Blackmailed Into Sin
by Peter Jensen
(BSS-674T)


FOREWORD 

Along with a number of other institutions of dubious social value, the term 
"class warfare" was apparently invented by the redoubtable Karl Marx. In his 
studies of 19th century English society, Marx detected a deep and violent 
division between the "working class" and the "bourgeoisie." While western 
sociologists and political scientists have rejected much of the Marxian 
evaluation of society, the idea of class warfare has taken root in our 
contemporary thought, even in North America and Western Europe where 
communism itself is unpopular. The idea that certain segments are, or ought 
to be, at war with one another finds its way into presidential speeches, 
novels and television commentaries on an everyday basis. 

What are the true social classes in conflict in twentieth century America? 
Author Peter Jensen believes that two classes have emerged in the post-war 
period and that there is deep and abiding hostility between them, a kind of 
social love-hate relationship. In place of the impoverished factory worker 
of Marx's day, today we have the welfare recipient. The introduction of 
welfare, Medicare and social security systems has created an entire class of 
families who are poor, but not starving. They tend to live in the same parts 
of the city, mingling with members of the underworld prostitutes, drunkards, 
pick-pockets and so forth. In these ghettos, a whole new life-style has 
emerged, bringing with it a new morality, new tastes, and new fashions. It 
is the world of the poor in rich America. But the welfare poor have one 
advantage which is denied to the rest of the country, and Mr. Jensen 
illustrates it clearly in this compelling new novel. The welfare poor still 
know how to live a talent which middle class America has forgotten. 
Unencumbered by jobs which take up time and energy, the welfare recipient 
has the leisure and just enough money to pursue the pleasures of the flesh. 
Sitting in his mansion, the rich industrialist of today is troubled by the 
notion that a man dwelling in a cold water flat in the slums just might be 
having more fun than he is. 

Who is this other class? Author Jensen identified it for us clearly. We are 
not speaking of the traditionally wealthy like the Kennedys and the 
Rockefellers, or the industrial barons like John Paul Getty or Howard 
Hughes, since this class is declining in numbers and power as a result of 
intensive taxation. No, the novelist has focused his attention on what he 
believes to be the politically and socially dominant class in America today, 
that of the upper middle class executive suburbanite. These are not the 
mythological "very, very rich" so ably described by F. Scott Fitzgerald, but 
in comparison to the slum-dwelling welfare recipient, they are very rich 
indeed. Typically, the "executive suburbanite" lives outside the 
hustle-bustle of the city in an all-white neighborhood. The house is large 
and elegant, probably with a swimming pool in the back, and crammed inside 
with all the gadgets technology has devised for keeping people happy: color 
TV, stereophonic sound systems, automatic kitchen and exercise machines. 
What is lacking? Fun, perhaps sensuality, excitement, life? 

This compelling novel traces the story of a girl who attempts to bridge the 
gap between these two social classes. In the end, inevitably, she fails, but 
even her failure is illustrative of the points Mr. Jensen is attempting to 
make. Married to a rising young business executive, Joan Caruthers has her 
own lower class view of the world, her own moral standards and her own 
theories on what makes life interesting. This is a richly sensual book and 
Joan's fatal flaw is sexual in nature; but sex is only one of the many 
things which ultimately compel her to return to her people! 

Thomas Wolfe is famous for remarking that we can never go home again. In 
this profoundly exciting novel, Mr. Jensen is suggesting that perhaps home 
is something one can never really leave. 

-The Publishers. Sausalito, California January, 1973 

-------------------------------------------------- 

 PROLOGUE 

Now, to get to Split's place is not really difficult even though for some 
reason the police never seem to manage it. First you go right down Humphrey 
Street past Max's Pawn Shop, the one with the stuffed peacock in the window, 
and it might be a good idea to keep one hand on your wallet in this part of 
the city because the folks are friendly enough hereabouts even though they 
look a little mean; but life has gotten pretty tough in the last few years 
and some of the old-timers have become real experts at the five-fingered, 
share-the-wealth technique, meaning their fingers and your wealth. 

Okay, now at the pawn shop you turn right and it might be a good idea to 
cross over to the other side of the street at this point because there is a 
real mean drunk named Hector who usually sleeps in the alley-way running 
between Sleepy Joe's Bar and Grill and the slaughter house. Incidentally, 
Sleepy Joe is out of jail now and back behind the bar, but it's not a good 
place to stop for a drink late in the evening because sometimes things 
happen in there they don't talk about in the morning papers. From here on 
it's easy going so long as you don't get side-tracked and wander into the 
whorehouse at the end of the street, which would not be a good idea either 
even if you 're in the mood because some of those girls may look all right, 
but a few days after you've been with one of them, you might notice a nasty 
itching sensation in your pants and then you've got to spend a lot of money 
on penicillin. When the folks in this part of town need a girl, they usually 
call up Split and he arranges things. 

In fact. Split arranges almost everything on this side of the tracks, and 
he's really not a bad guy once you get to know him, although naturally he 
can play a little rough if somebody tries to shortchange him which nobody 
who knows him would ever dare to do. But a girl Split sends around isn't 
going to give you what those dudes from the hospital call "a social 
disease," and he won't cheat you, either, even though he naturally takes his 
percentage off the top: guess that's why everybody calls him Split. If 
you'll split the profits, Split will set up almost anything for you except 
for the real rough stuff, for which you have to see Tony. Tony can be hard 
to find because the police are also interested in talking to him, but Split 
can locate him if you need something taken care of in a hurry. 

All right, if you're following my directions so far, you'll find a photo 
shop just behind the whorehouse where Split usually hangs around with Jack 
Lynch, the photographer. Jack's got a big studio just behind his shop which 
used to be a warehouse, but he and Split have fixed the place up; and, if 
you and your friends are in the mood for a real wild party I mean an 
exceptionally wild party you can arrange to be invited to one there, 
providing the price is right and you aren't wearing one of those blue 
uniforms with a badge on your chest. 

Now, when you get into the shop, the first person you see is usually Liza 
who is a sensational looking chick with long brown hair and a body which 
might make you think about going back to the whorehouse, itch or no itch. 
Liza works for Split, and if you 're really interested she can be had, but 
you've got to be gentlemanly about it and speak to Split first, because Liza 
likes to think of herself as a "model" and she's a couple of social classes 
above those girls who work the streets. None of the guys in this 
neighborhood can afford her, but once in a while she goes on "dates" with 
well-heeled businessmen from the other side of town, and from the stories we 
hear around here she's worth every penny of it, although naturally Split 
takes his cut. 

Anyway, Liza looks you over, and if you don't look like the fuzz or a narc 
or some other kind of undesirable type, she'll send you back to see Split; 
and you'll know him when you see him. He's real tall, about six-five, and 
not bad looking except for a nose he got broken in a fight a couple of years 
back. He's thin, but not what you'd call skinny played a couple of seasons 
of semi-pro basketball when he was a kid, and he stays in trim. In his 
business, it pays. 

The other guy is Jack Lynch, who takes pictures at weddings and Bar-Mitzvahs 
as a side-line, but most of his work is girly pictures and folks say he does 
a little blackmail photography on the side. Jack is lazy and they say he got 
into photography because he couldn't get up the energy for anything more 
complicated than pushing and releasing the shutter on a camera, but he's 
also supposed to be the biggest cocksman west of the Central Train Station, 
so maybe he's just saving his strength for things that count. 

Still interested in paying the old neighborhood a visit? Well, so was Joan 
Caruthers. Maybe you'd better hear what happened to her first.. . 

 CHAPTER ONE 

"Hey, what's happening on that latest bunch of pics we sent out for 
distribution?" Lynch demanded, lighting one cigarette from the butt of 
another and grunting with the exertion of reaching for a bottle of beer. 
"There was some pretty hot stuff there." 

"Terrible!" Split muttered, pacing back and forth in the photographer's back 
office. "Everybody in town has seen every square inch of Liza's body, Jack, 
and in every position we can think of. We've got to come up with another 
model, once in awhile. Either that or get a little dirtier, and Liza gets 
her dignity up whenever we try to use our imagination." 

"I thought that bit with the German shepherd would've sold like hotcakes." 

"It would have," admitted the arranger, "but she won't do it, and I guess I 
don't blame her. How would you like to get fucked by a German shepherd?" 

"I tried it with a female collie when I was a kid once but she bit me just 
when I was on the verge of cumming. You wanna see the scar?" 

"Ah, fuck your scar," snapped the tall, slender man, "We've got problems, 
Jack! I made a deal with the head of that construction firm on the other 
side of town to throw a party here in a couple of weeks, and we've got to 
come up with some new faces." 

"Some new cunts, you mean," Jack agreed morosely. "Liza's fucked every one 
of those guys at least ten times and if she's all we have to offer, it's 
gonna look too much like a re-run. We can get in some of the usual girls, 
but for these guys we need some chicks with class." 

"It's not class, exactly," philosophized the lanky organizer. "You gotta 
understand the psychology of a party Like this. The dude comes in and he's 
turned on because he knows this is one of those wild, Hollywood-style 
parties he's always wanted to be invited to and he really feels Like he's 
slumming and there's a lot of good-looking broads running around, and he 
finally gets one of them into a corner and scores and he goes out of here 
feeling like he's ten feet tall, because he doesn't know that the broad has 
been paid in advance to fuck him and wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole 
if she weren't. And for that kind of atmosphere, you got to have girls who 
don't look like they fuck with everyone who has a cock under his pants. 
Liza's fine and we can go on using her, but we need some fresh faces!" 

"Hey, whatever happened to that friend of Liza's. . . what's her name...the 
chick with the big tits and the little ass? You remember who I mean? She was 
as wild a child if ever there was one, but when she got herself fixed up, 
she looked like she belonged in one of them fashion magazines. Haven't seen 
her around, have you?" 

"Me neither," commented Split laconically, straining his mind to remember 
the last time he had run into the girl in question. "Name was Joan something 
or other. She'd be perfect if we could find her, but I seem to remember she 
married some guy and moved out of the district." 

* * * 

Allen Caruthers was upstairs packing for his trip and feeling a little 
irritated that his wife was not up there with him, folding his socks neatly 
or finding his cuff-links and generally behaving like a businessman's wife 
was supposed to behave when hubby was preparing to leave town for a couple 
of days. Instead, Joan Caruthers was in the back yard, walking around the 
swimming pool, feeling moody and philosophical. For one thing, it was hotter 
than a day this time of year had any right to be, and the curvy young 
blonde's clothing was sticking to her skin, making her feel unattractive and 
uncomfortable. On top of this, she was facing five straight days of absolute 
boredom. Allen would be out of town, which meant that all of their neighbors 
would refrain from inviting her to any parties in the meantime, and she 
would sit at home watching television and smoking too many cigarettes, while 
the maid did the dishes and vacuumed the wall-to-wall carpets. 

"Be ready in ten minutes!" the young executive called from his bedroom, 
perhaps as a way of reminding her that he could be ready in five if she 
would come up and help, but she ignored the implied suggestion, grumbling 
something unintelligible in reply. What she really wanted to do was jump 
into the cool inviting water of the swimming pool, but that meant climbing 
up to their bedroom and hunting for her bathing suit while Allen protested 
that she didn't have time to go swimming and he was certain to miss his 
plane. 

All this rigid scheduling and minute-counting was difficult for Joan to 
accustom herself to, particularly since there had not even been an alarm 
clock in the home where she had been born and raised. Nobody worked, so you 
never really had to know what time it was. In fact, there had not been much 
of anything in Joan's girlhood home, except a lengthy series of "uncles" who 
came to stay with her mother, but it had been a comfortable, easy-going 
environment and nobody had asked her too many questions when she came home 
late from a date, or just came home late with her long blonde hair in wild 
disorder and her blouse tom...or simply did not come home at all. Marriage 
to Allen Caruthers had meant a house in the suburbs with a big back yard and 
this magnificent kidney-shaped swimming pool and a maid and a color 
television, but it also meant living on Allen's schedule, which was always 
tight, and living according to his moral standards which were even tighter. 
They had been married for a year now, and there were times when she wondered 
if it had all been worth it, even though she usually felt more or less 
happy. But today, she felt strangely discontent, and the shimmering waters 
of the pool looked exceptionally inviting. 

Seized by a sudden irrational inspiration, Joan looked around her carefully, 
noting that the only place from which their pool could be observed was the 
bedroom window of the Johnson's home next door, and she was reasonably sure 
that she had heard Mr. and Mrs. Johnson going out earlier that morning. How 
about a skinny-dip? 

Unfortunately for Mr. Johnson, he had in fact left early that morning for a 
meeting of the Central Church Committee on the Fine Arts, taking Mrs. 
Johnson with him, but had he chanced to stay at home and hide behind the 
curtain in his bedroom window, the morning would certainly have been better 
spent. Moving swiftly, Joan Caruthers unzipped the back of her cotton top, 
letting it fall to the tile stones and stepping neatly out of it, wearing 
only her bra and panties. What Mr. Johnson was never destined to see was a 
body which would have sent a Greek sculptor scrambling for his chisel or 
inspired a Renaissance painter to reach for his brush. 

The fragile fabric of the brassiere she wore barely concealed the girl's 
high-set and widely spaced breasts which swayed provocatively as she moved 
and there was a nervous flutter of sexual excitement in Joan's stomach as 
her hands swept briskly down over her flat girlish waist to the lushly 
rounded surfaces of her hips where a pair of brief cotton panties covered 
the secret parts of her ripe young body. A moment's hesitation, and the deed 
was done; the panties joined her top on the cool pink tiles surrounding the 
pool, and Mr. Johnson was missing a sight which would have kept him tingling 
for a week, probably to the benefit of Mrs. Johnson's sex life. As Joan bent 
to arrange her clothing so that it would not wrinkle, the hidden observer 
might have seen the lusciously rounded cheeks of her firm trim buttocks, and 
as she turned to glance nervously at the bedroom window, Johnson might have 
been in a position to know for sure that the honey-blonde hair which tumbled 
around the softness of her shoulders was really her natural color. The 
smooth "V" shaped triangle of sparse pussy hair which concealed the entrance 
to the sensual mysteries of her body was only a hint less blonde than the 
flaxen hair on her head, as normally the case. Probably, Johnson would not 
have been moved at this moment to any scientific speculation of the 
coloration differential between pubic and normal hair; no, probably at this 
point his attention would have been riveted on the lust-stimulating globes 
of her breasts which were about to be revealed as Joan's hands went behind 
her back to unfasten the snaps on her brassiere. 

Unconsciously behaving like a stripper who saves the best until last, Joan 
pulled away her one remaining garment, allowing the ripely succulent flesh 
of her high mountainous breasts to tumble free and be kissed by the bright 
morning sun. Looking down at herself, the young wife giggled as she noticed 
that the tiny brown tips of her breasts were becoming hard and firm, 
apparently indicating that the act of stripping her lust-provoking body 
naked in her own back yard was arousing her enough to have an obvious effect 
on her darkly tempting little nipples. 

Joan, you'll still be a sex-pot when you're ninety, the girl told herself 
with resignation, as she lowered her long shapely body feet first into the 
clear refreshing water. Some women just can't turn off their feelings even 
when they marry a respectable guy and move into high society. 

Keeping her head out of the water to avoid wetting her hair, the young Mrs. 
Caruthers side-stroked languidly across the pool, enjoying the richly 
sensual caress of the water as it swept over the vibrantly tingling surfaces 
of her naked body and decided that this was one of the most pleasant things 
she had ever done. Oooooh, it makes you feel so'sexy, she warned herself as 
she felt the tingle down low in her stomach begin to spread into her loins. 
And there's no point in getting all turned on, because you've got to drive 
hubby to meet his airplane, and there's no room in his plans for an 
unscheduled session in the bedroom. 

Not that a quickie would necessarily do the trick, she admitted to herself 
ruefully, her mind wandering back over the sex life she had shared with her 
husband during the first year of their marriage. Frankly, it had been 
something of a disappointment. Allen had dutifully presented her with her 
own sports car, a high-fidelity sound system and a wardrobe full of swanky 
clothes, but somehow his gift giving fell off sharply when they went to bed 
together. He only seemed to like it twice a week and always looked mildly 
scandalized if she suggested it before he did, apparently believing that a 
proper married lady ought to wait until she was asked. And when she finally 
did manage to maneuver him into bed, his performance was lackluster at best, 
and rarely lasted long enough for her to get any real satisfaction. 

She floated on her back for awhile, her head propped up on an inflated 
plastic float, enjoying the sensation of the water washing lasciviously 
between the lightly tanned inner surfaces of her thighs like some secret 
aquatic lover. Because of the buoyancy in the water, her breasts also 
floated, pointing straight up, with just the brown points of her nipples 
emerging from the shimmering wavelets, and the sex-tingle started to get 
worse, now filtering up and down her backbone. Damn, this is fun, she told 
herself emphatically. These folks out here have all got everything money can 
buy and how they manage to be miserable most of the time is beyond me! On a 
good Saturday night downtown with a dollar and a half, you and a guy could 
have a real ball, and when he got you into the back seat of his car, or onto 
a couch somewhere, it wasn't twice a week, but twice an hour! 

Sharply, she reprimanded herself for these lascivious thoughts. All right, 
she had been the classical wild child from the broken home on the wrong side 
of the tracks and she had done plenty of things Allen would never find out 
anything about. But the day she had walked down the aisle with him in that 
new church in the suburbs, all that had changed. She had seen what a mess 
her mother had made of her life because of her total inability to remain 
faithful to one man for any length of time, and Joan was determined not to 
repeat the same mistake. They called it sowing wild oats when a boy did it, 
and girls were not supposed to do it at all; but she had sown plenty of oats 
before her marriage, and all that should be out of her system by now. She 
was twenty four years old and it was time to grow up! 

