden in her; which filled her full; which 
was ramming against her rectum and which was producing more torture than she 
knew a human could stand. 

She was flowing woman juices now in a steady stream. The liquid drained down 
the portion of his cock which was still exposed, exciting him like a bitch 
dog in heat arouses a stud. With a bellow like the animal he was, DeWilde 
reached both hands down to slide them back of her knees. Then, with a roar, 
he pulled her legs upward, forcing them to bend back upon themselves until 
he could slip her legs over his shoulders. He reached forward, grasping her 
shoulders with his hands, pulled her body toward him. Then he raised his 
body on his knees and, with another roar, thrust himself into her 
now-distended opening. 

In this position he had Karen rocked up onto the small of her back, the only 
portion of her body touching the floor. The rest of her was bent almost into 
a ball, her legs spread the full width of his shoulders, her thighs pulled 
far apart by his barrel chest and belly forced between. It exposed her 
utterly; distended her to the fullest, while at the same time uncovering the 
innermost recesses of her body to the exploration of his throbbing cock. 

Raised on his knees he could use the full weight of his body to hammer his 
cock-hard ram into her. He did. He rested his pudgy, heavy frame on the end 
of his cock; literally leaned on it. The flaring head of it sunk down into 
her agonized flesh. DeWilde felt it come up against the solid flesh at the 
end of her passage. He lay there with his weight resting on it. The pressure 
mounted against her tender inner flesh and suddenly, something gave way. 
Like a tent stake driven into soft earth, the remaining half of his 
monstrous shaft plunged into her in one movement. 

Karen's torn flesh gushed blood and the liquid added to his penetration. He 
was bottomed out in her now, ever bit of his cock solidly inside her. He 
began to thrust and retrieve, thrust and retrieve, arousing himself to 
climax, merely using her tight cunt to masturbate himself to ejaculation. At 
every stroke his testicles banged up solidly against her rectum, itself so 
distended by the stretching of her vagina above it that it seemed as if it, 
too, must be torn. 

DeWilde was in ecstasy now. Throwing his weight down upon her upturned 
buttocks at every stroke, he began to murmur aloud: 

"Oh God baby, what a fuck. I got it up into your womb, baby, and I'm gonna 
squirt my juice right into your baby bucket and make it come out of your 
asshole. Jesus, baby, what a fuck. I never felt a cunt like yours in all my 
life. Jesus, baby, I think you invented fucking. Aieeeeh-God above, I got it 
up into your belly." 

The gagging cloth had fallen from her mouth by now but her vocal cords, worn 
from much screaming, could no longer produce the piercing sounds which had 
shaken the room. She still screamed, but it came out a hoarse, rasping 
whimper. Every inch of her body was in pain. 

When a human body is subjected to torture for a certain time it either goes 
into shock or creates for itself a certain ability to exist with the pain. 
For Karen, her body took the latter course. She was certain she was going to 
die but was now fully conscious, comprehending; heard every word which 
DeWilde murmured in his ecstasy. She could feel every individual movement 
and throb which he made. When his last, sudden, full penetration of her had 
taken place, she felt the knob slide up into her, felt her inner flesh tear, 
felt the heat of her own blood as it gushed out to surround his cock. 

She felt the passage of that knob which she could now clearly visualize run 
into her all the way, to bang up against her spine; could see in her mind's 
eye how her own vagina must look, stretched so tightly around the ugly 
shaft. She could visualize how the cervix of her womb must have been ripped 
open when the knob had forced its way in. 

On every stroke she felt two big fat things ramming against her and she knew 
it was those big blue balls she had seen, hanging in a wrinkled, hairy sack 
of flesh, which were slamming up against her rectum. The sensitive little 
thing at the top of her vagina with which she had played in the bathtub 
while thinking of Doug was being battered by some bone in this man's body 
every time he completed one of his agonizing strokes into her, and he must 
have rammed her a hundred such strokes by now, maybe more. The curly, black 
hair which grew like a forest around the foul cock, was rubbing against her 
little thing, burning and irritating it. 

Now that Karen knew she was going to die, and that she was probably bleeding 
to death already, she hoped it would come quickly and bring an end to the 
pain. If she were lucky she might faint and never know when the end really 
came. She tried to will herself to die but the thrusting kept on and she 
lived and the big purple knob kept up its probing of her while the shaft 
kept her spread out and the big blue balls kept banging her behind. 

DeWilde was in full control now; had her clasped tightly to him, rocking 
with his every movement, knowingly compressing her flesh in her upturned 
position so that the deepest possible penetration was his. His ecstasy had 
been succeeded by a coldly analytical delight. He was savouring each 
sensation, as a wine expert enjoys tiny sips of a good vintage. At length, 
almost regretfully, he said to her: 

"I'm going to juice you now, baby. My cock's getting sore. That sweet little 
cunt of yours is so tight you've rubbed all the skin off of me." He 
chuckled. "And when I squirt you, you'll never forget it, because you've 
pumped up all the come I've got in me." 

Instead of speeding, he slowed his pace to a gentle, rubbing motion which 
almost thoughtfully moved his cock in and out of her. One long, slow stroke 
into her; a slow, methodical withdrawal which pulled all of it out except 
the head which he kept stuck into her, the while he felt the cool air of the 
room against his soaking wet shaft, then back into her again, all the way to 
the uttermost depth which to her cunt felt like a tight buttonhole around 
the base of the head of his cock, then back into her again like a porpoise 
plunging down to the depths. 

All the while he chattered to himself in his happiness: 

"God sweetie, what a fuck. You could make a million with that little hole. 
Oh God, baby, it's starting now. The juice is coming into my balls. It's 
coming up my cock-oh Christ, baby, there it is- oh AIEEEEEEEEEEEEH!" 

He rammed himself tightly into her, compressed her flesh so that their loins 
were welded into one, probed her with his tool until he too felt real pain 
from the compression of his flesh against the bones of her spine, and 
exploded into a shuddering orgasm. It was not just one ejaculation, this 
come of his. He was so deeply aroused by her tightness, by the great length 
of time which he had spent fucking her after fully entering her, that his 
prostate was determined to empty itself as a reward. 

When his cock began to throb, the ugly purple head of it began to distend 
and relax, then distend again, meanwhile pumping semen into her in 
successive gouts. He squirted and squirted, as if putting out a fire, and 
his man juice flowed into her every cavity. 

He felt almost frightened as he felt himself discharging into her so fully. 
He had never had a come like this, he realized, in spite of the uncounted 
numbers of women he had laid. His huge tool filled her so completely, her 
cunt was stretched so tightly around him, that there wasn't any place for 
his come to go. His first squirt filled the tiny part of her womb which was 
not full of his cock; his second squirt overflowed into her uterus and then 
ran back down and out of her body. He continued to pump his jizz into her 
and he could feel every squirt twice-once when it shot up the inside of his 
cock and out of her, the second time when it flowed back again on the 
outside of his cock between his body and hers. 

He could feel the stickiness of his own come now as it emerged from her cunt 
and trickled out from between her vagina's lips, soaking his balls, then 
trickling off to run down the crack of her asshole. He shot her again, felt 
his juice come out to soak his balls some more and had an hysterical desire 
to laugh. Jesus, he thought, I've had many a man tell me to go fuck myself 
but I never thought I'd really do it. 

For Karen, DeWilde's climax provided a new frontier in agonizing pain. She 
had thought she was to die before this; had thought she had already 
experienced the utmost in pain the body can endure. Her agony had produced 
its own anesthesia and she had been able to live with it. She had only 
vaguely understood what he meant when he said he was going to "come." She 
knew it meant something would come out of the nasty little red eye she had 
seen in the end of that ugly thing, and that this was what men always wanted 
to do to women, and in the books that was always the end of the thing they 
were doing. 

But nothing had prepared her for the sudden feeling of something exploding 
inside of her. She felt what she knew was the head of the cock, pressed 
tightly up against the end of her spine, pushing back against the inside of 
her rectum, swell and grow until it felt like a football inside of her. It 
stretched her insides until she knew they were hopelessly torn, and this 
great throbbing thing moved in and out and around inside her, and then the 
scalding hot fluid began to gush. 

It was the same sticky, hot stuff he had leaked into her mouth earlier, she 
realized, and which she had forced herself to swallow so as not to infuriate 
him. Now he was shooting some more of that awful stuff right into her body, 
where she could never get it out again. Now she felt the heat and the 
creaminess of it squirting into her womb. Now he was shooting some more of 
it and it was flowing back down out of her cavity and running down the 
outside of her. 

She felt him shoot her again and this load ran back out quickly. She felt it 
course its way down between her thighs, trickling into the opening of her 
upturned rectum, and she thought my God, it's going to get into that opening 
too. He's killing me and shooting me all over with that stuff. 

Above it all was the pain; her real, utter climax of pain, which all the 
previous pain had merely been building up to. With every squirt of his juice 
DeWilde's shaft expanded, the head of his cock throbbed, and every throb 
sent exquisite agony through every nerve in her body. Every time his cock 
head throbbed the agony echoed through Karen, soaring up into her head with 
dizzying pain. One final, hoarse rasp of a scream bubbled up from her 
tortured throat, and the blessed relief of unconsciousness came over her. 

DeWilde felt her body go limp beneath him but thought she was merely 
relaxing after an orgasm of her own. He lay on top of her, enjoying the 
feeling of his cock getting soft; reveling in the sensation of his prick 
soaking in a combination of his juices and hers. 

"Soak it until its nice and soft, baby; that's what a woman has a cunt for," 
was what he murmured down at the unconscious girl beneath him. 

He lay there, relaxing and enjoying, finally becoming a little surprised 
that she wasn't asking him to get off; telling him how heavy he was, as 
women usually did after climaxing with him. He touched her cheek. He 
realized she had passed out. He lifted himself from her, picked her up in 
his arms and carried her to a bedroom. 

As he dropped her unceremoniously on the bed, he stared down at her for a 
second, then said aloud: 

"Baby, you're the best fuck I ever had. And to think I've had you around the 
office all this time and let you hold out on me." 

 Chapter Iii 

Karen's state of coma lasted for hours, gradually giving way to a fitful 
sleep. Delirious dreams plagued her which finally quieted into restful 
slumber. DeWilde, eventually becoming a little uneasy, looked in on her from 
time to time. He noted the change when her heavy breathing indicated the 
beginning of a real sleep and, less worried, went to bed himself. He used 
the bedroom next to the one she was in so that he'd hear her if she 
awakened. He didn't really like to sleep with women; much preferred to 
finish off his sexual experiences in a bed all to himself. 

He slept soundly, waking up around nine Sunday morning. His first thought 
was of Karen and the day before. Jesus, what a fuck. He stared up at the 
ceiling and thought about it. He relived every second of it, enjoying his 
sensations a second time; enjoying the feeling of the erection which the 
memory gave him. 

He yawned a couple of times, caressing his erect cock with an affectionate 
touch. He really loved his cock, he reflected. It was the most wonderful 
thing he had, even finer than his successful publishing business, his 
beautiful home, his fine car. He loved all of those things, too; but above 
all he loved his beautiful cock. 

He stretched, stood up and removed his shorts, the only sleeping garment he 
ever wore. He went into the bathroom and urinated, having great difficulty 
in hitting the bowl because of the way his cock was sticking up in the air. 
He had to bend over, squat a little and push it down to make it pee into the 
fixture. 

Relieved, he brushed his teeth and removed a jar of sun tan cream from the 
medicine chest. With this in his hand he strode purposefully across his 
bedroom and into Karen's. 

The girl was awake and conscious. At least, her eyes were open, looking 
upwards as she lay on her back. DeWilde noted a bad bruise on her wrist 
where he had held her so tightly. Her cheek and eye were discolored where he 
had slapped her and there were some scratches around her mouth; from when he 
had gagged her, probably. He regretted slightly that he had made her look 
this way. She wasn't anywhere nearly so pretty as she had been yesterday, 
but what the hell-she'd heal, and there wasn't anything wrong with that nice 
little cunt which had so delighted him. 

"Good morning, sweetie," he said jovially. "How's my girl today?" 

There was no reply. Even her eyes did hot turn toward him. Only her regular 
breathing indicated that she was living. 

He moved to the side of the bed, threw his shoulders back and thrust his 
hips forward. He swung his hips from side to side so that the erect cock 
with the purple head wiggled in response. 

"See that beautiful thing, baby?" he asked. "Let's have a little morning 
fuckie fuckie and then I'll drive you back to town." Slowly, with relish, he 
opened the sun tan cream, dabbled his fingers in it and began to work it 
into the skin of his prick. 

"This will make is easier on both of us," he explained. "To tell you the 
truth, my cock is still a little sore from yesterday. How did you ever 
manage to keep such a tight twat?" 

No reply. Completing his lubrication, he took hold of the bed covers and 
flung them back across the foot. Karen lay absolutely unmoving; stared at 
the ceiling, hands thrown upward above her head, utterly passive. 

Something about her acquiescence excited him more than her violent 
resistance of yesterday. He wasn't going to have to fight her this time-she 
was just going to lay there and let him feel the flesh of her body surround 
his, let him dump his semen into her without resisting. Good. That's what 
women were meant to be, basically. A receptacle for his semen. 

Now let's see, how should he do her? From the side, with her leg thrown Tip 
over his belly, so he could watch her tits jiggle as he rammed her? Or maybe 
roll her over onto her hands and knees so that he could fuck her dog-fashion 
and watch his cock slide in and out of her twat? Maybe he should lay on his 
back and make her ride the pony? That way he could watch her tits and see 
his cock working in her too. 

It was a hell of a decision to make. As he pondered he looked down at her 
bare body, white flesh gleaming in the bright daylight of the room, ripe 
breasts moving gently with the rhythm of her breathing, golden hair 
concealing the crevice of her womanhood. His brutal cock gave a pulse with 
excitement and he thought, what the hell-fuck her the ordinary way. It's 
usually the best. 

He threw himself on top of her, crushing her into the bed. Frantically his 
hands searched between them found his tool and aimed it into the proper 
place. He hunched up his thighs and gave a thrust and in one motion his cock 
slid into her body and all the way home. 

Karen's uterine passages were still full of the liquid with which he had 
injected her the day before since she had hardly moved since he dropped her 
on the bed, and with the lubrication which he had applied to himself he 
entered her, if not easily, at least without fierce resistance. He felt 
their pubic hair make contact as his cock head bottomed out against her 
spine; enjoyed the sensation of the lips of her vulva being stretched 
tightly around the base of his shaft. He even thought he could feel her 
little clitoris pressing up against the bone above the base of his cock. 

Oh, God, ecstasy. He was getting the greatest fucking from the greatest 
little cunt in the world. Take it easy, now; don't hurry it. Fuck it good 
and fuck it slow and make it last a long time. 

Karen was accustomed to pain now and did not even quiver when he entered 
her. It was still agony for her; her torn membranes began to bleed afresh 
and her vagina still felt as if it were being ripped apart. But the pain was 
not as bad as yesterday, even if her feeling of utter degradation was far 
stronger. She lay there quietly, absolutely unmoving, passively letting him 
have his will of her and hoping that death would come as her release. 

DeWilde continued his thrusting into her body, concentrating every portion 
of his being upon the enjoyment of the sensations being created in his 
organs. He savoured each one of them in turn as he pursued his rhythmic 
movements in her unwilling body. There-that's the feel of his balls banging 
against her little asshole. He'd have to fuck her in the asshole, too, some 
day; bet that's a tight little rosebud. There-that's her curly blonde pussy 
hair rubbing up against the inside of his thighs. Christ, what a pretty 
little pussy she has. I'm going to have to suck her off some day, while she 
sucks me. Usually I don't like to go down on girls because it makes them 
think they're equals, but I'll suck this little cunt off with pleasure. 

That's what we'll do next time, he resolved, as he transferred his 
concentration to the feeling in the base of his cock shaft. We'll swap 
sucks. She sucked great yesterday and I'll bet she's even better when she 
sucks a man all the way off. 

Now the base of his cock. That's where the real sensation is. No matter what 
a girl does to the head of your cock you can't come unless something good is 
happening to the three or four inches right at the base of the shaft where 
it comes out of your body. 

This was where this little broad excelled. Her tight little twat felt like a 
big rubber band stretched around his shaft. Every time he drove into her and 
moved back out again it massaged his shaft, like a skilled cock sucker uses 
her fingers when blowing a man off. 

Oh Jesus, he was getting there now. His cock head was pressed right up 
against her back from the inside. He could feel the hole in the end of it 
bottoming out on every in thrust. It would be leaking now; dribbling little 
drops of semen and sperm into her in preparation for the big thrust. The 
stuff he was leaking would be flowing around inside her now. It couldn't 
drain out because he had her hole plugged up so damn tight, like a wine cork 
driven into a bottle. It was so tight now, what with the fluid he had added, 
that on every backstroke there was a little suction; a sort of drawing 
sensation on his whole cock head. 

Jesus, that was it: she was so tight she felt like a woman sucking him off; 
drawing hard on the end of his cock with her lips and tongue, meanwhile 
massaging his shaft thoroughly with tightly-clenched and encircling fingers. 
When he banged the hole in it against her spine it felt like a girl's tongue 
tip thrusting down into it, reaming the hole and seemingly attempting to 
crawl inside of it. 

He hadn't intended to go off so soon but the realization of the similarity 
in sensation between a skilled blow job and fucking this cunt pushed him 
over the edge. He had time for only three decisive strokes before he was 
again erupting in her, gushing his sperm into her very vitals and feeling it 
squirt back out to drip down between them. 

He relaxed, rolling off her more quickly this time. He lay beside her, 
savoring what it felt like to be utterly drained; have every last drop of 
his semen pumped out past his prostate and into her uterus. He hadn't been 
so utterly empty since-well, let's see: when he was sixteen he used to fuck 
that little thirteen-year-old-Mary, that was it. He'd banged her as many as 
five times in one day. She used to be able to pump him dry like this one. 
Last year there had been the authoress, the brunette-Vivienne-who used to 
suck him off until he couldn't come another drop. 

That was all she liked to do, he remembered; just suck and be sucked. Afraid 
of getting pregnant, probably, and scared to take the pill. He never did 
decide whether she really liked him, or was just willing to do anything to 
get published. He'd finally bought a book from her, he remembered, and lost 
his ass on it. 

He winced. No blow job was worth the bundle he dropped on that shitty novel 
of hers. 

He thought back, trying to recall other fucks that even approached this one, 
and eventually dropped off into a doze. 



Karen realized her bladder was bursting and rolled away from the bestial 
thing laying beside her. She got up, searched until she found the bathroom 
and sat down to relieve herself. From force of habit she glanced down 
between her legs. She saw a great mass of white, sticky fluid drain out of 
her before her urine began to flow. It was some seconds before the muscles 
of her bladder relaxed enough for her relief to begin and during that time 
she stared in both fascination and horror as the gooey stuff which DeWilde 
had twice deposited in her drained out to drip into the water of the bowl. 

That was it, she thought. Her ultimate degradation. This filthy, dirty thing 
called sex had been done to her and it meant that a man wanted to squirt 
this stuff into you. The books said it was beautiful and exciting and felt 
wonderful. She knew they were lies, now. It was shameful and degrading and 
horribly, horribly painful. It made you dirty all the way through; dirty 
deep inside you where no soap and water could ever reach to wash it out. 

Where could she go now and what could she do? She never wanted to see a man 
again, ever. She couldn't go back to the office. She could never do that job 
again, because every person there could look at her face and tell what had 
happened to her. 

She thought of Doug. It would be terrible never to see him again. But she 
couldn't. He'd know instantly what kind of a girl she was now. There was 
really no point in seeing him anyway. She certainly wasn't going to marry 
him or any other man. Sex was part of marriage, and she never wanted a man 
to do sex to her again. 

Her mad urge to get away from this house and this horrible man was tempered 
by a wonderment -where would she go? Back to her apartment, perhaps, but she 
couldn't stay there. If she just tried to hide inside Doug would come 
looking for her. She could never face him again. Too, she'd have to come out 
eventually to buy food, and to make money somehow, and then people on the 
street would see her. 

She couldn't sit here on the toilet any longer. She glanced down again; 
noticed the water in the bowl was tinged with blood. It had produced a 
burning sensation when it flowed out of her bladder. That would be the 
damaged tissue up inside her, she realized. She didn't really care how much 
she had been injured. What was important right now was to get away. How? 

Karen wiped herself and returned to the bedroom. DeWilde was awake now and 
staring at her. 

So smashed was her psyche, so completely degraded was her picture of 
herself, that she felt no hint of embarrassment to stand in front of him 
nude. Twenty-four hours before, to stand thus even in front of her doctor 
would have suffused her with shame. Now, in her deepest subconsciousness was 
the feeling that her body was no longer of value to anyone, including 
herself. Her complete nudity meant no more to her than if only her hands or 
feet were bare. 

Another change which had come over her was that she was no longer afraid of 
DeWilde. True, he might be planning to kill her, but it didn't matter 
really. It might be a solution to her situation. It might even save her from 
having to do it herself. 

"I'd like to leave here as soon as possible, Mr. DeWilde," she said to him 
in a perfectly flat voice, staring out of the window at the blue Sound as 
she spoke. 

He was puzzled at her matter-of-factness. He was accustomed to various 
reactions in this situation. Sometimes it was fulsome praise of his 
magnificent cock and the great job he had done on them with it. Sometimes 
they belonged to the you-bastard-wait-till-I-see-my-lawyer school. Sometimes 
it was an abject query, how soon may I come again? 

And sometimes, of course, it was a coy hint that maybe he should furnish an 
apartment for them and move them in, so that each of them could save all of 
it for each other. This was the ploy which irritated him most. Dumb broads; 
did they think he'd even spend good money for it, when he could get all of 
the fucking he could handle for nothing? 

But this one was weird. There she was standing in front of him with her bare 
ass hanging out behind, her bare quiff hanging out in front, both bare boobs 
swinging around up at the top, and asking when she could leave as casually 
as if she were standing in his office asking him if he had any further 
instructions. 

Better get rid of this kook. Keep her under observation for a few weeks 
before inviting her back. If she seemed stable he might get a good thing 
going here. His friends would sure think she was great. They'd think him a 
real winner, if he showed this broad off as his during a party at his house. 

"Sure, honey, right away. Let's have some coffee and eggs before we leave, 
though." He looked at her nakedness and grinned. "I'll find you some clothes 
around here to wear home. Afraid we got the things you wore down here-a 
little mussed." 

The mention of her destroyed clothing meant nothing to her, as sparse as her 
wardrobe was. She just wanted to get out of there. In the last few seconds 
Karen had made up her mind exactly what she would do. Get back to her 
apartment, go to the makeup box where the cash from yesterday's pay check 
reposed, pack a few things and get on a Greyhound bus. A bus going anywhere. 
Boston, or Detroit, it didn't matter. She would have enough cash to live for 
two or three weeks and she'd find work of some kind. Even if she didn't, the 
main thing was to get away from here and among strangers. That would give 
her time to take stock of herself and decide what to do with her life. 

DeWilde rose. "Come on into the kitchen with me while I get us something to 
chew on." She followed him like a trained dog. He was naked; offered her 
nothing with which to cover herself. Quite uncaring she walked behind him to 
the kitchen. She stood there passively until he pointed to a chair; sat down 
in it when he gestured for her to do so. 

She watched him as he got coffee, eggs and toast going. "You're quite a 
girl, Karen," he said to her affably as he worked. "I've never had an 
experience with anyone like that before. You are an exquisite joy to make 
love to." DeWilde prided himself that he seldom, if ever, used obscene words 
in front of either man or woman. Sometimes in the office it was necessary to 
utter them when they were part of the context of a book, and once in a long 
while he spoke them to help break in a new reader (as he had done with 
Karen) but generally his speech was snow-pure. 

In his private thoughts, he invariably used mental language as foul as 
anything to be heard in the most depraved segments of society. To a certain 
extent it was a form of self-stimulation and, when in the grip of sexual 
passion, it added to his enjoyment to speak as foully as possible to his 
partner. 

Karen made no reply. His euphemistic phrase "make love to" as a reference to 
what he had done to her failed to impinge upon her consciousness. He pursued 
it a little further as the eggs sizzled. 

"Have you had a lot of lovers, Karen?" he asked. "I'll bet a beautiful girl 
like you has been beating boys off with a stick ever since she was ten." 

In her depressed condition the question didn't matter and neither did 
answering it. "I've never had a lover," she said flatly. 

DeWilde was startled. "Well, not a lover, then, but many sexual 
experiences?" 

"I never had a sexual experience of any kind," still in the same dead tone. 

He almost spattered hot grease on his bloated belly. 

"Are you trying to convince me that yesterday was the first time that 
you-that you were a-well, virgin?" The word was so completely incredible in 
the world in which DeWilde lived that somehow he was embarrassed to utter 
it. 

Without rancor, without emotion of any kind, she replied: "I'm not trying to 
convince you of anything, Mr. DeWilde. It's the truth, but if you don't 
believe me it doesn't matter." 

Even as exhausted as his cock was, it gave a little twitch where it hung 
between his legs at the admission. Sweet sufferin' Christ, no wonder it had 
been such a sweat to get it into her. She was a fucking virgin. That had 
been a real genuine hymen he had popped when he rammed her. Jesus, he hadn't 
had a virgin for-my God, since high school days. The last cherry he took was 
Mabel Calhoun, when she was fifteen years old and he was nineteen. She had 
screamed like this girl did when he put it into her and his cock was nowhere 
nearly so big then as it is today. He remembered she had raised hell the 
first time, and then thought it was pretty good the second and, after their 
fourth or fifth trick, she had gotten to be a nuisance following him around 
and begging for it all the time that in disgust he had turned her over to a 
buddy of his to keep fucked. 

He'd never had a cherry since then. He didn't think girls were even born as 
virgins any more. Now here was a real live one, or had been, and nobody had 
ever shot stuff into it except him. 

He was every thoughtful as he served her and sat down beside her to eat. 
There could be a lot of problems here, and yet maybe there might be a lot of 
fun. 

DeWilde's calculating mind clicked off the possibilities as he munched his 
toast in silence. If she ran to a lawyer Monday morning and screamed rape, 
it might be expensive. Sometimes it took fifteen or twenty thousand dollars 
to get a broad to shut up. If she complained to the police it would be 
easier. They were much less expensive to buy off than a smart lawyer. A new 
car or something like that made them decide there was "insufficient 
evidence" in a hurry. 

That she might be pregnant was trivial. An abortion cost only a few hundred 
dollars these days and he could see that she had one whether she wanted to 
or not. Then, a grand or two for a trip abroad would settle that. 

On the other hand, there was the possibility that she might be a smart 
enough broad to realize where her best interests lay. Another trick or two 
with him and she might decide that fucking wasn't so bad after all. And what 
a hit she'd be at one of his parties. Just to show her off and let them know 
that this one had been cherry and he'd gotten it would be the hit of the 
season. Guests would be green with envy when he told how tight it was and 
how regularly he was getting it. 

She'd get over that screaming soon enough, he was sure. That little thing of 
hers would stretch to fit his cock, as they always did. He thought with grim 
humor of the old saying, a cunt will stretch a mile before it will tear an 
inch. 

He noticed Karen had eaten the eggs and toast he had placed before her; 
mechanically, stoically, but she had eaten. He cleared his throat and asked 
in the most casual of manners: 

"Do we have to hurry? I mean, is there anyone at home waiting for you?" 

"No. I live alone." 

A pause. "Did you mention to anyone that you were coming out here?" 

An older, wiser woman would have replied, sure, I told everyone in the 
office you told me to come out here and if I'm not back pretty soon a 
hundred cops will be out here looking for me. Instead, she simply answered: 

"No. I don't have anyone to tell." 

DeWilde cautioned himself take it easy; explore this thoroughly now to make 
sure there won't be any unpleasant surprises. While she was in this passive 
mood, get every bit of information to be had. 

"You haven't been in New York very long, have you? It must be a lonesome 
life for a young girl." 

"Yes." 

"Have you made any friends?" he prodded. 

"No. I haven't met a soul except the people at the office and I only know 
them to say hello to." Something inside her kept her from mentioning Doug 
Morgan; shame, perhaps, that she was no longer worthy of him. Maybe she felt 
protective of Doug; was subconsciously afraid DeWilde might do something to 
him for being friendly with her; for dating her. 

DeWilde made his decision. Karen was going to stay with him for a time. She 
was going to meet his friends he was going to show her off, and maybe if 
they were good guys and things were just right he might let them sample a 
little of that delicious ass; in exchange, of course, for a sample of the 
ass they brought with them. 

He leaned back and relaxed for a second, the decision made, then stood up 
and smiled at her. "Why don't you do these dishes up, Karen, while I take 
care of a couple of other things?" 

She immediately arose and began to clear. He strode from the room, returned 
in a few seconds with the remnants of her clothing from the day before which 
he stuffed into the chute of the kitchen incinerator, gave her a friendly 
pat on the fanny as she stood at the sink and again left. 

Karen finished the dishes and wandered into the living room. She found 
DeWilde seated at the desk in the study alcove in front of the phone, a 
small black notebook in his hand. He was fully dressed in blue denim 
yachting trousers, a knit sports shirt and deck shoes. He lifted his head 
and looked at her as she entered. The fact that he was now clad made her 
conscious of her own nakedness. 

"Please, Mr. DeWilde, isn't there something I could put on? I'll have to 
have something to wear home." 

He waved his hand airily. "Oh, we'll get you something to wear when the time 
comes. I want you to spend a few days with me, or maybe longer, so that we 
can get to know each other better and you can meet some of my friends. 
Meanwhile, I love to look at you walking around that way. You have a 
beautiful body." 

Her hands had moved to cover herself in the universal gesture of naked women 
the world over-one arm across her breasts, the other hand dropped down to 
conceal her patch of loveliness. 

"Please, Mr. DeWilde, just give me anything-one of your robes-anything. I'll 
make it do to get me home." 

DeWilde's expression darkened a bit. He spoke more firmly. 

"Listen, Karen, I said I wanted you to spend a few days with me and I meant 
it. I'm going to have some friends in tonight and I'll give you something to 
put on before they come. Quite a few of my lady friends have left things 
here from time to time and I'm sure we can find something which will fit." 

The voice dropped to a soft, silky smooth tone which was more menacing than 
his previous bluster had been. "You stay naked because I like to see you 
that way, and because I won't have to guard you. You won't try to split if 
you have nothing on your body but your skin." 

Karen had known the feeling of helplessness before in her young life; when 
she had tried to explain to her parents why she simply had to go to New 
York, when she had been unable to find work in the big city and had been 
desperate, when she had been unable to pay her rent; but never had she felt 
it so keenly as now. She couldn't run and she couldn't hide. Frantically she 
tried to think of a course of action. There was none, she realized. She 
couldn't leave without clothes, she couldn't run naked to a neighbor's house 
screaming, because this place was so vast that DeWilde could run her down 
and beat her before she got more than a few steps into the yard. 

Defeat brings with it a measure of resignation, and Karen knew she was 
hopelessly, utterly defeated. She was a prisoner in this house until DeWilde 
decided to let her go, and even without his threatening her she knew that to 
disobey him would mean a terrible beating. It was obvious as the curly black 
hair which stuck up from the vee of his shirt. She knew that her only way 
out of here was compliance, and that if she ever did get out alive she could 
do nothing to get him punished. She couldn't tell the police this awful 
thing had happened to her. It was too shameful and must forever be kept 
concealed. What he had done to her would have to be kept as her secret as 
well as his. 

Karen sank into a chair and let her arms drop to her sides, revealing her 
beauty. What did it matter if he looked at her. Her body was defiled, 
worthless, and wasn't even worth covering. 

DeWilde picked up the phone and dialed a number. 

"Hello, George?" [Pause] "What are you and Lorraine doing tonight?" [Pause] 
"Well, I thought I might have some people in tonight... Oh, maybe we might 
have an auction." [Pause] "Sounds like fun to you?" [Pause] "Oh, 
seven-thirty or eight, maybe ... So long." 

Again the dialing. 

"Hello, Bruce? DeWilde here. I'm having an auction at my place tonight." 
[Pause] "Swell. Who are you going to bring? Barbara? Are you still dating 
her? Sure, she's very nice and a lot of fun. And Gwen? She's with you, too, 
this weekend? Well, bring her along. We can always use a couple of spares if 
they're female. No guys, though. Except you, of course." [Pause] "Fine. See 
you around eight." 

The calls went on, with very few refusals. As Karen listened she somehow 
knew that something very dreadful was going to take place. On the surface it 
was all very casual, just a friendly get-together, but there was an 
unwholesome undertone which made Karen panic. 

When he finished his calling, DeWilde turned to her with a pleased 
expression. 

"Well, I guess there will be about thirty people here, more or less, if they 
all show up." He chuckled. "And I'll bet they do. My crowd very seldom 
misses a party, let alone one of my auctions." 

No response. He went on: "We've got hours yet to fix some snacks and get the 
bar set up." He looked at her musingly. "You know, I think I've got exactly 
the right thing for you to wear. Linda wore it once about a year ago, and 
she was a knockout in it." 

Karen shuddered. 

 Chapter Iv 

"There, I guess that does it," said DeWilde as he checked over the 
sideboard. "That's enough to give 'em something to munch on between drinks. 
My crowd isn't much of an eating bunch anyway." 

He turned to survey the liquor layout on the matching sideboard. A variety 
of bottle, mixes, silver ice buckets and glasses had been arranged by Karen 
under his direction. 

"That's what they'll go for. Plenty more bottles in the cabinet in the 
kitchen if they drink those dry." 

He turned to Karen. "Time to get ourselves dressed. Come with me." 

In the last few hours, Karen had gotten into the habit of doing exactly what 
he told her to do as soon as he said it. Even her nudity seemed natural, as 
if she had never worn clothes. It was almost a surprise to her when he 
mentioned dressing. 

She followed him to the master bedroom, off which was a huge bathroom. In 
addition to the bathtub it contained a stall shower; a king-size one, Karen 
noted, as he opened the glass door and turned on the water. On the wall 
alongside it was a handsomely made sign with gold lettering embossed on a 
mahogany background. It read: 

Help Conserve Water -Take a Shower With a Friend. 

He stripped off his clothes, dropped them on the floor and motioned to her 
to enter with him. He lathered himself and then her; scrubbed her back with 
gentleness and seeming affection. He gave her a washcloth with which to 
scrub his and she nearly vomited as she worked the lather up in the coarse 
black hair which covered his back, seeing the soap foam up until it looked 
like a shampoo. Taking it from her, he lathered it again, using it to wash 
his private parts well and then hers. A stab of pain went through her when 
he touched her bruised flesh but no trace of it crossed her face. Finished, 
they emerged and dried each other. 

"Now, see what I've got for you," he told her pleasantly. "A very attractive 
white outfit, two piece, which will look great against that fair skin and 
blonde hair of yours." 

Karen looked at the clothing he held toward her. It was snow white, of a 
very soft and sheer knit jersey; flared trousers with the waistline cut low, 
hip hugger fashion, and a halter top having a plunging neckline. 

"It might be a trifle small for you," he told her, "but the material has a 
lot of stretch to it." 

Silently she took the two garments from him. She spoke the single word: 

"Underthings?" 

He shook his head. 

"Don't have any, I'm afraid. But it doesn't matter. Lots of women in our 
crowd don't wear them and with that beautiful young body of yours, you don't 
need anything to hold you in." 

By now Karen had been in this house, in this man's presence, for a little 
over thirty hours, and already she had become accustomed to obeying him 
completely, without arguing. She had abandoned self; had become his robot. 
She put on the top and trousers, struggling a little to get into them and 
having to work them up over her slightly-damp body. 

"They fit beautifully," DeWilde said approvingly. "They look like they were 
spray-painted on." 

Karen looked at herself in the full length mirror. The deep-vee in the 
neckline plunged down to the bottom of her bust, slightly revealing the 
inner curve of each breast. A little collar stood up around her throat. The 
bottom of the halter top was elasticized and clung to her ribcage tightly 
just below the bottom of her breasts, giving some support. However, the 
material was so sheer that the pink coronas around her nipples showed 
through as a darker circle, while her nipples themselves pushed prominent 
peaks outward from the cloth. 

She looked at the reflection of the pants. The waist was cut low; so low 
that the tops of her pelvis bones stuck out above them. The rest of the 
trousers clung to her like skin to a little below her knees, at which point 
the flare of the legs began. They had no fly or zipper; simply clung because 
of the elasticity of the material. The cloth was so sheer and clung so 
tightly that every curve of her lower body was revealed. The rising bone of 
her mons pubic stuck out like a mound, while her pubic hair showed as a dark 
patch in the crotch. She looked at herself with utter distaste and then 
dismissed her image. 

Quite calmly she said: "I have a comb and some cosmetics in my handbag, Mr. 
DeWilde." 

He pointed to where it lay on the bed; it was all that remained of what she 
had brought into this house with her. As she picked it up, he entered the 
bathroom ahead of her and rummaged around in the medicine chest on the wall. 

"Here," he said triumphantly, "I knew there was a tube of Clearasil in there 
someplace. A little teenager used to visit me who had a bad complexion and 
used this to hide it Try it on those scratches and the bruise on your 
cheek." 

When she emerged a few minutes later DeWilde appraised her closely. "You 
look just beautiful," he told her. "The lighting in the living room is much 
softer than this and no one will see a thing." 

He handed her a pair of silver clogs; strap-backed, with high, clubby heels, 
thick sole and a big silver buckle for decoration. "Put these on," he 
directed. 

When she straightened up after complying, he took a deep breath and said to 
her firmly: 

"Now, I want you to listen to me, and listen carefully, without 
interruption. From now on you are to call me Roger, or Roge, and not Mr. 
DeWilde. Furthermore, I want to be proud of you this evening. I want my 
guests to have fun, and I want you to have fun, and I want to have fun 
myself. For that reason, you will do exactly as you are told whenever I 
speak to you, and you will do whatever I tell you to do the second I tell 
you to do it." 

He cleared his throat before finishing his instructions. 

"If you should fail in any respect, after my guests leave, I would probably 
take a notion to put that pretty face of yours in such condition that no 
amount of Clearasil could ever make it look nice again. Understand?" 

Without a second's hesitation Karen replied: 

"Yes, er, Roger." 

"Good. Now let's go have a drink." 

Karen's head buzzed with the noise of conversation, the smoke in the room 
and the throb of music from the stereo. Not from drinking-she had told 
DeWilde that she'd never had a drink with alcohol in it and he had replied 
bluntly that she should stick to ginger ale; that there was nothing he 
detested more than a drunken woman, especially an inexperienced drunk. 

She remembered Roger had introduced the first few guests by name as they 
arrived but had soon given it up, telling her that she could never remember 
them all. That was George and Lorraine, she knew, and over there were 
Gregory and Martha. Bruce was the one who had walked in with two girls, 
Barbara and Gwen, apparently not married to either of them. All of the rest 
were just a blur. 

When the first couple arrived she had remained seated, arms crossed over her 
chest, hoping to conceal her near-nudity in the see-through outfit she was 
wearing. As others joined them she got over that feeling, since most of the 
women were far more scantily clad, once they shed their summer wraps. Karen 
was agape at some of the costumes, having no idea that people wore such 
things in public. 

Lorraine had seemed the most modestly dressed at first, in a green cover-up 
dress with a long wraparound, ankle-length skirt and a neck-high bodice with 
a buttoned collar. However, when she moved, it became apparent that the 
skirt was split clear up the side, to her waist, and that she had no 
undergarments of any kind on under it. When she turned her shoulders the 
front of the bodice swung open, since it was slit from waist to collar, 
revealing her breasts alternately, free of the restraint of a bra. 

Barbara and Gwen were both wearing tight but sheer sweaters, revealing their 
breasts as clearly as were Karen's, and mini skirts without any panties on 
beneath. Bruce had been dancing with them alternately, his arm tightly 
around them, turning his wrist a little every few seconds so that he hiked 
the girl's skirts up in the rear. So short were they to begin with that in a 
very few steps the curves of their buttocks were clearly revealed, to the 
delight of men and women guests alike. Barbara and Gwen were well aware of 
what he was doing, although pretending to be obvious, and made no attempt to 
pull them down. 

The men were all wearing short sleeved sports shirts, wash slacks and 
loafers, of every gay color and pattern imaginable. No one seemed to be 
paying much attention to the near-nudity; not even to one girl named Eloise 
who was wearing a scoop-necked dress with the collar cut very full. She had 
no brassiere on beneath it and was leaning over at every opportunity, which 
exposed both breasts fully to anyone who cared to look. 

The music changed to a hard-rock piece with an insistent beat. A tall 
brunette with long, flowing hair stood up. She had very large, firm breasts, 
only partially concealed by a thin silk blouse, unbuttoned down the front 
but with the tails tied in a knot in front. She began to gyrate wildly to 
the throb of the music, swinging her head from side to side so that the 
flowing hair formed a crown of movement around her head. The generous 
breasts also swung, partially freeing themselves from their concealment. 
Pagan sensuality expressed itself to the primitive musical structure. Both 
men and women watched, fascinated, as the writhing, twisting dance of 
extemporaneous lust continued. The knot worked loose and she flung it off. 
Her short skirt flapped around her strong, straight thighs as her breasts 
jiggled in rhythmic counterpoint to the beat of the music. 

The music ended and the woman stopped, breathing deeply, her fine breasts 
rising and falling. The group applauded, sincerely, for she was a good 
dancer. 

Roger stepped forward immediately, took her by the hand and, raising it 
above her head, called out: 

"Okay, men, what am I bid for this fine specimen?" 

Karen didn't understand what was happening. Some man shouted "thirty bucks" 
and another quickly raised him to forty. The bidding ended at seventy-five, 
with a man called Harold being the winner. When Roger declared the bidding 
ended, he took a silver bracelet from his pocket which had a short leather 
leash attached to it. He snapped the metal band around the brunette's wrist 
and handed the leash to Harold, who promptly led the girl away by it to a 
corner of the room. 

The girl made no move to retrieve her missing blouse. Nothing about the 
auction made any sense to Karen. She noticed that Barbara and Gwen were 
sitting alongside each other on a couch which backed up to the chair Karen 
was in, at a slight angle. They were talking earnestly and Karen found that 
by listening quite closely, she could hear what they were saying in spite of 
the music, which was now a somewhat softer melody. 

Gwen was asking Barbara: 

"What was that all about? I've been to parties here a couple of times before 
but never to one of these auctions." 

"Well, that's Deirdre, and Harold just bought her for seventy-five dollars. 
He gives that money to Jerry, who brought her. Now, for the rest of the 
evening, she is his slave and has to do anything he tell her to do." 

"Anything?" 

Firmly: "Anything." 

Gwen, thoughtfully: "Gosh." 

"Oh, of course, she could tell everyone to go to hell and walk out if she 
wanted to. She'd never be invited again and Jerry would probably bawl hell 
out of her when they got home, but she can always quit the game if she feels 
like it. Only nobody ever has." 

Gwen was still curious. "What does Jerry do with the money?" 

"That's his capital for the night. Now he can bid for another girl. Or, he 
can add some money to it and buy two girls; as many as he wants." 

Gwen giggled. "Could he handle two or three of them?" 

"Maybe or he might be out to make a coup-corner the market. About a year ago 
we had a guy who had lots of money and he bought up seven or eight of them-I 
don't remember how many. The other guys didn't catch on to what he was doing 
until he had most of the girls in the room on his leash. Then he rented them 
out by the hour. He made a bundle that night. He was never asked back again, 
either." 

"Is Bruce going to auction us off?" 

"Sure. It'll be a lot of fun. He might offer us as a matched pair and get a 
big price for us." 

Gwen looked speculatively around the room. "They all seem like nice men." 

"Oh, they are. This is the finest crowd of people on the Island. You'll like 
any fellow you wind up with. I've been bought by most of them from time to 
time and always had an enjoyable evening." 

The music stopped and George was pushing Lorraine forward. Roger stepped up, 
took another bracelet from a side table where a pile of them lay, and 
started again. 

"What am I bid for this luscious specimen of womanhood? Beautiful, obedient, 
graceful-a slave of whom any man would dream. Do I hear fifty dollars?" 

The bidding started. It was rather more cautious, perhaps because there was 
a long evening ahead, hut DeWilde finally worked it up to an even hundred. 
The successful bidder came up, took hold of the leash and passed some bills 
to George. He then turned to his purchase and said eagerly: 

"Let me see what I got for my money. Take 'em off." 

Fumbling at her waist, Lorraine undid the snaps and swung off her skirt in a 
swirl of green silk. Next she loosened her bodice at the throat and slipped 
it off of her shoulders, sliding it down the leash toward him. As he pulled 
the leather through it and dropped the bodice on a chair he looked her over 
and said approvingly: 

"Beautiful. Worth every penny of it." 

He turned her around again by the leash, stared down between her legs and 
said: "Wow. Look at that beaver." 

Lorraine was one of those girls with luxuriant pubic hair. A veritable 
forest of long, curly, black hair grew between her legs, covering the 
entrance to her womanhood completely. Not the vestige of a slit could be 
seen beneath the heavy patch of brush. 

Her purchaser put his hand on it and combed the growth with his fingers. The 
hairs were at least six inches long as he extended them. 

"It's beautiful," he smiled up at her, "but is there a place for me beneath 
it?" He stuck one finger probingly into the mass and then gave a whistle of 
mock relief. 

"Yep, she's got one. Just wanted to make sure I didn't get shortchanged." 

Satisfied with his buy, he led her away to show her off to some of the 
others. 

Karen felt like she was going to be ill and hoped desperately that she 
wouldn't do it and draw attention to herself. Barbara and Gwen seemed to be 
amused were giggling at the byplay between Lorraine and her buyer. 

They made the circuit of the room and dropped down to the floor not far from 
Karen's feet. Lorraine was calling him Marvin, so she must have learned his 
name. His wife was the next to go on the block. Roger got the bidding up to 
one hundred and twenty-five dollars for her. As Marv stuffed the currency 
into his pocket Lorraine said to him: 

"Well, you got me and twenty-five bucks profit. You're a winner." 

Marv was fondling her pubic hair with his other hand, twisting it around his 
fingers and twirling it into long mustaches which extended out to each side. 

"My wife shaves her pussy, except for a little tuft of hair over her clit. I 
can't get her to stop doing it. It makes her look like a little girl and I 
feel like I'm banging a kid. Besides," he added, "the stubble irritates my 
tongue." 

Lorraine laughed; stopped in mid-chuckle as the bidding began again. A man 
was pushing a girl toward Roger; a slim, rather short redhead with a tiny 
but voluptuous figure, fiery hair worn in a tousled little boy's bob, and 
the florid complexion which usually accompanies hair of that hue. 

"Isn't she cute?" Lorraine asked Marv. "Who are they?" 

"Gregory and Martha. They're new on the Island, comparatively. I've seen 
them just once before at one of Roger's auctions." 

The bidding was slow on the little redhead and DeWilde had trouble working 
it up to an even fifty dollars. In a low voice, Lorraine turned to Marv and 
said: "Why don't you buy her? I'll bet you can get her for seventy-five." 

"What the hell would I do with her? That beautiful beaver of yours is all 
I'll be able to handle tonight. What would I do-take her home in a doggie 
bag for tomorrow?" 

Lorraine leaned toward him and said softly: "Buy her for me. I'll go halvers 
with you. I've always wanted to try making it with a woman and something 
about her turns me on. She seems so-well, childlike." 

"Anything you say," he replied and firmly bid seventy-five. There was no 
contest; she was his and DeWilde led her over to where they were sitting. 

After giving him the cash for her, Marv pulled her down to the floor beside 
them. Martha seemed bewildered at joining him and the nude Lorraine but sank 
to the floor, unresisting. 

Marv pulled her to him so that she lay across his thighs and began to 
undress her. He unzipped her dress and slipped it off over her head. She was 
wearing a half slip, brassiere and panties, which he also removed. Naked 
now, she lay on her back looking up at the two who were peering down at her 
in interest. 

Marv caressed her thighs, then ran his fingers experimentally over her pubic 
hair. "Look at that pretty red stuff, Lorraine," he said. "She's a real 
redhead all right-this is just as flaming as what's on her head." 

Lorraine reached out both hands to Martha's breasts, cupping them in her 
palms. "Beautiful," she murmured. "Two little globes that just fit my 
hands." 

Karen was unable to tear her eyes away from the scene being played out 
before her. Every word spoken came to her as if they were shouting although 
they were speaking in quite a low tone. 

It was Martha who spoke next. "Both of them together wouldn't make one of 
yours." Lorraine continued to massage the little breasts. She cupped her 
hands around their base, letting the nipples escape through the circles made 
by her thumbs and forefingers. The nipples stuck up proudly, the coronas 
around them puckered up until they were dotted with little goosebumps. In 
response, Lorraine's nipples were erect, sticking out like twin prongs of 
passion. 

Marv was watching the two of them keenly. He spoke in a low tone to 
Lorraine. "You really are going to fuck her, aren't you?" 

Gleefully, the girl replied. "Honey, I'm going to fuck the hell out of her. 
You can have me later." 

Martha moved as if to draw away but Lorraine threw herself down on top of 
the redhead, pinning her to the floor beneath her larger, heavier body. She 
forced Martha's legs apart, getting her body between them, and mounted her 
like a man, pressing her long black pussy hair against the delicate red 
cover of the girl beneath her. Lorraine began a coital movement with her 
hips, like a man, massaging her womanhood against that of Martha's. 

At first the redhead resisted but slowly began to respond with hip movements 
of her own. Soon she spread her legs wider, slid both hands between them and 
with her fingers pulled back the lips of her vagina. She reached her fingers 
upward to do the same to Lorraine's, then pushed her hips upward to place 
their clitorises in firm, direct contact. Done, she pulled out her hands to 
lock her arms around Lorraine's thrusting body and pull it tightly to her. 
Together the two girls rocked in a frenzy of sexual passion. 

Marv was watching them in fascination. So were Barbara and Gwen, still 
seated on the couch. Gwen murmured to the other girl in a tone of 
admiration: "God above, that's real fucking." 

Barbara nodded; replied: "It's giving me a hard on myself." 

Without rising, Marv began to slip out of his clothes. Naked, he sat 
cross-legged on the floor beside the panting girls, an erection making his 
penis stick up from his loins. Karen looked at it; to her, it seemed as if 
it were only half as big as the awful thing with which DeWilde had abused 
her. It was still a horrible sight; red and ugly, puffed up and inflamed, 
but at least it was nowhere nearly so big. 

Lorraine and Martha were beginning to reach climax now and several more 
people in the room were watching them with interest. The big-breasted girl 
who had done the dance which got the bidding started, her leash still in the 
hand of Harold who had bought her, was watching them intently as was her 
owner. She was sitting in his lap in an overstuffed chair, playing with 
herself as Harold nursed on one of her ample breasts. As the girls' tempo 
increased, so did hers as she manipulated herself. Harold had disrobed; 
removed his mouth from her breast just long enough to say: "Here, work on 
that too," as he thrust his erection between her legs where she sat on his 
lap. It stuck up between her loins, almost like a penis of her own. She 
pulled it tightly against her, stretched the lips of her vagina around it 
and began to massage both organs simultaneously, with one hand, while Harold 
resumed sucking on her breast. 

The girls were reaching climax now, frantically clutching each other 
tightly. Lorraine came first; the shuddering jerks of her buttocks and the 
tensing of her back muscles proclaiming to every person in the room that she 
was having a gigantic come. Seconds later Martha erupted beneath her, 
spasmodically thrusting her hips upward to gain every last ounce of pressure 
to enhance her glory. Still shuddering, both girls experienced several 
lesser orgasms, then rolled away from each other on then-backs on the floor, 
side by side, arms clasped around each other. 