But damn, it was too bad that Allen had to meet that plane this morning! 
Even a couple of mad minutes in his standard missionary position would be a 
help in her present mood, and if he had just a little time to spare, maybe 
she could teach him a couple of tricks...she had to be very careful here and 
she knew it. Allen had been slightly disappointed on their honeymoon to find 
out that she was not a virgin, although she had never claimed to be anything 
of the kind. But if he ever found out precisely how un-virgin she was, he 
would probably divorce her! But maybe it was time to start training him, 
very gently...it would be different if there really had been a virgin 
underneath the long white gown she had worn on her wedding day, and then she 
would never have known the difference. Oh, the sun was so warm and wonderful 
as it played over the wet nakedness of her body, penetrating deep into her 
bones and heating her up all over. For a moment she felt so sensual and 
sexy, she thought she could almost cum just by floating there and thinking 
about it.. . 

"Joan! What the hell are you doing?" came a near-hysterical hiss from the 
back door of their house. Allen Caruthers was dressed in the formal business 
suit he normally wore for traveling, his suitcase in hand, looking like a 
banking ad. "Good God, if anyone sees you...." he gasped in dismay. "We 
could be arrested...." 

He dropped the suitcase and disappeared into the house, presumably in search 
of adequate covering for his chaste young wife, while Joan sighed deeply, 
swimming languidly to the side of the pool, and climbed out, feeling the 
water drip teasingly off the sumptuous mounds of her naked young breasts and 
half-hoping that everyone in the neighborhood was peeking through the 
bushes. How typical! She was thinking savagely as she scooped up her dress 
and walked towards the house. A girl takes a skinny-dip, and Allen makes a 
sex crime out of it! But he's right, if somebody in this jerky neighborhood 
saw my bare ass, they probably would call the cops. Welcome to suburbia! A 
swimming pool in every yard and not a stiff cock in the place! 

* * * 

"Good-bye dear, and if anything goes wrong, you can either reach me in St. 
Louis, or call my brother." Allen Caruthers was standing at the boarding 
gate, his ticket in hand, giving last minute instructions to his proper 
young wife, and resenting the stares her lushly ripened body was attracting 
from the other men in the air terminal. 

That's what you get for marrying a beautiful young woman a decade younger 
than you are, he philosophized, recalling how he had first met Joan working 
as the bar maid in a cheap tavern in the run-down section of town. One 
glance had told him clearly that she was too good for that kind of life, and 
in his methodical, businesslike manner, he had set himself to court her, 
showering her with presents but carefully keeping her hidden from his 
respectable family and friends until he had corrected certain defects in her 
character. There was her habit of swearing in mixed company, for example, 
which had to be eliminated before she could be presented to his parents, and 
also her style of dressing had to be radically altered. Joan had the most 
sensual figure Allen had ever seen on a woman, but her sexy, low-cut dresses 
tended to show too much of it off to the world in general, when those 
magnificent, lust-inspiring breasts should be reserved for her lawfully 
wedded husband, after the wedding, of course. Joan had put up a certain 
amount of resistance to this last point, because she had been raised to 
believe that a woman with a good body like hers should not keep it hidden, 
but eventually she had given in as her closet overflowed with expensive, 
elegant, and very modest dresses from the best women's fashion shops in 
town. 

"Have a good trip, darling," Joan told him, still feeling mildly irritated 
at the scene he had made over her little dip in the pool. 

"Oh, and Joan, please...." the businessman looked quickly around him to make 
sure that none of his fellow passengers were listening. ". . . please don't 
go swimming like that again, okay?" 

She nodded sourly and stepped back as the group began handing their tickets 
in to the collector and moving down the ramp towards the waiting aircraft. 
Normally, Joan would have gone to the observation deck and waved as the 
plane took off, but today she felt sufficiently put out by his 
holier-than-thou attitude to return directly to her sports car and head back 
towards the city. 

The day was balmy and pleasant, and she put the convertible top down and let 
her long blonde hair trail behind her in the breeze as she skillfully 
negotiated the light morning traffic, driving towards the beltway which 
would take her neatly around the impoverished slum where she had been raised 
and directly to the plush comfortable suburbs where she was now a popular 
young society matron. But as she approached the turn-off, a devilish impulse 
overtook her, and without considering the matter carefully, she decided to 
disobey Allen's sternest commandment and pay a fleeting visit to the world 
she had left behind her. She would not go to her mother's home, of course, 
since encounters with her mother were always painful; but it would be fun to 
see if she could find Liza, her old girlhood chum. In her last letter Liza 
had said something about working for a photographer named Lynch . . . 

 CHAPTER TWO 

"Fun seeing your old girl friend again, was it?" asked Split with studied 
casualness as he eased his long athletic frame into a chair next to Liza's 
desk and offered the "model" a swig from his bottle of beer. 

"Oh, how nice it was of Joan to drop by!" gushed the girl sincerely. As far 
as survival was concerned, Liza possessed the jungle instinct of an animal, 
but in ordinary affairs, her intelligence could not be described as massive, 
and both Lynch and Split frequently played on her simple-mindedness to get 
whatever they wanted from her. Liza had never been really able to comprehend 
why Joan had elected to shun her old friends after her marriage, and had 
always been a little hurt by the fact, but today she was genuinely happy to 
see her again, and absolutely delighted that Split had proposed the idea of 
having a little party that night and inviting Joan. 

"Funny though, that she hasn't seen fit to keep in contact with all her old 
friends," mused 

Split nonchalantly. "I mean, Joan's gotten pretty high-hat since she married 
that rich businessman." 

"Huh? I wouldn't say she was high-hat," Liza loyally tried to defend her 
friend, but she knew in her heart that she was having approximately the same 
thoughts. She had changed and there had been something vaguely condescending 
about the way she had glanced around the photography shop, as if she were 
now a little too good for this kind of thing. 

"And that red sports car," Split persisted, deliberately harping on the 
point. "Of course, she had to park it right outside the shop to make sure 
everybody saw it." 

"Yeah," breathed Liza enviously. "Nobody ever gave me so much as a 
second-hand Ford, and she gets to run around in that imagine thing. What's 
she got that I haven't got more of?" 

"Not a damned thing, Liza," Split assured her quickly, seeing that things 
were going precisely as he had planned them. "And if you struck it lucky and 
married some rich guy, you wouldn't snub your old friends, either, would 
you?" 

"Not a bit of it! After all, friends are friends!" 

"That's how I've always felt about it. And tonight she's doing us the honor 
of attending our little party. What do you want to bet that she waltzes in 
here in some two hundred dollar dress?" 

"That's exactly what she'll do," agreed the girl promptly, quickly falling 
victim to Split's convincing manner. "I'd say she needs taking down a peg or 
two!" 

These were precisely the words the tall organizer had been waiting to hear, 
and he lost no time in capitalizing on the opening she had given him. 

"That's what Jack and I were thinking too," he told her smoothly. "We were a 
little bit irritated at the way she treated you and thought it would be fun 
to remind her that we all knew her back in the days when she couldn't afford 
to be so high and mighty. What do you say if we play some games with Mrs. 
Caruthers tonight?" 

"Suits me down to the ground," agreed Liza, simple-mindedly. "What'er you 
going to do?" 

"Oh, nothing rough, but I can remember when our noble lady wasn't quite as 
holy and chaste as she likes to pretend she is now. Well just let the party 
get a little rough, and see if we can't get her on her back with her legs in 
the air, just to remind her not to put on airs with folks who know her 
better. I thought we could show that film Jack got his hands on last year 
and see if that doesn't get something started." 

"Oh, that film! I always get embarrassed when I see it." 

"But you watch it anyway, don't you, love?" 

Split mocked her gently. "Let's see if we can make Mrs. Caruthers blush." 

His mischief done here, Split walked out into the photography shop to find 
Jack Lynch, who was sitting behind the counter reading a movie magazine. 

"You convince her?" inquired the photographer, looking up from the 
full-color picture of a naked actress he had been studying with great 
interest. 

"I never have any trouble convincing that chick about anything," laughed 
Split scornfully. "How anybody could have such a nice body and such an empty 
head is beyond me. Look, here's my play...." 

"Wait a minute, that looks like a customer," cautioned Jack, motioning to a 
young man who was standing nervously in front of the display window, 
comparing the address to something he had written down on a piece of paper 
he held in his hand. The youth was wearing a college-type blazer and was 
obviously ill at ease about being in this rough neighborhood alone. After a 
moment's hesitation, he entered the store. 

"What can we do for you, son?" asked the photographer agreeably. 

"Uh...are you Jack Lynch?" 

"Might be, might not be," the photographer equivocated. "What do you need?" 

"Well, I wanted to buy some film," stammered the young man, blushing. 

"You don't need to know my name to buy film now, do you?" responded the 
Irishman carefully, playing the game according to the rules, even though he 
had already guessed what this particular customer was looking for. "Black 
and white, or color?" 

"Uh, I wanted some of that special film, like the kind you sold to Fred 
Macintyre, you know, the redheaded guy?" 

"Oh, that film! Well, I may have a reel or two left. How's old Fred doing 
anyway?" 

"Well, he flunked out of school," confessed the customer, "But he said the 
stuff was great." 

"The very best," confirmed Jack, "That'll be five bucks a roll." 

"Gimme two," said the student quickly, throwing a ten dollar bill on the 
counter. He scooped up what looked like two normal rolls of thirty five 
millimeter film and left. 

"I'm gonna have to raise the price of that stuff," speculated Lynch as he 
pocketed the money. "Those college boys just can't live without it." 

"Give me a couple of good Scotches any day," put in Split, "and these kids 
think that marijuana is God's gift to mankind. They all use it to turn on 
their girl friends. When those smart-ass college chicks get good and stoned 
on this stuff, they just can't seem to keep their pants on." 

"That's what they tell me...hey, I noticed this morning that our Mrs. 
Caruthers had taken up the evil habit of smoking cigarettes. Why don't you 
roll a couple of our own special little cancer-sticks and use the same kind 
of funny tobacco you just sold to our nervous friend there?" 

A lascivious smile spread slowly over the photographer's lazy but handsome 
face as he got the point. 

"Oh, Split, you are an evil man," he joked. "I'll set the cameras up this 
afternoon behind the mirror and...are you figuring on showing that film?" 

"Yeah." 

"Might scare her off." 

"Not if she has a drink or two and a puff of your magic tobacco first," 
grinned the arranger. "You take a bath and look desirable and leave 
everything else to old Split." 

* * * 

Joan Caruthers was happy and excited as she gazed at herself in the mirror, 
holding up one dress after another against her panty-clad body in an attempt 
to decide which outfit would be absolutely right for the evening. It had 
been marvelous seeing Liza again after a year, and even talking to Split had 
been fun, although she had once been a little afraid of him back in the days 
when she had tended bar at the tavern because of the mysterious aura of 
cruelty and menace about him. But now that she was the wife of a rising 
young businessman, people treated her with more respect, and she had noted 
the difference the moment she had parked the red convertible in front of 
Lynch's studio and walked in. 

The clock on the wall of her bedroom informed her that it was after nine, 
and she would have to make a decision about what to wear. Despite the fact 
that her wardrobe was filled with expensive dresses, nothing seemed exactly 
right and she almost gave in to the temptation to call Liza and find out 
what her girl friend would be wearing. All of her dresses suddenly seemed to 
old for her, and too sober for what promised to be a fun-packed evening. But 
a decision had to be made and finally she selected a colorful top, put it 
on, and examined herself in the mirror, finding that it was pretty but 
almost school girlishly modest. She knew her husband's opinions on this 
subject, but she could not help feeling that it would not be a mortal sin if 
she were to show off a little more of the magnificent body which nature had 
given her. The top had a patch of cloth sewn in front which made it an 
abnormally modest outfit, but upon closer examination, Joan found that it 
could be removed with a few quick snips of her scissors, giving her a 
cleavage which would make Jack Lynch's Irish head spin. In fact, it was 
almost too extreme, she feared as she modeled the altered garment in front 
of the mirror, and she knew she would have to be careful how she stood and 
moved, or she would put more of her richly lush bosom on display than she 
intended. But it was getting too late for any more revisions. The party was 
waiting! 

* * * 

An hour later, she was extremely glad that she had disobeyed her husband's 
stern instructions to stay away from the part of town where Liza lived. She 
had expected more people, but in fact, only Liza, Jack Lynch and Split were 
there, although some other old friends were expected to drop in later. Every 
one was behaving just the way people had always behaved when she was a girl 
growing up in this neck of the woods, and she noticed the difference 
immediately between these warm, uninhibited people and the icy, snobbish 
society gentry her husband liked to associate with. In Jack Lynch's studio, 
a girl could laugh loudly if she liked, or drip her cigarette ashes on the 
floor, or cross her legs, or do just about anything she felt like doing, and 
it was a pleasant change to be able to relax in company and not worry about 
her manners all the time. 

"Here, your glass is empty, lovey," murmured Jack Lynch in her ear, bending 
forward to fill up her cup with the red sparkling wine they were drinking 
and simultaneously helping himself to a lecherous look at the generous 
amount of bosom revealed by her low-cut dress, the two broad straps of the 
top barely covered her rosy nipples and in between where the superfluous 
material had been removed was the tempting valley between her two 
warm-fleshed breasts. Sitting to one side of her, Jack Lynch could 
occasionally catch a glimpse of one taut little brown nipple whenever the 
golden-haired young wife forgot herself and leaned carelessly forward. The 
photographer's cock was slowly hardening in his pants as he surveyed the 
desirable creature before him, her dress now riding higher up over her 
thighs every time she rocked back and forth with hilarious laughter at one 
of Split's outrageous jokes. 

Joan had lived long enough in the real life of the slum to know that Lynch 
was very definitely on the make, but she promised herself sincerely that she 
was here for a good time and some companionship and nothing more, vowing 
that she would never be unfaithful to her husband. But somehow Allen 
Caruthers seemed very far away at this moment, and her head had already 
begun to spin slightly with the quantity of wine they had succeeded in 
pouring into her. She knew perfectly well that Lynch's lascivious black eyes 
never wandered far from her erotically exposed breasts, but after all, she 
told herself there was hardly anything she could do about it now. And the 
knowledge that he was hungry for her somehow produced a delicious sensual 
quiver which lingered deep in her loins. She would never give in, of course, 
but it had been a long time since a man had looked at her with such open 
undisguised lust, and she had forgotten how good it felt. 

"Hey Split, when we gonna see that movie you promised us?" demanded the 
Irishman, anxious to proceed with the evening's entertainment. 

"Well, I don't know," shrugged the organizer deceitfully. "Maybe it isn't 
the sort of thing a proper married lady like Joan should be looking at. I 
imagine she embarrasses easy." 

Joan was not sure whether this should be taken as a back-handed insult, or a 
compliment, but something in his manner challenged her. He knew perfectly 
well she had lived a pretty wild life before her marriage, and that it 
really took something to shock her. 

"I might blush, but I won't faint," she promised gamely, pretty sure that 
they were proposing to see one of the usual men's smoker films, not 
something where a scantily clad girl jumps out of a cake, or something 
equally silly. 

"Well, if you don't think you'll be offended," he teased them, "I've got to 
take a quick run out for some cigarettes, and the film's over by the 
projector. Jack can set it up." 

"You don't have to go out," chimed in Jack, who was already on his feet and 
fastening a reel of film to his machine. "I've got a pack of those 
cigarettes I brought back from Mexico." 

All of this was prearranged between the two men and Split shrugged 
indifferently as he spoke his next line. 

"Well, okay, but I'm not interested in getting high. That's kid stuff as far 
as I'm concerned." 

"Oh, is it marijuana?" questioned Joan, a little alarmed. She knew that some 
people smoked it, of course, but the price had always been more than she 
could afford, and the legal penalties for getting caught had always been 
very severe, so she had never touched it, even in her wild adolescence. 

"Just barely," Lynch returned. "It's mostly tobacco with just enough pot 
mixed in to give it some taste. I brought them back as souvenirs." 

"Well, I'll take one then," said Split, apparently hesitant, and he accepted 
a brownish hand-rolled cigarette from the pack Lynch offered him, frowning 
as if he were dubious about the idea. 

"Come on, Split, it's not heroin," Jack nagged him, and as if to prove the 
point, he lit one himself and passed the pack to Liza who accepted one, and 
then to Joan, who hesitated for a moment and then followed suit. After all, 
it just had enough marijuana in it to give you an idea of the taste, and she 
hated to pass up the opportunity to seem like more of a swinger than Split. 

"Well, all right, if you drug addicts are going to do it, I don't want to be 
left out," Split grinned, seeing that victory was now within their grasp. As 
a matter of hard fact, these reefers were loaded with the most potent grass 
sunny Mexico had to offer, and she would be lucky if she got half-way 
through one of them before it stood her on her ear. She would soon be 
helpless and with a little added stimulation from the film they were about 
to see, they would have her where they wanted her. 

Jack Lynch took a moment to point the motion picture projector towards a 
blank section of the wall while Split helped by pulling two couches into 
position. Joan settled herself comfortably on one of them, feeling slightly 
giddy and titillated at the prospect of seeing a naughty movie, and she 
dragged deeply on the cigarette they had given her, forgetting in her 
excitement that it was not one of her own. The taste was warm and so strong 
that she had to suppress a cough, but it was pleasant and not wanting to 
seem stuffy and naive, she smiled and took another slow drag. 

"My brother picked up this little number in France," Lynch explained as he 
activated the projector, plunging the room into darkness except for the 
bright rectangle of light against the wall. Moving skillfully through the 
gloom, he joined Joan on the couch, casually throwing one arm around her 
shoulder while the two of them puffed on their cigarettes and waited for the 
film to start. 

"Do you feel anything yet?" called Liza from the next couch where she was 
sprawled comfortably with Split. 

"Oh, wow, my head feels like it's going up on a rocket," Joan confessed 
happily, noting that a strange light sensation was slowly taking possession 
of her body as if the law of gravity were being gradually repealed and she 
was soon due to go floating up towards the ceiling. 

"Shhh, here's the movie," warned Split, anxious that Joan see every inch of 
the lust-inspiring film he was counting on as an essential part of his 
strategy. 