This was what Marv had been waiting for. He mounted Lorraine immediately, 
desperately thrusting with his cock. She obligingly reached between them to 
take it in her hand and guide it to her opening, moving it up and down 
across her slit once or twice to lubricate the head of it. She spread her 
legs wide to permit him easy entry and held it by the base to guide it well 
into her. 

Marv's prick entered easily because of Lorraine's thorough climaxing with 
Martha. As it slammed home and their pubes banged together, she locked her 
arms around his shoulders and said to him: 

"I'm afraid you're sucking on a mighty dry orange. That redhead fucked me 
out until I won't be able to come for a week." 

Marv was taking long, gentle strokes in her, completely composed and 
unhurried. In a conversational tone he replied: 

"That's all right. I'm enjoying being in that lovely crotch of yours, with 
all the beautiful hair around me. I can feel that bush of yours crushed 
between us, and it's great." 

She lifted her long, lovely legs in the air to lock them around the small of 
his back. "Well, if you don't mind my not coming, please be my guest." 

Lorraine rocked away beneath him for a few minutes, expertly matching her 
thrusts to his. The others in the room were no longer watching, having lost 
interest in this more mundane activity. Marv was enjoying himself hugely but 
with composure, lifting himself up on his knees to withdraw almost 
completely, then plunging his cock back into her again so vigorously that 
their loins made an audible slap when they came together. 

Martha had rolled over beside them and lifted herself on one elbow to watch 
them, as if with envy. Marv noticed her and removed one hand from Lorraine's 
shoulder to place it between the redhead's legs, where he began to fondle 
her cunt. 

After a few more strokes he stopped his thrusting to lift himself on his 
arms, the fingers of one hand still between Martha's thighs. Speaking down 
to Lorraine he asked her: "No chance whatever of my making you come?" She 
smiled up at him in a friendly fashion and patted him on the shoulder. "None 
whatever. I'm absolutely numb down there. Maybe later in the evening, but 
not now." 

"Okay, then. If you don't mind, I think I'll shoot my load in Martha. I'd 
like to try a little of that redhead stuff too." 

"Not at all," Lorraine replied. "That's a hot little pussy. I can vouch for 
that." 

Martha lay down on her back and spread her legs. Marv pulled his still-stiff 
cock out of Lorraine and moved from her body to the tiny redhead's, who 
promptly seized it and guided it to the place as Lorraine had done. Marv 
grunted as he shoved it in; hesitated, before beginning a slow, almost 
hesitant thrusting. 

"I'm afraid this won't take very long, Martha. I'm so aroused this thing is 
going to go off pretty quick." 

"That's all right," she said soothingly. "I couldn't come for hours. You 
just go off whenever you feel like." She put her fingers on the nape of his 
neck and began to caress it, crooning to him very softly. 

"You just go ahead, big daddy, and juice your little redhead as soon as you 
feel like it." A continuing slow roll of her hips, punctuated by the words: 
"My, but that's a nice big stiff prick you've got inside me. It feels 
wonderful up in me, even if I can't get my gun off to show you how good it 
is to have it up there." 

That did it. Marv tried to hold back, at least for a few more strokes, but 
without even moving his hips he ejected into Martha. When she felt him come 
she tightened her thighs to give him a solid friction against which to 
eject. Spewed empty, breathing heavily, he rolled off between the two girls. 

Content, Marv spoke to both of them. "I wish you two girls would come over 
to my house and give my wife fucking lessons. Both of you are the greatest 
lays I've ever had." 

Lorraine laughed. "That's just because we're strange stuff to you. I'll bet 
the man who is balling your wife is saying the same thing to her right now." 

Martha contributed: "I'm beginning to think no man really enjoys his own 
wife in bed. That's why Gregory insisted we start coming to Roger's parties. 
He said if he and I were going to bang, he wanted me to learn how to do it 
right." 

"I think you do it great," Marv told her. "You too, Lorraine." 

Modestly, both girls replied, "Thank you." 

Karen was listening to all this and by now had gone beyond the stages of 
surprise and disgust and, ultimately, fear. At this point she was perilously 
close to what a doctor would diagnose as the edge of shock; true shock, 
which incapacitates by depriving the individual of voluntary movement or 
resistance. She glanced around the room; saw couples everywhere, nude, 
locked in sexual embrace. Others, apparently having completed a sex act, 
were laying in each other's arms; smoking, sipping drinks, talking, watching 
others. 

Barbara and Gwen had abandoned the couch and Karen saw them now, on the 
other side of the room. Bruce had put a bracelet and leash on each of them, 
tying the two leashes together. These he handed to Roger, who was waiting 
for a recording to end before commencing the bidding. Karen's attention was 
drawn back to the trio because Lorraine was asking Martha: 

"Does your husband really tell you that you are a lousy lay?" 

"Oh he's not really nasty about it, but he does intimate in a 
kidding-on-the-square way that I'm nowhere nearly so good as a lot he's 
had." 

Marv spoke emphatically. "Well, I've had my share of tail too, and I'm 
telling you that you're as good as the best." 

"You're also very good at balling a girl," Lorraine grinned. 

Martha was a trifle embarrassed. "That was a first for me. Maybe that will 
help me improve." 

Marv asked her very seriously: "Do you suck cock?" 

"I'm trying to learn but I don't seem to be much good at it. Greg says I 
either bite him or don't come on strong enough." 

"Well, I'll bet you're good at that too. Let's wait an hour or two until I 
get pumped up and have a go at it." 

Lorraine spoke up: "I can help you with that, too, Martha. That's one thing 
my husband says I'm good at." She giggled. "You know I really enjoy it. I 
like to have a man's thing in my mouth between my teeth, and know I could 
bite down on it until he screamed. Maybe it gives me a feeling of power to 
know I could bite it off if I wanted to." 

Marv looked at her a little askance. "I don't believe I'm going to let you 
go down on me, if you have ideas like that in your head." 

"Don't worry," she assured him. "I've never done it to any man. Just thought 
about it a few times." 

The music ended and DeWilde began his patter. "Only a few more items to be 
disposed of, and as usual we've been saving the best for the last. Here's a 
lovely matched pair. They'll cost you money but they're worth it. They work 
singly or in double harness; get two for only slightly more than the price 
of one and have the time of your life. Let's start the bidding off at a 
hundred and a half for the pair." 

He got his hundred and a half which quickly moved up to two and then two and 
a quarter. It hung there for a time. To keep it moving, De Wilde 
interjected: "This lovely girl is Gwen, and it's her first time on one of 
our auction blocks. Her chum is Barbara, one of our long-time friends and 
always a joy to every man who has ever bought her. Their purchase price goes 
to a very worthy charity- namely, their mutual boyfriend Bruce." A general 
laugh at that, followed by a bid of two hundred and fifty dollars, where the 
action died. DeWilde knocked them down at that price to a tall, sandy-haired 
chap named Edgar. 

He promptly paid his bill and led them away to a wide Oriental divan in an 
alcove off of the main body of the room, in a direct line of vision from 
where Karen was sitting, just beyond where Marv, Lorraine and Martha were 
still reclining on the floor. Edgar was the first to speak. "I've been 
waiting all evening for Roger to put you two on the block. I was determined 
to go to any price to have you. 

Barbara replied: "You bought me at one of Roger's auctions a few months ago, 
didn't you? 

"That was almost a year ago," he replied, "and I've never forgotten it. I've 
been away a lot and when he invited me tonight, I hoped you'd be here." A 
grin-"I had no idea I'd be lucky enough to get a parlay out of it." 

Gwen giggled. "I've been laid a lot of ways but never parlayed. How do you 
do it?" 

"Let's find out," he suggested. "Both of you take your clothes off." 

He started to disrobe himself and was stripped as soon as they were. 
Together the three of them stretched out on the divan looking at each 
other's nakedness. Edgar lay on his back, his erect penis standing stiffly 
upright, and Karen could see both it and the shadow it cast on the wall 
behind them. Both girls reached for it at the same time, to caress its 
swollen length. 

It was about the same size as the thing she had seen sticking out of Marvin, 
she noted, but seemed to have more of an upward curve to it. It, too, was 
considerably smaller than the tool DeWilde had used on her. 

Now Edgar was rubbing Gwen's buttocks. She was speaking to him. "You're not 
circumcised. I like that. I like to feel a foreskin rubbing up and down in 
me." 

Barbara lowered her face to his loins and rubbed her cheeks against his 
cock. "Mmmm good," she murmured. "I remembered you had a very nice one -big 
enough to fill me up but not big enough to hurt." 

Edgar pulled Gwen's head down until it rested on his belly. "Sweet little 
baby, come blow my horn." 

She laughed as she slid her head lower, opened her mouth and engulfed the 
head of it with her lips. Grasping the shaft with her hand, she massaged it 
with long, slow, steady, full length strokes while sucking greedily. After a 
few seconds Edgar moaned; said: 

"Take it easy with the tongue action, Gwen- that's a sensitive little 
thing." She must have complied because he relaxed and a smile of contentment 
crossed his face. 

His next words were to Barbara. "How about a little bitty tittie?" Laughing, 
she swung around so that her body was over his, braced on her elbows, and 
lowered her chest until her right breast was draped across his mouth. 
Edgar's tongue appeared to trace a lazy circle around her corona with the 
tip, tickle the nipple for a second or two, then his lips closed over it as 
he began to nurse on her. 

Soon Barbara spoke. "Now you're giving me a hard on." In response, his left 
hand slipped beneath her body, searched and found her crotch, began to 
manipulate the center of her sensations where it stood up, tiny but proud, 
at the top of her gash of womanhood. 

She wriggled her hips in appreciation. 

It was Gwen who spoke next. Lifting her head from his belly, she asked: 
"Edgar, are you leaking or coming? It's really running out of you." 

He had to remove Barbara's breast from his mouth to reply. "You're playing 
such a beautiful tune on my organ that you've got me ready to shoot. Better 
quit for a little bit or you'll put me off." 

Gwen continued to play with his balls, keeping her mouth away from his penis 
head and her fingers off of the shaft. He breathed deeply, then pulled her 
hips toward him. Spreading her legs, he buried his face between her legs as 
his searching tongue probed for her slit. Finding it, he began to lick the 
tiny little penis at its top, her clitoris, moving alternately down and away 
from it to run his tongue the full length of her womanly opening; probing 
inside it to titillate its delicate inner tissues as deeply as he could 
reach. 

"Ooooh, God, that's so good," she moaned. "Oooh, God, that's just heaven," 
she sighed as she wriggled her hips in joyous response. 

Without stopping the probing of his tongue, Edgar reached out a hand to 
Barbara, urging her over to lie beside them. She did, and he began to 
manipulate her pussy with his fingers, spreading its lips with his fingers, 
elongating the folds of flesh and rolling them backward so that her moist 
red inner meat was exposed. He manipulated her until she, too, was writhing 
in the beginnings of arousal. 

At that point he lifted his head from Gwen's cunt, placed his hand behind 
Barbara's neck and urged her toward the place he had vacated. A sort of 
stricken look came into her eyes as she said: 

"Oh, please, Edgar-I've never eaten pussy. I just couldn't." 

Soothingly he urged: "Go ahead, Barb. It tastes just like cock only it's got 
more vitamins in it." 

She hesitated a long second, staring at him, then slowly, obediently, 
lowered her head to Gwen's loins and put her tongue to work. 

Edgar moved out from between them to station himself alongside Gwen's head. 
Gently but with great strength he grasped Barbara's hips in his arms and 
lifted the lower half of her body into the air, moving it sideways and 
lowering it over Gwen's upturned face so that Barbara's bent legs were on 
each side of it. Reaching between them from the rear he spread the lips of 
her vagina, smoothed the pussy hair back and said to Gwen: 

"Here. Eat." 

Gwen's protest was merely a startled look upward at the exposed womanhood 
above her. Edgar soothed: "Just go ahead and do to it what feels good when 
someone does it to you." 

Tentatively, experimentally, Gwen extended just the tip of her tongue and 
barely touched the wet, red flesh above. At the contact, a quivering began 
in Barbara's loins and her hips lowered to make a more solid contact with 
the exciting tongue. At the same time she increased her own activity in 
Gwen's womanhood. Gwen's response was a more wholehearted probing of 
Barbara, and soon the two girls had abandoned themselves utterly to the joy 
of bringing and being brought to climax. 

Edgar sat on the divan beside them, watching with enjoyment the struggling 
pair, occasionally rubbing his hands with a soothing motion over parts of 
their bodies. He massaged Barbara's upturned back; ran his hands up and down 
Gwen's extended thighs. 

Both girls reached climax at the same time, each in her own way. On the 
bottom, as she exploded Gwen reached her arms up to clasp them around 
Barbara's buttocks, at the same time locking her legs around the girl's neck 
as if trying to strangle her, or to absorb her utterly. Barbara thrust her 
face deeply into Gwen's pussy as if to tear it out of her by the roots, 
meanwhile beginning a rapid pumping of her hips which rubbed her cunt 
against Gwen's mouth as if trying to shove her womanhood all the way into 
her throat. 

The violence of their lust spent, Barbara removed herself from Gwen and 
swung around to sit, facing her and Edgar. 

"Well my goodness, that's really something, isn't it?" she said to both of 
them. 

Musingly, Gwen replied: "I knew a lesbian once who told me that no man can 
make a woman as happy as another woman can, because only another woman can 
know exactly what feels right, and how much, and just where and how to do 
it." 

Barbara answered: "I never believed stuff like that-not until now." A 
grin-"Maybe the next time I don't have a date and I get real horny, I'll 
call you up and ask you to ball me again." 

Gwen's voice sounded sincere as she replied: "Any time, Barb, any time." 

Edgar stretched himself out on his back in the center of the divan and 
interrupted: "Now me, ladies-it's my turn." 

If his penis had been erect before, it was now monumentally hard. It stood 
up from between his legs like a flagpole, like a fence post, like a bridge 
piling waiting to be driven. Both girls giggled. To the observing Karen, it 
seemed to have grown in length and thickness during the girl's byplay. 

"We're going to have a contest, to see who gets my load. Each of you is 
going to ride the pony, and you get ten strokes each, turn and turn about, 
to put me off in. I'm going to lie dead still without moving and let you 
jack me off with your pussy. Or pussies, I guess it should be," he added. 

"Who gets into the saddle first?" Barbara asked. 

Edgar considered. "Gwen, I guess, because I've never balled her before." 

Gwen kneeled alongside of him, lifted her right leg and threw it across his 
body so that she was astride his pelvis on her knees. She grasped the head 
of his cock between her thumb and forefinger, placing it carefully in her 
hole, tucking the head of it in as far as her fingers could reach. 

Then, with both of her hands on the shaft to brace it for entry, she spread 
her knees a little farther apart on each side of his body and began to lower 
herself onto the supine man. 

"Take it easy, now," she cautioned. "That's a big stiff thing you've got and 
my pussy hasn't stretched to fit it yet." 

"It's all yours, Gwen," he told her. "You're running the show." 

Carefully the girl eased herself down on it, raising and lowering her body 
with her thighs to stretch herself and spread her lubrication, getting a 
fraction of an inch more inside her on every gentle down-stroke. 

"Do these strokes count?" she suddenly inquired. 

"No. We start counting after you've got it all the way in." 

She continued her efforts and soon contained it all. She relaxed the muscles 
of her thighs so that the full weight of her body rested on his pelvis, 
fully stabbed by his tool, her rectum nestling against the top of his 
scrotum. 

Gwen spoke. "Wow. That's a lot of cock up there, in this position. I think I 
can feel the head of it in the back of my throat." 

"You're stalling, and that's cheating," Barbara accused. "Start pumping 
while I count." 

Gwen grinned at her. She placed her hands on Edgar's belly to give herself 
balance, rolled her hips backward and forward for ten lazy, full length 
massages of his cock while Barbara kept score. When her ten was reached, she 
put her weight on one knee and swung her other leg up and off Edgar, thus 
dismounting. 

Barbara practically jumped on him, to seize his cock with one hand, place it 
in her opening and slam her body down upon it with one movement. 

"See, Gwen?" she said to the other girl. "That's the right way to take a 
man's dick in you." 

"After I get it all slicked up, it is. I'd like to see you do it dry, to one 
that size." 

"You know I was only kidding, honey," she soothed. "Keep count." 

Ten languorous strokes later, Gwen took her place, this time slamming 
herself down on Edgar's prick as Barbara had done. She had her try, then 
dismounted. It went on and on, Karen watching as if observing the antics of 
a group of playful animals. 

That was it, she thought. They were all animals, crazy animals. It didn't 
matter what they did because they were all crazy. She was in a madhouse and 
these were the inmates and if she didn't keep very, very quiet they would 
turn on her and kill her. Even stronger than the Puritanical inhibitions 
which had been ingrained in her during her upbringing was the basic animal 
desire for self-preservation; the urge to live, to survive at all cost. This 
urge was uppermost in her now, making her mask her disgust, her nausea, even 
her fear behind a completely expressionless face. 

The turn-about riding contest continued, until all of a sudden Edgar's hands 
whipped up from his sides, grasped the waist of the girl above him and 
pulled her down fiercely to his body while his back arched to thrust his 
hips upwards in one seemingly agonized drive. His face contorted as he 
ejaculated. While he grimaced, a beautiful smile came to the lips of the 
girl as she felt his semen flow into her. 

Turning to the other girl, she said: "I win." 

It was Gwen. 

* * * 

Karen was not the only one who had been watching the riding academy session. 
Marv, Lorraine and Martha had been taking it all in, silently, Lorraine's 
hand in Marvin's lap absentmindedly playing with his cock as she watched. 

When the trio on the divan had finished, Martha turned to her companion and 
said: "See? I wouldn't know how to do a fancy job of balling a man like 
that. All I can do is lay on my back and let a man fuck me." Morosely: "No 
wonder my husband would rather have any girl's ass than mine." 

Marv was moved by this tiny, appealing little redhead. "He's crazy, honey. 
You're a great little bang." 

"No I'm not," she insisted, "and I know it. George says that laying me is 
merely masturbation using my pussy instead of his hand to jack off in. He 
says I'm the kind of woman that makes them call the sex act a lay-I lay 
there while he does it to me." 

Lorraine said, quietly: "I don't think your husband is very nice." 

Martha didn't seem to hear the remark. Instead she turned to Lorraine and 
said: "Somehow I'm always the one laying on her back, looking up and taking 
it between her legs. Even with you, I just got on my back, spread my legs 
and let you fuck me." 

"Did you mind it?" 

"No-it just seemed the natural thing for me to do. Anybody wants it, in it 
goes." 

The girl seemed to want to talk and both Marv and Lorraine were sympathetic 
listeners. 

"I always wanted to be popular and well liked but somehow I never was. Maybe 
because I'm so little. In high school, most of the girls were as well 
developed as I am now, while I was an even skinnier little thing. My father 
used to say it didn't matter if I wore a topless bathing suit or not-nobody 
would notice." 

"You seem to have known several nasty men in your life," Marv observed. 

"Maybe. Anyhow, when I was fifteen, I went to the movies with this boy. My 
first date with him. He was sixteen. After the show, we drove out in the 
hills and parked. He didn't say anything to me at all. Didn't ask me 
anything; didn't even kiss me. He just parked, rolled up the windows, pushed 
me over on my back on the front seat and reached up under my skirt to pull 
my panties off. Then he turned the front of my skirt up neatly around my 
waist, slipped down his trousers and bogged his peter into me. All without 
even asking if I minded." 

"Didn't you scream or struggle?" Marv queried. 

"I thought I wasn't supposed to, I guess. I guess I thought he'd be angry if 
I made a fuss. I remember it hurt like hell going in, and hurt worse after 
he got it in and went to work on me, but I never let out a sound. I was 
afraid he'd get mad if I complained." 

"The little bastard." 

"Oh, he didn't do anything any other boy wouldn't. It just seems that-well, 
I seem to have been born to be the one on the bottom. Every boy who took me 
out banged me, and none of them seemed to think it was good enough to keep 
coming back for more. Not very many times, anyway. After a few years of 
that, a girl gets to thinking that she isn't really very much of a person." 

Marv spoke very solemnly. "And when she thinks of herself that way, very 
soon it becomes true." 

Lorraine said with conviction: "Well, I think you're very cute, and there 
are thousands of men who would agree. Not all of them go for a big horse of 
a girl with huge boobs. Lots of men are turned on by what they call the 
cute, dainty, petite, and you're all of those things." 

"Look, Martha," Marv told her, "you are as cute as a bug's ear. You've got a 
perfect little figure and all the parts necessary to be rated as a complete 
woman. All you need is a little confidence in yourself and a man to show you 
how to do something else besides laying on your back and taking it between 
your legs. Now, I'll make you a proposition. We'll have to be very discreet 
because these parties are supposed to be one-night-stands only and it's 
against the rules to get anything started. However, just for a few months, 
let's you and me get together a couple of afternoons a week, while your 
husband is at work, and let me-well, get you up off of your back." 

She seemed impressed. "Do you really think you could?" 

"You can be as good at fancy fucking as any of 'em, if you will only get 
that defeatist attitude out of your head. You could be the star of these 
parties instead of an also-ran, if you just learn to turn yourself loose." 

Martha smiled at him. "It's a deal," she said and, leaning forward, gave him 
an affectionate kiss on the lips to seal the bargain. 

Lorraine nudged Marv. "Start now," she told him. "Give her a cock sucking 
lesson and I'll help." 

Marv looked down at his groin and saw what Lorraine had already noticed; 
that his tool stood up straight and proud, ready for further action. 

He stretched out on his back on the floor. "Come on, Martha, take that thing 
in your mouth and let Lorraine teach you how to polish my pole." 

Karen observed both girls stretch themselves out across the man's recumbent 
figure, Martha taking his organ in her mouth as the other woman began giving 
her instructions in a tone too low for Karen to hear. 

Her attention was drawn away from them by the voices of several men talking 
to DeWilde on the other side of the room. They were louder than usual; not 
argumentative, but persuading. One of the voices was saying: 

"But when are you? You promised us." 

Then Roger was saying something, and another man replied: 

"Well, I don't believe it anyway. Nobody is these days, except maybe a 
little kid." 

She heard Roger saying: "But it's true. I swear it." 

A third man came back: "You mean, only twice?" Roger, positively: "Twice. 
And me, both times- once Saturday noon, and again this morning. That's all." 

The first voice said: "Well, you've got to, or I'll never come to one of 
your auctions again. I'll start the bidding off right now at two hundred 
dollars." 

Another cut in: "Cheapskate. I'll make it three." 

Roger cut them off with: "Hold it, you guys. The bidding hasn't even started 
yet." 

Several of them at once: "Well, it better." Karen's attention wandered; came 
back to the trio on the floor in front of her. Apparently Marv was getting 
ready to come in her mouth and Martha, to judge from the gleam in her eye 
and the rapid motions of her hands, was excited and happy about her 
approaching success. Karen didn't understand the conversation she had heard 
among the men on the far side of the room. It didn't make any sense, but 
then neither did any of the other crazy happenings in this house. They were 
all crazy and she would just have to endure until she could escape; escape 
without infuriating any of these madmen enough to make them kill her. 

She saw Roger break off from the group and come toward her. He was naked, 
his pendulous belly swinging from side to side as he walked. His ugly thing 
was limp, hanging straight down between his legs, she noticed, still bigger 
in its softness than most of the other men here were in erection. He had 
something in his hands; a leash attached to a leather collar, not a silver 
bracelet like the other girls were wearing. He walked up to her and said: 

"Come, dear Karen. You've been so quiet this evening I'll bet you have felt 
neglected. Here"-he extended both hands, slipped the collar around her neck 
and fastened the buckle-"let me lead you up to the auction block. A lot of 
eager suitors are waiting to bid on you." 

She sat sill, absolutely frozen to her chair. Her eyes flew open to their 
widest possible span. She looked up at him in terror. 

DeWilde urged her in the gentlest of voices. "Come on, my dear. Our guests 
are waiting." With that he gave a slight twitch of the dog leash in his hand 
and the collar jerked once against her neck. 

Karen put her feet on the floor, rose on trembling legs and followed DeWilde 
to the other side of the room. 

 Chapter V 

Had Karen known what awaited her in the next few hours she would gladly have 
accepted death as an alternative. Probably, the knowledge would have 
produced the shock needed to kill her. Since she did not, she merely rose 
and on quivering knees let him lead her to the auction block; the corner of 
the room which was most easily visible to everyone present. 

The leather collar seemed like a hot iron around her neck as DeWilde pulled 
her to a halt with the leash, then put one hand or her arm to signify that 
she was to turn as he began his sales pitch. 

"Here is what I've been promising you all evening, gentlemen-Karen, a young 
blonde vision of loveliness. She goes to the highest bidder, and don't let 
considerations of money keep you from enjoying the experience of a lifetime 
with this beautiful creature." 

He paused for breath, while the eyes of every person in the room devoured 
the near-fainting Karen. He let them look for a good long moment then said 
briskly: "Well, let's get the bidding started. Just as a beginning, do I 
hear two hundred?" 

Gregory raised a finger to signify the offer and was instantly topped by 
George who said two-fifty. It was raised to three, then three-and-a-half, 
then to three seventy-five, where it seemed to stick. Seconds went by with 
no action. De Wilde resumed his pitchman routine. 

"There is no reason to hesitate, gentlemen. This is prime merchandise. She's 
beautiful, fresh; also, most docile and obedient. Only been had twice, I 
warrant you, and both times by me-just enough to loosen her up to provide 
you with the delight of a lifetime. Let's take a closer look at this lovely 
being." 

With that, he turned and spoke directly to Karen for the first time since 
putting her on the block. "Take those things off, dear, and show them what 
they are bidding on." 