It's nice to be with people who aren't so terribly serious all the time, the 
young flaxen-haired girl told herself with a giggle, hardly noticing when 
Jack Lynch tightened his grip on her bare shoulder, pulling her body into a 
more comfortable position against his chest. The movie was called "Highway 
Rape," and from the background scenery behind the titles, Joan guessed that 
the story was set somewhere in rural France. By the side of a lonely country 
lane, a young girl was hitchhiking, but automobile after automobile seemed 
to be ignoring her extended thumb and passing her by. This allowed the 
cameraman to spend some time panning back and forth across her sweetly 
innocent young face and the teasingly attired adolescent body which only 
French women seem to have. The girl was wearing only a skimpy pair of shorts 
which accentuated the smoothly taut globes of her buttocks, and a halter top 
which showed off the high perky spheres of her newly-developed young breasts 
to the best advantage. 

An older woman who was wiser in the ways of the world would never have 
begged for a ride dressed in revealing, provoking clothing like this, and 
Joan could see in a minute that she was asking for trouble in that blatantly 
sexual outfit. But there was something fresh and innocent in the girl's eyes 
which told the viewer clearly that this was still a child whose body had 
developed ahead of her intelligence, making her particularly vulnerable in a 
situation of this kind. 

"Ohhh, Split!" came a giggle from the next couch, and Joan took her eyes off 
of the screen long enough to see what was happening. "You never could behave 
yourself in the dark!" 

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the subdued light, but from her 
vantage point, Joan picked out the bodies of her two friends wrestling on 
the pillows, and one of Split's hands seemed to have been thrust up under 
Liza's mini-skirt while the other one was invading beneath the girl's tight 
sweater. Liza, however, did not seem to be taking this lascivious behavior 
too seriously, and Joan guessed that her girl friend had probably become 
Split's mistress. The idea did not shock her very profoundly, and her eyes 
wandered dreamily back to the screen as she took another puff on the tip of 
the drugged cigarette. 

A car had stopped for the desirable young hitchhiker, and the two chatted 
for a moment, presumably about their destination before the French girl 
nodded with a smile and climbed into the front seat. The giggling and 
wrestling from the direction of the other couch was still going on, and Joan 
guessed that both of them had seen this film before but liked an excuse to 
turn down the lights and fool around with one another. Jack Lynch seemed to 
be in approximately the same mood, but he did not seem like a rough or 
demanding man, and Joan was confident that she could turn him off with a 
flat "no" if he became too amorous. At the moment, his hand was playing 
lightly across her bare shoulders, but he was keeping his distance from her 
voluptuously full breasts, and Joan failed to feel any sense of immediate 
danger. 

What she was feeling, on the other hand, was the heavenly swaying sensation 
of a babe being rocked in a cradle, and her fair sensitive skin seemed to 
have come alive with the narcotic effects of the marijuana, turning her 
entire body into one vast erogenous zone. She knew perfectly well that she 
was getting as high as the proverbial kite, but there seemed to be no danger 
in it, and she wondered why she had not taken the opportunity to try this 
marvelous stuff before. How wonderful it would be to get stoned with Allen! 

But she was losing track of the movie, and with a certain amount of 
difficulty, the young woman focused her eyes and concentrated on the screen. 
The car had driven only a short distance down the main road and then taken 
an abrupt turn onto a dirt road which led off into a group of pine trees. 
When the driver of the vehicle felt sure that he was safe from observation, 
he halted his car and got out, affording the viewers their first view of his 
face. 

As he circled rapidly around the back of the automobile to intercept the now 
frightened French teenager, Joan could see that he was a strong, 
mean-looking man in his forties and from his face, she judged that he could 
easily be a criminal of some kind or even a murderer. In his hand, he held a 
long vicious dagger, and as the hitchhiker leapt free of the car and 
prepared to flee, he put the blade to her throat, forcing her to stand still 
and face him. 

Joan felt the tension of the scene sweep over her and she immediately 
sympathized with the kidnapped girl, understanding from experiences in her 
own life how it felt to be an attractive adolescent in a society populated 
by tough, lusting men. The lewd smile stole slowly over the abductor's face 
as he realized that this helpless child was now completely under his power, 
and Joan shuddered as he moved the knife down to the fabric of her halter, 
placing the blade between the girl's two trembling young breasts. With a 
flash of the dagger, he sliced the garment in two, laughing callously as it 
fell uselessly to the ground. 

"Hmmmm, lovely breasts, don't you think?" commented Jack Lynch in an 
undertone, and for one confused instant, Joan thought that the Irishman was 
referring to her own firmly ripened mounds so inadequately covered by the 
top she was wearing. With a shake of her head, she tried to clear her 
pot-fogged mind, realizing that he was talking about the girl on the screen. 

"Yes...." she stammered, wondering if the marijuana would make her slur her 
words. "I wonder how old she is." 

"Probably about fifteen," the photographer guessed. "They usually pick very 
young girls for this kind of movie. Do you find it interesting? Exciting?" 

Joan was about to say no, that she found it amusing and nothing more, but 
despite the vagueness of her brain at this moment, she realized that she was 
finding this particular scene very erotic indeed, in fact, embarrassingly 
so. The tiny bud-like tips of her nipples were standing out hard and firm 
just as if some invisible hand were caressing her lewdly. Worse yet, she 
knew that the orgiastic juices within her loins were slowly but surely 
beginning to glow, and she wondered if her panties were getting wet. She 
began wiggling discreetly from side to side in a vain attempt to ease the 
tormenting itching sensation which was gradually beginning to start up 
between her bare legs. But she could hardly confess all of this to a man who 
was almost a complete stranger. 

"I'm not.. . not quite sure," she mumbled, avoiding the question. "He's not 
going to hurt her, is he?" 

"Nah, this ain't that kind of film. Watch now." 

Joan obediently watched, frankly incapable of doing anything else, as the 
gangster slid the wicked looking knife down into the girl's shorts, the 
sharp edge of the blade facing out so that he would not damage the delicate 
flesh of her girlish loins. The French teenager knew she was in desperate 
danger, and she was obviously trying to stand as still as possible, avoiding 
the slightest movement which could anger the man who had taken her prisoner. 
The blade on the dagger must have been razor sharp, because it cut cleanly 
and easily through the heavy fabric of her shorts, and the girl drew in her 
breath sharply, raising her arms helplessly over her head in fright as the 
garment parted and slid down along one leg to the ground. The action of 
raising her arms had forced her budding young breasts to jut out sharply, 
and Joan had occasion to wonder if the little French actress herself was not 
finding this scene fairly erotic, since the buds of her nipples were 
obviously as hard and Arm as tiny brown nuggets. 

But as the kidnapper stepped back to survey the prize he had taken, the 
cameraman deserted the girl's lusciously ripened breasts in favor of 
something even more interesting, and the field of vision traveled slowly 
down over a flat, smooth stomach to the "vee" shaped triangle of pussy hair 
which guarded the entrance to her loins. A tremble ran through Joan's body 
as her eyes followed the camera, and for a moment she wondered seriously if 
there was not something shamefully Lesbian about getting all turned on by 
the sight of another woman's body. But Jack Lynch distracted her at this 
precise moment by handing her a second marijuana-flavored cigarette, and she 
accepted it greedily, welcoming something to divert her mind from the 
troubling thought she had just had. She put the cigarette to her lips and 
sucked on it powerfully, thinking that the pot would probably calm her down 
a little bit. 

The young girl's pubic hair was thin and sparse, as it often is with 
teenagers, and her pussy did little to conceal the narrow pink slit of her 
vagina, now totally defenseless. The kidnapper dropped to one knee in front 
of her, but the child was far too terrified now to consider making a break 
for it, and she submissively moved her legs apart as the gangster dropped 
the knife beside him on the grass and put his cruelly menacing hands 
directly on the tender flesh of her cunt. Joan watched, her breath coming 
faster and faster as she observed this bizarre scene, and unconsciously she 
drew closer to Jack Lynch, as if the kidnapper could spring down off of the 
screen into the room with them and threaten her with that dagger. But the 
gangster stayed on the screen, his fingers crudely invading the teenager's 
flesh as he used his thumbs to force her tender cuntal lips apart, exposing 
to the camera's prying eye the moist pink flesh of her tight little vagina. 
For a long time, he caressed her naked flesh, bringing an expression of pure 
anguish to the young girl's face as her hands crossed uselessly across her 
breasts . . . 

Movement on the other couch suddenly distracted Joan for a moment, and she 
shifted her gaze momentarily to see what her friends were up to. Her eyes 
opened wide with shock as she peered through the half-light in the room and 
detected that Liza and Split were really starting to mix it up. The young 
model's dress was up to her hips and the girl was sprawled on the cushions 
with her legs stretched obscenely apart. Split had removed his shirt, baring 
a broad muscular chest, and he was hunched over the young woman, one hand 
thrust lasciviously down under the elastic waistband of her white nylon 
panties, his fingers obviously invading the delicate vaginal opening. But 
Liza showed no signs of objecting to this tormenting behavior; indeed, she 
seemed to be cooperating whole-heartedly in her own defilement, her hips 
busily rotating in tiny circles as she screwed her loins energetically back 
up against Split's prying hand. Neither one of them were paying much 
attention to each other, however, despite the lecherous activity they were 
involved in, their eyes locked onto the sensuous scene projected on the wall 
before them. 

Joan continued to stare at her friends, thinking that this was really going 
a considerable way beyond the bounds of propriety. They must know that the 
room was not dark enough to hide their lewd sex-play, and yet they were 
behaving just as if they were alone in a bedroom somewhere, not apparently 
caring in the slightest whether anyone looked at them or not! It was 
obviously going to get worse before it got better, since Liza seemed to be 
half out of her mind with unsatisfied lust. While Joan looked on with 
scandalized eyes, her girl friend from the slum freed her hands from around 
Split's neck and reached behind her back, quite obviously rumbling with the 
fastening on her brassiere straps. After a moment's maneuvering, Liza's 
hands swept down to her waist, and with a deft flick of her wrists, she drew 
the sweater up over her head, carrying the brassiere with it and denuding 
herself to the waist. 

Seeing Liza's sensually quivering breasts shimmering in the semi-darkness, 
Joan repressed a shudder of dismay. This was turning into an orgy! She tried 
to feel disgust and repulsion at being an unwilling witness to this carnally 
uninhibited scene, but somehow the only sentiment she could detect within 
her pot-wracked body was a growing feeling of sexual desire, now swollen far 
beyond the stage where she could possibly hope to deny it to herself or 
anyone else. With a sudden shock, she discovered that she had been 
unconsciously grinding her buttocks into the couch, trying desperately to 
ease the gnawing, itching lusty sensation up between her legs which was 
slowly but surely threatening to drive her wild. How could Jack Lynch have 
failed to notice? She was now leaning full against his chest, and he must be 
keenly aware of every movement of her aroused young body, including the fact 
that her breathing had now become very heavy and hard, as if her heart were 
racing. 

"Hey, lovely, how are you doing?" the Irishman's mellow baritone purred into 
her ear, making her start for a moment. "Did you catch the games Liza and 
Split are playing? Never takes much to get ol' Liza all steamed up, does 
it?" 

"Yes...I.. . saw them," she whispered back, feeling silly and out of place. 
How could he take this all so calmly? 

"Are you comfy?" he inquired, his own eyes never leaving the lecherous scene 
on the wall before them, but his body inching deliberately closer to hers as 
the arm slung carelessly around her shoulder now began to creep gradually 
down towards the invitingly revealed breasts. In the one clear, sane portion 
of her brain which was left, Joan sensed that she had somehow stumbled into 
a trap, but everything seemed to be happening too fast for her to control. 
The lascivious, lust-arousing movie, the orgy taking place on the next 
couch, Jack Lynch's prying hands, the rich acrid smell of Mexican marijuana 
hanging over them like a curse, how could she ever hope to explain to Allen 
what had happened to her? How could she forgive herself for having 
participated in this low bizarre entertainment? 

But the marijuana had drained away most of her will power, and Joan realized 
that she lacked the physical strength to stand up and march out of the 
studio. Lynch's fingers were darting lightly across the softly yielding 
flesh of the sides of her breasts, but her eyes returned helplessly to the 
motion picture they were supposed to be watching. The kidnapper had risen to 
his feet in the meantime, and was slowly stripping away his clothing while 
he smiled unmercifully down at the nakedly trembling young girl he had taken 
prisoner. As his pants slid to the ground and the gangster stepped casually 
out of them, Joan drew in her breath sharply, catching sight of the man's 
long pole-like penis which jutted out sharply in front of him like the 
bayonnet on a rifle, the heavy bulbous head slowly swaying back and forth as 
it pointed directly at the helpless flat plain of the girl's defenseless 
stomach. 

The man's hard, muscular buttocks were facing the camera as the kidnapper 
put his hands heavily on the girl's frail white shoulders, and the biceps in 
his arms rippled with sudden strength as he applied a powerful downward 
pressure, forcing her to her knees. In a flash, Joan knew precisely what was 
coming, and the distraught young wife wondered if she could bring herself to 
watch it. The man's long throbbing cock was only a few short inches from the 
girl's wetly parted lips, and Joan was wise enough in the ways of the world 
to understand precisely what he intended to do to his innocent captive. Joan 
herself had never performed this particularly perverse act with a man, 
although some of her boy friends had asked her to during the days of her own 
high-living youth, but she had heard the act discussed more than once by the 
rough crude men who drank at the bar where she had worked. Naturally, it 
would never have entered Allen's head to try and commit oral sex with his 
tender young wife. 

But here it was before her, coming closer by the minute, and Joan was so 
wrapped up in her conflicting emotions that she hardly noticed when Lynch 
slipped one of the straps of her top down off her creamy white shoulder, 
thus baring the entire quivering mound of her right breast. By the time she 
clearly understood that the lecherous Irishman was taking advantage of a 
difficult situation, his other hand had moved to the attack, capturing her 
tingling little nipple in his hand. 

On the screen before them, the gangster had run one cruelly demanding hand 
into the girl's soft brown hair, while with the other hand, he seized his 
rigidly pulsating cock and rubbed it lewdly around the quivering edges of 
the terrified girl's mouth. 

More than anything else, Joan was dismayed at the size of the actor's male 
instrument. It was obvious to her that he had not been chosen for this role 
because of any particular skill in acting, but as a result of this natural 
endowment. Her mind was confused and unhappy, particularly since Lynch was 
rolling her tiny nugget-like nipple back and forth between his fingers, 
nearly driving her mad with the pin-pricks of erotic sensations being 
aroused in her shamelessly responsive young body. But despite all that was 
happening to her in real life, she could not drag her eyes off that 
menacingly long hard cock on the screen! It must have been a full eight 
inches long, uncircumcised and as big around as the handle on a baseball 
bat, and Joan simply had never known that penises came quite so big. 

She shuddered as she reflected what a battering ram like that would do to 
the fragile insides of a woman's body, and it occurred to her that perhaps 
the young captive on the screen was fortunate that the gangster had not 
decided to try to penetrate her vagina. He would surely kill her with that 
murderous rod! 

"Interesting, eh?" commented Lynch, turning his body around to face her and 
taking the opportunity to slide the other shoulder strap down to her elbow 
so that her dress fell completely away from her tender sensual breasts, 
leaving her completely naked to the waist. "I mean, did you ever see a fuck 
show like this before?" 

"No," she stammered, realizing that he was deliberately exciting and 
confusing her with this lewd conversation while his hungering fingers roamed 
lasciviously over the prickly sensitive globes of her heavy breasts. 
Somehow, it seemed easiest to pretend for the moment that he was not doing 
what he quite obviously was doing, and she somehow felt compelled to make a 
comment. 

"No, I've...I've never seen anything quite like this...he's...so huge!" 

"Him?" shrugged Lynch, acting as if this naive comment had surprised him. "A 
little on the big side, I suppose, but nothing special!" 

This lewd conversation fell off sharply as the film gangster launched his 
attack. The girl had apparently been prepared for anything but this, and her 
body was wracked with hopeless shudders as she knelt nakedly before him, the 
lust-inciting curves and indentations of her fragile young body being 
surveyed carefully by the cameramen, but she obviously had no intention of 
opening her mouth to this vile intruder. However, the rapist was evidently 
experienced at this kind of resistance, and knew precisely what he had to 
do. Dropping one hand deftly to her nose, he pinched her nostrils, depriving 
her momentarily of air. The innocent captive fought back gamely for a 
moment, trying futilely to shake him off, but her lungs were obviously 
crying out for oxygen, and in another instant, her mouth popped 
involuntarily open, and the deed was done. 

With a vicious flick of his hips, the man sent the huge blood-filled head of 
his cock sliding forward into the unnatural sanctuary of the girl's virginal 
mouth, and Joan could see the young adolescent's will to resist crumble as 
soon as she realized that the man was simply too strong for her. As his 
hands tangled harshly in her flowing brown hair, the four viewers watched 
her lips close hopelessly around the massive shaft of his invading penis, 
and with a sigh the naked girl closed her eyes in eloquent despair, and 
began sucking. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

Jack Lynch was suddenly crawling all over her, his hands slipping down 
between the slippery fabric of her dress and the smooth flat plane of her 
stomach in a lewd attempt to infiltrate his fingers into the soft pubic hair 
of her pussy as Joan weakly did her best to fight him off. His hands seemed 
to be everywhere at once, deftly stroking and caressing her nipples and 
thighs and stomach and loins and the young wife lay back submissively on the 
sofa, a feeling of total helplessness sweeping over her. 

"Please, Jack," she whimpered, keeping her voice low so that Split and Liza 
could not hear her and know how far down the elegant young matron from the 
suburbs had fallen. "I didn't come here for this." 

"It's okay, baby," he answered her softly, his mellow Irish voice helping to 
calm her fears. "I'm not going to do anything to you that you don't want to 
do. I just need something to do with my hands while I'm watching the movie. 
Usually, I can fool around with Liza, but she's over there with Split, and 
you're available." 