Karen had known this was coming but still it hit her with a shock when it 
did. She stood still for just a second, tensed, ready to explode; saw the 
steely look in DeWilde's eyes, the eager stares aimed at her around the 
room. Something within her wilted. The last vestige of the values with which 
she had been raised collapsed. Nothing really mattered. These people were 
all crazy and they would kill her. It didn't make much difference how she 
died, so long as it was quickly. 

Obediently she pulled the halter top off over her head, blonde hair floating 
around her bare shoulders, freeing the luscious breasts which swung before 
her unimprisoned. She slipped the pants down over her hips, having to peel 
them off because of their tightness; pulling them down around her ankles and 
kicking them free. 

DeWilde didn't start the bidding right away; waited for the effects to sink 
in. "Look at that figure Look at those firm young breasts which have never 
been nursed upon by man. I never got around to it fellows. Look at that 
lovely crotch, covered with fleece of the finest gold. Only been invaded 
twice-just enough to loosen it for pleasurable entry. No man has ever eaten 
that patch of beauty-the first nibble of it goes to her buyer, if he cares 
to sup. See her beautiful mouth and lips, still waiting for their first full 
load of manhood to be injected. All right, gentlemen, let's not fool around 
any longer. What am I bid?" 

Four hundred and then four-and-a-half came quickly but got stalled again at 
that point. DeWilde appeared to be considering. 

"Tell you what I'm gonna do. I realize one evening is hardly enough to 
experience this loveliness completely, so for this one purchase only we're 
going to suspend the usual rules. This purchase and ownership will not end 
with the end of this evening. No sir. Karen's buyer will get one full week 
of enjoyment of her before the contract of purchase expires. I will keep her 
here in my home, and he can enjoy her as often as he wishes-or is capable of 
doing" [laughter] "or he can share her with his friends." With this clause 
in the contract of purchase, what am I offered?" 

It was Bruce, the man who had brought Barbara and Gwen to the party, who 
made the winning bid of six hundred and fifty dollars. He received general 
congratulations, marred only by the miffed voice of Barbara exclaiming: 

"He never spent that kind of money on my ass for all the times he's had it," 
to which Gwen soothingly replied: "Yes, dear, but then your ass had been 
pretty well had before he ever got around to it." 

As Bruce took possession of his prize he mentioned that he didn't have that 
much cash with him. DeWilde replied payment any time during the coming week 
would be acceptable. Bruce led her away making a full circle of the room, 
inviting everyone, men and women alike, to feel the breasts of his lovely 
chattel. All of them did. Many of them slipped a hand between her legs too, 
caressing her private womanhood. As many women as men seemed to enjoy 
feeling her private parts, some of them remarking upon its tightness. 

It was Gregory who slid a finger up inside her, then said: "God, if I'd 
known any pussy could be that tight I'd have outbid you at any price." 

Bruce pulled her away from him by the leash, almost snarling: "Yeah, but you 
didn't, so keep your finger-fucking hands off of it." 

At this point Karen passed into a trance-like state in which everything 
around her became unreal, more like an unpleasant dream during which the 
dreamer realize that it really isn't happening and that will soon awaken. 
She submitted to the invasion of Gregory's finger without even flinching at 
his touch. She followed Bruce when he led her away, stopped when he did, sat 
when he indicated that she should.. 

Affectionately he patted her on the head. "Nice little doggie," he cooed to 
her. "Pretty little bitch doggie. You're a little sweetie pie." 

From her sitting position, she looked up at him. He had a strong, slim, 
well-muscled body, she noted; only moderately haired, with a cross of golden 
red hair on his chest and a light growth on his lower legs. Curly hair of 
the same color surrounded his penis, which was standing up straight in 
erection. It, too was a finely muscled thing, she observed. Ram-rod stiff, 
she saw a thick blue vein which traced its way down the bottom of it, on its 
lower right side. Beneath, his testicles were drawn up tightly against his 
body, the sack in which they hung contracted; covered with the same soft, 
curly red-gold hair. The head of this thing was somewhat different from the 
others she had seen tonight; more pear-shaped and rather elongated at the 
top, where the hole was. 

Withdrawn as she was, she looked at his organ with interest because she knew 
it was soon going to be forced inside her. It was quite unavoidable and 
there was nothing she could do to stop him doing it. He had paid six hundred 
and fifty dollars to put it into her and no amount of screaming could keep 
him from it. Her screaming hadn't stopped DeWilde and it wouldn't stop this 
man. 

It was rather larger than the other men's, though a great deal smaller than 
the ugly thing with which Roger had initiated her. It wasn't so much that it 
was long; rather, it was thicker. Bigger around. A piece of flesh obscured 
the base of the head. This must be a foreskin, that thing she had heard some 
of the girls discussing, so this cock must be of the uncircumcised kind. She 
wondered if it would hurt as much as Roger's cock and decided quite calmly 
that it wouldn't. It would stretch her more because of its girth, but 
wouldn't penetrate into her as deeply. She supposed that foreskin would be 
pushed back when it entered her and the head of it would probably feel the 
same although it wouldn't go into her so far. 

Bruce saw her looking steadily, without expression, at his organ. 

"Nice little puppy looking at her master's tally-whacker?" Bruce asked, as 
one would speak affectionately to a prized pet. "If she's a good little 
girl, daddy will give her a great big bang with it." 

What was it which made a man want to do this thing to a woman? Karen 
wondered. What possible pleasure could it give him to push this stiff flesh 
into that part of her body, and keep it there until it ejected that white 
stuff into her? People did that to produce children and certainly he had no 
desire to have babies by her. Yet he had paid a big sum of money just so 
Roger would let him do this. She wondered vaguely if it hurt a man to put it 
in as badly as it did when a woman received it. 

Bruce tugged slightly on her leash, urging her up again. "Let's go for a 
walk, little doggie. Exercise is good for doggies." As she rose he pushed 
her down again until she was on her hands and knees. That seemed to be the 
way he wanted her to proceed, so she followed after him in this bent 
posture. 

He led her across the floor to the center of the room, looking down at her 
fondly. 

"Pretty little doggie. Daddy's going to fuck the nice little doggie because 
she's been so good." 

Bruce kneeled on the floor behind her, dropped the leash at her side and 
with both hands gently spread the cheeks of her buttocks. He reached below 
them to part the lips of her vagina and brush the surrounding hair back with 
a soft touch. Moving closer he inserted the head of his cock in the hole 
thus exposed, being very careful to get it lined up in the deeper portion of 
her opening. He flexed his hips just once, to drive the cock head in, then 
stopped. 

Karen felt only slight pain at the penetration. Was it because of the 
smaller size? she wondered; or because the foreskin had slipped back, thus 
cushioning the entry? It didn't matter. That pear-shaped object was inside 
her now. Next it would begin to progress up and into her and she would feel 
it moving up through her inner passage. 

Karen became aware that everyone in the room was watching then now; heard 
Gregory say; "Here goes Bruce with his six hundred and fifty dollar fuck," 
in a slightly sneering tone. Otherwise, the room was still. 

Bruce wrapped his fingers around his shaft and pulled its surface skin 
rearward to permit penetration without painful stretching of his own flesh. 
With Karen braced on her hands and knees, thighs widespread, Bruce rocked 
his hips backwards and forwards, urging a little more of his cock inside 
Karen at every stroke. 

Gwen commented: "I hope he doesn't hurt the kid that way. A man can get an 
awful lot of prick into a girl by fucking her dog-fashion." 

Barbara replied: "I never cared for it that way myself. Gives a man too much 
leverage over you." 

"Roger wanted to do me that way once, on my first party here, and I told him 
to go to hell. With that prick of his he could have killed me." 

"The only way I'll take Roger is over the hip, and he knows it. A well-hung 
man is wonderful but that prick of his is ridiculous." 

The girls whispered to each other without removing their eyes from the 
kneeling couple on the floor. 

Karen felt the progress of Bruce's cock inside her; felt her flesh distend 
to permit its passage. She felt his cock head up inside her uterus now; 
decided that he must have about half of it inside her. She had a little 
flash of gratitude toward her purchaser that he was being so gentle with 
her, when if he had been as brutal as Roger there was nothing she could have 
done about it. 

With half of Bruce's cock in her the pain was intense, but nothing to what 
it had been when DeWilde had possessed her. She continued to crouch, 
suffering, as Bruce resumed his penetration of her. There it was- additional 
pressure. The cock head was slipping in further now. She felt it enter and 
begin to cross her inner chamber, beyond her uterus. It was hurting badly 
now but nothing she couldn't stand. She mustn't cry out; must bite her lips 
and keep silent no matter what her pain. Her cries would only arouse him; 
excite him until he gave her more agony. 

The cock head invaded still further and then she felt it bang up solidly 
against the back wall of her cavity. This was it. Now the real hurting would 
start when he had to stretch that wall to get the rest of his cock into her. 

But then she felt the tickle of hair against her distended rectum. The touch 
came and went rhythmically, and she realized that Bruce already had all of 
his cock inside her. That was the golden hair around its base that was 
tickling her rectum, which meant that she had already received all he had to 
give. There was a firm, prodding contact of his cock head against her rear 
wall on every in-stroke, but not so badly that she became dizzy with the 
hurt of it. 

Bruce was speaking to her. "Wriggle your hips for me, nice little bitch 
doggie, and give me a good fuck. Brucie wants to bang his bitch real nice." 

She didn't understand what he wanted her to do. The man seemed to sense 
this. He placed both hands on her pelvis and manipulated her hips back and 
forth in a rolling motion, instructing her in the rhythm of the female 
coital movement. Now she understood and, for fear of, him responded in the 
way he demanded. 

Her newly-learned movement brought Bruce to the edge of ecstasy. "Oh baby do 
you learn quick," he sighed. Pressing his hips tightly against her upturned 
backside, he bottomed out in her completely. He remained motionless, letting 
Karen massage his prick by means of her movements alone. 

"Ooooh, honey," he moaned. "Nice little doggie is jerking her master off 
with her pussy." He dug his fingers into her hips in a spasm as he tried to 
hold off, and failed. 

He pulled her backward to him as he ejected, at the same time thrusting 
forward, trying to cram one more fraction of an inch of his throbbing prick 
into her warmly wet womanhood. This hurt Karen sharply, as did the expansion 
of his cock head when he blasted his sperm into her. 

She felt this load more clearly than she had the previous two with which 
DeWilde had injected her, probably because the pain of Bruce's come was less 
intense. She felt a hot fluid pour out inside her; felt the warmth of it as 
it spread out over her back wall against which Bruce's cock head was so 
tightly pressed. From there she felt it spreading outward, soaking her inner 
tissues, welling up in her as Bruce injected the last of his charge of 
liquid into her. 

There, now. It was over. Bruce had squirted her and his cock felt 
differently now. All of it was still inside her but it was soft. It was 
still a piece of meat with noticeable warmth to it, and it still stretched 
her to surround it, but it had no punishment factor. It didn't really hurt 
much. Maybe the stuff he had shot into her acted as a sort of balm to her 
injured parts. 

Karen felt a little twinge of pain as Bruce withdrew his organ from her-what 
did they call it?-her cunt. She had begun to think to herself using the 
words she had heard so often in these last few hours from this crowd. Her 
knees were hurting and he didn't tell her not to, so she swung herself 
sideways and sat down on the floor. Maybe that would keep her cunt from 
aching so badly. 

"Baby, that was wonderful," he told her appreciatively. "That was just the 
first of some wonderful fucks we're going to have during the next week. 
Maybe I'll even ask Roger how much he wants for a renewal of your contract 
for another week or two," he smiled at her. 

He didn't make much sense, Karen thought. I'm going to die before long and 
none of them will want to put their cocks into me then. 

One of the men called out to Bruce: "Hey, old buddy, remember when I fixed 
you up with that broad in Chicago, during the convention? How about paying 
me back with a little piece of Karen?" 

Bruce said emphatically: "I never heard of you." 

Gregory said, in mock astonishment: "Aren't you going to pass around your 
box of goodies?" 

"Hell, no," he replied. 

Deirdre, the tall brunette with the big breasts who had done the spectacular 
dance, sat down alongside Bruce and whispered something in his ear. He 
looked at her and grinned. 

"Did you bring that damn thing of yours?" 

She nodded. Bruce pondered a second, considering. 

"Okay. Be my guest." 

Deirdre disappeared in the direction of the bedrooms. 

Bruce rose and took a pair of throw pillows from one of the couches, 
returning to Karen to drop them beside her. "Here, honey," he said. "You're 
going to need these. Lie down." 

She did, without remonstrating. As she lay on her back, Bruce slipped one 
pillow under her head; told her to lift her hips and when she did so, he 
slipped the second pillow beneath her buttocks. 

Karen lay quietly, waiting for what was to happen next. Was Bruce going 
to-uh-fuck her again in this position? She thought men had to wait awhile 
between the times that they did it. That was what the other men had done. 
Could Bruce do it again so soon? She hoped he wouldn't pull her legs up over 
her shoulders like Roger did. That hurt so badly. 

Deirdre reentered the room. Karen looked up at her and saw an amazing thing. 
The brunette was still naked except that the curly black hair between her 
legs was now covered by a pink rubber thing; an amazing creation shaped 
exactly like a man's cock! Karen stared at it. This cock, about the size of 
Marvin's, was fastened to a triangular rubber pad which formed a base for 
it, and this pad was strapped tightly to Deirdre's crotch by belts which 
went around her waist and around each thigh. As she approached Karen she 
wriggled her hips from side to side as the men had done, and the pink rubber 
cock swung from side to side just as did theirs. 

"Get me a pitcher of cream from the kitchen, will you, Bruce?" she asked, 
and he rose to comply. 

He was back in seconds with a small glass pitcher. As Karen watched, Deirdre 
bent the cock head down into the pitcher, then reached into her crotch, 
behind the triangular base pad, and gave something a squeeze. Karen could 
hear air bubbling through the cream. The brunette relaxed her grip and Karen 
saw the level of the cream go down as it was sucked up into the rubber cock. 
She handed the pitcher to Bruce, knelt beside Karen and said: 

"Now, honey, get your first real fucking-from a woman." 

Deirdre mounted Karen like a man, kneeling astride her, looking down at her 
nakedness with evident appreciation. Satisfied, she stretched out full 
length on top of her, pushed Karen's knees apart with hers and lay between 
her thighs. Like a man, she lifted one hip to reach between them, grasp her 
pink rubber cock and get it started fairly into Karen's opening. 

It was fortunate for the girl that she had been possessed previously by 
Bruce, whose seminal liquid still remained inside her. They lubricated the 
passage of Deirdre's imitation cock into her. Fortunate, indeed, for Deirdre 
had no intention of being gentle as he had been. With the cruelty, the 
ruthlessness of an aroused woman, she literally stabbed Karen with her 
attached instrument. 

Karen felt the awful thing penetrate her with one rush. The simulated cock 
head tore its way inside her, ramming her flesh aside to make room for its 
passage. My God, it's tearing up the inside of my cunt, Karen thought, as 
renewed pangs of agony swept through her. She was too sick, too weak, even 
to scream with the pain. All she could do was close her eyes and suffer. 

Lorraine said to Marv: "Jesus, look. Deirdre's got her dildo on and is 
fucking Karen with it. I wonder what kicks she gets out of that?" 

"She jacks herself off with the base of it while she's doing the balling. 
Then, when she's come enough to satisfy her, she'll squeeze her pussy 
together over the bulb and shoot the cream into Karen." 

"Well, everybody has his own thing," Lorraine replied philosophically. 

To Karen, the instrument was pure torture. Deirdre could use it as roughly 
in Karen as she wished without causing herself any pain, as a man would feel 
if he became too violent and, in her warped passions, she chose to do just 
that. Fiercely, repeatedly, she pumped it in and out of the recumbent girl, 
bruising as well as abrading the delicate flesh of her internal organs. 

Karen suffered in silence. It felt entirely different, this thing; far more 
painful, much more hateful. For one thing it was cold, not hot like a real 
cock. For another, it ripped and tore even worse than DeWilde had done to 
her the first time. 

Deirdre had to use a violent motion if she herself were to achieve orgasm 
because she had only the friction she could produce between the base pad and 
her own clitoris to give her arousal. She pumped and thrust away, much of 
her stimulation coming from her consciousness that she was acting like a 
man, fucking a woman, and that it was she who was in the superior position, 
with a beautiful young woman prostrate beneath her, legs spread wide to 
permit her entrance. Deirdre would have denied that she had lesbian 
tendencies; however, there was much of sheer penis envy in the pleasure she 
took in probing Karen beneath her, even though with a mock tool. 

Karen endured, and Deirdre's lust began to mount. Her movements became more 
rapid, almost spasmodic, and then she climaxed with a continued shuddering 
of her loins. At the peak of her orgasm, she clutched her thighs together to 
squeeze the bulb which forced the cream to cascade out into Karen's uterine 
passages. 

The fluid was cooling. It didn't feel even slightly like getting fucked by a 
real cock, Karen reflected. The cock head didn't throb when the juice shot, 
and the juice itself was cold, not hot like real come. It hurt to be fucked 
by this thing, and she hoped the other women in the room wouldn't want to 
take turns doing it to her. 

But Deirdre appeared to be alone in her passion to simulate the sexual 
ability of a male. She removed the thing and offered it to some of the other 
women, saying they were welcome to borrow it, but all refused. Gwen was 
rather blunt. She remarked that with all these good peters in the room, she 
saw no reason to employ an imitation. 

At this point a hiatus came over the sybaritic gathering before the next act 
was to begin. Some of the guests dispersed to the bathroom. Some wandered 
over to the sideboard to mix drinks and munch on snacks. Marvin was huddled 
in a deep and seemingly serious conversation with Martha, his sexual 
protege. Karen, aching in every portion of her flesh, lay without moving and 
prayed for release. 

She realized that she was terribly, terribly thirsty. Her mouth was so dry 
and swollen she couldn't swallow. Her throat ached from the soreness induced 
by her suppressed screams. God, she was so thirsty. But she didn't dare 
move. 

Now Bruce was sitting on the floor beside her again, a glass in his hand 
with ice in it which tinkled. It looked so good and cool and frosty. He 
sensed what she wanted. He held the glass out to her while lifting her head 
so that she could drink. She took one gulp; choked and let the liquid run 
out of her mouth and down onto her breasts. 

"Liquor-awful," she croaked. "Could I have some water, please?" 

Bruce immediately went to the sideboard and returned. "Here, Karen," he said 
as he lifted her, "straight ginger ale and ice. It's better for you than 
water." 

She drank, greedily; the most satisfying sup of her life. No vintage 
champagne was ever enjoyed by a wine buff so much as Karen relished that 
ginger ale. 

"Deirdre hurt you, didn't she." 

Karen nodded. 

"I shouldn't have let her do that. She's kind of a nut. I'm sorry." 

Karen couldn't reply. There was nothing she could possibly say. 

Bruce got her another glass of ginger ale and fed it to her in little sips. 
The crowd had been drinking very little up until this break. Now, everyone 
was on the second or third drink and voices began to be just a trifle 
louder; talk, a little wilder. 

Lorraine and Deirdre had both had one extra drink and were revealing a more 
brassy side of their personalities. They were seated nude on the floor now, 
side by side, each with a glass. They were both at the point where they were 
ready to begin bragging about their sexual prowess and experience, as men 
often do in like circumstances. They began to get confidential with each 
other. 

Karen heard Lorraine ask the brunette: 

"Tell me, honey, do you really get a kick out of balling a girl with 
that-er, ah-thing?" 

Deirdre shrugged. 

"Oh, it's no big thing. No fetish, or like that. Just once in a while, I 
kind of like it for a change." She chuckled. "Maybe I get my large charge 
out of shocking people by using it at a time like this." 

"Did you ever have a girl use it on you?" 

"Only a couple of times. It's-well, it's a mighty poor substitute for the 
real thing. Want to find out?" 

"Not really." 

Deirdre got more confidential. 

"Actually, I got it when I was married to my first husband. I was crazy 
about him in every way except in the bedroom. The poor guy was one of those 
rabbit men-he'd get me all hot and going good, then push it into me 
and-wham, bam, thank you, ma'am. It was all over and I was left climbing the 
walls." 

"I've known men like that. I feel sorry for them but that doesn't make it 
any easier for the woman." Deirdre shook her head as if in wonderment. "I 
don't know why I ever married him, except that I loved him anyway. I thought 
maybe after we were married he'd relax and be better in the sex department 
than he was while we were just going together. Too, I don't think I noticed 
how serious his trouble was. I was going with a couple of other guys while 
we were engaged. They were taking care of me good and I don't think I 
realized that Don wasn't." 

"That's an easy mistake to make." 

"Anyway, after a few months of marriage it got pretty rough. I didn't want 
to cheat on Don-I really wanted to make it with him. He tried so hard, poor 
boy. He'd go down on me, get me to really creaming, then push it into me and 
poop! it was all over." 

"I'd have wound up jacking off." 

"I did- many's the time. So I had this bull dyke who was a good friend of 
mine-well, as good a friend as a straight can have with a gay-and I asked 
her to get me a dildo. Joy stick, they call them. She did, and Don started 
to use it on me, After he'd shoot his load, he'd put it on and work me over 
until I got off." 

"That must have been pretty hard on his ego." She nodded in agreement. "It 
was. It really wasn't much of an improvement for me and it destroyed him. 
So, we began to fight about things that didn't matter, just to work off our 
hostilities. I phoned some of my old friends and got myself the kind of 
balling I was used to before I was married. He began to drink and it wasn't 
long before the whole thing was washed up." 

"Well, it's a kind of lesson, isn't it?" 

"Yeah-never marry a man without trying him out first and making sure he can 
do what he's supposed to." 

Now it was Lorraine's turn to become reflective. She took a sip of her drink 
and began: "You know, when I think back over all the men I've balled, ever 
since I was fifteen-" 

Deirdre interrupted: "I started when I was fourteen." 

"Yeah-well, as I say, when I think over them, it's quite surprising how many 
of them really were disappointing. Men talk about sex and think about it a 
lot, but when it comes right down to it an awful lot of them are poop outs. 
You know-they get you hot and then can't get a hard on, or they go off too 
soon, or they have Puritan hangups and won't go down on you, or else they 
are freaked out about it and all they want to do is French and be Frenched 
-most of them can't relax and enjoy." 

"I think that's why I like to come to Roger's parties so much. If you meet a 
man here, you know he's a performer. If he weren't he wouldn't be at a 
gathering like this." 

"Yeah." They both took another sip of their drinks. "You know," Lorraine 
began again, "when I think back over some of the weirdos I've balled-" 

"No weirder than mine, I'll bet." 

"I even had a black man once. A great big guy, hung like a mule, who was a 
musician in a club where I worked." 

"I've had blacks too," Deirdre boasted back. "They're not so hot." 

Lorraine looked at her drinking partner in astonishment. "That's just what I 
was going to say. All my life I've heard this stuff about how Negroes 
practically invented sex. Hell, he was no different from any white man I've 
known-no better and no worse." 

Deirdre giggled. "When the lights are off you can't tell the difference." 

"And the black doesn't rub off," the other added sagely. 

Deirdre became curious. "Tell me, honey, is your husband good with you in 
bed? He always makes it fine with me but I was wondering if he's as good at 
home." 

Lorraine shrugged. "Oh, average, I guess. A lot of nights he's too tired 
because his job and the long commute takes a lot out of him. He gets home, 
has a couple of martinis, eats and has a couple more, and by that time he's 
more interested in sleep than pussy." 

Deirdre lay back, stretched her legs, wriggled her hips and then crossed her 
ankles. "You know. I don't really think I've ever had enough balling to 
satisfy me. What I'd really like is to take on every man here, one right 
after the other, and I'd enjoy the last man as much as the first." 

Lorraine was not to be outdone. "I'd love to take them all on. It's been a 
dream all my life, to have a line of men waiting with hards-on for the guy 
ahead of them to get finished with me." 

"Did you read the Revolt of Mamie Stover?" 

"I sure did. That part in the bull pen, where she was servicing the men one 
after the other, every five minutes? Gad I flipped-I had a hard on all the 
time I was reading it." 

Both girls were a little bit drunk now; a tiny bit belligerent. "I wish we 
could get all the men to line up and have us," Deirdre sighed. 

"They wouldn't have anything left for you after they got through with me." 

"G'wan," Deirdre scoffed. "You'd poop out halfway through. You haven't had 
the experience. You don't have the talent for banging like I have." 

Lorraine resented the challenge. Hotly she replied: "I can bang anybody you 
can bang, and do it better and oftener." 

A sly look came into Deirdre's eyes. "So you've banged black and whites. Did 
you ever bang a dog?" 

The other girl's eyes were round. She hesitated. "You mean-really do it with 
a dog? Well-I've heard of it." 

Deirdre was triumphant. "You see-you've heard of doing it. But you'd be 
scared to try." 

"Do you mean-ah-have you'?" 

A secret grin. "You might be surprised how good it is." 

Lorraine remembered something. "That dog of yours-a big black German 
shepherd. Does he-?" 

"Every time I give him the chance. Twice a day, if I feel like it. He never 
gets tired." A giggle. "Maybe it's because he doesn't have a job to worry 
about." 

All Lorraine could say was, "Gosh." 

Deirdre pushed her advantage. "Well, what d'ya say? Game to try? He's right 
outside in my car." 

Lorraine accepted the challenge. "Anything you can ball, I can ball better. 
Go get him." 

Few guests noticed Deirdre step out the front door, to dart across the 
secluded yard the few steps to where her car was parked. In seconds she 
returned leading a handsome German shepherd, having paused just once to let 
him relieve himself against a bush. 

Triumphantly she led the dog up to where Lorraine reclined on the floor, 
against the couch. "Good, Hans," she said. "Sit." Instantly the dog dropped 
to a sitting posture, extending his neck to sniff at Lorraine's thigh. The 
contact of his wet nose against her bare flesh gave her goose bumps. 

"He's a beauty," she admired. "Actually, a hell of a lot better looking than 
some of the men here." 

"He's got a better dong on him too," Deirdre replied proudly. "Well, are you 
ready to get banged?" 

Lorraine was just drunk enough not to even hesitate. 

"Hell, yes. What do I do?" 

"Wait just a second." In her hands, Deirdre had a pair of leather gloves, 
rather like mittens, which laced at the wrists. "Got to put these on him 
first," she explained. "Otherwise, he'll claw the hell out of you when he 
gets his forelegs wrapped around your waist and really goes to work." 

The sight and smell of the gloves aroused the dog's desire. His head and 
ears became even more alert and his penis began to extend itself, its head 
peeking forth from its full length sheath. Two lumps began to swell on each 
side of the sheath near its base. 

"Boy, he gets turned on right now, doesn't he?" Lorraine said admiringly. "I 
wish I had a man who could get ready to go like that." 

Deirdre felt both paws to make sure the leather mittens were securely 
fastened. "Okay, honey, he's ready. Now, get on your hands and knees, spread 
your legs wide-and hang on for the ride of your life." 

Some of the guests had noticed the dog's entrance and paid little attention. 
Now, realizing what was to happen, everyone stared in fascination at the 
crouching Lorraine. Like a dog handler, Deirdre said: "Okay, Hans, let's 
go." 

The dog needed no urging. He sprang forward, standing on his hind legs, only 
to be pulled down to all fours by Deirdre. "Not so soon, boy. Here, boy -get 
it." With that she put her fingers to Lorraine's exposed vagina and pressed 
the gash of her womanhood apart. Hans moved in close to sniff it 
appreciatively a few times (at the contact of his wet nose Lorraine gave a 
stifled, rather excited yelp) and then began to lick it hungrily. 

After a few laps at the wet flesh, Deirdre pulled him back a foot or two, 
patted him on the head and said: "All right, now-go get it, boy," and 
dropped his leash. 

The dog darted at the woman, rose to throw his forelegs around her waist and 
pulled his hips up tightly against hers. The long, pointed tool flashed 
fully out of its sheath, searching, stabbing, throwing shadows on the floor 
beneath them as his fevered organ searched for its mark. 

The experienced dog needed only a few seconds to find the place where he 
wanted it to go. He found it and rammed it home. The viewers knew, 
too-Lorraine screamed, "Oh my God" as the full length of his long, thin 
shaft slid into her. 

The dog began a rapid motion with his hips, almost too fast for the eye to 
follow. Lorraine began to moan: "Oh my God-he's killing me. He's ramming it 
right through me." 

The dog continued his rapid movements as the woman moaned. Her moans changed 
to a rasping sound as her hips began to move in a slower counterpoint of 
motion against the dog's. She still grunted at the fierce stabs of the dog's 
penis inside her, but she was beginning to come up to climax now. The speed 
of her movements increased and suddenly she was in the grip of a violent 
orgasm. She came once, twice, three times, then started to relax. The dog 
kept banging away fiercely inside her. 

Lorraine screamed. "My God he's killing me. I can't come any more. Jesus, 
get him off of me." 

"Too late, darling," Deirdre laughed. "Once he starts fucking there's no 
stopping him until he's had his come. Better get your ass to wagging again 
so he'll come sooner." 

Through her howls, Lorraine began to rotate her hips vigorously, matching 
the dog, thrust for thrust, urging him on to his completion. She even moved 
her body back against his in an attempt to increase the stimulation he was 
receiving from her. 

It worked. The dog's hips jerked a few times, and then he was clinging even 
more tightly to her, pouring everything he had into her. They hung together 
for a few seconds, and then in response to a command from Deirdre the dog 
backed off. Sis organ was now shrunken; had disappeared within its sheath. 

Lorraine collapsed on the floor, while a roar of o-what? applause? laughter? 
admiration?-went around the room. 

"Jesus, what a sensation," Lorraine moaned. "You didn't tell me it would be 
like that, you dog-fucking bitch you," she complained. "I think he poked a 
hole in my guts with the point of that thing." 

"It's different, isn't it?" Deirdre persisted. Somehow she was a little 
miffed that no one was admiring her fine dog. "And in another ten minutes, 
he'll be ready to go again." 

"Not with me he won't," she replied emphatically. 

"What are you complaining about?" Deirdre asked her. "You've been fucked by 
a guy and a girl and a dog tonight. Lots of women live out their whole lives 
without ever having it that good." 

Bruce had been listening, Karen's leash held in his hand. He entered the 
conversation. 

"Why don't you make a grand slam of it by swapping blow jobs with my sweet 
little doggie?" 

Lorraine groaned. "I won't be ready for action for hours yet." 

Deirdre was triumphant. "There, you see? I said you were a poop out." 

"Go ahead, Lorraine," Bruce urged. "Make it a night you'll remember. I'm 
offering it to you for free-no rental charge." 

She considered. "Well, maybe, in a little bit. Let me wash myself up after 
that damn dog, and have a drink." She got up, disappeared in the direction 
of the bathroom; returned, to mix herself a drink at the sideboard. She 
sipped it as she came back to sit beside them. 

Karen realized she, too, was in need of relief. Appealingly she spoke to 
Bruce. "I'd like to go, too. May I?" 

Instantly he arose. "Of course, dear. Right now. Me too, in fact." He led 
her by the leash to the master bathroom; entered with her and closed the 
door behind them. He gestured toward the toilet. "You first, dear." 

She no longer hesitated at anything. Without even thinking she lowered 
herself to the seat and began to urinate. A long, grateful stream flowed out 
of her. Staring down between her legs, she saw it preceded by a drainage of 
Bruce's semen which dripped down into the water, to be followed by her flow 
which landed on it and diluted it. More of that stuff inside, she reflected. 
She was soiled beyond all cleaning now. She completed her act, wiped herself 
with toilet paper and arose. She stood quietly and watched Bruce as he stood 
in front of the bowl and relieved himself. Funny how soft and flabby his 
cock was now, in comparison to the fierce thing it had been before. It 
wouldn't hurt if he pushed it into her the way it was now, but she supposed 
it wouldn't go in when it was in this condition. She noticed the way the 
flesh thing they called a foreskin had rolled down to partially cover the 
knob on the end. Even the knob looked harmless now, as a steady stream of 
water shot out of the hole in its center. 

Bruce completed his act, shook it two or three times and flushed the toilet. 
He took the, end of her leash where it hung from her neck and led her back 
to the living room. Funny, she thought, he didn't wipe the end of it with 
paper as she did. Maybe men don't do that when they go tinkle. 

Lorraine was still sitting on the floor where they had left her, at one end 
of the largest couch, Deirdre crouched beside her. Bruce dropped beside them 
and pulled Karen by her leash. "What are you two chinning about?" he asked. 

"Actually, we were watching Roger and that big brown haired girl-what's her 
name?" 

Deirdre supplied: "Jeannette." 

Karen saw that DeWilde was on his back on the floor of the raised alcove 
where she had begun proofreading in the first hours of her residence in this 
house. A tall, beautiful woman with long, almost straight hair of a honey 
colored sheen flowing down her back reclined on one elbow alongside of him. 
She had large but firm breasts which jutted up from her fine chest; long, 
tapered legs, crossed at the ankles, extended below prominent pelvic bones. 
A thick patch of hair the same color as that on her head puffed up from 
between her loins. 

She had a jar of some sort of unguent in one hand and was dabbing it on 
DeWilde's penis, working it into the skin with long strokes of her tapering 
fingers. Even at this distance Karen could see that their length was 
enhanced by her nails, almost claws, worn much longer than is the usual 
fashion. A light shell pink polish made them glow in the soft light of the 
room. 

This was really the first long look Karen had ever had of this awful cock of 
DeWilde's and it again made her shudder. It was thick and long; 
reddish-purple and unutterly horrible. Now as she gazed at it she marveled 
that it hadn't torn her more than it did. To her eyes it seemed to be at 
least twice as large, twice as thick, twice as long, as that of any other 
man in the room. Brace's cock had hurt her painfully a couple of hours ago, 
and Deirdre's dildo had been agony, but both of them put together would not 
have equalled this awful piece of flesh which Jeannette was anointing. 

Lorraine said: "I guess she's really going to take him on." 

Deirdre replied: "She may be able to handle it. I know she's had three 
children, so she must be pretty big." 

"Nobody's big enough for that thing. I got drank at one of Roger's parties 
one night and let him have me. I didn't know what I was doing, but I soon 
found out. It was a month before I could pee in comfort." 

"It might be nice if he were gentle, with it, but he's so rough-I think he 
enjoys giving the pain more than the sex itself." 

That he does, thought Karen; that he does. Oh, how he enjoys hurting a girl 
with it. 

DeWilde was becoming impatient now; rolled onto his side to push Jeannette 
almost roughly onto her back. A low, throaty chuckle came from her lips. 
"Ready now, lover boy?" she asked as she spread her legs wide and held out 
both arms to receive him. 

As he threw one leg over her body she stopped him with both hands on his 
chest; removed one hand to flex her fingers before his eyes. 

"See those nails, honey? Well, let's get the rules straight. If you hurt me, 
or don't stop when I ask, I'm going to rake the skin off of your back until 
your ribs are showing. You might even get one of them in your eyeball. 

"Now, if you still want to, go ahead." 

She dropped her arms at her side, pulled her knees up almost to her armpits, 
and waited. Her buttocks were toward Karen and she could see the thick, 
curly brown hair parted by a wide, wet red gash of exposed flesh, waiting 
for the entry of that awful thing on DeWilde. 

The pudgy man didn't hesitate. He mounted her, stretched his body full 
length on top of her lovely figure and guided his red cock head to her 
waiting hole. With a thrust of his hips he entered her. As the head slid in, 
both of her arms wrapped around him and her nails, like the splayed paws of 
a jungle cat, pressed firmly into the flesh of his shoulder blades, on each 
side of his spine. 

"Hold it right there," she said, firmly. 

DeWilde didn't stop. He gave another thrust of his hips. The finger nails 
sunk in; pulled away slightly from the spine. A look of pain contorted 
DeWilde's face, and his movements stopped. 

In a silky smooth voice which sounded like a cat's purr, much in keeping 
with her nails, she murmured: "You think I'm kidding, honey, you try that 
one more time and you'll be in the bathroom looking for your iodine." 

DeWilde lay absolutely still and the girl removed her nails from his flesh 
to press her palms flat against his shoulder blades. She moved her hips a 
little, as if experimentally; apparently satisfied, began an up-and-down 
rocking motion of her pelvis to distend herself and spread her own 
lubrication over him. 

"Try a little more, lover boy, until mamma says quit." 

Obediently, quite gently for him, DeWilde urged some more of his manhood 
inside her womanhood. He stopped at her command; resumed when she told him 
to. Expertly she wriggled her hips from side to side to dilate herself for 
his entry; moved her hips up and down to facilitate his passage. 

At one point she told him to stop and lift his hips. He did, and she slid 
one hand between their bodies to place it around his shaft. 

"Ummm, good," she said approvingly. "We got half of it in already." 

She removed her hands to place both of them, palms down, upon his rounded 
buttocks. "Now, honey," she told him. "I'm going to piss you the rest of the 
way in. When you feel it start to flow get all of it into me, like you were 
a salmon swimming upstream." 

She giggled. "That's what you want to do, isn't it-spawn?" 

Karen saw a flow of water begin, surging out of the gash so tightly 
encircling the distended cock of De Wilde. It splashed over DeWilde's 
testicles, soaking her own hair and the inside of her upthrust thighs; 
spread out in a dark stain upon the carpet beneath her. 

As eagerly as Hans, the dog had mounted Lorraine earlier, De Wilde thrust 
the rest of his tool into the girl. All of it went into her with a rush, 
without hurting her, because of her hydraulically-distended organs. She 
sighed with satisfaction as she felt his testicles meet her rectum; murmured 
a gentle: "We got it, honey. Now, you just take it slow and easy from here 
on in, so that I have time to stretch to catch your come." 

She paused a second, then added: "Mamma's going to teach you to fuck like a 
gentleman." 

Karen saw both pairs of hips begin to writhe in unison, DeWilde's 
surprisingly gentle. He even lifted the upper half of his body onto his 
elbows, supporting himself so that the entire weight of his gross body was 
not bearing down upon the slim one of his partner's. Gratefully Jeannette's 
arms encircled his waist. Her legs lifted up to encircle his body. Her feet 
crossed each other and her ankles locked, to hold the man tightly to her. 

She was enjoying herself hugely now, rocking back and forth beneath him with 
every millimeter of that unconscionable prick inside her, pleasured with 
every thrust of it. 

Deirdre whispered delightedly to the other three: "She really does know how 
to fuck, doesn't she? She's tamed Roger into doing it her way; and then a 
huge cock like that is fun." 

Karen continued staring at them, wondering what would happen when Roger 
began squirting his stuff into her. She remembered how awful his two comes 
in her had felt; thought vividly of the sudden spasmodic jerking of his 
groin as the come began, the hot scalding of its flow inside her accompanied 
by the agonizing pulse, pulse, pulse of the foreskinless red cock head as it 
pumped the load into her. 

It was starting now, she noted. Roger's hips had doubled their tempo and 
Jeannette wasn't stopping him. She was speeding up her pace to match his. 
Together they rocked on the floor, reaching toward the heights. 

There. That was it. He was shooting her now, Karen knew. She saw the 
trembling in his loins and buttocks, saw them give tiny little jerks, saw 
the grimace contort his face almost like a man in pain. She saw it matched 
by a look of ecstasy on Jeanette's; saw her lift her hips even higher to 
receive his flow fully and as deeply as possible. Her entire body was 
quivering now. She was coming too, Karen knew how many times? That was 
once-the woman quieted, moved her hips once or twice, then quivered again as 
she repeated her orgasm. 

Two. 

Again she moved her hips, rotated them slightly from side to side, and 
erupted into a third come. 

That makes three, Karen thought. 

She knew what she was seeing now. She had observed other women this evening 
having this funny thing happen to them; this feeling of joy in what was to 
her so horrible. She had seen Barbara and Gwen explode this way; had seen 
Martha do it when Marv had come in her. 

There Jeannette went again. That made four comes for her. DeWilde was 
holding on manfully, still propped up on his arms, hips thrust forward, 
maintaining a tight pressure between his groin and the top of her cunt, to 
give herself something to put herself off against. His cock must be getting 
soft by now, Karen realized. It always did, right after a man shot his 
stuff. Now it would begin to leak out of Jeannette's cunt, and dribble down, 
and when she went to pee the rest of it would drip out into the bowl. 

She must be through. Karen saw her wriggle her hips a few more times but 
nothing happened. She didn't have another come left in her. She sighed and 
slumped back, her legs and arms sliding from around Roger's body to drop 
limply on the floor. Now she spoke. 

"Honey, you're wonderful, when a girl makes you do it right." 

A slight flush of pleasure showed on Roger's countenance. 

"You're pretty good yourself, sweetie," he replied. '"Not the best I've ever 
had, but right up there at the top." 

The verbal exchange broke the attention span of the audience. Light 
conversation began. Aroused by the action, some of the men resumed fondling 
the women they had purchased. Karen saw Marv and Martha, hand in hind, move 
to a large overstuffed chair opposite the couch. Marv sat down in it and 
pulled the tiny redhead down until she sat on his lap, facing him, one leg 
on each side of his body and doubled, resting on her knees. 

Reaching down, she manipulated his limp penis, skinning the foreskin back, 
circling the base of it with thumb and forefinger and making a stripping 
motion, doing everything in her power to urge him to erection. 

Marv reached up to cup a tiny breast in each hand. "You're beautiful, baby. 
I'm trying, but you've already fucked me and sucked me and you've drained me 
pretty nearly dry." 

"Try one more time, honey, please. I'd like another lesson from you 
tonight." 

That did it, at least to an extent. His penis stiffened; swelled somewhat; 
did at least lift its head if not stand upright. Marv looked down at it. 

"Well, that's what we call a half-hearted hard-on at least, I'm game to try 
to get it in if you are." 

"What do I do?" 

"Lift yourself up on your knees, put the head of it in your slit and lower 
yourself onto it. Keep tight hold of it in both hands to support it and kind 
of squeeze it into you, like you were poking a sausage up there." 

She followed his bidding, moving it back and forth across her gash and 
forcing the semi-stiff fingers. Karen saw a smile come to her face as more 
and more of it entered. 

She's going to make it, Karen thought. Their hair is almost touching now. 
She only has about another inch to go. There-she was reaching her fingers up 
inside her cunt to tuck more of it further up, to urge the last bit of it 
into her. 

She made it. She was settled down tightly against him now, in his lap, 
facing him, their private hair intertwined. Marv put his hands around her 
buttocks, cradling their soft smallness in his palms. His fingers curled and 
one of them tucked itself into her rectum. 

"Ooh, that feels good," she commented. 

"It's going to feel better," he told her. "Now, reach down between us and 
pull your lips apart, so that your pretty little clittie is pressed up tight 
against the base of my tool." 

She did, afterward leaning forward to embrace him and press her chest 
closely against his. Karen saw her little breasts push out to her sides from 
the pressure of body against body. 

"Now you start rolling your hips," he instructed. "Every time you rock 
forward you're going to get my peter further up your slit, and every time 
you rock back you're going to get my finger up your little bunghole." 

She did, and in a half a dozen strokes practically squealed in delight. 
"Ooooh, that's so good," she told him. "I think this is the best yet." 

"You just enjoy, darling. I'm going to make you come whether I can or not." 

"Oh, you've got to," she remonstrated. "It won't be any fun unless you get 
off too." 

"I'll try," he assured her. "Let's go, baby." 

Martha closed her eyes and redoubled her efforts. 

She seemed to be in an utter abandonment of joy. She rolled her hips forward 
and back, getting her kicks on both strokes. This obviously couldn't hurt 
too much; Marv's cock had been quite small when it went in. Karen wondered 
what it felt like to get fucked with a soft cock? It must be a lot less 
unpleasant than when it had all that bone in it. 

There she goes-Martha was shaking, seemingly trying to swallow all of Marv's 
body up inside her. She quieted. Marv lifted his buttocks from the chair 
slightly so that he carried all of her weight on his body, arched his back, 
and her quivering began again. 

That's two comes, Karen counted. She wondered if they'd quit now. No, Marv 
was thrusting upward into her again, pulling her down onto him with his 
hands on her shoulders. There-Marv was coming, too. That was three times for 
him this evening; two fucks and a blow job, plus a partial third fuck in 
Lorraine in whom he hadn't come. She wondered how many times a man could 
squirt in a girl, either in her cunt or her mouth, and how long he had to 
wait between them. 

They were relaxing now, arms locked around each other. Marv spoke. 

"See? You weren't the one on the bottom that time, just there with your legs 
spread and having it poked into you. You were on top, and you balled me 
great-you even made me come, although it was a pretty small load." 

"It was marvy, darling--a perfectly beautiful load. I've taken your stuff in 
both ends of me tonight, and loved it both ways." 

The pretty little Martha dropped her head to the man's shoulder and they 
relaxed together. Karen's attention was drawn to Lorraine, who spoke to 
Bruce. 

"Well, that got me worked up enough that maybe I will accept your offer. 
Maybe I ought to make it a complete round robin tonight." 

Bruce extended the leash to the woman. "Here you go. Be my guest." 

She took the leather, but looked around a trifle nervously. "I-ah-I feel the 
need of a little privacy. Not you two, of course-" a gesture indicated Bruce 
and Deirdre-"but all these other people kind of turn me off. I've never 
sucked a muff before." 

"I think one of the bedrooms must be empty- he's got five of them in this 
place." 

Bruce rose and led the way, followed by Deirdre and Lorraine. Karen trotted 
behind the tall brunette obediently on the end of her leash. 

 Chapter Vi 

The bedroom to which Bruce led them was the same one in which Karen had 
spent the night after her brutal rape by DeWilde. The bed was still rumpled; 
her pocketbook lay on a chair next to the vanity. Dully she remembered that 
it was in that mussed bed he had possessed her a second time. Now she was to 
get on it again to be ravished by these people, and the sex act was to be an 
unnatural one. 

She stood motionless, waiting for instructions. Bruce and Deirdre seated 
themselves on the foot of the bed. Lorraine stretched out a full length in 
the center of it, held out her arms to Karen invitingly. 

"Come here, little one. Give me my first taste of a new experience and make 
it a complete evening for me." 

Like a robot, Karen sat on the edge of the bed, swung her legs up and 
stretched out beside the brunette. Lorraine turned onto her side, propped 
herself on one elbow and gazed down at the girl as she began to run her 
hands the full length of her body. 

"My, you are young, aren't you? How old are you?" 

"Nineteen." 

"Have you ever done this with a woman before?" 

"I've never done any of this before." 

Lorraine smiled a little. "I didn't really believe Roger, but now I do. 
Well, I've seen it done plenty of times, so let's see what happens." 

The brunette lowered her head to Karen's chest and sucked one of her ripe 
breasts into her mouth. Karen felt the pressure; felt something warm and wet 
begin to circle her nipples, massaging the corona. This was followed by a 
pulling sensation as Lorraine began nursing on her breast. 

Disgust filled her. Her stomach tightened and she felt as if she were going 
to vomit. The muscles loosened a little as she felt a hand begin to caress 
her belly; knead its firm flesh softly. She felt the hand cross down to her 
private hair; felt fingers move in between her legs. Now it was moving back 
and forth slowly across her opening, the place she peed through. The flesh, 
damaged by both man and dildo-clad woman, ached at the touch. 

She had an urge to jump up and run from the room screaming; fought it down 
because she knew it would mean a beating from Roger. She lay quietly, hoping 
it would soon be over. 

Lorraine swung her body sideways so that she lay at right-angles to Karen. 
In this position she lowered one shoulder so that her breast hung invitingly 
over Karen's mouth. She lowered it until her nipple came into contact with 
Karen's mouth. She waited that way, expectantly. 

Karen knew she had to do it, regardless of her disgust. Slowly she parted 
her lips; accepted the proffered breast and began to duplicate what she felt 
Lorraine doing to hers. 

With her free hand, the older woman reached for one of Karen's, pulled it to 
her and slid it beneath her, between her legs. Karen could feel the thick 
patch of black hair; felt the woman move her hips from side to side to 
wriggle her womanhood more firmly into Karen's hand. She had to obey the 
unspoken command. Tentatively, she parted the long hair until she found the 
opening; inserted her fingers into it as Lorraine was doing to her and began 
to massage the woman's clitoris. 

Deirdre moved closer to Bruce until their bodies were touching, leaning 
against each other. Both of them watched the woman and the girl intently. 
Deirdre's hand strayed to Bruce's cock, to grasp it and hold it firmly. The 
man responded by placing his hand between her legs and sliding one finger up 
inside her opening, where he moved it back and forth in imitation of a 
coital act. 

Lorraine was now becoming aroused. Deliberately she lifted her upper body 
from Karen's, moved down until her head was above Karen's pelvis and lifted 
one leg across the recumbent girl's body to straddle her. She leaned forward 
and down, to bury her face in the sparse golden curls between her legs. Her 
tongue slid out to lick the hair away on each side of the opening, then 
darted inside to taste Karen's hidden recesses as far up inside as it could 
reach. At the same time she lowered her hips until her body rested at full 
length upon Karen's. 

When she did this, the bushy forest of her pubic hair was lowered against 
Karen's upturned mouth. Oh God, Karen thought-wiry, thick hair. Her father 
had worn a beard for a few years when she was young and when he used to kiss 
her goodnight it felt like this. God, why did she have to think of her 
father at this time. She could never see him again. She wasn't fit to 
associate with him or anyone else in Rancho Sierra Madre ever again. 

Lorraine's tongue had done with its probing of her insides, had finished 
tickling the ends of the little tubes inside her opening and was now 
directing its attention to some little thing up at the top of her cunt, 
almost on the outside of it. This thing had been particularly sore due to 
the other's abuse of it. The tongue's touch was not pleasing but it was not 
painful either, and for this at least Karen was grateful. 

The touch of Lorraine's pubic hair against her mouth and lips was more than 
Karen could stand. It was a furry torment. She reached both hands up and 
around Lorraine's outspread thighs, found the hair with her fingertips and 
parted it, smoothing it back as one might when combing the hair on the head 
and parting it in the middle. This exposed wet, red flesh to her gaze. She 
looked up and saw the older woman's parted vagina, the lips flared wide 
around it because of her spread-leg position which pulled it open. She saw 
the little bit of erect flesh at the top of it; thought how much like a 
miniature of a man's penis it looked. That must be the little thing which 
had such sensitive nerves in its end. 

Lorraine could wait no longer. She lowered her hips until the lips of her 
vagina met those of Karen's mouth. Automatically Karen's mouth opened, her 
tongue protruded and began to lick the tiny little penis. She imitated the 
things Lorraine had been doing to her; was met by Lorraine's hips beginning 
to roll up and down, joyously rubbing her cunt in long strokes across 
Karen's mouth and parted lips. 

Karen prayed that it would end soon, but Lorraine seemed to be willing to 
continue forever. Karen's clitoris was becoming sore again from Lorraine's 
continued manipulation of it, while her jaws were aching from the unwilling 
tonguing she was giving the older woman. 

Lorraine interrupted her oral act upon Karen to moan: "Oh, suck it, honey; 
suck it good and hard." She then grabbed all of Karen's private flesh in her 
mouth, sucking it in until all of the young girl's fleshy vagina lips were 
pulled inside her mouth, to lay on top of her tongue. 

Karen imitated the movement, pulling the flesh which was now beginning to 
ooze liquid into her lips and mouthing it. She sucked it in and nursed on 
it, manipulating it with her tongue and teeth, wondering for a moment what 
would happen if she were to sink her teeth into it as hard as she could; rip 
her head sideways and tear at it. Objectively she decided they would kill 
her, and wondered if it might not be worth it. 