"You mean...you mean you and...Liza?" asked the woman naively, her body 
relaxing a little now that they were talking like two civilized human beings 
and no longer groping on the couch like a pair of animals. 

"Shit, honey, Liza bounces back and forth between me and Split like a tennis 
ball," the photographer confided easily. "We don't stand on ceremony around 
here. You should remember that." 

It was a low blow, reminding her that there had been a time when she, 
herself, had not worried quite so much about her chastity and lady-like 
manners; for a moment, Joan gave up fighting back completely, her mind 
clouded by a sudden rush of memories while Lynch inched his hands down under 
her dress, stroking the golden skin of her flanks and buttocks. Upon the 
screen before them, the savage rape of the young French girl's mouth was 
continuing, and Joan helplessly found that her eyes were glued to the moving 
images which danced across the walls. The girl's cheeks were alternately 
hollowing and swelling as the gangster fucked savagely into her mouth, her 
ovaled lips clinging to the massive glistening shaft of his cock every time 
he thrust himself into her. Each stroke seemed to take him farther and 
farther towards the back of her throat, and his pace was gradually 
increasing. 

It's impossible, thought Joan, squirming a little as Jack's hands edged 
around her flanks and invaded the passion-soaked blonde hair up between her 
legs, she'll choke to death if he cums into her like that! The film was 
desperately obscene, but extremely well done in terms of lighting and 
photography, making it possible for the viewer to follow every intimate 
detail of the action. Joan's mind was filled with a womanly concern for the 
welfare of this savagely violated girl, but as she watched, enthralled by 
the sex scene, the little French actress seemed to be warming up to her 
task. It made no logical sense at all, but slowly, the victim was turning on 
to what she had initially been forced into doing. Joan watched in amazement 
as the girl's trembling white hands reached up instinctively to cradle the 
softness of the man's balls between her fingers, stroking them as she sucked 
voraciously on the thick pistoning cock which was ramming in and out of her 
cruelly stretched mouth. The man was going to cum in another minute, Joan 
knew instinctively. Without precisely understanding why, she relaxed her own 
body just a little more, allowing Jack Lynch to push his marauding hand even 
further into the fragile fabric of her panties, his fingers mercilessly 
manipulating the wetly inflamed tissues of her cunt. 

"Nooooooh," the drugged young wife groaned piteously, gathering her strength 
to make one more vain attempt to get him to stop, but a sound from the next 
couch distracted them both. Split's pants were lying neglected on the floor, 
and the arranger was stretched out comfortably on the couch while Liza knelt 
over him, her knees on either side of his hips and her naked breasts swaying 
like ripe fruit below her heaving chest. Beneath her was Split's long 
slender cock, and he was holding it with one hand so the rigidly quivering 
shaft was pointing straight up, aimed directly at the wet glistening flesh 
of Liza's cunt. With a lewd smile playing around the corners of her mouth, 
the photographer's model hoisted up her skirts so that the couple on the 
next sofa could see clearly what was about to happen and began to lower her 
naked loins down on the man's waiting instrument. Her panties had apparently 
disappeared previously and the only garments she had left were the 
mini-skirt which was crumpled uselessly around her waist and her long black 
stockings which ended at mid-thigh, making her exposed white loins seem far 
more naked than if she had been totally nude. 

"My God, they're...they're doing it!" gasped Joan in dismay. The idea of two 
people who were not married having sexual relations did not exactly shock 
the young society matron, particularly in the light of her own guilty past, 
but in her experience, illicit sex was something done quietly in darkened 
rooms or cars parked in deserted alleys, not in front of observers! 

"Sure, honey," the Irishman smiled back at her, as if there was something 
abnormal about her concern. "People get turned on, and that's where it all 
ends. Seems like a pretty good idea to me. Aren't you a little excited 
yourself?" 

"No," Joan told him promptly, seeing where his logic was leading them, but 
she forgot as she spoke that Lynch's prying hand was still burrowing 
lasciviously through the wetly matted hair of her pussy. Jack's only 
response to this obvious lie was a dry chuckle, since he could feel the 
involuntarily convulsing flesh of her vagina with his outstretched middle 
fingers and knew mat she was excited, no matter what she said. 

For a moment, Joan was more confused than ever, not knowing whether she 
should watch the erotic scene on the next couch, try to get Lynch to stop, 
or look at the film. The pot had done its insidious work on her dizzily 
spinning brain, and she found to her dismay that she could not drag her 
horrified eyes off of Liza and Split, who were just about to make contact. 
The bulbous head of the arranger's long pulsating cock hovered just beneath 
the moistly spread lips of Liza's waiting cunt, and the girl reached down 
and grasped the impaling instrument, lewdly rotating it around in the warmly 
glistening slit of her vagina and using the gleaming red tip to part the 
auburn pussy hairs which guarded the entrance to her cunt. 

"Oooohhhhhh," Liza's groan of heavenly satisfaction came floating across the 
room as she settled her lust-fevered body down on top of Split's loins. The 
man's rigidly piercing cock slid inexorably up the wetly welcoming channel 
of her cunt, making a lewd sluicing noise as his penis pushed past the 
clasping pussy lips and speared up into her writhing little belly. For a 
moment, the photographer's model rested, her eyes closed and a smile of 
perfect contentment on her' face. Then she began a slow grinding motion, 
rising up on her thighs until just the firm meaty tip of Split's cock was 
left inside of her shamelessly aroused pussy. As soon as she reached the top 
of each cycle, Liza let her leg muscles go slack, dropping her body down 
heavily again on Split's bouncing loins, impaling herself totally. 

Joan closed her eyes and turned her head away, trying to digest this new and 
bizarre lesson in her sexual education. She had never before watched two 
people making love, and she would have expected the sight to be repellant or 
disgusting. To her surprise, she found it quite the opposite. It may have 
been the marijuana affecting her judgment, but instead pf revulsion, the 
scene produced a weird tingling sensation all through her love-starved body, 
and she realized that she was more excited than she had ever been in her 
life. Could she ever get out of this with her wifely chastity in tact? At 
this very moment, she was her own worst enemy. She knew that it she slapped 
Lynch's hands away, and adjusted her clothing, she could probably make it 
out to her sports car, although whether or not she could drive with the 
alcohol and the marijuana in her system was another question altogether. The 
point was basically that she felt no urge whatsoever to bolt for the door. 
Her mind was confused and upset, but her drug and sex-stimulated body wanted 
more of the same. 

Jack Lynch's free hand caressed her nakedly quivering breasts respectfully 
for a moment, and then the Irishman ducked his head, fastening his lips 
around the hardened little nugget of one rosy nipple and sending a shudder 
of poorly repressed lust through her half-naked body. With his other hand, 
Lynch continued to play with the softly yielding lips of her rapidly 
moistening vagina, concentrating most of his efforts on the tiny pink bud of 
her clitoris, which he rolled agilely backwards and forwards between his 
thumb and forefinger. Nearly overwhelmed, Joan gave up the struggle and 
settled back against the cushions of the sofa, her legs widely spread and 
her eyes once again following the erotic spectacle being projected onto the 
wall before them. 

It was the moment of truth for the French teenager and her abductor, and 
Joan's eyes widened as she watched the man's buttocks straining and tensing 
as he thrust himself wildly into the girl's tightly clenched throat, her 
head bobbing up and down slavishly as she struggled to suck the milky white 
semen from his body. Suddenly the Frenchman seized the young woman's head in 
a virtual death grip, thrusting his long thick cock all the way into her 
throat, and Joan realized in an instant that he was in the act of cumming. 
The man's buttocks jerked convulsively back and forth as he sprayed the 
searing cum into the back of her throat, and as Joan watched the girl's 
Adam's apple bobbing frantically up and down, a strange new sensation began 
to take possession of her own body. 

At first the young wife did not clearly realize what was going to happen to 
her, but as the spasms rippled powerfully through her over-stimulated body, 
she suddenly knew that she herself was cumming! The scenes of eroticism all 
around her combined with the photographer's merciless stimulation of her 
body all added up to more excitement than her fragile physique could absorb. 
She was cumming, and there was no way to disuse the fact! It hit her like a 
ton of bricks, and her legs jackknifed up to trap Lynch's hand between her 
firm quivering thighs as she fought to suppress a violent groan and failed. 
"Aaaahhhhhhh!! ! " 

"What the fuck?" muttered the photographer, caught off-balance by the sudden 
switch from resistance to his attentions to complete and utter orgiastic 
abandon. 

"Oh, oh, oh," she emitted little bird-like cries of ecstasy as the spasm 
raced through her system, and Lynch got his wits together in a hurry, 
deciding to capitalize on the situation, lifting her clear off the sofa and 
sliding her skirt and panties off completely in one smooth motion. As soon 
as he had the groaning woman totally naked and defenseless, he lay her down 
carefully on the pillows, her jerking, straining legs widely spread while he 
rapidly stripped off his own clothing, tearing off buttons in his haste to 
get himself into position before she recovered from the shock of this 
violently unexpected orgasm. Astonished at the spectacular success of their 
plot, Liza and Split suspended their own activities for a moment, looking on 
with open-mouthed amazement. 

"Shit, that gal goes off like dynamite!" Split crudely expressed his 
admiration. 

"Poor thing, she probably hasn't had a decent fuck since she married that 
middle-class prick from the other side of town," contributed Liza happily, 
delighted that her friend was evidently enjoying herself so thoroughly. But 
Jack Lynch was wasting no time on idle conversation or speculating on the 
causes of Joan's incredibly fast response. He had two things he wanted to do 
right now: Get those pictures taken and get laid himself! 

"Nooooooo," Joan moaned, her mind clearing somewhat as the powerful spasm 
faded and she felt Lynch pushing her legs even farther apart as he poised 
nakedly over her. 

"What do you mean?" he demanded harshly. 

"Please, Jack, I never meant it to go this far...." she cried piteously. "I 
didn't want that to happen...Please let me go." 

"Oh, one of those, eh?" the photographer snarled, deciding that the time had 
come to turn on the heat. "A cock-teaser! You let me jack you off, and once 
you've got your cookies, you want to call it quits!" 

"No, no not like that.. . " she pleaded, seeing the essential justice of his 
point but not ready to subject herself voluntarily to the humiliation of 
making love on a sofa in the presence of two other people who were looking 
on with amused interest. 

"Sorry baby, the time to say no was an hour ago," snapped the photographer, 
knowing that she was now too helpless to deny him anything. 

He could do anything he wanted and it was all going to be recorded for 
posterity by his thirty-five millimeter camera, loaded with a special 
professional grade of film which could take pictures in very dim light. 

Without further comment, Lynch dropped his handsome Irish face to the "vee" 
of her uncertainly cringing loins, using his thumbs to spread apart the soft 
blonde pussy hair and sending his tongue lewdly forward, flickering like a 
lizard into her moistly flowing cuntal flesh. 

Click, went the camera softly, but the instrument was cunningly located 
behind a two-way mirror, and Joan neither saw nor heard it. The shutter 
release cable ran under a carpet, through the sofa and ended underneath a 
cushion where Lynch could reach it without difficulty. 

Joan groaned and jerked, reacting to the perverse contact between a man's 
agilely probing tongue and the soft, erotically sensitive flesh of her 
clitoris. This was another new experience for the girl, and she felt 
humiliation sweep over her in waves, knowing that Split and Liza could watch 
her as easily from their couch as she had watched them from hers. Lynch 
pursued his attack, opening her up even more widely with his thumbs and 
exposing the moist pink slit of her cunt to his animal gaze. Joan lay 
frozen, gazing down past her fearfully quivering breasts at his lust-twisted 
features in helpless submission, finally realizing that there was no way out 
for her now. She was going to get it, and get it good! 

"Ooooohhhhhhh!" she moaned as his tongue fucked into her again, this time 
stabbing deeply into the convulsing folds of sensitive flesh which bordered 
the entrance to her defenseless little cunt. In spite of her earnest desire 
to stop him from abusing her in this depraved manner, the hopelessly aroused 
young wife could not deny that things were starting to happen again down 
deep in her loins where she had just finished with the most powerful orgasm 
of her life. 

Click, went the silent camera, filming another document for posterity. 

How could she ever face her husband again, the naked young wife asked 
herself in dismay. He would surely take one look at the sensual guiltiness 
in her deep blue eyes and know exactly what had happened. She had betrayed 
him. Or perhaps a better question was this: How could she ever return to her 
husband's bed, with the memory of this evening in her mind, and be satisfied 
with his feeble attempts to bring her satisfaction? Was this the start of 
her career as an adulteress? 

Lynch raised his head, partially to see whether the light was falling right 
on her body, and partially to see what kind of an effect all of this was 
having upon the girl. One look satisfied him. This would teach her not to 
waltz into his shop acting as if she were the Queen of England in her 
expensive new clothing! That stylish top looked real great lying crumpled on 
the floor! And it had not taken a real expert very long to reduce her to 
what she really was at heart, a slum child with a taste for waving her legs 
in the air! So she liked it, did she? Well, there was plenty more where that 
came from, and Lynch told himself that he was just the man to give it to 
her. 

Laughing softly to himself at the humiliation and shame he was bringing into 
her startled blue eyes, the photographer hunched down again between her 
widely spread legs, determined this time to show her a couple of tricks she 
had not even heard of before. Carefully, he inserted his powerful hands 
between her thighs and spread her legs even more, pushing the softly flaccid 
flesh of her buttocks farther and farther apart and lifting at the same time 
so that her smooth rounded ass-cheeks were off the sofa and the whole flat 
plane of her loins was exposed to his merciless vision. A beautiful sight, 
real eating pussy, he mused to himself, sending his tongue flickering 
forward suddenly to torment the tight puckered little hole of her anus, 
nestled so sweetly below the palpitating flesh of her cunt. 

"Aggggghhhhhh!! ! " she groaned loudly. "Not that, please, not that." 

Click, the camera shutter opened and closed again. 

By Lynch's only response was a dry heartless chuckle as he moved forward for 
another bizarre attack on the delicacy of her rectum, his tongue playing 
lightly around the edges of the virginal nether entrance to her body. One 
day, he promised himself grimly, one day when you've learned to obey orders 
a little more, I'm going to come back and visit this little asshole of 
yours, and I'll use something bigger than my tongue! 

Joan clenched her teeth and made one last stand, trying to prevent her 
marijuana-ridden body from taking control once again as it had a moment ago, 
but even as she bit into her lower lips, she could feel the familiar signs 
starting up all over again. Her hips began to jerk up and down spasmodically 
every time Jack's long slippery tongue fucked into her, and the delicious 
needles of pleasure were darting through her over stimulated stomach and 
thighs as she felt his mouth slavering ceaselessly into her. 

"Now, baby, I'm going to get mine!" Lynch promised her, lifting his face 
from the widespread crevice of her wetly throbbing vagina and looking her 
full in the eyes. "Open up!" 

Without understanding precisely why, Joan obediently spread her legs as the 
photographer levered his powerfully naked body over her. Her buttocks were 
grinding and twitching impatiently down into the mattress as the 
photographer bent over her and fastened his teeth on one of her proud young 
breasts, digging into the tender nipple until she was afraid she would have 
to cry out with a weird combination of pain and pleasure. . . everything was 
happening much too fast! 

"Man, this chick is getting hot!" Lynch glanced over and boasted to his 
friends. "When I get through with you, baby, you're never going to want 
what's available at home again. I got the biggest cock this side of the 
Central Train Station, and you're going to get every inch of it! So you 
think that the guy in the movie was big!" 

With a triumphant crow, Lynch reared up over her, his massively throbbing 
penis in his hands, daring her to look at it directly. Joan wanted to do 
almost anything else, but she was no longer in control of her own body and 
she focused her eyes, staring down at the instrument he was proudly waving 
in her face. 

It was huge! 

Jack Lynch was enjoying the look of fear which swept across her face as she 
saw the thick rod of pulsating flesh he was preparing to ram into her. He 
gave her the time to look at it carefully, lewdly stroking the uncircumcised 
foreskin , back and forth over his heavy blood-engorged cock-head. 

"What's the matter, lovely?" he taunted her. "Doesn't hubby have anything 
quite this size to give you?" 

Joan tried to answer him back, tried to defend her husband and to plead with 
this man not to hurt her, but somehow, the words could not force their way 
out of her mouth. How could she ever take that thick battering ram inside of 
her? He would rip her apart! 

But the inspection was over, and Joan closed her eyes, fighting off a 
fainting sensation as Jack Lynch lowered his muscular body down on top of 
hers. Using one hand, he guided the thick rubbery head of his penis to the 
wet, hair-lined furrow up between her long tapered legs and divide the 
fleshy quivering lips of her cunt in preparation for his entrance. As the 
rigid pole of his throbbing masculinity came into contact with the soft 
tissues of her vaginal lips, the young wife turned her head meekly to one 
side, knowing that there was now no way in the world of avoiding this 
impalement, but not having the courage to look on while it happened to her. 
She held her breath, not even daring to move while Lynch maneuvered himself 
into position, applying the first cruel pressure against the tight elastic 
opening of her tight little cunt. 

"Ooooooooh," she groaned as he pushed experimentally, the tip sliding 
through the desperately clasping portals of her vagina and stretching the 
tight rubbery opening until Joan felt as if something inside of her was 
being ripped into pieces. 

"Oh please, no, it hurts," she begged him, knowing as she spoke that it was 
all quite useless. He would hardly beg her pardon and withdraw from her 
abused tortured cunt at this stage of the game! 

The photographer looked down on his nakedly helpless victim and clicked the 
camera again, grinning to himself as he saw the look of anguish spread 
across her face. She was suffering all right, and she would suffer some more 
before he was finished with her. There was a streak of the sadist in Lynch, 
and something about the cruelty of the situation was turning him on 
powerfully. He had to finish the job, and quick! 