She lost her chance. Lorraine, frenzied, twisted her hips sideways so that 
her vagina parted again, at the same time separating Karen's and furiously 
resumed tonguing of the young girl's clitoris. Karen copied the change, and 
soon Lorraine was climaxing in a wild, erotic orgasm. Karen stuck her tongue 
up inside the older woman's cunt when she felt the come begin; was surprised 
to feel the inner flesh contracting wildly as she orgasmed. 

So a woman throbs, too, when she gets her nuts off, just like a man's cock 
head expands. The twitching up inside her continued, then slowed in its 
frequency. At that point Lorraine's hips began to move again. Ready for 
another come. Karen moved her tongue from the inside to recontact the 
clitoris to another climax, stuck it back inside to feel the contractions 
during her come. 

Twice. A repeat of the cycle, and a third orgasm. How many was that for 
Lorraine tonight? Karen tried to count. First she'd fucked Martha like a man 
and gone off three or four times at least. Then Marvin had fucked her-no, 
he'd put it into her for some time but couldn't make her come. Then the dog 
fucked her and made her come a few more times, and now-there she was, coming 
again. That made three times from this blow job alone. Idly Karen wondered 
if her cunt had throbbed like that when the dog made her come, and if so had 
the dog liked it. 

Lorraine was pooped out now. She rolled off Karen in her reversed direction, 
and moaned: 

"Oh, God, I'll never need to get my nuts off again." 

Bruce rose to his knees on the bed and Deirdre's hand slipped from his cock. 
Karen saw that it was again erect, though not standing up quite so stiffly, 
quite so proud, as it had been when he possessed her earlier after her 
purchase. 

"You girls got me all hot again," he stated. "Now I want a blow job too." He 
moved until he lay beside Karen, reversed, his body heading in the same 
direction as Lorraine's. He rolled toward Karen until his cock was in front 
of her mouth. 

This was the first thing Roger had done to her- defile her mouth with his 
cock. Now it was to happen again. Past caring, she opened her mouth and 
barely shuddered as she sucked the cock head in. 

She was surprised to find it was really quite soft. She nursed on it as she 
had done on Lorraine's vagina. Bruce found her hand, guided it to his cock 
and wrapped her fingers around it. 

"Pump on it, baby," he directed. "I want you to make me come, and you're 
going to have to stroke hard to do it." He guided her hand for the first few 
up-and-down motions to give her the pace and direction which stimulated him 
most, then removed his hand to turn the job over to her when she seemed to 
have found the pace. 

Funny-his cock shaft seemed rather soft now in her hand. She guessed men 
were only terribly hard and stiff the first time; were softer for their 
second and third shots in an evening. She ran her tongue around his cock 
head. It was quite noticeably pear-shaped and rather elongated toward the 
hole. That was the foreskin she was tonguing now. She pushed it back with 
the tip of her tongue, then ran it around the ridge at the base of it; the 
place from which the foreskin grew. She was surprised to feel little knobs, 
or tiny buds, in the flesh of this recess. As she did so a quiver went 
through all of Bruce's body and she wondered if it was enjoyment or pain. 

She decided she'd better leave those buds alone. She moved her tongue tip 
back to the cock head, circled it two or three times more, then explored the 
hole in the end of it. She tried to thrust her tongue down into it, as she 
had run it up inside Lorraine, knowing it wouldn't fit but wondering. Again 
the quivering in Bruce's body told her she had hit a sensitive area. 

She meantime continued her steady stroking of his shaft with her hand as he 
had instructed her. It wasn't getting any harder. She was surprised to find 
she could bend it with her fingers. He seemed to be enjoying everything, 
however. 

She put her tongue tip back into the hole and found that something sticky, 
gummy; a thick liquid was oozing out of it. Now, every time she ran her hand 
down his cock shaft this stuff came out on the return stroke. Was he coming? 
No, it couldn't be- he wasn't jerking in an orgasm yet. She remembered that 
DeWilde's cock had leaked in her mouth, and how she had let it run down her 
throat. She moved her lips; pursed them in a sucking motion and swallowed. 
As each subsequent drop appeared she gulped it down, to make room in her 
mouth for the next. 

What would she do when he came? Could she swallow fast enough to keep ahead 
of the gushing, or would she gag on it? She gulped a little at the thought. 

Bruce was moving his hips now, trying to thrust it even more deeply into her 
mouth. She obliged by stretching her lips forward, getting more of his shaft 
inside. Feeling with her fingers, she estimated that at least a third of it 
was in her mouth. In this present erection his cock was a good deal smaller 
than earlier in the evening. 

She felt his thigh beneath her head stiffen. His hip movement stopped and he 
began to tremble. This is it. He is on the edge of coming. She gave one more 
stroke on his shaft with her fingers, then squeezed it tightly and 
deliberately thrust the tip of her tongue as deep inside the hole as it 
would go. She felt the sticky stuff surge up from his balls and flow down 
his shaft; felt the first lump of it pass between her fingers. Then it was 
shooting out into her mouth, surprisingly warm when it passed over her 
tongue. 

She moved her tongue to the bottom of her mouth so that it cradled his 
pear-shaped cock head arid swallowed. She gulped quickly enough so that her 
mouth was empty and she was ready for the next shot. The cock shaft pulsed 
in her hand just before the head of it expanded to shoot the juice, giving 
her warning of when the next swallow was due. 

She kept count, and found that he gave her only three shots with any real 
amount of come in them, although his cock continued to pulse a number of 
times after that. There was no taste to his come, she noted; only a sticky, 
gummy texture. It was rather like sucking a thick but utterly tasteless 
malted milk through a large soda straw, she decided. 

Bruce's cock was completely soft now. She removed her hand and found she 
could suck its entire length into her mouth. She did so, and her nose came 
up against the hair on the top of his ball sack. It tickled. To stop it she 
pressed her face tightly against his balls, crumpling the hairs. She pressed 
her tongue upward against the limp shaft in her mouth, nursing on it at the 
same time, milking every last drop of the come out of him. 

Bruce gave a satisfied groan and rolled away from her. He sighed and said to 
no one in particular: 

"Oh, my God, that blow job alone was worth six hundred and fifty dollars." 

Would that be the end of it? Were these animals through degrading her now? 
She was so tired- would they just go away and let her rest before she killed 
herself? She knew now that she was going to end her life but somehow she 
wanted to rest before doing it. 

She heard the rustling of movement on the bed; opened her eyes to look 
upward at Deirdre moving toward her. The woman slid her hand down Karen's 
body, fingers encountering and curving into her tortured gash. Bruce stopped 
her with a hand on her shoulder. 

"No, leave her alone now. She's had enough and she's exhausted. I want to 
get my money's worth out of her this week before I turn her back to Roger." 

"What about me?" Deirdre demanded. "I got the hots watching all three of you 
going to it. What am I supposed to do-jack off?" 

"Oh, go fuck yourself with your dildo," Bruce told her, as he 
unceremoniously urged her and Lorraine to their feet. "Go on outside and let 
the kid sleep." 

They left the bedroom, grumbling. Bruce closed the door behind them and 
Karen heard the sound of a night-bolt sliding home. She saw him cross the 
room to the sliding glass panels which looked out over the Sound; saw him 
lock those too. He came back to the bed to help her aching body beneath the 
covers; snapped out the room lights and got in beside her. 

"Now we can sleep undisturbed. I don't want Roger stretching that pretty 
little hole of yours out of shape before I've gotten my money's worth out of 
it." 

He patted her body affectionately in the dark. "Besides," he added. "We've 
got a lot more fun things we're going to do together before my week is up." 

 Chapter Vii 

Karen's dreams that night were a horror of black pits, screaming people, 
animals torturing her and wild running but so deep was her sleep that they 
couldn't awaken her. She slept on until mid-morning, awakening to find 
herself alone. It took some minutes for the awfulness of the night before to 
come back to her. With them came the deep depression, the shame, the 
determination to seek the purgation of death. 

She was alone. Hadn't Bruce gotten into the bed last night? He wasn't there 
now. She listened intently; could not detect a sound of any kind. 

Could she escape? She might find some sort of clothing to put on. If not, 
she might be able to drape a bedsheet over herself sari-style well enough to 
get her to a police station where she could seek help. 

What could she tell them? They'd ask her why she was there and what she 
wanted to do and she'd have no explanation-obviously she couldn't tell them 
or anyone what depraved things had been done to her, and what she witnessed 
in this house. They were too utterly foul to tell anyone. Her throat would 
constrict and she wouldn't be able to get the words out and they'd think she 
was insane. 

Even while she pondered, her chance, if she ever had one, disappeared. She 
heard steps coming to the door, a lock click back, and Bruce entered the 
room. He was wearing one of DeWilde's robes which wrapped almost twice 
around him. He smiled at her. 

"So you finally woke up. I've been up for hours. We're alone, Roger left for 
the office as usual this morning. I told him I'd take care of you while he 
was in town." 

She sank back to stare up at the ceiling. 

"I'm taking a few days off so we can have fun together. Just called in and 
said I had the flu-not to expect me before Thursday or Friday," he chattered 
on. "Ready for breakfast?" 

Stoically she arose to sit on the edge of the bed. He looked at her 
admiringly for a second; God, she did have a beautiful young body. He tossed 
a flowered Oriental robe at her. 

"Put this on, honey. It's a little chilly this morning." 

For some reason she felt almost grateful toward him as she slid into it. How 
nice to have one's nakedness covered again. She found her comb in her 
pocketbook; stood in front of the mirror as she groomed her hair. The 
reflection of her face almost staggered her because of the surprising fact 
that it looked just as it always did, except for the discoloration on one 
side of it which was already disappearing. 

Karen tried to analyze what she had expected to see. Hollow eyes, the face 
of a slut? Marks of dissipation and debauchery? Horns and pointed ears, 
maybe? 

It was nothing short of amazing that there was no change visible in her. 
Still puzzling over it, she followed Bruce to the kitchen. 

The coffee was already made. He poured her a cup as he turned on a burner 
beneath a skillet. 

"Hotcakes and ham for breakfast," he announced. "Roger keeps a well stocked 
refrigerator and all of us bachelors can cook at least a little bit." 

A second surprise came to Karen. She discovered she was hungry. As he poured 
the batter into the skillet, she asked: 

"You're not married?" 

"No, I was for seven years, but about two years ago it came to a sudden 
end." 

"That's too bad." 

"Not really. She was a lousy cook, a lousy housekeeper, and a lousy lay. 
And, if a woman can't cook, keep house or fuck, what in the living hell is 
she good for?" 

"I suppose so," was all Karen could think of to say. 

"It finally came to an end when she had a baby. I always wanted a child and 
was delighted when she told me she had one in the oven. The only trouble is, 
when it was born it was as black as the ace of spades. Well, chocolate 
colored, anyway. Then she confessed she'd been balling our Negro gardener 
for years. She said she had been sure the kid would be mine because he'd 
been off on vacation during the month she'd gotten pregnant and I was the 
only one who had fucked her after her period." 

Karen didn't understand. "Then how could the child be black?" 

Bruce grinned. "Because she was one of those women who have a period for a 
month or two after they get pregnant. It's not too uncommon. The baby was 
born eight months after her last period." 

"What did you do-throw her out?" 

Bruce looked grim. "Hell, I didn't have to because I never let her come back 
to the house from the hospital. I found her a decent little apartment, paid 
the rent for six months, gave her two thousand dollars in cash and told her 
never to come near me again. My lawyer got me an uncontested divorce and I 
was free." 

"You were generous," Karen commented. 

"Oh, I had to give her some kind of a start. She'd never worked so she had 
to have some time for an adjustment. Besides, she did put in seven years 
with me-me and a dozen other guys." 

Karen ate some pancake before speaking again. "Is it lonesome to be alone, 
after that long a marriage?" 

"Good God no. An unmarried man today, especially one with a little money to 
spend and a nice house and car, can get all the female companionship he 
wants. Barbara and Gwen are only the two current members of my stable. They 
just go nicely together, like ham and cheese, and I enjoy banging both of 
them-often, at the same time." 

They finished eating and Karen did the dishes without being told. As she was 
putting them away the chimes of the front door sounded. Bruce rose. 

"That'll be Ted. He's a kid friend of mine, only fourteen, who crews on my 
boat and helps me generally. I phoned him this morning and asked him to get 
some clothes together for me and bring them over here." 

He left, and Karen heard the front door open and close. Voices; Bruce was 
saying: "Thanks, Ted, I appreciate your bringing this stuff over here. Did 
Barbara and Gwen get home safely last night?" 

The voice which replied was young. It was just now deepening in timbre. It 
had the quality typical of the not-yet-man, no-longer-boy voice. It was 
saying. 

"I guess-they both let me in this morning to get the clothes you wanted, and 
neither of them looked any the worse for wear." 

"Did they seem pissed off because I stayed here last night?" 

"Not that I could tell. They were both very nice to me, as usual-nice, 
but-ah-distant." 

That was Bruce laughing. "I'll bet you made another pass at them and they 
cooled you. They have to be distant with you or you'd bang both of them, and 
their pussies are under exclusive contract to me. At least, for the 
present." 

A pause, then Ted replying: "You sure are a lucky guy, Bruce. Every time I'm 
in a room with them I get a hard on." 

They had moved across the room now, into Karen's line of vision from the 
kitchen. Bruce had his back to her. Ted was facing him. He looked even 
younger than his fourteen years, Karen thought. He was short for one of 
today's youth, and slightly built; probably an inch or two over five feet 
and at least three inches less tall than she herself was. He had a nice 
face, not yet scarred by teen-age acne; straight black hair worn only 
collar-length. He was wearing a sport shirt and Levis with sneakers on his 
feet. 

Karen was disappointed. A half-formed plan to rush into the room screaming 
when Brace's clothing messenger arrived died. This slight youth could be no 
help. Brace could beat up both of them at the same time, with one hand for 
each. 

Brace was speaking again. "Ted, I just thought of something. Didn't you have 
a birthday last month which I forgot all about?" 

"Aw, that's all right. I didn't expect you to get me anything." 

"Well, I'm going to give you a belated birthday present, and it's going to 
be the nicest one you've ever had, or ever will receive. Here-here's ten 
bucks. Go pay that taxi driver off and tell him we'll phone for a cab when 
we want one." 

Silence. The sound of the front door opening and closing, a pause, then the 
opening and closing again. Ted was back. 

Bruce spoke. "Karen, come into the living room, will you?" 

Her now-familiar fear tightened her throat again. Nevertheless, she obeyed, 
walking into the living room with steady stride. 

"Karen, may I present Ted, a good buddy of mine and a reliable crewman. Ted, 
this is Karen." 

The intensity with which the lad stared at her made Karen unthinkingly 
clutch the flimsy robe around her more tightly. One hand went to her chest 
to pull the lapels further closed; the other went down to make sure the 
skirt below the belt was fully overlapped. By doing this she merely made the 
thin garment more tightly fitting, more revealing of the curves of her body. 

"This is the birthday present I got for you, Ted. Take her and enjoy." 

A flush started at the base of the boy's throat and spread quickly up over 
his face. His voice was husky as he replied: 

"You mean it? I mean, really?" 

"I wouldn't joke about a thing like that with a buddy like you. I've been 
promising you for a long time that I'd get you your very first piece of ass, 
but I haven't been able to do it until now. I'm not ready to share Barbara 
and Gwen yet, except at an occasional party on a swappie-swappie basis, and 
I haven't been dating anyone else." 

Ted gasped out, "Gosh." 

"So there she is. Take her-she's yours. For today only, of course, but up 
until five o'clock you can do anything you want to with her, as many times 
as you can." 

Did Bruce mean that he was going to let this child perform a sex act with 
her? For some reason this seemed more disgusting than any depravity she had 
yet seen in this house. She didn't think a boy this young was capable of 
sex. Somehow, she had felt sure that males had to be much older before the 
sexual instinct emerged. 

But they did mean it-both of them. Ted wasn't holding back, or acting 
embarrassed, like she would have expected a young boy to do. He was moving 
toward her, with a pleased flush on his face. 

"Karen will be great for a first-timer like you, Ted, because she's only had 
a little bit more experience than yourself. You'll have fun starting out 
together." 

The boy was in front of her now, his hands reaching out for her. As she 
stood still, unresisting, he untied the belt at her waist, pulled the robe 
apart and slipped it down over her shoulders. It dropped to the floor. Ted 
was eating her up with his eyes. The intensity of his gaze had an almost 
tactile impact on her skin. 

"God, but she's beautiful," he gasped, awed by her lovely young nakedness. 
"I never thought I'd be so lucky, to have such a beautiful girl for my 
first. I don't know how to thank you, Bruce." 

As he chattered his joy, his hands fumbled with his clothing. He got his 
shirt off quickly enough, but the zipper on his trousers jammed and he had 
to fight it to get it down. He kicked off his white jockey shorts along with 
his shoes; peeled off his socks to stand before her naked. Without a 
second's pause he took her by the hand, pulled her down to the living room 
floor beside him and promptly mounted her body. 

Bruce was laughing uproariously. "Hold it, hold it kid," he chortled, as he 
reached down to take the young boy's arm and partially pull him off of her. 
"Don't rush it, Nobody's going to take her away from you. Do it right and 
make this first one something you'll remember all of your life." 

He helped Ted to his feet; assisted Karen to hers. "Come on, let's go into 
the bedroom and make this a thing." 

Leading the way, he marched down the center hall to the bedroom they had 
occupied last night Ted followed behind him, holding Karen's hand as if 
afraid she'd escape. 

As they walked, Karen looked at the nude boy beside her. The muscles of his 
chest and shoulders were just beginning to form with approaching manhood; 
the pot-belly of childhood had already disappeared. He was some five inches 
shorter than she; the top of his head was about even with Karen's eyes. His 
body was still hairless except for a sparse patch of black fluff which 
curled around the base of his penis. 

She saw that his penis was erect, almost painfully so. It was so stiff that 
it stood straight up almost touching his belly; so hard that it didn't even 
swing from side to side as he walked. It was small, little boy's sized; in 
keeping with the rest of his stature, she reflected, but not over three or 
four inches long and perhaps three-fourths of an inch in diameter. He had 
been circumcised and the lack of this missing flesh made his little cock 
head seem to stick out even more naked and alone. 

It was hard to believe that his modest little cock could be the same kind of 
fearful tool DeWilde had used on her, or be blood brother to the other cocks 
she had seen in this house, and which had been inserted in her and others. 
Yet, she reflected, this little man was just as eager to put his little 
prick up her cunt and squirt his stuff into her as the owners of the medium 
sized and huge tools had been. Actually far more eager. 

They were in the bedroom now and Ted gallantly led her to the bed. He pushed 
her down on it, then sat beside her to gaze down at her, reveling at the 
sight but uncertain where to begin. Finally he reached out both hands to 
grasp her breasts, kneading them awkwardly but joyously. 

"Jesus, but she's got pretty boobs," he almost crooned. 

Bruce removed his robe, dropped it on a chair and sat on the foot of the 
bed. "Go down on my young friend, Karen, and get him all nice and slick for 
his first entrance," Bruce directed. 

Karen turned onto her left side facing Ted, who went down at full length 
beside her, hands still grasping her breasts. His face was pressed against 
the lower portion of her belly, his forehead pillowed against the curly soft 
hair which sprouted from between her legs. Ted lifted his right arm to place 
it around her waist and pull her body even closer to him. 

Karen opened her mouth and sucked in the turgid little tool. She was amazed 
at how hard it was; by far the hardest she had ever mouthed. She put her 
teeth against it experimentally; gave it a little bite. It was like biting 
down on a raw corn cob, she reflected, or like a stick. As she did so Ted 
moaned; la moan of pleasure more than agony. 

She felt the tickling of hairs against her nose and chin, which made her 
realize she had all of this cock, right down to its base, within her mouth. 
There was no room on the shaft for her fingers. She felt the cock head in 
the back of her mouth, the top of it pressing against the base of her 
tongue, the bottom of the cock head against the rearmost portion of the roof 
of her mouth. That would mean the hole in the end of it was pointing down 
her throat, just in front of her palate. It was not quite long enough to 
make her gag. She swallowed so that she would know what to expect; found 
that the base of her tongue moved easily up toward the roof of her mouth and 
compressed the cock head between. 

As she did this Ted gave another moan of sheer ecstasy; blurted out with his 
lips pressed against the beginning of her pussy hair: "Ooooooh, God, that's 
good." 

His little cock began to leak furiously, oozing more fluid than she had ever 
yet experienced in her brief sex life. It was running over the base of her 
tongue as copiously as Bruce had come last night when she had given him that 
final blow job.. She swallowed regularly. Each time she did so the back of 
her tongue compressed Ted's cock head and made it leak more furiously. She 
tightened her lips against the base of his shaft to see what would happen 
and found this added to the involuntary flow. 

This was about as deeply as Bruce's prick had filled her mouth last night 
during that final blow, she compared; as deep, but much smaller around. Even 
when he had been completely soft, the girth of his cock had distended her 
lips. This little prick merely nestled in her mouth and she could even purse 
her lips around it. She did, just to prove the comparison, and Ted's hips 
began to quiver. 

"That's enough, Karen-you'll suck him off before he knows what's happening." 

Karen released the organ and made a quarter-turn onto her back. Like a flash 
Ted was on top of her, grabbing for her body almost desperately, his hips 
swinging in wild lunges in the air. Karen spread her legs, doubling her 
knees and opening her thighs. Ted crouched over her on his hands, thrusting 
at her opening with his hips and missing. 

As she looked down at his penis between the curves of her breasts, she could 
see her own pussy hair curling upward. Between Ted's legs and hers she could 
see Bruce's face. He was saying soothingly: "Take it easy, little stud. 
You've got to learn to pace yourself." 

She saw Bruce's hand come into view; saw it grasp Ted's cock firmly from 
behind and direct it toward her hole. The man's big hand completely 
enveloped Ted's little cock. With one fingertip he got it started right and 
she felt the cock head enter her hole. 

"There you go, youngster, give it a shove." 

Ted was fully into her long before the sentence was completed. She felt the 
cock head go into the entrance to her main chamber, then stop; felt his 
testicles bang up against her rectum. Was that it? Apparently. She felt warm 
meat inside her and that was about all. She could feel her clitoris 
compressed against Ted's groin, felt scratchiness as their cunt and cock 
hairs mingled and that was about all. 

Ted was grinding his loins against her now, thrusting into her with 
everything he had to offer, and it didn't hurt a bit. He was groaning, too; 
matching groan for thrust and thrust for groan. The sounds began to form 
themselves into words. 

"Oh, God, how good. What a fuck. Fucking is great. Oh, God, nothing in the 
world ever felt like fucking." 

His babbling ceased; became groans again as the pace of his hips redoubled. 

"Jesus, I can't hold off any longer-oooh, Jesus, I'm going to-ooooh, God, 
I'm COOOOOOMING," he fairly screamed as he blasted into orgasm. 

Karen could feel a little expansion of his cock head as the come began, and 
then an absolute stream of hot liquid began to flow into her body. If his 
cock was little, his come was monumental, she reflected, as she felt the 
solid impact of his first shot almost like something striking her on the 
inside. The smallness of his penis left plenty of room inside her for his 
come and he seemed determined to fill the space. 

She resumed her habit of counting. Another pulsation of the cock head and 
bang! shot number two. Expansion; another shot. She could feel the hot 
liquid being forced into the back of her chamber by the subsequent shot, and 
then another, and then another. He was pumping her full. 

Now he seemed to be finished, his ecstasy trailing away in little jerks that 
had no flow of stuff behind them. He lay on her, exhausted, and his body was 
so light she saw no reason to ask him to get off. 

Eventually he did so himself. He slipped off alongside her on his back, a 
leg crossed over one knee and his hands clasped behind his head. 

"How absolutely great, Bruce. That's the greatest thing in the world. I feel 
so wonderful now." 

"Sure beats jacking off, doesn't it?" Bruce grinned. 

Ted looked through the triangle formed by his crossed legs. "I wish I could 
have lasted longer, but I haven't jacked off for almost two weeks and I was 
so loaded up I couldn't hold back." 

"You'll be better next time," Bruce assured him. 

"You gonna fuck her now?" 

Bruce shook his head. "No, I'm going to wait for an hour or two until you 
get pumped up again, and then I thought we might try something special. She 
drained me pretty good last night," he explained, "and I have to save my 
shots. I'm a lot older than you are, you know. A kid your age can flow like 
a fountain." 

"Could she just suck on me again? That would feel so great, even if it is 
soft." 

"She's all yours, Ted. She'll do anything you say." 

For the first time Ted spoke directly to her. Shyly he said: "Please?" 

It didn't really matter any more one way or the other. Karen swiveled around 
until she was at right-angles to the lad's body, wiped his cock as dry as 
she could with the bed sheet, placed her head on his belly and pulled his 
limp penis into her mouth. Ted sighed with joy as he felt the warmth and 
pulled his legs up, bent-kneed, like a young frog on its back. 

Karen mouthed the limp tool which was now only a few inches long. She 
squished it back and forth from side to side in her mouth, kneading on it 
with her tongue. She was on her left side so her right hand was free. She 
reached in between his legs, cradling his ball sack in it, and was surprised 
to find it was big and heavy; amazingly large. It felt fully as big as 
Bruce's. She hadn't noticed this when studying Ted on the way to the 
bedroom, or when she had gone down on him the first time. 

She opened her eyes to look at the thing she was holding. Two massive globes 
bulged the surface of the sack; her hand could hardly contain this scrotum 
and its contents. Bruce was observing the phenomena too. 

"For such a little guy, you sure have a big pair of nuts," he commented. "If 
your prick ever grows up to fit your balls, you'll be another DeWilde." 

Karen massaged the big testes gently. She knew this was a very sensitive 
part of a man. She also knew that so long as she was doing this nothing else 
would be happening to her, so she continued to do what she thought Ted would 
enjoy. Alternately she nursed hard on the limp cock, drawing deeply on it 
with the pressure of her tongue, then relaxed to flip it from side to side 
within her mouth. Occasionally she bit down with her teeth, just a little, 
to increase his sensations. 