With an abrupt vicious movement, the Irishman dropped down on top of her, 
his hard muscular chest brutally crushing into the soft warm mounds of her 
breasts. At the same time, his hips flicked mercilessly forward, sending his 
long hard cock thrusting up into her belly until he felt his balls smack 
heavily into the upturned cheeks of her ass. 

"Aaaaggggghhhhhh!! ! " came the anguished cry from beneath him, and the 
girl's arms and legs shot out in agony as if she had just received a 
spear-thrust in the belly. Lynch's massively thickened penis was completely 
buried in her stretched little pussy now, pulsating like a living animal 
which had forced its way into her womb. Never in her entire life, had Joan 
ever felt so completely filled as she did in this moment. 

But Lynch wanted to enjoy this fuck, and he knew that he had to give her 
voluptuous body a moment or two to adjust to the presence of this massive 
object in her cunt so that her vaginal walls could begin again to secrete 
the lubricating fluids which would ease his passage. As it was now, she was 
so tight that he could barely move, and for a moment he contented himself 
with lying above her, flexing his iron-hard penis every so often for the 
pleasure of hearing her moan. 

"How 'bout it, lovely? Better than your husband, eh?" 

There was no answer as the girl resolutely decided that she would not betray 
Allen Caruthers any more than she already had. But Jack Lynch knew that he 
was in a position to make her say anything he wanted to hear, and he flexed 
his long log-like cock powerfully within her cruelly-stretched pussy. 

"Uggghhhh!" she grunted, as the throb deep inside of her sent streaks of 
pain and pleasure shooting out in all directions. 

"Talk to me, lovely," Lynch goaded her sadistically. "Were you about to tell 
me how much better I am than your husband?" 

"Oh please...do whatever you have to but don't make me say it!" 

He flexed again, as hard as he could, his virile shaft of flesh seeming to 
expand rapidly like a' balloon as he strove to break her down just a little 
farther. Her groan echoed around the room while Split and Liza looked on, 
curious to see who would emerge victorious from this bizarre contest of 
wills. 

"Nooooooo!" 

"Tell me!" he growled at her, triumph gleaming like a light in his eyes. 
"Your husband's a disaster in bed, isn't he?" 

"Yes," she heard herself whisper faintly, not quite knowing where the 
treasonous word had come from or how it had escaped from her lips. 

"Then let me hear you say it, bitch!" he commanded coldly, twisting the 
softly yielding flesh of her full sensuous breasts in his fingers until she 
thought she would have to cry out again with this added torment. 

"You're better...than my...husband," she whispered finally. It was useless 
to fight anymore. She had betrayed herself, her husband, everything, and 
there was now nothing between her and the bottom of the barrel. A few hours 
ago, she had been a girl with a shameful past, but a respectable present. 
Now even that shallow consolation had been ripped away from her. She was a 
whore! Oh God, she had always been a whore, probably she would always be a 
whore. There was nothing left to hope for, nothing left at all but the 
searing presence of Lynch's enormous hot cock buried deep up inside her 
agonized vagina. 

The photographer looked down on her with intense satisfaction, realizing 
that he had completely crushed her spirit. From now on, he would be giving 
the orders as far as the elegant Mrs. Caruthers was concerned, and in case 
she ever chanced to forget the moment, there would always be the pictures to 
remind her. 

"Put your arms around my neck," he ordered, his voice softening again now 
that the victory was plainly his. "I like a woman to hold me when I'm 
fucking her." 

Submissively, Joan complied, wrapping her arms around his neck while he 
plastered his lips against hers, his wet tongue plunging obscenely into her 
open mouth. At the same time, his hand dug beneath the cushions of the sofa, 
and the thirty-five millimeter camera clicked quietly, adding one more frame 
to the case against Mrs. Caruthers. That job out of the way, Jack Lynch 
began slowly fucking in and out of the young wife's body, having decided 
that the time had come to start turning her on. He had suspected from the 
moment he saw her that there was a hot streak buried somewhere deep in her 
personality, and it was a personal challenge to him to see if he could bring 
it to the surface whenever he chose to. It had come out unexpectedly a few 
minutes before while they were watching the film, and Lynch suspected that 
it would not take long to bring it out again with just a little effort on 
his part. 

He was right. Joan's body involuntarily began to react, despite the 
agonizing humiliation to which she had just been subjected. The girl had 
lost the battle to protect even the smallest portion of her womanly dignity 
and honor, but there was something about the total slave-like surrender he 
was demanding of her which sent unwanted chills of lewd desire up and down 
her back. 

And once the process was in motion, there was no stopping it. Within 
minutes, Joan's whole body was twitching and writhing beneath him, the pain 
having almost completely disappeared as the sensitive muscles in her cunt 
somehow managed to accommodate themselves to the presence of this massive 
throbbing object in her belly. Her face was flushed with excitement, and her 
nostrils flared as the photographer fucked savagely in and out of her hotly 
welcoming cunt while a light fragrant layer of perspiration broke out over 
her forehead. No observer to this depraved scene could have missed the 
significance of what was happening; impossible as it seemed, Joan Caruthers 
was once more racing again towards an orgasm! 

And again the camera clicked. 

Searching to improve his position, Jack slipped his hands beneath the 
violently flexing spheres of her buttocks, pulling her legs farther apart 
and opening her up to him even more widely as the tiny moist hole of her 
cunt loosened up to receive his thick plunging cock. Joan's legs were 
jerking convulsively in the air while the impaling rod of flesh skewered 
deeper and deeper up into the moistly flowering depths of her pussy. She had 
forgotten all her troubles now, her husband, her humiliation, her shame, and 
the only thing she could think of was the joyful sensation of being fucked 
half to death by the strong merciless man who was finally giving her what 
she had been wanting subconsciously for a year. Jack slaved above her, 
trying to make it particularly good for both of them, his rigidly thrusting 
cock coming almost all the way free of her clasping young vagina on the back 
stroke and then burrowing its way forward again until the bulbous throbbing 
tip struck home against her sensitive cervix. 

Seized by an inspiration, the photographer moved his hand between their two 
nakedly straining bodies, using his fingers to stimulate the soft warm lips 
of her vagina and the hard little bud of her clitoris. She groaned with the 
added excitement; Lynch guessed accurately that her end was just around the 
corner, and got up on his knees to fuck into her harder and faster. He 
wanted to make this a cum she would remember the rest of her life, and the 
room was filled with the wetly smacking sound of his loins colliding with 
the naked flat plane of her buttocks as their two bodies met violently in 
mid-air, separated for a fraction of a second, and then slammed quickly 
together again. 

"Ah, ah, ah, ah," the shamelessly aroused young wife was chanting mindlessly 
with each stroke, no longer caring what anyone thought. Her nipples were as 
hard as little bullets digging fiercely into his chest as she thrust her 
body up to meet him, coming closer to orgasm with each second. Lynch could 
hardly believe his eyes as he doubled his stroke. Feeling that it was all 
about to end at any moment, he fucked into her with all his strength and all 
his knowledge. Suddenly, her voluptuous body seemed to vibrate beneath him. 
Then, she was screaming. 

"I'm cumming...I'm cumming!" she groaned incoherently, her voice contorted 
by the fury of the orgasmic spasms which was sweeping inexorably over her. 
The photographer felt her wildly convulsing cunt flower open to him and the 
hot gush of her liquid passion flooding around his pile-driving pole as she 
came. The milking lips of her tight little cunt seemed to be clinging to him 
as if they were acting independently of the rest of her, and the pressure on 
his pistoning cock suddenly became too much. 

With a gasp, the Irishman felt his long thick penis swell up and begin 
erupting in a hot lava flow of cum into her frantically quivering belly. Her 
naked young body was still jerking up towards him spasmodically as she 
thrashed out the concluding seconds of her orgasm, and his white hot cum 
mingled inside her overworked cunt and dribbled out along the silken skin of 
her trembling buttocks, dampening the cushions beneath them. 

All of a sudden, everything went limp, and Joan's long limber legs sprayed 
out in exhaustion on either side of her. Her heart was beating as if she had 
just been in an exceptionally long race, and her mind began to clear under 
the exertion of the soul-jarring experience she had just finished. No one 
seemed disposed to speak or move, and the two of them lay quietly together 
for a long time, Lynch's slowly deflating cock still twitching restlessly 
inside of her. 

Whatever else happens, she told herself seriously, I must protect Allen. 
He's too good to have a wife like me and he must never, never know. Never! 

But the camera went click.... 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Joan was only half listening as her husband recited the details of the big 
financial deal he was on the verge of bringing off on behalf of his company. 
She sipped her coffee reflectively while he talked, her guilty mind reaching 
back insistently to that fatal night in Jack Lynch's photographic studio. 
She still could not quite bring herself to believe that it had really 
happened to her and that she had somehow allowed herself to behave in that 
shamelessly erotic fashion. Now she was back in the plush, pleasant suburbs 
with her swimming pool in the backyard, talking to her successful young 
husband about business affairs while they calmly finished their breakfast, 
and the whole depraved episode seemed a little unreal as if it were merely 
something she had dreamed one night after a particularly heavy dinner. 

But it had happened, and it had left its mark on her. In the past few days 
she had been more restless than usual, and more than once, the young wife 
had fought off the wild temptation to run to the telephone and call Liza or 
Jack. She was determined to break this adultery business off before it had a 
chance to become a habit. She had married this good man and was living in 
comfort in his home, and she owed him at least the privilege of having a 
faithful wife. Maybe their marriage had not worked out sexually as well as 
she might have hoped, but Allen seemed happy and content and Joan was 
determined to keep him that way. 

"But the only drawback we can see so far is the fact that I'll have to spend 
a lot of time down in Saint Louis, working out the details of the contract. 
Hate to be away from home so much," Allen was saying, and Joan suddenly 
brought her troubled mind back from her dream world and began to pay 
attention once again. Nor did she liked the idea of his being out of town so 
much; it gave her too much free time to get into trouble. 

"Being on the road isn't so bad, but I hate having to do business with 
Tompkins," her husband continued, eating with his usual impeccable table 
manners. "He's strictly from the lower classes and one of those types who 
make a lot of money but still never learn how to behave themselves. Maybe 
it's just as well he's insisted we do the negotiations down in Saint Louis. 
If he came up here, I'd have to entertain him and I'd hate to have our 
friends meet someone like him." 

"What does he do that's so offensive?" Joan inquired mildly, more to prove 
that she was listening than anything else. 

"What doesn't he do?" grumbled Allen irritably. "Besides the sort of table 
manners I wouldn't expect from a native in Africa, the man's idea of 
entertainment is disgusting. Why on my last trip down there, he dragged me 
into a strip tease joint! Can you imagine that?" 

"I...I never saw a strip tease," lied Joan nervously. "What was it like?" 

"Well, I was disgusted," her husband informed her indignantly. "What makes a 
woman want to exhibit her body in public is more than I can understand. And 
then after we escaped from that flee-bitten joint, he wanted me to accompany 
him to a brothel." 

"And...you said no?" 

"Well, my dear, I think you know me well enough to guess the answer to that! 
Of course I said no, and I almost told him what I thought of him, but. . . 
well, I have my responsibility to the company to think of and one can't let 
personal feelings interfere with business. If his merger goes through, I 
could be promoted to Second Vice President of the firm, and that's worth 
putting up with a little humiliation. Is that someone at the door?" 

"I think it's the mailman," replied the young wife, pulling her dressing 
gown around her and getting to her feet. "You finish your breakfast, dear, 
or you'll be late for the office." 

Allen nodded while Joan walked towards the front door, hoping that one of 
the woman's magazines to which she subscribed had come with the morning 
mail. After Allen left for the office there was nothing to do until the maid 
came at noon, and she was desperately anxious to find some distraction for 
her troubled mind. Beneath the mail slot in the door there was a pile of 
letters and envelopes and Joan noted with relief that there were also 
several magazines. Most of the mail was normally for Allen, but she shuffled 
through the envelopes curiously anyway until she came to one large manila 
envelope which was addressed to her. 

She came within an inch of calling out delightedly to her husband that 
someone had sent her something in the mail, but a cautious instinct saved 
her at the last minute and she stopped in the corridor leading to the 
kitchen, quickly slitting the strange envelope open with her fingernail. 
When she saw the contents, she nearly fainted and had to lean against the 
wall for support, feeling the blood drain away from her head. 

"What's there dear?" called Allen from the kitchen. "Anything for me?" 

"Eh...yes, love," she answered haltingly, looking wildly around for a place 
to hide the incriminating object. Finally she thrust it inside of one of her 
magazines and brought her husband his letters. 

It was sheer torture waiting for him to leave the house this morning, but 
Joan controlled her nerves as well as she could, keeping the magazine with 
the envelope crushed against her breasts until Allen had kissed her good-bye 
and closed the front door behind him. Cautiously she waited until she heard 
his car start up and move off down the street since Allen occasionally came 
back for something he had forgotten. Once she was sure he was gone, she 
rushed into the bedroom, pulled down the shades and dumped the contents of 
the mysterious envelope out on the unmade bed. Before her on the crumpled 
sheets, there was a large black and white photograph and a note, which said. 
"Dear Joan, there are nine more just as good as this one. Thought you'd like 
to have it as a souvenir. Why don't you give us a call and we'll talk about 
the others? Love and kisses. Jack Lynch." 

The photograph had been snapped at the precise moment when Lynch had ordered 
her to put her arms around his neck. The telephoto lens had missed nothing: 
His lips plastered passionately against hers, her full naked breasts crushed 
flat against her chest with the weight of the photographer's body, and even 
the dark shaft of the man's long rigid penis half-way into the churning 
depths of her wetly glistening vagina. It was perfect, and Joan saw in a 
glance that she would never explain away a photograph like this. If Allen 
were ever to see it or one like it, he would know that his wife was a cheap 
adultress and nothing more. He would probably throw her immediately out of 
the house and sue for a divorce, using this photograph as Exhibit A. 

Was this blackmail? She asked herself this question as she carried the photo 
into the bathroom, tearing it very carefully into tiny pieces and flushing 
it down the toilet. If it's money they're after, then it's a waste of time 
because I haven't got any! Allen gives me enough cash for the housekeeping 
and something extra for my personal use but not nearly enough to satisfy the 
rapacious appetite of a blackmailer. 

But there was no point in prolonging the agony. The sooner she called Lynch 
and found out exactly what he wanted, the sooner she would know what kind of 
threat they were making. Her fingers trembled as she dialed the numbers, and 
twice she had to start over again. Liza answered. 

"Why, hi, Joan!" she said with unmistakable genuine pleasure when she heard 
her girl friend's voice over the wire. "How are you honey?" 

"Not as well as I might be, thank you," Joan replied icily. "I'm afraid that 
envelope I got from Lynch this morning has rather spoiled my day." 

"An envelope from Jack? I don't know anything about that, Joan. What's in 
it?" 

Liza was incapable of telling a lie properly, and Joan felt a sense of 
relief that at least her old friend was not part of this plot to ruin her 
life. 

"Oh, maybe it's all a bad joke, but perhaps you'd better let me talk to 
Jack." 

"He isn't here, but Split says he wants to say something to you," Liza 
replied. A moment later, the arranger's deep voice came over the wire. 

"Hello, little lady. I was sort of wondering when you'd remember to call 
your old friends." 

"What do you mean by this?" Joan stormed at him furiously, sure that he and 
Lynch had cooked up some sort of nefarious plot between them. "Suppose my 
husband had seen that envelope?" 

"Well, we all know what a gentleman Allen is, and gentlemen don't read other 
peoples' mail, do they? Listen, honey, you cool down because this ain't 
nothing to get all steamed up about. Great picture, wasn't it?" 

"Listen, if it's money you're after...." 

"You ain't got any, and we ain't after it," 

Split assured her quickly. "Listen, Joan-baby, all we want is to see you 
more often. I figure you must get real lonesome sitting out there in the 
sticks with all them stuffed shirts, when your real friends and all the real 
action is downtown in your old neighborhood...." 

"What are you talking about?" Joan snapped impatiently, sensing that Split 
was circling over the heart of the matter like a vulture preparing to 
strike. 

"I'm talking about coming down to see us more often. Once a year isn't 
enough, as far as we're concerned. Now, for example, next Tuesday we've got 
a party scheduled for the studio, a big one with lots of nice people. Put on 
that cute dress you wore the other night and come on down arid enjoy 
yourself, and we'll give you another photograph back, with the negative, 
naturally." 

"Every time I come to one of your parties, you give me back one photograph?" 
asked Joan, not liking the sound of this at all. 

"That's right, baby." 

"But that's not all there is to it, is there?" 

"No, of course not, love. But you come down Tuesday night, looking real 
pretty and you'll catch on to the rest of it soon enough!" 

* * * 

Allen was grumbling and irritable, but Joan sensed that she was going to get 
away with it and knew there was no real danger of his insisting that he come 
along with her. If there was one person in the world her husband could not 
stand the sight of, it was Joan's mother and he tried to discourage her from 
visiting the alcoholic old slut as much as possible. 

"I don't visit the poor thing very often, dear." Joan reasoned with him 
nervously as he sat in the living room smoking his pipe and reading the 
newspapers, waiting for the evening television shows to commence. "Once 
every couple of months isn't too much." 

"No, no, of course not," Allen agreed reluctantly. "It's just that I hate 
the idea of you wandering around in that neighborhood after dark. Why every 
day in the newspaper there's an article about a rape or a mugging or a 
murder down there. I think the city council should send a bull-dozer in to 
knock the whole neighborhood down! This is a respectable city except for 
that area, and I don't know why something isn't done about it!" 

"But all the poor people who live there," she tried to reason with him. 
"Where would they go to live?" 

"That's not my problem. Half of them are on welfare anyway and they could 
take their money and go live somewhere else. You should know better than I 
what kind of people inhabit that neighborhood! Most of them are bums or 
prostitutes and in a country like this there's no reason to be poor. If 
they'd clean up and get jobs like everybody else, they wouldn't have to be 
on welfare." 