Time went by. Karen didn't know how long. She was content to keep at her 
task so long as Ted enjoyed it. At least no one was hurting her now. Bruce 
sat silently, watching them, in his own way enjoying the enraptured 
expression on Ted's upturned countenance. He smoked an occasional cigarette; 
once, crossed to a sideboard, mixed himself a highball and drank it. Later, 
she heard him go into the bathroom, followed by the sound of him urinating. 

A funny thing began happening. The cock in her mouth seemed to be growing. 
Her tongue was meeting with more resistance when she pushed it sideways. Its 
head no longer rested against the front of her tongue but had moved backward 
considerably, almost to the base of it where it had been originally. She 
gave it a little bite with her teeth and was surprised to meet a great deal 
more solidity. 

Bruce returned to the room and resumed his seat on the bed, a small jar of 
something in his hand. Ted's breathing increased. She could feel her head 
lifting and falling more where it lay on his belly. He spoke, in an 
enraptured voice: "It's getting hard again, Bruce." 

Even as he spoke, the leaking began. Karen felt the first drop ooze out but 
without the flow which had marked the previous time she had gone down on 
him. She swallowed, flexing her tongue, then moved her head back and forth 
on his cock, squeezing her lips tightly around it, and found that this 
stimulation completed the job. The head of his cock was now as deeply down 
in her as it had been before. 

"Ready to go again?" Bruce asked. Ted nodded assent. 

"God, it's great to be young. I used to be that way myself," he added a 
little wistfully. 

He extended the jar to Ted. "Here, smear some of this on your thingie. I 
want you to try something you'll never forget." 

"What's that?" 

"All in good time. Go ahead. Grease it." 

Karen released her grip on Ted's penis. It was standing up straight again, 
its proud little head high. The skin on its shaft was quite the whitest she 
had even seen on any part of a human body. In stark contrast, the head was a 
delicate pink, even rosier than it had been before because of her prolonged 
nursing on it. Ted lubricated it thoroughly. 

Bruce moved up to lay beside her. "Get up on top of me, Karen, and put my 
thing in that nice little hole of yours." 

Karen straddled Bruce as she had seen Gwen do with Edgar the night before. 
She grasped his prick, which felt like a monster in comparison with the 
organ Ted had used to possess her and taking its knob between thumb and 
forefinger, placed it into her opening. Now that her body was erect, the 
large quantity of semen with which Ted had injected her began to dribble 
out. A little of it dripped down to land on Brace's pubic hair before she 
got her hole plugged up with the end of his organ. 

"I don't really like playing with a wet deck," Bruce commented, "but I guess 
since it's such a close friend it'll be all right." 

The entrance of Bruce's cock was eased by it, however, and Karen felt no 
great pain-at least, not anguish-as she lowered herself onto his stiff tool. 
The sensations were familiar by now; almost routine. First the cock head 
siding into her, then the stretching of the lips of her vagina around the 
shaft, then the slow progress of the cock head which felt like a knob going 
on up into her. This was the pear-shaped cock head, she remembered. It felt 
different inside her mouth but was just like any other when it was in her 
cunt. 

She felt the curve of her buttocks come up solidly against Bruce's thighs 
and knew it was all the way home. A sudden twinge very far up inside her 
told her that he was getting even more cock into her in this position than 
he had the evening before when he had dog-fucked her. It must be that her 
own weight was pushing down on him, adding to its penetration. 

To ease herself she leaned forward. Bruce took her arms and pulled her down 
so that she lay full length on top of him. He wrapped his arms around her, 
ran his hand down her body and grasped one of her buttocks in each. He 
massaged them, kneading them with his strong fingers, then alternately 
pulled them apart and pressed them together again. This hurt her rectum 
slightly but not enough to make her complain. 

Then he spoke. "Now, Ted, get up on top of her and poke your stiff little 
thing into that pretty rosebud you see staring up at you." 

She felt the slight weight of the boy's body on her back, felt warm, 
slippery flesh poking between her buttocks. Bruce pulled the cheeks of her 
buttocks wide apart with his fingers and she felt a steady pressure from 
behind prodding at the opening of her rectum. 

My God! He was going to invade her from behind! She wildly tried to 
struggle; found she could hardly move because of the way her legs were 
spread-eagled, clamped between Bruce's on the inside and Ted's on the 
outside. Her arms were locked to her sides by Bruce's being over them. She 
couldn't even move her hips because the cheeks of her buttocks were clenched 
in Bruce's powerful fingers, while Ted had both of his strong young hands 
firmly cupped around her waist. 

Wild, terrified thoughts raced through her. Words formed mentally in her 
newly-acquired vocabulary. God, he's pushing it into my asshole. God, there 
goes the head of it; he's slipped it in and he's tearing my bunghole apart. 
He's pushing now. He's ramming it into me. 

Wild pain began, even more painful than before because it was entirely new. 
She felt Ted's cock going further in. It felt as big as DeWilde's; like the 
boy was pushing a watermelon up inside of her. She struggled as much as she 
could, which was little; succeeded only in increasing both the pain in her 
asshole and the pain in her cunt. Exhausted as much by pain as by her 
useless struggles, she stopped her efforts. Bruce sensed this but retained 
his tight grasp on her buttocks. 

"There, honey, you'll find you're making it a lot easier on yourself." He 
moved his cock upward and downward, easing it in and out of her gently. He 
spoke again. 

"Got all of it in, Ted?" 

An ecstatic grunt from the boy signified yes. 

Bruce chuckled beneath her. "I knew you had, kid. I can feel your cock 
laying against mine with only a thin wall of her flesh between." 

Both of them ground away on top of and beneath her. To Karen it felt like 
she was utterly full of cock. Her vagina was stretched, distended around the 
shaft of the cock beneath her; her rectum was dilated by the tool of the boy 
on top of her. She felt both of these hard things merging inside her. She 
found it was of no use to struggle; it only made the pain worse. 

She endured, trying to ease the agony by moving her hips to various 
positions. It didn't help. If she turned her hips downward to open herself 
to the up-thrusts of Bruce it made Ted's cock in her ass a torture. If she 
turned her buttocks upward toward the boy, Bruce's cock tore her cunt. 

The man and boy had their hands on each other's shoulders now, timing their 
movements so that their thrusts into her were simultaneous; feeling each 
other's bodies and seemingly ignoring the fact that she lay between them. 
She had the feeling that she was only there to enshroud their cocks and 
receive their semen. 

They quickened their movements. She heard Bruce speak. "Soon, Ted, soon. 
Let's try to go off together." The pace became even faster, and then they 
were both hunching up against her, trying to cram even more cock into her as 
both of them began their ejaculations. 

Karen lay still and felt it flow into her. Bruce's come in the front of her 
body scalded her as it always did. She felt its heat surge up into her, felt 
the pumping of successive shots, felt his come hit the back of her 
tightly-packed hole and then start leaking out again, between the walls of 
her gash and his shaft. Bruce's cock plugged her so tightly it had no place 
to go except back out. 

Ted's come in her ass was stretching her rectum with every pulse, and each 
pulse brought stabbing pain to its distended muscles. He was shooting her 
but it wasn't flowing back out, she noted; she must have plenty of room 
there to receive it from him. 

The two hardnesses were replaced by limpness. She lay still, sandwiched 
between the pair of exhausted males. Eventually Ted slipped off, to lie 
beside her in a doze. Bruce too seemed to be sleeping. Quietly she removed 
herself from his body; sat crouched between them for a few minutes to make 
sure both were really sleeping; satisfied that they were, Karen stealthily 
removed herself from the bed. Her bare feet were silent on the thick rug as 
she returned to the living room. 

She found the robe the young boy had stripped from her, put it on and tied 
the sash tightly around her waist. She sat down quietly in a chair, winced 
as her weight came down upon her invaded rectum; settled back quietly with 
her hands clasped in her lap. 

Quite calmly Karen decided that the time had come when she must die. Longer 
shadows outside the windows indicated it was afternoon. In a few more hours 
Roger would be home and there would be more torture in store for her. 
Probably he would want to do it to her again and death was much preferable 
to feeling that horrible thing of his go into her. She knew she could never 
stand it. 

Who knows what goes on in the mind of someone who has determined upon self 
destruction? The act of suicide is so complete a reversal of the most basic 
human instinct, self-preservation, that to even contemplate it seriously one 
must have first experienced a complete breakdown of all other mental 
processes. 

In her hours of degradation in this house, Karen had suffered just that: an 
utter disintegration of all of her life values. She had been raised with 
standards of purity, decency and morality. She loved those standards. Now 
she had experienced illicit sex, deviated sex and perverted sex. Every part 
of her body had been defiled. Therefore, she was no longer fit to live among 
decent human beings. 

How could she kill herself? In her trance-like state, the problem of how 
loomed with much more importance than should she. For some reason the name 
of Dorothy popped into her mind. When Karen had been about twelve she had 
known a girl named Dorothy who was older; maybe sixteen or so. Dorothy had 
gone away to school and when she came home at Christmas time had tried to 
kill herself by slashing her wrists. It was whispered that Dorothy had done 
it because she was pregnant. Her parents had found her in time to stop the 
bleeding and save her life. 

Karen remembered that some of the kids had stated that it hadn't been a bit 
painful for Dorothy; just a couple quick slashes and that was all. They said 
she had held her wrists under the hot water faucet and hadn't felt a thing. 

Moving softly, slowly, Karen got up and went into the kitchen. Quietly she 
opened and closed drawers until she found the one where the knives were 
kept. She felt their edges; decided they are all too dull to give the sharp, 
deep slash she knew she must have to avoid pain. 

Aimlessly she opened another drawer; found in it some odds and ends of small 
hand tools; a small screwdriver, a pair of pliers and similar things. Among 
them was a window glass scraper. Alongside it was a package of new razor 
blades which fitted into the scraper to provide its cutting edge. 

Karen knew that here was her answer. Carefully she slid two of the blades 
out, peeled their paper covers back to glance at each one's shiny new edge 
and knew that in them lay her deliverance. 

Quick. Do it now, before Bruce or Ted woke up; before Roger returned. How 
long would it take? Five minutes, she guessed; maybe ten. 

She started to unwrap one of the blades but paused. Suddenly she felt alone. 
She remembered something the instructor in one of her psychology classes had 
said; we are born into this world alone and we die alone, and everything we 
do in between is an attempt to avoid being alone. Now she was facing the 
ultimate loneliness, the aloneness of death, and she wished she could say 
good-bye to someone before she did it. 

Doug Morgan. She'd like to hear his voice again. It would give her something 
to think of when she made the slashes and waited for it to happen. She could 
just ask him how he was and maybe say how much she had enjoyed knowing him 
and somehow she wouldn't be all alone when she did it. She wouldn't talk to 
him long because she might not have much time but she wanted to chance it. 
If she kept her voice low Ted and Bruce wouldn't be awakened; it was a long 
way from the kitchen to the bedroom they were in and a kitchen phone 
extension was on the wall right in front of her. 

Her mind flashed back to Doug's number, taped to the base of her phone in 
her apartment; the number she read every night when she pretended she was 
phoning him and saying. "Good night, Doug." She picked up the receiver and 
dialed the digits carefully, to make sure she didn't waste time by getting a 
wrong number. She heard the ringing signal begin and waited. It rang once, 
twice, three four times-kept ringing. 

She glanced at the kitchen clock. Five twenty-five. He ought to be home from 
work by now. Oh, God, if he had to work late tonight! She'd have to do it 
without saying good-bye to him; without hearing his voice just once more 
time. She'd be all alone when she did it, if she didn't have one last 
conversation with him to remember. 

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen times it rang. No use. He wasn't home and she 
could wait no longer to do what she had to do. She started to hang up. When 
the phone was halfway to its cradle she heard a click and a voice crackled 
out of the earpiece. 

"Hello? Hello? Still there?" 

It was Doug. Gratefully she put it to her ear again and breathed a soft: 

"Hello, Doug?" 

He was puffing heavily as he replied. "Karen, is that you? Are you all 
right?" 

"Yes, Doug. I'm all right." 

"I had to run all the way up the steps when I heard my phone ringing and I'm 
winded. Where have you been? I called you a dozen times over the weekend. 
When you weren't at work today I got worried about you." 

Careful-he must never know what had happened to her. He must be left to 
think of her forever as a nice girl. Her ravishment must be kept a secret. 

"I'm fine. I just decided to go out of town for a few days and didn't get 
back to work." 

A puzzled pause. "Karen, that's not like you. Where did you go? Where are 
you now?" 

She had to offer some explanation or hang up, and she didn't want to do that 
just yet. 

"Oh, I'm at the home of someone I know." 

"Honey, you're in trouble of some kind. You don't have any friends here you 
could visit. Where are you and what are you doing?" His voice was demanding. 

She couldn't tell him but she did want him to continue talking so that she 
could soak in the sound of his voice. Dreamily she replied: 

"It will be all right, Doug-quite soon everything will be all right again." 
She waited for him to resume speaking. 

"Karen, you're not yourself. You're tripped out on something. Has somebody 
been feeding you booze, or drugs, maybe?" 

Oh God, he mustn't think that. "No, Doug, no, nothing like that at all." 

"Then what is it?" he insisted. "Why won't you tell me where you are?" 

A long pause. She had to say something. Her throat tightened but she choked 
out: "I-can't. I just can't." 

"Well, what you mean is that you won't. In that case, I'm going to hang up 
now." His voice was cold, suppressed, angry. Silence. Karen could say 
nothing. 

A sudden sound of indrawn breath crackled in her ear. "Say-it was DeWilde 
who reported you wouldn't be in today. How did he know that? Has that 
bastard got you out at his place?" 

She mustn't let him know he had guessed the shameful truth. "No, Doug, no. 
Everything's all right. It will all be over soon." 

Dead silence. Then, quizzically: "Well, if that's what you want out of life, 
I guess it's not up to me to interfere. Good-bye, Karen." The phone clicked 
dead in her ear. She held it tightly to her head until the dial tone began. 
She hung it in its cradle before returning to the sink. She turned on the 
hot and cold water, mixing them until they ran warm. Satisfied with the 
temperature, she calmly picked up one of the razor blades and held it as she 
stared down at the blue veins on the inside of her left wrist. One quick 
slash, she reflected, then change the blade to her other hand and slash her 
right wrist too. Afterwards hold both wrists under the warm water to 
encourage the flow of blood. Right now is the time she must do it-now is the 
time. 

A stunning blow from a powerful fist hit her squarely in the center of her 
back, between her shoulder blades. The tremendous impact of the punch drove 
all breath from her lungs; caused her to sink to the floor where she lay, 
convulsively trying to get some breath back into her body. Pain spread from 
her spine to her every extremity. As air returned to her lungs it was even 
more painful than the blow itself. Her vision swung with shock, but she 
looked up from the floor and squarely in the eyes of a very angry Roger 
DeWilde. 

 Chapter Viii 

"Get up, my dear." DeWilde spoke in a courteous, pleasant tone. Gasping, 
Karen managed to haul herself to her feet. She stood facing him. Measuring 
the distance between them with his eye, DeWilde moved a few inches closer, 
drew back his right fist and landed a solid punch squarely in the pit of 
Karen's stomach. It wasn't a hard blow for a man of his strength; if he had 
really put his weight behind it he would have killed her. He contented 
himself with just connecting solidly, driving his fist into the soft flesh 
of her belly until his knuckles were buried in her. 

The wind was driven from her and she sank to her knees; fell forward onto 
her hands. When the first gasping breath of air returned to her she vomited. 
It had been so long since she had eaten that she had no solids in her 
stomach to throw up. Instead, sour green stomach bile poured from her mouth 
to dribble on the floor, gagging her. Nauseated by her own ejection, she 
threw up again. 

Expertly DeWilde grabbed one of her supporting arms, twisted it behind her 
back and shoved her hand up toward her shoulder blade. Holding it in this 
position with one hand, with the palm of the other he pounded upward sharply 
on the point of her elbow, driving the twisted arm up further. Karen 
screamed. Dragging her by the twisted arm, he pulled her to the adjoining 
dining area, throwing her roughly on the floor. 

She lay on her back looking up at him, eyes wide with terror. DeWilde leaned 
over her, grabbed one of her knees to pull her legs roughly apart, then with 
a vise-like grip reached between her legs to ram his thumb up her vagina, 
his index finger up her rectum both as far as they would go, then pinched 
them together until the fingernails tore into her tender inner flesh. With 
this strong grip he shook her body back and forth, as one would swing 
something he was trying to tear out. 

Karen howled and tried to twist away from him. No use-it only made her pain 
more intense. Satisfied, DeWilde gave her tender organs another couple of 
shakes and turned her loose. 

Still speaking in a kind, almost friendly tone, DeWilde said: 

"That bit with the razor blades was a very, very foolish thing for you to 
do, my dear. I had planned to send you home in a few days with a present in 
the form of a sizable sum of cash, but if you feel so desperately about 
things, I'll have to make other arrangements." 

Despite his pleasant tone, inside DeWilde was seething. This dumb fucking 
broad was making such a big thing about a little balling. Plenty of girls 
would be damn glad to accept an invitation to one of his auction parties. 
Women came up to him all the time and hinted how they'd like to participate. 
Some young girls, when they saw the thousand dollars in cash he had sent 
home with them, had announced they'd like to be invited back the next 
weekend. 

Now this one had been on the verge of killing herself; would have succeeded 
if he had been a few minutes later getting home. It would have meant an 
inquest and the spreading of all sorts of stories. He gave an inward shudder 
at the thought. 

Well, he'd have to see that this broad made the same trip which a little 
girl named Elsie had taken a few years back when she had put up a fuss. He'd 
gotten her pregnant during a week-long fucking session between just the two 
of them. He remembered how she had told him she adored the size of his 
prick, that she couldn't get enough of it, and the more it stretched her the 
better she liked it. It had been great fucking, that week, and he had 
outdone himself. 

Only thing was, the little bitch either forgot or deliberately neglected to 
take her daily pill. Two months later, when she knew for certain she was 
knocked up, she had come to him. He had offered to pay for an abortion but 
she had refused, saying it was against her religion. Instead, she had 
demanded he sign an agreement of child support until the little bastard was 
twenty-one. 

So, instead, he sold her for two thousand dollars, he recalled with grim 
satisfaction. He had driven her up to a small town in Nevada and turned her 
over to some friends of his who operated a whorehouse in that state. A good 
looking white girl was currently bringing that amount, even if knocked up. A 
young beauty like Karen would fetch three thousand easily. They'd have to 
tame her first, slam her around a bit when she tried to escape as some of 
them did. Then they'd send in a succession of men to her room in one 
evening-trainers, they were known as in the business-who would ball the hell 
out of her. After a few such evenings she'd accept herself as being a whore 
and obey docilely until she was too old to serve as a semen receptacle 
anymore. 

Yes, DeWilde reflected, Karen would have to make the same trip which Elsie 
had taken. He'd keep here for a few more days and enjoy her, meanwhile 
making a few phone calls to his Nevada syndicate friends. A broad this good 
would be worth shopping around, taking competitive bids. 

He glanced down at her. "Now that you've caught your breath, my dear, I want 
you to clean up the mess you made in the kitchen and then come to my room." 
He smiled at her pleasantly but waited until he saw her begin to obey his 
orders. 



In the kitchen, hunting for a rag, Karen could see easily into the dining 
area. She heard Brace's voice saying something like good-bye, Ted, heard the 
front door open and close; saw Brace, fully dressed, come into the dining 
area to stand firmly in front of DeWilde. 

"Say, what is this? What was the screaming I heard?" 

"Oh, just a little family discipline. Sometimes young people need 
straightening out, you know." 

"Yeah? Well, not my young people. That girl belongs to me for the rest of 
the week, so you keep your hands off of her." 

A pause. DeWilde spoke. "You know, I'm beginning to regret that deal 
already. I think I had too much booze in me when I was running that auction. 
What do you say I cancel your verbal I.O.U. and we just call it square? That 
way you've had a free ride last night and today, and neither of us owes the 
other anything." 

The reply was prompt. "Fair enough. It sounded great to me last night too, 
but today is a different matter." 

There was a awkward silence, which DeWilde broke by asking: 

"Care for a drink?" 

"No thanks. I think I'll split for home now. Barbara and Gwen will probably 
be wondering where I am." 

DeWilde was all affable charm. "Come back soon. You know how to let yourself 
out." 

Bruce went back to the bedroom for a minute; emerged carrying his travel bag 
and left. The front door seemed to sound more final in its closing than it 
had at other times, Karen thought. 

"Now it's just you and me, my dear, and I'm sure you won't try anything 
foolish again. How about a nice steak and a tossed green salad for dinner? 
Got to keep your strength up, you know." He patted her cheek gently before 
striding into the kitchen. Somehow the pat was more offensive than his abuse 
of her had been. Her skin crawled at his touch. 

DeWilde mixed himself a double vodka martini before starting his kitchen 
chores. He sipped it appreciatively; set it down to light the gas burner 
beneath the char broiler and pushed the switch to start the vent fan 
whirring above it. 

"Guess we'll have them char broiled tonight," he chatted. "Just fresh lime 
juice on the salad and a glass of cabernet sauvignon with which to wash it 
down. How does that sound?" 

Dumbly she nodded agreement. 

"By the way," he went on casually, "I'm going to invite some friends over 
tonight after dinner. Just a few of the boys-it'll be a stag party." 

He paused. "Except for you, my dear-except for you." 

Karen dried the last of the dishes and began methodically to put them away. 
DeWilde had stalled while making dinner, enough to give himself time to 
drink three more double martinis before eating. He hadn't gotten drunk but 
the four strong drinks did serve to make him more expansive, more affable, 
and somehow terribly menacing. He had finished off most of a fifth of the 
dry red cabernet wine during the meal, ending the repast with a golden glow. 
He had leaned back with satisfaction in his chair at the dining alcove 
table, watching her in a half-doze as she busied herself cleaning up. 

The outfit she was wearing bothered her because she felt ridiculous in it. 
From somewhere he had dug up this costume before they had begun to eat, 
telling her to put it on; explaining briefly that it had been left over from 
a costume party he had given. She could only describe it to herself as a 
harem girl's outfit. It consisted of two pieces; pantaloons of a flowing cut 
which belled but were fastened tightly around her ankles by embroidered 
cuffs. Their waistband too was of embroidered satin; a wide one, which 
fitted tightly around her hips but came up only to just below her navel. The 
pantaloons themselves were made of a sheer diaphanous material, a sort of 
gauze, which could be seen through plainly. She glanced down now and saw 
clearly the little mole on the front of her right thigh. She could also see 
the dark mass of her own pubic hair pushing out slightly the front of the 
gauzy material. 

The top piece was a sleeveless vest made of heavy satin richly brocaded in 
gold thread woven through the ivory colored cloth. It had no fastenings down 
the front and was cut to hang open slightly. Since DeWilde had given her no 
other garment to wear beneath it, when she stood perfectly still its open 
front revealed the curves of her breasts. If she moved at all the vest swung 
free to reveal her breasts almost in their entirety. 

Practically speaking, she was nude, she knew, and she realized it portended 
another evening of horror for her. She thought with regret of the chance she 
had missed today to end it all and wondered if she would get another chance 
tomorrow morning, or perhaps even tonight. It all depended upon how deeply 
DeWilde would sleep when the evening was over. 

Finished dishwashing, she stood uncertainly. DeWilde noticed; roused himself 
enough to stand up and beckon to her to follow him to the living room. Once 
there he sank into a large overstuffed chair, waving her to a seat opposite 
him on one of the huge cut-velvet divans. 

"You look very pretty in that outfit, my dear," he told her. "Far more 
lovely than the woman who wore it the first time." 

She tried to say a perfunctory thank you but the words stuck in her throat. 

"I hope you'll like my friends that you're going to meet tonight," he went 
on. "There'll be three of them. Karl and Emma- they're German, originally, 
but have lived in this country for some years. The third will be Lorenzo, 
whom we call Larry. Some people might think they are-uh-odd types, but they 
do take an uninhibited joy in their own type of pleasure." 

He paused, reflectively, then went on, almost as if apologizing: "Once in 
awhile, not often, I find a certain pleasure in joining their fun." 

The crunching sound of a car turning up the driveway was followed by the 
chimes of the front door. Roger rose to open it, greeting warmly the single 
man who arrived. Karen could see the two of them standing together in the 
entrance hallway. The man seemed to be a larger version of DeWilde himself. 
Some two or three inches taller, he too was pudgy, with thin, almost 
transparent white skin stretched over chubby rolls of fat. His hair, 
however, was blondish-white, and thin; quite thin and sparse, worn tightly 
plastered down to his domed, arching forehead. His suit, too, was a little 
too tight for him, giving him the appearance of a monstrous kew-pie doll 
which had been dressed in clothes too snug for a good fit. 

"Come in, come in," DeWilde boomed as he led the man back to the living 
room. Karen tried to shrug herself into the jacket but it failed to cover 
her bulging breasts completely. "Karen, may I present Larry, one of my best 
friends. Larry, meet my latest little charmer." 

"Beautiful, absolutely beautiful," Larry beamed down at her, a cherubic 
smile lighting up his face. His lips were thick, pouting, sensual, and he 
licked them with the tip of a pink tongue. "How very nice to meet you, my 
dear." 

The American ceremony of offering a drink, its acceptance and selection, the 
mixing of it and the serving were complied with. Larry sipped the 
scotch-and-water he had requested and stared at her, devouring her with his 
eyes. 

Again the car crunching, the wait, the pealing of the chimes. Roger rose to 
admit a couple who paused only briefly in the hallway, practically sweeping 
past him directly to the living room. 

Something about them was a shock to Karen. The woman was tall, nearly six 
feet, and was wearing a coal black leather coat whose skirt swirled around 
her ankles. She wore a black leather hat of a Cossack cut, long blonde hair 
swinging free over her shoulders. In one hand was a thick, black leather 
case, somewhat like the one in which a trombonist carries his horn. 