This was Allen's pet peeve and Joan realized that she was treading on thin 
ice just by discussing it with him. The young businessman made a lot of 
money and therefore paid a lot in taxes, and it irritated him to know that 
some of his money was being used by the government to support the people 
from Joan's old neighborhood who preferred cashing welfare checks to getting 
a job. She could never match Allen in an intellectual argument, but somehow 
she sensed that he was wrong, there had always been a lot of people in her 
neighborhood looking for work, and jobs were never to be found. They had no 
education to speak of, most of them, and jobs for people without college 
educations were starting to be more and more difficult to come by. Some of 
her friends from the slum had come from immigrant families who barely spoke 
English and had been forced to work since they were children in bars or 
shops. But Allen got angry whenever she tried to explain that side of the 
story, just as if she were being unfaithful to him by defending the people 
she had left when she had come to live in his house and share his name. 

"If it really worries you, I could stay overnight with mother and come back 
in the morning," she offered, craftily thinking that this might be better 
than staggering in at three or four in the morning. 

"Use your own judgment," he instructed her pompously. "If it's too late when 
you're ready to leave, I'd rather have you spend the night there than try to 
drive through that inferno alone." 

"Okay, darling, you have a nice quiet evening and I'll see you later," she 
said, kissing him on the cheek and smiling as she left the room. 

Wow, I got through that in one piece, she congratulated herself bitterly as 
she walked out to the curb where her sports car was parked. I'm becoming a 
very competent little husband deceiver! 

The girl had considered very carefully the idea of confessing to Allen 
exactly what had happened between her and Jack Lynch, perhaps explaining 
that she had been drugged and then throwing herself on his mercy, but after 
thinking about it for a couple of days, it seemed like a sure way to find 
herself out in the street. Allen's moral judgments about other people tended 
to be rather severe, and she was quite sure that he could not find it in his 
heart to forgive her. That left the unhappy young wife with no choice but to 
go through with the deception. She had no idea what Split wanted her for. 
She knew it was liable to be unpleasant and she was preparing herself for 
the worst. Apparently she had to come to this party tonight and eight more 
after it and then she would have all the film back in her possession. Once 
the last negative had been destroyed, she would be out from under his power, 
and free again. The next time, she promised herself not to be quite so 
simple-minded when an "old friend" invited her to a party. 

Under the back seat of the car was a plastic bag containing her scoop-necked 
top, some frilly undergarments, and her cosmetics. Obviously she could not 
waltz out of the house with the story that she was going to visit her aging 
alcoholic mother if she were obviously dressed for a party. The young wife 
intended to dress and do her make up at Split's studio. 

The evening traffic was almost gone as she maneuvered the little sports car 
out of the safe, sane respectable neighborhood where she now lived past the 
Central Train Station and into the section of town which Allen thought 
should be knocked down with a bull-dozer and made into a parking lot. 

There was a spot open right in front of the store and she parked quickly, 
locked the car securely and went nervously into the photographic shop, her 
stomach quivering. Lynch was sprawled behind the counter smiling pleasantly, 
and he glanced at his watch as she came through the door. 

"Hello, lovely, you're early aren't you?" 

For a moment, Joan was unsure how she should treat him. This was the man who 
had seduced her into having sexual intercourse with him only a few days 
before, and then had arranged in some mysterious fashion to have pictures 
taken while he humiliated and degraded her. Now they were blackmailing her 
in some unknown manner. She could hardly act as if nothing at all had 
happened. On the other hand, if she were going to have to come back here 
eight more times to get the rest of those negatives, she had better not tear 
into him and tell him what she thought of people who behaved the way he had. 
Her jungle instinct told her to play this one cool. She met his gaze and 
tried to make her voice as neutral as possible when she spoke. 

"Yes, a little. I want to dress here, if you don't mind my using your 
bathroom." 

"Evcryting I have is yours, baby," he grinned at her lecherously. "Including 
my bathroom. You'll find Liza's already back there getting beautiful for the 
occasion. The guests won't be arriving for a little while yet, so take your 
time and do a good job." 

"Jack, what kind of party is this going to be?" she asked him bluntly, 
determined to get to the bottom of this business as quickly as possible. 

"This is Split's show, baby," he explained affably, getting to his feet and 
walking lazily towards her. "I better let him do the talking. But it'll be 
fun, you'll see." 

It was clear that he intended to fool around with her, and she was in no 
mood for any more of that, so she gave him an icy stare and side-stepped him 
quickly, opening the door which led into the studio. Inside, the place had 
been transformed from a grubby normal photographer's studio into a 
reasonable facsimile of an artist's pad. Pillows and mattresses had been 
spread around on the floor, and several jugs of wine sat on the table along 
with bottles of whiskey and mixers. On the wall had been posted some of Jack 
Lynch's "art work," mostly portraits of nude girls and Joan looked around 
nervously to make sure that none of the obscene pictures of her had been 
added to this depraved collection. 

"Well, the life of the party has arrived!" came Split's deep masculine voice 
as he emerged from what seemed to be a bedroom. "Hey, don't tell me that's 
what you're planning on wearing for our little party?" 

"No, I've got my dress and make-up here," she explained quickly, feeling 
somehow that he had immediately managed to put her on the defensive. 
"Listen, I've got to talk to you." 

"Talk, baby," the organizer replied affably, pouring a splash of whiskey 
into each of two glasses and offering her one. "Here's looking at you." 

"All right, I think this is a dirty thing you people are pulling on me," she 
said frankly, accepting the glass of whiskey after a moment's hesitation. "I 
want to know what little surprises I've got ahead of me as far as this party 
is concerned." 

"No, surprises, dear," Split explained nonchalantly, looking at her 
appraisingly as he sipped his whiskey. "Let me explain the system to you. 
Things get a little dull over on your side of town as you've probably 
noticed in the last year or so, and a little high life is hard to come by 
unless you've got the right kind of connections. Most people don't and so I 
supply them, for a cut off the top, naturally. If you've got a client to 
entertain and he likes a little two-fisted fun, you come to old Split. 
You've got a gang of friends and you want a real wing-ding of a party, you 
call me up. Making people happy is how I make my bread...." 

"And tonight? Exactly who are you making happy tonight?" Joan spat at him, 
no longer able to tolerate this kind of talk. 

"Why everybody, love." Split assured her, overlooking her display of temper. 
"Tonight there's a guy coming over who owns a construction company. William 
Looming is the name and old Bill has got a reputation among his foreman as a 
fellow who really knows how to live. He's got to prove it once in awhile 
because he can't lose face in front of his team. So we're having a party 
tonight here and Bill will be coming over with some of his boys. Nice guys, 
I've met most of them before." 

"Oh, I'm sure they're just angels!" retorted Joan sarcastically. "And just 
where do I come in?" 

"Why, you're just here to pretty up the place," grinned Split convincingly. 
"These guys want to have a pretty girl to put their arms around while 
they're socking down their booze. We'll tell everybody that you're an 
actress, okay? I suggest you take your wedding ring off, love, because it 
spoils the image, if you know what I mean." 

"So I have to stand around all night and be pawed by a bunch of foreman! Are 
you sure that's all?" 

"Joan, honey, would I he to you?" 

"Of course you would!" she snapped at him, relieved that there was not more 
to it than this despite her show of anger. "Where can I change?" 

"There's a dressing room in back of the bedroom," Split directed her, 
pointed to the door. "You'll find Liza back there already, making herself 
beautiful." 

"Hi, Joan!" cried Liza happily as Joan entered the dressing room, closing 
the door carefully behind her. 

"Hello, Liza. Gee, that's a pretty dress!" 

"Do you like it?" answered the model apparently unaware of the fact that her 
girl friend had not come of her own free will. She stood and held the dress 
up to her proudly and Joan examined it, trying to convey an impression of 
interest which she did not feel. Liza's dress was very sophisticated and 
daring cut in front down almost to the navel. For a moment the young wife 
wondered whether anyone would pay attention to her in her simple little top 
even if she did have more to show as far as bosom was concerned. Just as 
well if they don't she decided and started to take off her own dress to 
apply her make-up. 

"I think it should be fun tonight," Liza announced, laying her dress over 
the back of a chair and returning to the job of doing her eyelashes. "The 
fellows were all here once before and we had a real brawl! Wow! I didn't 
recover for three days!" 

Joan hung her dress up on a hook and sat down on the bench next to her 
friend in order to share the mirror. She did not like the sound of this at 
all, and decided to see if a little more information could be pumped out of 
the simple unsuspecting girl. 

"What exactly do you do at these parties?" 

"Oh, drink mostly and fool around with the boys. Sometimes we smoke some 
pot, but these guys like whiskey better. I guess some money changes hands as 
far as Split is concerned, and things sometimes get kinda rough after 
midnight. I always tell myself I'm not gonna do it, and by three in the 
morning, I'm always flat on my back with three guys on top of me. I guess 
I'm just evil, but we always have fun." 

"Well, I have no intention of landing on my back with three guys on me!" 
snapped Joan quickly, now seeing the handwriting on the wall. "Is that what 
I was brought here for?" 

"Well, I don't know, honey. I guess you'd have to talk to Split about that," 
the brown-haired girl confessed uneasily. 

The conversation broke off awkwardly at that point, and Joan realized that 
she had just made herself sound like a real prude, having implied that she 
was too good to do once in awhile what Liza did regularly. Joan resolved to 
find Split before the party and make it very clear that she had no intention 
of prostituting herself so that he could make a few extra bucks. If a gang 
of construction foreman wanted to drink with her and think they were 
spending the evening in the company of an actress, that was his business, 
but the bedroom business was out! 

* * * 

"Hey, Split, you got some hot numbers for me and the boys tonight?" 

"Bill, don't you worry about a thing. Tonight this party is going to swing!" 

"Yeah, but where are the broads? The boys are gonna be here any minute now, 
and I don't see nothing but some liquid refreshment." 

"Don't worry, man, Liza's in the dressing room gettin' ready and with her is 
a new chick who'll blow your mind. She's an actress from the West Coast, but 
she doesn't want anybody to know who she is, so I can't tell you her name. 
Just call her Joan, although, of course, that ain't the name she uses in the 
movies." 

"Hot shit, really an actress!" exclaimed the construction man eagerly. "But 
will she...ya know...will she go for the action in the back room. My boys 
ain't much for jus' looking." 

"Cool it man, she'll go. This broad used to make them fuckie-suckie movies 
before she hit the big time, and she likes screwing better than you like 
making money. But you got to take your time and you better clue the boys in 
about this. She's a lady now that she's famous, and it takes her awhile to 
get steamed up. Let her get a couple of drinks under the belt first and then 
make your move. Man, she's the best looking piece of ass Jack and me have 
had in a dog's age!" 

"You mean that you and Lynch've already fucked her?" asked the client, his 
eyes widening. 

"Oh man, we've turned that dame every way but loose!" boasted Split 
untruthfully, making a mental note to allow Joan to work off one of her 
pictures by going to bed with him some night. No point in letting Lynch have 
all the fun. 

"I can't wait to see this!" enthused Bill Looming lecherously. "Wait'll I 
tell the boys they got a real live porno actress to fool around with." 

"Just remember what I said about taking it easy," cautioned Split severely. 
"This gal is still worrying about her dignity, and you got to take it slow 
and polite until she softens up. And nobody's suppose to know that she's an 
actress, so if one of the boys recognizes her from one of her films, he's 
supposed to forget it!" 

"I'll spread the word," promised Looming gullibly. "Imagine that! An 
actress!" 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

Joan shuddered a little with sudden fear as Bill Looming's strong arm wound 
insistently around her narrow waist, pulling her frail, resisting body 
towards his while he tried to plant a drunken kiss on her cheek. 

"Aw, come on, baby," he urged her obscenely. "Why don't cha loosen up? We're 
all friends here." 

Three hours ago, the party had started off very politely with Liza and Joan 
being presented to the tough, hard-drinking group of construction men, and 
the young wife had been pleasantly surprised by the abnormally respectful 
manner in which she was treated. There were about six men in attendance, 
plus Lynch and Split, and the first hour of the evening had been dedicated 
to light conversation and heavy drinking. These were tough, two-fisted men, 
Joan had realized as soon as she had stepped out of the dressing room, the 
kind of men she had grown up among, but they had behaved themselves 
remarkably well.. . for a while. 

But the rough stuff had started about midnight when one of the men had 
proclaimed himself an amateur photographer and asked permission to take some 
shots of the girls with Jack's studio camera. The photographer had talked 
him into using a simpler thirty-five millimeter model, and the honor of 
posing for pictures had gone first to Liza. The young brown-haired girl had 
been talking rather loudly by this point in the evening and staggering 
slightly as she walked, but otherwise she seemed perfectly delighted to be 
the center of all this lewd attention. Liza climbed up on a platform and 
they had started off with a couple of standard snap-shot pictures while she 
mugged drunkenly at the camera. But with the walls covered with photographs 
of nude women, it was only a matter of time before someone suggested 
lasciviously that Liza strip for some more interesting shots. 

Joan was moderately shocked but Liza's reaction was limited to a giggle as 
her fingers reached promptly for the buttons. The men crowded around the 
platform eagerly and the self-styled photographer had quickly run through a 
roll of film. 

"Hey, about the other girl?" Joan heard someone insisting, and she came out 
of her own personal fog to see that every eye in the room was now focused on 
her. 

"Hey, great idea!" mumbled Looming as the possibility of seeing Joan naked 
formed itself in his mind. "Come on, baby, get over there and show us how 
it's done!" 

The crisis was upon her before she had time to decide on a course of action, 
and Joan looked wildly around the room. This was not fair! Through the haze 
of cigarette smoke, she was Split's smiling face looking on with amusement. 
She sent him an appealing look, begging him with her eyes not to subject her 
to this dire humiliation, but the only response was a brusque gesture with 
his hand as he motioned her to join Liza under the lights. The young wife 
saw that she was going to have to go through with it, and she gulped the 
rest of her drink to steady her nerves as she walked onto the platform. 

Momentarily blinded by the lights, the blonde looked helplessly around her, 
waiting for instructions. Liza, as naked as the day she was born, was taking 
a swing directly from a whiskey bottle, and did not seem to mind in the 
slightest being totally undressed in a roomful of complete strangers. 

"This is the gal who's really got a figure on her," Liza drunkenly told the 
laughing men, sincerely meaning to praise her friend. "Compared to her, I'm 
practically flat-chested!" 

"Well, let's have a look!" decreed Looming, his authoritative voice booming 
in the back of the crowd. "Come on, Joan we can't see what nature gave you 
underneath that dress." 

Something inside of her froze, and Joan stood motionless for a long moment, 
staring into the blinding lights, unable to gather up the courage she needed 
to refuse, and too afraid to do what they demanded of her. After an awkward 
interval, Liza understood that her friend was suffering from an attack of 
nerves, and the naked model stood up behind the young married woman, 
throwing a comforting arm around her shoulders. 

"Don't worry, honey," she whispered softly. "They aren't going to eat you. 
It's easy once you get used to it!" Seeing that Joan was still paralzyed, 
the practical-minded model flashed an understanding smile at the audience 
and carefully began to undress her friend. Joan closed her eyes, desperately 
trying to force her mind to work. One thing was very clear. She was under 
Split's power and all she had to do was displease him seriously and he could 
wreck her whole life by sending one of those incriminating photographs to 
her husband. On the other hand...there was no other hand! She was trapped! 

It was an exciting scene, and lust seemed to cover the room like a thick 
smoke. One girl, brown-haired and already unashamedly naked was standing 
next to the lush blonde beauty like a hand maiden serving a queen. Her 
fingers moving deftly, she slipped the straps of the top down off of Joan's 
milky white shoulders, widening the deep crevice between her heavy swollen 
breasts until first one little golden brown nipple was revealed and then the 
other. A shudder rippled through Joan's lushly inviting body as she felt 
herself being stripped gently to the waist. Liza was now standing behind 
her, working on the zipper which had to be opened before the top could be 
lowered over her full curving hips. Joan could feel the other girl's nakedly 
pointed breasts scraping the exposed sensitive skin of her back. The 
sensation was strangely eortic, and for a moment, the blonde woman wondered 
if there was not a streak of the lesbian in her somewhere. The thought 
frightened her, and she shivered involuntarily, hearing the men roar with 
laughter as her lust-provoking breast quivered back and forth. 

"There we go," muttered Liza as she finally managed to unblock the zipper, 
slipping her dainty hands down into Joan's skirt and easing it gently over 
her hips and onto the floor. Instinctively, the modest young blonde covered 
her breasts, feeling humiliated as never before in her life. Even her 
seduction by Jack Lynch had not been quite this bad, since at least it was 
done in comparative privacy. But this public display of her warm sensuous 
body to a roomful of lustful men was frightening. 

"Hey, you forgot something, Liza," called Lynch, smiling impishly and 
pointing to the black lacy panties which still covered the young woman's 
loins. 

"Oh, you boys want everything all at once," Liza pretended to grumble, 
quickly obeying her instructions by tugging Joan's panties down past her 
smoothly modelled thighs to the floor. 

She was naked now, totally and completely naked, and even the would-be 
photographer was forced to stop and stare for a moment, his hands sweating 
with undisguised lust as he gazed at the spectacularly built young woman. 
Then he remembered his original intention to reproduce some of this 
desire-arousing beauty on film and began to take pictures, so rapidly that 
Joan wondered if he was really bothering to focus the camera. 

"That's right. Now kneel down," he commanded, trying to behave the way he 
thought a real professional would under these circumstances. Joan nervously 
tried to do as she was told, desperately wishing he would finish with this 
bizarre nonsense. She was keenly aware that the waves of lust being 
generated by this crowd of strong men were washing over her like some 
irresistible tide. The embarrassment and shame of being naked like this was 
slowly wearing off, and beneath it all, she could feel the churning of her 
own easily aroused passions. 

"Good...take your hands off your tits, please...that's good," monologued the 
amateur photographer, slurring his words a little as he spoke. Joan saw the 
whiskey bottle being passed around among the men, and her days of tending 
bar had taught her that a group like this could be dangerous when they had 
drunk too much. She obeyed his instructions as well as she could, dropping 
her hands to her sides and even trying to smile a little as she faced the 
camera. The construction men were clearly getting edgy, and they seemed to 
be crowding in on her from all sides. Was this all destined to end in a mass 
rape? 

"Come on, Mac, you're getting in the way, goddamn it!" the amateur 
photographer flared at one of his colleagues who had reached forward from 
the sidelines and run his fingers lightly over one of Liza's temptingly soft 
breasts. 

"Ah, fuck you, George!" came the angry reply. "What is this photographer 
bullshit, anyway?" 

"Just stay out of the way," the man called George menaced, "or you're going 
to find five strange knuckles in your mouth! Okay, now Joan, just spread yer 
legs a little 'cause I wanna get a nice close-up of that sweet little 
pussy!" 

"No!" cried Joan, her emotions taking over. This was too much! 

"Open your legs, I said!" roared the photographer, stumbling drunkenly as he 
took a threatening step towards the terrified girl, the camera waving in one 
hand. Joan saw a worried look cross Lynch's face, and she knew he was far 
more concerned about his precious camera than anything which might happen to 
her. 

"Shit, this bastard's wasting our time," muttered another one of the men 
evilly, stumbling to his feet and blocking George's path. With an angry 
grunt, he tried to wrestle the camera from the would-be photographer's 
hands. 

Joan had worked in bars long enough to know a fight when she saw one coming 
and the naked young wife realized that a real brawl was about to take place. 
These men were driven by lust and alcohol, a mean combination, and in this 
moment they were capable of anything. It was Lynch who finally set off the 
spark by leaping into the middle of the fray, his fist balled as he tried in 
vain to rescue his valuable camera. Suddenly the room exploded into warfare, 
with most of the men wading into the battle with all they were worth. Out of 
the corner of her eye, she saw Liza, a veteran of many such incidents, 
darting for safety beneath the bar. After a moment's hesitation, the young 
blonde wife grabbed for her dress and sprinted in the direction of the 
bedroom. But she forgot to step down as she ran from the platform and fell 
heavily, knocking the breath from her body as her softly yielding breasts 
slammed into the floor. 

Instantly strong arms went around her waist, and she found herself lifted 
into the air and carried rapidly into the waiting bedroom on a man's 
muscular shoulders. Her head was still spinning from her fall, and a second 
later she heard the door slam shut behind them. 

"The boys get a little rough sometimes," said Bill Looming with a smile as 
he deposited her unceremoniously on the bed. "They'll calm down in a minute 
or two." 

"Oh, thank you," the girl sputtered, overwhelmingly happy to be out of the 
brawl which she could still hear going on in the studio. "I don't know how 
to thank...." 

"Oh, I reckon I can think of a way to thank me," replied the construction 
boss, a sinister expression creeping across his hard corrupt face. "Why 
don't you just crawl over here with those sweet lips of yours and tell me 
how grateful you are." 

With a shock, Joan realized that she had been moved from the frying pan into 
the fire. She was still stark naked, her dress having been left somewhere 
behind when she fell, and Looming was in the act of unbuckling his pants and 
dropping them to the floor as he walked toward her, grinning lewdly. She 
retreated as far as she could, but the bed was positioned in the corner of 
the bedroom as she soon found herself boxed in with walls on two sides and 
the construction boss in front. He was ripping off his shirt as he climbed 
up on the bed, and the young blonde shuddered as she saw the muscles ripple 
across his powerful chest. 

"Why are you so shy?" he taunted her mockingly. "I ain't asking for anything 
you haven't done plenty of times before...why an old porno actress like 
you...." 

He was on top of her before his words hit home. What made him think she was 
any kind of an actress? But there was no time now to ask questions. The 
burly aggressive man had moved agilely across the springy mattress and 
dropped his heavy body down on top of hers, pinning her to the bed with one 
leg on either side of her futilely struggling body. The construction boss 
must have weighed two hundred pounds, none of it fat, and to show her that 
he was in a position to hurt her whenever he wanted to, he allowed his full 
weight to sink down on her stomach, drawing the breath from her body. 

"Hey girl, what's all this fighting about?" he inquired scornfully, watching 
her face grow red from lack of oxygen. "You ain't no virgin, baby, or you 
wouldn't be here in the first place!" 

Too stunned by all that had happened in the last few minutes to be able to 
reply, Joan stared at him in silence, unable to move. The man was still 
wearing his undershorts, and she watched, her dismay growing by the minute, 
as he opened the slit in front and extracted his thick and slowly hardening 
cock. 

"I've had my eyes on those red lips of yours all evening long," he informed 
her brutally. "Now we're gonna put them to some real practical use." 

Joan saw in a moment what he was talking about and an agonized shiver ran 
quickly through her vulnerably naked body. He wanted her to do to him what 
the young French girl had been forced to do to the gangster in that horrible 
movie. He was going to jam that fleshy rod into the virginal sanctuary of 
her mouth and make her suck him until he came! 

"No!" she cried out in horror, realizing that there were some things she 
could never bring herself to do, no matter how they threatened her. Let them 
send the pictures to Allen! If she stooped to commit an act of oral sex with 
a stranger, she could never look herself in the mirror again! 

"What do you mean, no?" Looming inquired menacingly, reaching down and 
running his calloused hand up over one trembling breast until he held the 
tiny brown nipple between his thumb and index finger. "Honey, no two-bit 
whore like you says 'no' to Big Bill Looming and gets away with it! How do 
ya like this?" As he spoke, his fingers twisted until Joan felt that he was 
going to pull her sensitive, pain-wracked nipple away with his hand. 

"Aaaaaaggghhhhh!! ! " she shrieked, but there was still an enormous racket 
in the next room, and no one seemed to hear her. "No, please, don't hurt me 
again," she begged him, knowing as she spoke that it was useless to plead 
with someone as heartless as this. She was totally defenseless and Looming 
knew it as well as she. What could she possibly do? Go to the police and 
have him arrested? Impossible, her picture would be in the morning papers on 
the front page, and Looming would beat the rap anyway. 

Give in? No, that was impossible as well. The man inched his way up on her 
squirming torso, his hands traveling from her pain-filled breasts to the 
long blonde hair strewn out behind her on the bedspread. It was useless to 
say no and she could never bring herself to say yes. The cruelly impatient 
man was already pressing his thumbs against her trembling lips, his now 
rigid cock waving just below her chin. Her arms were pinned neatly to the 
mattress by his legs, and she found that her freedom of movement was 
extremely limited. She thrashed her head from side to side, but Looming 
seized her with both hands, his fingers forcing in on both sides so that she 
was slowly but surely obliged to open her mouth, or bite the insides of her 
cheeks. 

"Now, baby, you're gonna suck that cock and suck it real nice," he informed 
her heartlessly, flicking his loins forward so that the thick shaft of hard 
flesh rested on her involuntarily opening lips. "And every time you stop 
sucking, I'm gonna hurt you baby, so make sure you don't forget." Just as a 
reminder the construction boss reached behind him, mercilessly tweaking one 
of her throbbing nipples again...in the unlikely event she had already 
forgotten what he wanted of her. 

Joan stared down in horror at his hotly pulsating penis which was menacing 
the sanctuary of her mouth, now knowing for sure that there was no escape 
from this impossible situation. She was going to have to go through with it, 
like it or not! The man's organ was not particularly long, but the 
stimulation of tormenting a helpless naked woman was causing his 
lust-swollen cock-head to expand to an alarming degree. Now he made an 
impatient little warning movement with his buttocks as his fully erect penis 
pointed lewdly in her face. Joan's mind rebelled at the thought of allowing 
her mouth to be used as an unwilling receptable for his depraved sperm, and 
yet what other alternative was there? 

Big Bill Looming was getting angry, and to show his displeasure he pinched 
the sensitive flesh of her breasts, hurting her deliberately to make her cry 
out with pain. The moment she opened her mouth to groan, he moved skillfully 
forward, embedding the pulsating thickness of his cock in her warm wet 
mouth. One quick thrust, and the deed was done! 

Joan gagged as she felt the hot throbbing cock-head sliding wetly up along 
the smooth moist surface of her tongue towards the back of her mouth. And 
she could taste it as well! The man was clean, but he was also tremendously 
excited, and his cock was already secreting tiny pungent droplets of rich 
seminal fluid which mixed lewdly with the saliva from her throat. 

Expertly, Looming began a careful fucking motion in and out of the girl's 
cruelly stretched young mouth, his hands tightly entwined in her hair to 
prevent her from turning away from him. From her subjugated position beneath 
him, Joan could only see the black pubic hair curling in his groin and the 
thick glistening shaft of his penis whenever it emerged partially from her 
warmly salivating mouth. Her mind wandered a little as he thrust mercilessly 
into her face, and she found herself wondering if she would have to do 
something like this eight more times in order to win back all the negatives 
which had been taken on the night of her fatal weakness. Would she come back 
here again after tonight, knowing that she was going to be humiliated in 
this bizarre inhuman fashion? She did not know and could not decide. It 
seemed like a poor moment to try and plan her future. 

"Hey, the boss is in here!" came a voice from the door. Joan could see 
nothing but the rise and fall of Looming's stomach, but she heard footsteps 
cross the room, suddenly conscious of the fact that nearly, her entire body 
was lying naked and exposed behind Looming's back. She heard the 
construction boss speak: 

"You boys settle your differences? Some people like fighting, but I'm a 
fucking man myself!" 

"Yeah, we see," came another comment as two men circled the bed and Joan 
snapped her eyes shut, irrationally believing that the humiliation would be 
less if she could not see the men who were watching her. 

"Shit, look at that broad suck, boss! How's it feel?" 

Joan suddenly realized that unconsciously she had begun to use her lips, 
running her tongue wetly around the hot bulbous tip of the man's plunging 
cock. All right, she decided, the sooner I can get this over with the 
happier I'll be. If they want me to suck, then by god, I'll suck! 

As her determination hardened, the girl's head began to jerk back and forth 
as she flicked her tongue teasingly into the tiny slit in the head of the 
man's cock, feeling his bulbous instrument throbbing violently in response. 
She knew that within minutes, the stimulation would become too much for him 
and he would spew his vile sperm into the back of her throat, defiling her 
in a way she would never be able to forget. Once she had let them do this to 
her, there was no way of turning back! She would be a whore, pure and 
simple, no better than Liza. 

Suddenly she felt a man moving between her neglected legs, and even though 
she could not see him, she understood clearly what he was up to. His 
lecherous hands roamed around over her full round breasts, tweaking and 
twisting the hard brown nipples until she wanted to groan and then darting 
down between her widespread legs to torment the slowly palpitating flanges 
of her defenselessly exposed cunt. For a moment, she was not sure whether 
there was one man playing with her helpless body or two, since she could see 
virtually nothing and it was difficult to count exactly how many hands were 
roaming lasciviously over her naked body. 

Above her, Bill Looming grunted and muttered one obscenity after another as 
he watched his wetly glistening cock plunging past the helpless young wife's 
tightly ovaled lips into the warm moist sanctuary of her mouth. Behind his 
back, fiendish hands were roaming brutally over the succulent softness of 
her naked flesh, and suddenly a man's lips were demanding entrance to the 
narrow, hair-lined furrow of her cunt. She tried to tighten her thighs to 
avoid this new disgrace, but the man had already inserted himself between 
her legs and was able to control her easily, the wetness of his lips running 
wildly over the fiat smooth plane of her stomach. In another minute, his 
hands were busily at work, pressing her thighs even farther apart and 
opening up her quivering little pussy to the ravages of his tongue. One 
moist finger strayed even lower between her tightly clenched buttocks, and 
as his lips made contact with the softly pulsating little bud of her 
clitoris, the man's outstretched middle finger tested the defenses around 
her anus. 

She wanted to cry out, to beseech him to leave her alone, but it was 
impossible to make more than a vague moaning sound with Looming's meaty cock 
buried deeply in her throat. The unseen man nibbled cruelly on the 
ultra-sensitive flesh of her clitoris and, at the same time, stroked his 
finger teasingly around her contracted anal ring until he felt her muscles 
relax for one brief instant. As soon as her defenses were momentarily down, 
he shoved, sinking his finger into her violated little rectum as far as the 
first knuckle. 

Joan reacted from this humiliatingly unpleasant pain, her whole tortured 
body jerking forward. At the same moment, Looming chose to fuck into her 
cock-stretched mouth with an extra deep stroke, and she nearly choked as his 
thick fleshy shaft slid even farther down towards the back of her mouth. 
Joan tried to mumble a protest, but her words were jumbled into a 
meaningless moan as the man's invading finger dug deeper and deeper up into 
the tightness of her rectum, methodically widening the tormented entrance. 
In another moment, he was able to shove two fingers in where there had once 
been barely room for one, and he thrust in and out of her rhythmically, 
keeping time with Looming's merciless mouthing of her vagina, and a third 
man's wildly enthusiastic fingering of her quivering young cunt. Joan 
thought she was sure to faint from this massive attack on all the openings 
in her completely violated body. 

But in another moment, the triply penetrated wife found she had no more time 
to worry about what the unknown men were doing with their fingers to her 
helpless loins. Looming's excitedly throbbing cock was getting harder and 
bigger as he approached his climax, and she could feel his muscular hands 
tightening in her long blonde hair as his hips began jerking into her face 
more fiercely, his thick hot penis digging its way farther and farther into 
her involuntarily sucking mouth. She could feel his climax approaching from 
a long way off, and knew that the ultimate degradation was about to be 
forced upon her. He was going to cum in her mouth, and he was holding her 
head so tightly that it was clear that he meant her to swallow every vile 
drop of it. 

In this moment, she wished desperately for one of Lynch's narcoticized 
cigarettes. Anything would do to kill the desperation and humiliation in her 
mind, and she longed for the mind-dulling effects of the marijuana. She was 
hardly in a position to call for a ten minute smoke break so that she could 
stone herself into oblivion. It was too late for that now, but she vowed 
that if she were ever again forced into this kind of sordid degradation, she 
would never face it clear headed. 

But now she had only one option: Get it over with, and she sucked on 
Looming's cock as if she had been born and raised for this purpose and no 
other, her cheeks hollowing and puffing alternately as she tried to suck the 
searing white seed out of his body into hers. The man down between her legs 
was fingering her poor defenseless cunt into a frenzy of desire, but she 
tried with all her might to ignore the tiny tingles of sexual excitement 
swarming through her loins and concentrate on her main task at the moment. 

Looming groaned a four-letter word, and thrust his wildly jerking penis one 
last time into the moist warm depths of the naked young wife's mouth, 
holding his cock there as it began to spew its hotly pungent streams of 
semen into the back of her throat. At the same time, he ground his muscular 
buttocks down into the soft warm flesh of her breasts. The girl groaned 
miserably but she had no choice other than swallowing the warmly sticky 
liquid as it gushed into her throat. She clasped her lips even tighter 
around the man's hotly erupting instrument in her mouth, her tongue working 
hard as she swiped away gush after gush of the searingly hot fluid which 
seemed to be coming out of him in never-ending waves. After what seemed to 
be an eternity, his furiously ejaculating cock gave one last mighty spurt 
and then started to deflate like a balloon with a tiny pin-prick in it. 

Unsure of herself, Joan continued sucking and swallowing until he was clean, 
gulping and gagging a little as she choked down the last traces of his 
creamy white cum and left him glistening and limp in her mouth. 

"Ah man, that was really something!" she heard the construction man boast to 
his cronies, gently extracting his exhausted cock from her gleaming lips, a 
slender thread-like stream of cum still connecting her lips to the tip of 
his deflated red cock. 

"Come on, boss, don't hog it!" begged one of his men, and Joan felt the 
enormous weight of Looming's body being removed from the softly yielding 
flesh of her breasts as the man threw himself to one side, allowing the cool 
air to sweep over her shoulders and arms. Joan lay still, too defeated and 
exhausted to fight back anymore. Whatever they wanted to do with her now was 
their business. They had not asked her permission before and they did not 
need to ask it now. Just do it and get it over with, she begged them 
mentally. Finish before I start to want it too! 

She opened her eyes hesitantly, a little afraid of what she would see. As 
she had suspected, there were now two men on the bed with her besides 
Looming, both heavily muscled brutes in their forties. One glance at their 
lust-inflamed faces and she knew that there was no mercy to be found here. 
These were tough sensual men who worked on dangerous construction jobs all 
day long, keeping their positions as foremen because of their physical 
superiority over the other men, their willingness to take risks, and their 
sheer animal drive. America had been built by types just like these; men who 
took what they wanted first and talked about asking permission afterwards. 
They were going to take her now, anyway they wanted to and there was very 
little to stop them. 

"Where are the other boys?" asked Looming casually as if this were a meeting 
on a construction site somewhere. "Still fighting?" 

"Naw, they kissed and made up." reported the red-haired man who was kneeling 
between Joan's helplessly spread legs. "Now they're fuckin' the other broad, 
the one who was hiding under the bar." 

"That's a handy location," decided Looming practically. "I'll just nip out 
there and get us a bottle or two for in here. It looks like we got our 
night's work cut out for us, eh?" 

"Damn right, boss," the red-haired man agreed. "Well, what'll you have, Miss 
Big-Tits, a little fucking or a little sucking?" 

"No...please," Joan whimpered, turning her head to one side so that she 
would not have to face the impassioned fire in the man's violent eyes. The 
second man, a tall black-haired giant of a man was undressing casually as if 
he were in his own bedroom, and he laughed aloud as he witnessed the girl's 
misery. 

"What an actress, Jim!" he called lewdly. "She's pretending she's never been 
gang-banged before." 

"Well, maybe she hasn't" replied the man called Jim thoughtfully. "But 
there's gotta be a first time for everything, now doesn't there?" 