Behind her was a man at least a foot shorter than she, wearing a pearl grey 
trench coat of a military cut. He, too, was blond and fair skinned; carrying 
himself with the same military bearing as the woman in spite of his short 
stature. Without saying a word, both seemed fiercely intimidating. 

DeWilde spoke. "Emma, Karl, this is Karen-a newly-found friend." 

Both of their faces creased in what were intended to be smiles. Both 
murmured a greeting with a thick German accent. This much politeness over 
with, Emma handed her black case to Karl and swept off her coat. Beneath it 
Karen was somehow shocked to see she was wearing a sort of black leather 
suit having extremely short hotpants. Her leather boots with high heels 
fully covered her legs up to her knees but above them was a long expanse of 
bare flesh up to the shorts, which were cut so they covered her crotch and 
pelvis but no more. 

The top of her outfit was a black leather bodice with long sleeves cut up 
high around the neck where it fastened with a high-standing, military-type 
collar. The woman was slim, wiry, except that she had a huge bust: great 
jutting breasts which the garment had been carefully cut to fit, so that 
they could stick out as if she were concealing a couple of cantaloupes. 

Karl struggled out of his coat unaided and threw it over a convenient chair. 

"Schnapps, as usual?" DeWilde inquired. They nodded vigorously. He poured, 
handing the two glasses of fiery liquid to his guests. Both of them tossed 
the drinks down with one movement. They stared fixedly at Karen, taking in 
every detail of her body. Her skin crawled under their staring gaze. 

Seconds, minutes, or maybe they were hours which passed; Karen didn't know. 
It was quiet, deathly quiet, and her breath seemed to be terribly noisy as 
it whistled in and out of her lungs. 

It was DeWilde who broke the trance. "Well, shall we begin?" 

Larry jumped at his words as if he had been shot. He seemed to squirm under 
the eyes which were turned to him. Slowly he began to undress, dropping his 
clothing on the floor as he took them off. He had trouble untying his shoes 
because of his pendulous belly but finally succeeded. Standing before them 
naked, he seemed somehow ridiculous. 

Karen stared at him with growing shock. Was it a woman? she wondered. This 
man seemed to have no cock or balls at all. A fairly thick growth of curly 
blond hair sprouted from between his legs but only a little lump of pink 
flesh poked out from somewhere near the top of it. What might have been a 
scrotum was pulled up tightly against his groin and only two small round 
lumps indicated what might have been testicles. 

Emma spoke positively. "Ja, ve begin." She unbuttoned the leather tunic and 
pulled it off, handing it to Karl who folded it carefully. Now the gigantic 
breasts poked straight out like twin mountains. She had broad, strong 
shoulders and arms muscled like a man. Bare except for the brief shorts 
which fitted her like a second skin and her high black boots, she seemed to 
be the incarnation of strength and evil. 

Karl opened the long, black case and extended it to her. Emma studied its 
contents thoughtfully before reaching in. Making her decision, she removed 
something from the case and then turned to face Larry. Now Karen could see 
that she had some sort of whip in her hand; a leather whip with a stiff butt 
about four feet long and a flexible braided lash on the end of it perhaps 
six feet in length. This she held in her right hand and with a flick of her 
wrist she made the flexible portion of it wriggle on the floor in front of 
her like a frenzied snake. She spoke. 

"Now, Lorenzo, you must be disciplined. There's nothing wrong with you that 
a little discipline won't cure." 

The strong right arm curled backward in a side-arm motion like a baseball 
pitcher's windup, then swung forward as the flexible lash on the end curled 
around Larry's pasty-white body. He made not a sound at the contact; did not 
even flinch. Again the arm swung up and back, flew forward and the lash 
wrapped around him. Back, forward, back, forward, and each time the lash 
encountered his flesh. 

The first points of contact were glowing red now from the injuries the lash 
had done to his skin. Still he made not a sound. His eyes were closed and 
his teeth clenched. Karen, watching, was in a state of shocked horror at 
this vicious punishment of a fellow human being. 

As she watched, she saw an amazing thing begin to happen. The little knob of 
pink flesh began to protrude. The twin mounds beneath it began to descend; 
to become more prominent. As the lashing continued more and more of the pink 
flesh peeped out until it became recognizable to her as a cock. The 
testicles had come down far enough to be clearly a pair of balls, hanging in 
a properly hairy ball-sack. 

Her attraction was distracted by Karl who was moving toward her. He knelt by 
her side as he fumbled with the waistband of her pantaloons. She realized he 
was removing them; made no resistance as he pushed her onto her back and 
slid them down over her hips. He unfastened the cuffs at her ankles and slid 
them off of her. Satisfied, Karl returned to Emma's side. 

The strongly-built woman continued her punishment of the man in front of 
her, whose back was now criss-crossed with a checkered pattern like a 
madman's game of tic-tac-toe. At her every stroke, her big breasts jiggled 
madly from side to side in an erotic dance of their own. Karen saw that now 
Larry's cock stuck up proudly before him, thin yet sinewy and long. It was 
at least two or three inches longer than Bruce's, but no bigger around then 
Ted's little-boy cock. It was an amazing thing to look at, more like a bare 
stick held between his legs than a real prick. Beneath it dangled two balls 
as large as apples. 

Emma paused; stared fixedly at it, as if taking deliberate aim. Once more 
her arm swung back and then forward, this time depositing the curling lash 
directly between his legs, making the painful leather wrap itself around 
cock, balls and all. 

Now Larry emitted his first sound. He gave a positive roar of agony, then 
hurled himself forward to land on top of Karen with crushing power. 
Automatically her legs opened to receive him. Like an animal, he jabbed at 
her until the head of it found the place, then with a hunching forward of 
his hips he stabbed her with the whole painful length of his long thin stick 
as a soldier would bayonet an enemy in a foxhole. 

That was what it felt like to Karen, too. It felt like he had jabbed a sharp 
sword up her cunt, skewering her insides like a chicken trussed for 
broiling. It went all the way up inside her, further than any man had ever 
been, and the pain was so intense it exceeded anything she had ever known. 

She was in such agony she couldn't cry out; she needed all the strength she 
had to bear the pain without fainting. 

Larry began a mad thrusting in her, furiously punching his cock in and out 
of her as if trying to tear it off of his own body to leave it embedded in 
hers. There was no passion, no lust, no sensuality involved; he was merely 
in the grip of a mad desire to ejaculate in her as quickly as possible. 

His violent movements lasted only a minute or two. In that time his loins 
began to stiffen, his muscles tensed and suddenly he was ejaculating in her 
shooting great gouts of hot seminal fluid into her body. Almost immediately 
it began to trickle back out again since the diameter of his fleshy plug was 
too small to keep it bottled up. He continued to flow in her and his fluid 
drained back out, to drip between her buttocks. 

Satisfied, he rolled onto the floor beside the couch, groaning. Karl leaned 
over him with a jar of some sort of ointment in his hands, first daubing it 
on and then massaging it into the welts which decorated his back. Larry was 
free to express his pain now, and a groan greeted Karl's every touch. 

Emma's voice filled the room again. "Now we teach discipline to the little 
one." Karl stopped his ministrations, turned to Karen and removed the scanty 
vest she was wearing. Now the shocked girl lay bare on the couch, Emma 
eagerly devouring the ripe young breasts with her eyes. She turned to the 
case to remove a short dog whip. 

"We help the little girl with her learning," Emma declared positively. Roger 
moved closer to Karen and slowly started to remove his clothing. 

The sound of a car coming up the driveway filtered into the room, followed 
by a squeal of tires whose brakes were hastily applied. The sound stopped 
Emma's arm in mid-air. "I thought you said we would be alone tonight?" 

"We will be," DeWilde assured her. "I'll get rid of whomever it is." He 
rebuttoned the front of his shirt as a knock which somehow sounded timid 
came from the front door. It was a soft scratching as much as it was a 
knock. From their position in the living room, the group could neither see 
into nor be seen from the entry hall but they could clearly hear the sound 
of the chain being removed and the door opening. They heard DeWilde speak 
first. 

"What the hell are you doing out here?" A man's voice replied in a shy, 
almost diffident tone. "I just hate to bother you, Mr. DeWilde, but 
something has come up that I felt you ought to know about right away." 

Karen recognized who was speaking. It was Doug Morgan. 

 Chapter Ix 

For Karen, the instant in which she heard Doug's voice was her ultimate 
agony. The physical pain she had experienced and which she knew she was 
about to undergo was as nothing compared to the horror of having Doug find 
out about her shame. She had to hide; had to get out of here in case DeWilde 
was unable to stop him in the entry hall or made a perverse decision to 
invite Doug in. 

She slipped off the couch in a flash, stepped over Larry and ran toward the 
bedroom. She had only taken three steps when Emma's arm flashed out to grab 
her by the wrist and twist her to her knees. So powerful was the woman's 
grip, so unexpected the twist, that it brought an involuntary scream of pain 
from Karen's lips. 

Her shriek was followed almost instantly by a crashing sound as Doug charged 
like a battering ram into DeWilde's body. He came at him low and crouched, 
like a blocking back, and caught him solidly in the pit of his fleshy 
stomach with one of his powerful shoulders. DeWilde crashed to the floor. 

Doug's momentum carried him into the room in a sprint. Emma was still 
holding Karen twisted to the floor but was staring at the approaching Doug. 
As he came up to them his right fist swung out with the full weight of his 
body behind it to catch Emma squarely on the point of the jaw. The German 
woman's head snapped back with an audible crack as she fell backwards. 

Karen scrambled away from the unconscious woman's body as Doug turned to 
face the approaching Karl. The man had a short, stiff club in his hand which 
he had snatched from Emma's discipline case. Raising it above his head he 
rushed at Doug. 

As he neared, Doug waited, feinting his body to the right; but as Karl 
started his blow, switched his weight to his left foot then brought his 
right foot up in a hard kick, catching Karl squarely in the groin. Karl 
paused in mid-motion as the toe of Doug's hard shoe smashed into his 
testicles. An expression of utter disbelief covered his face before he 
doubled forward, hands clutching his belly and groaning. As he sank to his 
knees, head forward, Doug brought his doubled fist down in a smashing motion 
across the back of the man's neck. Karl pitched forward, unconscious. 

In the few seconds this action took, DeWilde had regained his breath and was 
now charging across the room at Doug. He was a formidable opponent; big, 
strong and had been an athlete before letting himself go to seed. He came at 
Doug, fist doubled, left fist held high for a lead and right arm cocked. 
Doug braced himself to meet the rush. 

As he did so, Larry, unnoticed on the floor, reached out both arms to lock 
them around Doug's legs and grapple him to the carpet. Doug fell, his hand 
encountering the short club Karl had dropped. 

In one motion Doug's fingers closed over it, swung his arm and with his full 
strength caught Larry solidly alongside the head with it. The latter sighed 
and fell backward, to lie unconscious on the floor, staring at the ceiling 
with his mouth hanging open. 

DeWilde aimed a kick at Doug's face but he rolled away from it, receiving 
only a glancing blow on his upper arm. He continued his roll one more turn 
until he could scramble to his feet in the clear, faster than DeWilde could 
make it to him. 

Now DeWilde was moving in on him, fist raised, not in a hurry but as a 
skilled boxer, measuring his opponent. Doug's head was on straight now, cool 
and clear, his initial outrage spent and feeling more like an executioner. 
He raised his fist and braced his feet solidly, determined to counter-punch 
rather than lead. 

He saw DeWilde's left flick out in a jab to set him up; knew there was no 
steam behind it so took it high on his head rather than block or duck it. 
Before DeWilde could start his cocked right first on its way Doug stepped in 
close and sank his own right deep into DeWilde's stomach. The belly that 
gets fat also gets soft, he knew, and this was the way to make DeWilde bring 
his hands down. 

After that one punch Doug stepped back. The grunt from DeWilde had been 
satisfying. He led again with a left. This time Doug blocked it, again moved 
in close and sank his right into the pendulous belly. Another wheeze from 
DeWilde. His left arm came down so that its elbow could protect that sore 
spot. As it did, Doug's right whistled in to smash against the jaw thus left 
exposed. His blow landed squarely, DeWilde's head snapping away from the 
punch. 

Doug was on him now like a demon. He caught the other side of the jaw with a 
left hook, smashed in a right as the head was going away, followed it up 
with two more one-two combinations. DeWilde was out on his feet now, 
backpeddling and merely pawing at Doug with his hands. He backed up until he 
came to the unconscious Larry, stumbled over him and fell heavily to the 
floor. 

Doug was in a frenzy now, sheer mad with kill lust. He was on top of 
DeWilde; grabbed him by the hair to drag his body upright against the couch. 
He propped him up against it, balanced himself lightly on his toes and began 
driving alternate blows, left right left right, into the helpless face 
before him. A jaw cracked, a tooth flew, blood appeared from between the 
lips, and still Doug smashed blows with all his strength into DeWilde's face 
and head. 

Something was tugging at his back. It was Karen, still nude, screaming at 
him. "Stop it, Doug-stop it. You'll kill him. Please, Doug, don't kill him." 

The sound of her voice, the curves of her lovely young body, brought him 
back to his senses. Doug backed away; lowered his arms to survey the scene. 
Emma was moaning in half-consciousness, the side of her face already turning 
black from the terrific blow Doug had dealt her. 



"You're right, Karen." Doug spoke in a voice which quivered only slightly 
from emotion. "Let's get the hell out of here." 

He grabbed the black leather coat which Emma had removed when entering the 
room. "Here, put it on. It's all you'll need." 

As she fumbled her way into it both raced for the door. Doug pulled it shut 
behind them; half-carried Karen to his waiting car. He wheeled down the 
driveway, turned toward Central Avenue and followed it down to the Parkway. 
Once on it he headed toward Manhattan. 

Karen was finding she couldn't shop shaking. Her own trembling frightened 
her and she began to sob. It was a stem-voiced Doug, not a placating one, 
who said: 

"Now, honey, get hold of yourself. I've got to watch this traffic and you 
can't go to pieces-not yet, anyway. Help me by controlling yourself." 

Something about his approach worked. She clenched her fists tightly to keep 
her hands from shaking; composed herself a little. She even managed to pull 
the coat around her slim body and fasten its buttons. 

"Where are you taking me?" 

"I have a back entrance to my apartment which opens on an alley. I can park 
there overnight, too- at least until daylight. I'm going to take you to my 
place, put you to bed and get you some rest. We'll worry about tomorrow when 
it comes." 

There was something so soothing, so reassuring, in Doug's tone that Karen 
settled back. Let him handle things. He'd know what to do. 



Doug had gotten her up to his apartment without seeing anyone or being seen. 
He had bathed her, given her a pair of his pajamas which were like a tent on 
her, tucked her into bed and turned out the light. 

She had responded by sleeping solidly for almost sixteen hours straight. Few 
dreams disturbed her slumber or if they did, she didn't remember them when 
she woke. Consciousness was slow in returning. When it did, she experienced 
panic while trying to discover where she was. Memory returned and with it, a 
dead feeling of hopelessness at the recollection of her experience in 
DeWilde's home. 

Doug had been peeking in on her regularly for the last few hours of her 
slumber. Seeing that she was now awake, he entered the room to sit beside 
her on the bed. 

"Well, Miss Bright Eyes, ready for something to eat?" 

"What time is it?" 

"You mean what day. It's about one o'clock-in the afternoon, that is." 

A crazy urge to tell him everything came over her. Maybe she wanted him to 
wallow in her degradation with her. Maybe she wanted to see how much she 
could sicken him. 

"Doug, I want to tell you what happened out there." 

"I can make some pretty shrewd guesses. I know DeWilde has some pretty hot 
times out at that shack of his. Things like that leak out, you know." 

"He told me to come out there to read proof. He said he'd pay me overtime." 

Doug's lips were thin. "I didn't think you went to his place for a lark. 
DeWilde would have to use some lure to get you out there and set you up for 
one of his parties." 

"Well, when I got there," she began, "at first I worked for some time. Then 
all of a sudden he came in." She began a recital of her abuse. 

Dug cut her short in her next few words. "Honey, I don't want to hear about 
it. I don't want to know the details and I don't want you to relive them by 
talking about them." 

"But I want you to..." 

"And I don't want to," he cut in. "It's just as if you had gone through a 
terrible illness and had a serious operation-the worst thing you could do is 
hash it all over with someone. It's all in the past, so forget it." 

She began to sob gently. "It's so terrible, Doug- so animal." 

His voice was deadly serious as he began. "Now, Karen, I'm going to talk to 
you straight from the shoulder, and I want you to listen and be quiet until 
I finish. 

"You've been through a terrible thing, and I know enough about men like 
DeWilde to guess how awful it was. Maybe you're lucky to be alive. I know 
DeWilde is-" a grim grin "-because I'd have killed him for what he was doing 
to you if you hadn't stopped me. 

"But it's all over now, and you don't have to let it affect you any more 
than you yourself want it to. If you want to brood over it, and rehash it 
all in your mind every waking moment, and dream about it every night, nobody 
can stop you. You can live it over and over again, as many times as you want 
to go through it." 

She stifled her sobs enough to choke out: "They were all so-so awful. I feel 
so unclean." 

Doug put his arm around her and drew her to him. "Karen, you had the 
misfortune to run into a bunch of perverts-people who aren't mature enough, 
or well enough adjusted, to find satisfaction in real sex-honest sex. Decent 
sex is good and fine and pure. They don't have enough decency within 
themselves to enjoy it. Maybe it's a kind of rebuke to them. Anyway, they 
have to go far out, going further each time, to get their kicks. They do it 
by making a decent thing indecent, and that's what gives them their 
satisfaction." 

Her head was on his shoulder. He kissed her gently on the neck, pleasuring 
in its warm softness beneath his lips. The warmth of her body came to him 
through the thin broadcloth of the pajamas. 

She made no move to pull away so he tipped her head back and kissed her full 
on the lips. 

To Karen, it was a soothing and quieting caress. His lips felt good on hers. 
She responded by putting an arm around his neck and pulling his face back to 
hers. Then he did a funny thing again, slipping his tongue in between her 
teeth and touching its tip to hers. A little muscle deep inside her belly 
went tick and the sensation was pleasant. A warm glow began to spread 
throughout her body. She wanted it to get warmer so she moved her tongue, 
just a little, to make it rub against his. Now Doug was thrusting his tongue 
deeply into her mouth, searching out its innermost recesses, caressing and 
stroking her tongue with his. Warm floods of feeling spread through her 
body. She hoped he would never stop doing this wonderful thing to her. 

To her disappointment, he did. He pulled his head away, kissed her lightly 
on the lips, then transferred the kiss to the front of her throat. She felt 
his tongue tip reappear, to trace lazy circles on her skin. The moisture 
left behind by each touch felt cool even though her flesh beneath it was 
burning. 

Doug's tongue was moving lower now. It reached the hollow of her throat, 
just above her chest, and explored their soft curves. He pushed the collar 
of the pajama top aside with his chin to search them out. The top button 
popped open and he slid his face down between her breasts to kiss the 
insides of their roundness. A thousand flashes of electricity shot through 
her being at his touch. 

Now she felt his face moving boldly to the side, to trace the corona 
surrounding the nipple on her left breast. Her flesh contracted until the 
surface of her corona was stippled with tiny mounds, while the nipple 
hardened and stood up straight. He brushed it with his lips. Her nipple felt 
inflamed, congested, sore; she wished there were some way to relieve the 
pressure. 

As if in answer, Doug's lips parted to suck the nipple into his mouth. He 
began to nurse on it, sucking on it with his lips and massaging it with his 
tongue. 

Ahh, this was it. Now she was at peace. Without even knowing that she did 
so, she slipped an arm around his neck to pillow his head on her breast. He 
was her baby; her little boy who was sucking strength and nourishment out of 
her body but at the same time was making her stronger too. Waves of 
pleasurable sensation shot through her. She was warm and at peace and doing 
what she had been designed by nature to do-giving nourishment from her 
breast to a baby. 

Doug lifted himself half-upright to unbutton and remove the pajama top. Then 
he leaned over her to sweep her right breast into his mouth and nurse it. 
Now the other half of her was warming. She lay on her back, utterly at 
peace; enjoying but surprised at the waves of heat which were coursing 
through her body. Her breathing got deeper. She was almost panting. 

Doug slid his hand down her body, released her breast to begin kissing her 
chest, her ribs. He slid his hands down over her pelvis to peel back the 
pajama bottoms. Now he kissed the high pelvis; snuggled his face down into 
the curves where her hip bones met her thighs. He pressed a firm kiss on her 
flat belly. The stubble on his chin scratched her flesh but somehow the 
slight irritation was pleasant. 

Now he buried his face in the curly, golden hair which sprouted from between 
her legs, probed its depths with the tip of his tongue, and suddenly an 
electrifying contact was made. Something roamed the inside of her and a 
tremendous pressure began to build up in every fiber of her body. Great 
flashing circles of light whirled through her. Every nerve ending in her 
skin tingled. He kept it up until she was almost bursting with pressure; 
until the great whiteness surging through her brain made her wonder if she 
were going to faint. 

He moved and Karen felt the weight of his body on top of hers. For some 
reason he wasn't heavy or crushing; just warm and comfortable. Her body had 
been made to take his weight in this fashion. Of their own volition, without 
her willing them to do so, her arms went around his body to pull his breasts 
against hers, while her legs doubled themselves at the knees and spread 
wide. Her hips rolled upward to offer her womanhood to him. 

Doug's manhood encountered her upthrust opening and he began a slow 
penetration. Karen felt him enter; thrilled to the sensation of his organ 
moving gently up inside hers. She could hardly wait until he was so far 
inside her that heir bodies would again meet and she would feel the pressure 
of him against the thing of hers which he had been caressing with his 
tongue. Impatiently she pushed her hips up at him, frenziedly trying to 
hurry him all the way home. She wanted all of him in her, now, as much and 
as far as he could get it in. 

And then it was done. She felt the end of it slide up and come in firm 
contact with the back wall of her chamber; felt her vagina stretch tight 
around his shaft; felt the good feeling of being completely full of this 
heavenly thing. His testicles were nestled tightly against her rectum and 
they felt warm and good as they were cradled there. His body was pushed up 
firmly against the little thing in the front of her opening that has such 
burning sensations in it, that was so congested that she wanted to rub it 
against him fiercely to get relief. Somehow she knew that if she rubbed that 
little place against Doug's body it would feel better. 

She moved her hips to do so and Doug responded by trying to drive even more 
of himself within her. Together they moved, each struggling to get more of 
the other; to give and to receive even more fiercely. 

Great liquid waves of heat were surging through her now as she responded to 
his fierce thrusts with even fiercer thrusting of her own. Together they 
surged to dizzying heights of passion. 

Then, suddenly, she was erupting in a wild, orgiastic spree which sent shock 
waves through her whole body. She was riding on a high white cloud, high 
above a mountaintop, and her head spun in a dizzy spiral. Doug continued his 
pressure on her and she climaxed again and again, until she was in a 
transport of ecstasy. 

Slowly she began to recover her senses, her passion spent. Almost 
regretfully she felt herself coming down to the planes of earth again. 

But now Doug was speeding up his pace in her. She savored the feeling of a 
great, hard, muscled thing inside her, which was prodding away at her inner 
parts. This bigness and hardness of his was poking at the back wall of her. 
It made her feel proud, that this fine man was doing this to her, and proud 
of herself that she could experience this ecstasy, and that she was able to 
make him so excited. 

And then it was happening. Doug was throbbing inside her, and at every throb 
he was pouring the juices of his manhood into her. She felt them flow into 
her, sensed them spreading out to fill all of her cavities, and the joy of 
this feeling was enough to send her off into another smaller, more moderate, 
but still enjoyable climax. 

They lay together, Doug still on top of her. Karen's arms still locked 
around him and holding him tightly to her. She wanted him never to dismount; 
always there on top of her. Even now that utterly beautiful thing of his was 
still inside her. Although limp, it still felt wonderful up there. 

She squeezed her arms around him. "Doug, make it throb again," she 
whispered. She felt his cheeks crinkle in a smile as he obliged. He made it 
pulse once, twice; paused a second before making it throb in the traditional 
Bum-ditty-bum-bum- bum-bum. Karen giggled; the first time she had laughed in 
days. "You idiot," she chuckled. "Stop that." 

"Why? Did you know I could send Morse Code with it?" Deliberately he made it 
throb in the International Distress Signal; three short, three long, and 
three rapid shorts. 

"That's S.O.S.." He told her. "I learned Morse Code in the Service." 

Something she had read in one of the books at work came back to her. "What 
kind of service? Stud service?" 

Doug roared with laughter. She began giggling, too, and suddenly he was 
terribly heavy on her; seemed to be crushing her to a pulp. 

"Ooh, Doug, you're so heavy. I can't breathe." 

Obligingly Doug slid on his back, pulling her to him so that her head rested 
on his shoulder. "You didn't think I was too heavy a half-hour ago," he 
reproached. 

"That was a half-hour ago. Besides, you had me so excited I didn't know what 
I was doing." 

"Well, for someone who didn't know what she was doing you sure did it pretty 
good." 

She squirmed and punched him in the ribs with her fist. He grunted. "Quit 
it," she ordered. 

"Fine with me. Thank God you didn't say do it again." 

Karen lay quietly, wide awake, luxuriating in the sensations flowing through 
her body. She felt alive but still relaxed. In fact, she decided, she felt 
better physically than she had ever felt in her entire life. 

She heard Doug start to breathe deeply. A decision came to her quite 
suddenly. 

"Doug, are you awake?" A grunt, a pause, a deep breath followed by the 
words: 

"Well, if I wasn't I am now. What is it?" 

She snuggled closer against him as she said, dreamily: 

"You know, I think maybe I'm ready to write a novel. I think I can do it." 

"What about?" 

"I think I'll write a book about DeWilde and his friends and when I finish 
it, I'm going to sell it to a rival publisher." 


End