"Yeah, better get started, buddy. Those other guys are gonna be finished 
with the brown-haired chick in awhile, and I like to take my time when I'm 
breaking in a new girl. Don't want that mob of jerks breathing down my neck 
when I start to do my stuff." 

The red-haired man was already naked, and he did not seem disposed to wait 
for an answer from Joan concerning her preferred method of defilement. He 
smiled at her menacingly and his rough calloused hands began to sweep again 
over the nakedly sensitive flesh of her body. His cock, already hard and 
ready, protruded rigidly from his groin as he knelt over the shivering girl, 
exploring the delicious curves and indentations of her voluptuous young 
body. As he touched her, Joan realized that she was not going to be able to 
hold them off much longer as far as her own emotions were concerned. Already 
she could sense the electric shocks of growing lust starting to shoot 
erratically around in her cruelly battered body, and each time the man's 
hard hands swept casually over the tiny neglected nugget of her clitoris, a 
hotly searing flame seemed to erupt in her quivering cunt. A groan escaped 
from her lips before she could get her senses together and stop it, and to 
her eternal disgrace, she found that her lushly curved hips had suddenly 
developed a mind of their own, grinding and gyrating up off the mattress in 
an unmistakable motion of hunger and need. 

"Wow! This broad is really ready to fuck!" proclaimed the red-haired man, 
noticing the telltale movements of her over-stimulated body and realizing 
that she was not quite the abused unwilling victim she was pretending to be. 
Nor could he see any particular reason for delay and with a sly lecherous 
grin, he threw his heavy body forward, crushing the wind out of Joan's lungs 
as he crashed brutally into her, his hips flicking forward at the same time 
to send his long slender cock shooting up into her moistly waiting cunt. 

Joan held her breath, waiting for the pain, and found herself almost 
disappointed when none came. Instead, she could feel the man's medium-sized 
instrument fucking its way steadily up inside of her softly clasping tunnel, 
and apparently encountering very little resistance. The maltreatment she had 
suffered at the hands of Bill Looming must have excited her more than she 
cared to admit, for the inside of her hotly throbbing vagina was already 
moist and well-lubricated. Added to this was the fact that the man was not 
particularly big, despite the size of the rest of his body. She lay still, 
trying to control the jerking and quivering of her legs as he pummeled her, 
ramming his stiffened rod in as deep as it would go into her gently 
palpitating pussy. At the end of every stroke, his sperm-laden balls slapped 
into the delicate flesh of her upturned ass, and Joan found herself wrapping 
her legs tightly around his back in an unconscious effort to force him to 
pillage even more deeply into her shamelessly aroused body. 

The man got the message and did his best, grabbing both of her ass-cheeks 
getting up on his knees so he could ram into her with all his might. 

"Deeper!" she heard herself groaning. "Deeper! Fuck it deeper!" 

Immediately her face colored with red as she realized that somehow these 
vile instructions had escaped from her own mouth, betraying the fact that 
she was now a willing participant to anything they wanted to do. The 
red-haired man, however, apparently saw nothing wrong with her suggestion, 
and did his best to comply. As if to compensate for his physical 
shortcomings, he plastered his lips against hers, sending his tongue darting 
into her mouth. The naked young wife sucked at it hungrily, drawing it deep 
into her mouth while his hard virile cock pistoned into her churning young 
cunt, arousing a kind of physical hunger which she had never before known in 
her life. There had been times particularly in bed with Allen when she had 
felt frustrated and dissatisfied, but the young wife had never known 
anything quite like this fit of absolute animal lust which was now sweeping 
over her nakedly tormented body. It was like being possessed by a devil, and 
somehow she knew that she could never get enough! 

"Harder!! ! " she heard herself plead, not knowing where these vile words 
came from or how she managed to say them before she could stop herself. She 
was losing control, and losing it fast.. . and there was no way to get it 
back again! She reached around the man with desperate hands, seizing his 
pumping buttocks just as he had seized hers and began furiously pulling him 
into her as if they could somehow make up with energy what he lacked in raw 
materials. 

But the effort came too late. With a loud animal-like groan, his body 
suddenly stiffened, and his cock jerked wildly two or three times and then 
exploded. Joan felt his thick plunging instrument suddenly expand within 
her, then begin spraying his white hot cum into the inner recesses of her 
frustrated womb. She still was a few minutes away from a climax, and he was 
far too soon. He had left her behind! She was ready to weep with 
frustration. 

Unwilling to give into the inevitable, she frantically fucked her anguished 
body up against his, trying to make some use of his slowly deflating tool 
before it weakened into softness. But the man was no longer interested in 
playing games, and his cock seemed to wilt like a flower without water, 
rapidly growing useless. 

"Don't worry, baby," he mocked her lewdly. "There's plenty more where that 
came from. The next guy in line'll take care of you." 

The door opened as he removed his body from the bed. Three more men piled 
into the room, apparently finished with Liza and looking for some new 
adventure. The big black-haired man had waited patiently for his turn at the 
voluptuous blonde woman, and he sprang onto the bed to establish his 
position as next in line before any of the others could stake a claim. To 
Joan, it was a matter of total indifference who was next as long as there 
was somebody who could do the job she needed done. The inadequate red-head 
had succeeded only in rousing her passions to fever pitch and had done 
little enough to satisfy them. I'm going out of my mind, she sobbed to 
herself as the next man threw his hard, muscular body on top of hers. I'm 
turning into a nymphomaniac! There was no denying the fact that she wanted 
it bad now. She wanted to have a man's cock fucking in and out of her pussy, 
wanted to feel him explode far up inside her belly, his hot sperm filling 
the moist recesses of her grossly over-stimulated young body. She had to 
have it! 

The black-haired man levered himself into a push-up position over the 
anguished young woman, his dark fiery eyes staring down at her as he tried 
to decide how he would subject this innocent girl to his corrupt lusts. This 
particular foreman had a way with women, and he got all the routine sex he 
could handle, but rarely with anything as young and tender as this. An 
actress, he thought as he gloated over her shamefully aroused figure. Shit, 
I gotta take advantage of this! Opportunities like this one don't come along 
every day. Wildly, the man's eyes wandered over her nakedly defenseless body 
as he ticked off the possibilities in his brain. He could take her in the 
mouth the way the boss had, or in the cunt the regular way, but he was 
looking for something special, something which she would remember after a 
half dozen others had messed around with her . . . 

The man's eyes fell on Joan's high mountainous young breasts swaying and 
quivering as she writhed beneath him on the mattress. The sight excited him 
and in one perverse instant, he made his choice. He had to have them in some 
way and he thought he knew how. Moving carefully so as not to disturb the 
masochistic, submissive mood she was in, he climbed up on her, shuffling his 
knees on either side of her torso until his buttocks were suspended over her 
stomach and his long pole-like cock waved back and forth over her breasts. 
Supporting himself on the enormous muscles in his thighs, the man reached 
down and took one white tender breast in each strong sinewy hand, squeezing 
and kneading her warmly yielding flesh until her mouth opened to emit 
another soul-searching moan of undisguised lust. 

"Ah, you really want it, don't you, bitch," he said lasciviously, clearly 
reading the rampant uncontrolled desire on the young woman's tormented 
features. "Well you're gonna get it, but not the way you had in mind!" 

 CHAPTER SIX 

While the naked young wife moaned pathetically, wishing he would hurry up 
and satisfy the white hot hunger which was burning furiously in her aching 
loins, the man lowered his eager pulsating cock into the sweat-dampened 
valley between her breasts and began to squeeze the soft resilient mounds 
together. Pushing hard, he maneuvered the two lust-provoking spheres up 
against one another so that the long rigid shaft of his cock was trapped 
between them. Once he had created this bizarre artificial cunt, he started 
moving slowly back and forth, feeling the fantastic sensation of her softly 
yielding flesh pressing in against the hardness of his penis. Every time he 
pushed forward, the red, blood-engorged tip of his glistening cock appeared 
high on her chest, depositing a translucent drop of seminal fluid on her 
neck. 

For what seemed like an eternity the man methodically kept up the slow 
rocking motion, feeling his bulging cock get hotter and hotter by the 
moment. Joan at first had thought that this was nothing more than the 
depraved prelude to a normal act of sex, but when she saw that he intended 
to cheat her of the carnal satisfaction her body absolutely craved, she 
cried out in something approaching real despair. 

"Please, not like that! Oh, please fuck me!" she groaned. She knew she was 
only adding to her own degradation and humiliation by pleading to be fucked 
like a nymphomaniac, but she really no longer cared what anyone thought of 
her. By this stage of the game, the lewd flames of desire were too hot for 
her to worry about appearances! 

But the cruelly fucking man was simply ignoring her, feeling his wildly 
excited penis swelling under the artificial stimulation from the sides of 
her tormented breasts. This was the best thing he had had for a long time, 
and he was not about to give it up just because she had hot pants! Let the 
next guy in line take care of her! His thrusting grew faster and harder 
until she was sure that he was going to tear the fragile flesh of her bosom 
as he went on fucking viciously backwards and forwards, muttering obscenity 
after obscenity. 

"Noooooo!" she groaned as she felt the end approaching fast, but it was 
already too late. The hot sticky cum spurted out of his massive organ like 
warm liquid spewing under pressure from a fire nozzle, spraying her face and 
shoulders and pouring lewdly over her battered naked breasts. Mixing with 
the light layer of sweat on her body, it flowed in tiny little rivulets down 
under her armpits, obscenely dampening the bed beneath them. 

"Oh God," she muttered. "Why didn't you fuck me? Please...I need it so bad!" 

The man chuckled heartlessly and rolled off of her, leaving her cum-coated 
young body nakedly glistening under the harsh light from the ceiling. The 
room seemed to be filled with men, all laughing and passing a bottle from 
one to the other as they crowded lecherously around the bed. 

"Isn't there a man here?" she screamed crazily trying to insult someone into 
doing what she needed done, and feeling the last traces of her sanity 
slipping away from her. If something did not happen to still the desperate 
longing need in her soon she felt she would go berserk! "Someone, 
please...." 

"Sounds like she's ready for Freddie," joked one of the man lasciviously. 

"Yeah, Where's Freddie?" called a chorus of voices, degenerate lust pouring 
from face to face as a perverse new idea swept around the room. Joan was too 
fogged by this point to waste any time speculating about who or what Freddie 
was, and when a modest looking little man walked smilingly into the room, 
she realized that she had not noticed him before. Somehow, he did not look 
like the foreman of a construction team, although he was obviously being 
treated with great respect by the other men. Freddie was short and slender 
and somewhat mild-mannered, and Joan felt another wave of disappointment 
sweep over her as the man approached the bed, bowed to her mockingly and 
began to strip off his clothing. 

"Go get her, Freddie!" came the words of encouragement from the sidelines. 

"She's all yours, Freddie-boy!" 

This is some kind of bad joke, thought the tortured young woman, thrashing 
back and forth on the bed in anguish. Why are they doing this to me? In the 
back of her mind, she realized that all the men had probably been satisfied 
at least once by either Liza or herself and they were now looking for a 
little entertainment between rounds! And she was going to be the 
entertainment, with some assistance from this new man. 

It was not until after he had stripped himself completely and climbed up on 
the bed that she began to get the point. Freddie, despite his slender, 
youthful body, was not quite normal in another way. Between his muscular 
hairy thighs dangled what seemed at first to be the beginning of another 
leg. So this was the joke! 

Joan's eyes widened with horror as she got a good look at the brutal 
instrument he was preparing to ram into her. Freddie's cock must have been 
ten inches long and over two inches in diameter and it was gradually 
hardening and rising as he crawled across the bed towards her, smiling in a 
lewd hunger. Joan's thighs slapped noisily against each other as she quickly 
drew her legs tightly together, fear racing through her mind like a 
narcotic. Her mouth dropped open in shocked, horrified disbelief as the man 
knelt up before her, his long horrendous cock in his hands. 

It's impossible, she told herself and she imagined her tender young vagina 
being ripped open while the crew of heartless contraction men stood around 
and laughed. This man was not a normal human being. He would kill her! She 
would not let him do it! 

But in the end, she was given no choice. Hands came from all sides, seizing 
her wrists and ankles and spreading her out on the bed like a blanket while 
Freddie crawled happily between her outstretched legs, his menacing cock 
growing harder and firmer with every passing moment. As soon as her long 
tapered thighs had been opened and the delicate pink slit of her vagina 
appeared in plain view, Freddie smiled drunkenly as he saw the beautiful 
little toy his friends had given him to play with. Freddie liked them tight, 
and this girl was hardly used, at least by his depraved standards. He knew 
he would have to hurry since the other men were getting out of hand, and in 
another few minutes the whiskey bottle would have made another round and 
they would be feeling ready to get back into action. Already they were 
edging close to the succulently naked body on the bed, their hands reaching 
out obscenely to squeeze the girl's high mountainous breasts or stroke the 
smooth pink flesh of her cunt with their prying fingers. His cock was hard; 
what was he waiting for? 

Joan watched him like a paralyzed bird watches the advance of a snake, too 
terrified to move and physically incapable of doing anything to save 
herself. Staring down through the twin valleys of her breasts and her 
widespread thighs, the young wife found that she could not tear her eyes off 
the monstrous instrument which was coming closer and closer. 

Without warning, Freddie toppled onto her helplessly exposed body, his wetly 
heated lips coursing across the naked flesh of her stomach and down to the 
delightful mysteries up between her legs. For a long time he burrowed into 
her, lashing her tiny pink clitoris with his tongue, while the girl fought 
desperately not to lose her self-control all over again. This time she had 
to hold onto her sanity, she told herself grimly. She must not let them 
conquer her again! 

But the man between her legs was not taking any chances, and his long 
snake-like tongue burrowed up into her, relighting the fires of lust which 
had been threatening a short time before to consume her wildly thrashing 
young body. She tried to hold onto her fear as the only thing which stood 
between her and utter madness, but the man was taking it away from her, bit 
by bit, replacing it with nothing but the same shamelessly wanton lust she 
had experienced before. He was turning her back into an animal again, and 
she could not stop him! 

"Yes, yes, yes," she panted mindlessly, feeling her hips start to rotate 
mechanically again as his tongue slavered furiously into her. "Yes, do it!" 

Slowly the man inched his way back up her body, tormenting her breasts with 
his lips as he gradually covered her voluptuous young figure with his wiry 
body. Joan's naked hips automatically rose up in the air, searchingly, as 
she tried to capture that impaling pike she had feared so desperately only a 
moment or two before. She had to have it! It made no difference if he ripped 
her vagina into a thousand pieces, right now she had to have it! The men 
crowded anxiously around the bed, their eyes bulging as this lust-inspiring 
scene took place before them Freddie was always happy to put on a little 
floor show, and this was one they would remember for a long time. 

Then, with a sudden unexpected flick of his hips, the little man rammed his 
iron-hard cock forward, skillfully finding the clasping pink ridges of 
cuntal flesh and sliding the blood-filled tip of his massive instrument 
through her fearfully cringing cuntal lips. 

"Aaaaafffffggggghhhh!! ! " the nakedly squirming young wife screamed, 
suddenly understanding what it was going to mean to be penetrated by a man 
of this size. She threw her head to one side, unable to watch her own 
impalement anymore, feeling the way a patient does when the doctor implants 
a needle into a vein. The man's massive penis was inside of her only an inch 
or so and already the pain was terrifyingly great. She could never take it 
all! He was too big! Sharp needles of agony were already shooting through 
her overwrought body, and she was writhing in pain despite the efforts of 
the men all around her to hold her still. 

Freddie rose up on his hands and knees, grinned at his friends, and shoved 
forward another inch. 

"Ugggghhhhhh!" she groaned miserably, tears streaming down her cheeks as she 
endured this terrible torment. 

"Come on, Freddie, finish it!" called a voice. 

"Noooohhhhh!" she screamed, but Freddie did as he was told, throwing his 
body forward with one powerful shove which sent his granite-like cock 
steaming up the narrowly resisting passage. The girl's body seemed to rise 
up off the bed and hover in mid-air as the massive pole of hot flesh filled 
her insides with agony. 

For a moment, Joan could not move and it seemed to her that the man's huge 
organ was coming all the way up into the back of her throat. She groaned 
with relief when she felt his heavily swinging balls slap into her 
unprotected ass-cheeks, for as bad as she was hurting, this meant at least 
that it was not going to get any worse. He was all of the way up inside of 
her belly now and nothing had split, but his mammoth penis lay throbbing 
within the suffering walls of her tightly stretched cunt. She felt as if an 
enormous log had somehow been thrust up inside of her. 

The men crowded lustfully around, finding it difficult to believe that the 
tight little pussy they had all seen just a moment or two before had 
actually been penetrated successfully by this fantastic penis. The men were 
getting more and more into the act as their desires grew intense; Joan could 
feel fingers pinching at her anguished breasts, and another hand probing 
beneath her body in an attempt to attack the widespread crevice of her 
quivering naked buttocks. A man's outstretched finger played again with the 
tiny puckered hole of her anus and even plunged inside of her for a moment 
until Freddie angrily slapped the hand away. 

The man with the extraordinary cock wanted nothing to interfere with his 
style as he began a gentle smooth sawing motion, withdrawing his long 
impaling penis part of the way, and then thrusting mercilessly forward 
again. At first, her clasping little cunt was so tight that he could hardly 
move, but gradually as he fucked his way back and forth, she began to widen 
up, the tortured tissues of her body adjusting reluctantly to the presence 
of his huge bulbous flesh within her. Slowly, the pain began to ease and 
Joan found herself floating halfway between hurt and happiness, between pain 
and pleasure, a strange masochistic no-man's land where reality ceased to 
matter. There was something so savagely erotic about the idea of being 
fucked half to death in the presence of a group of lusting, panting men that 
a powerful wave of masochistic pleasure rippled through her over-stimulated 
body. She found herself fading rapidly back into the dream world of 
submission and subjugation from which she had barely emerged. She was going 
under again and she found she could not stop herself from babbling. 

"Oh yes, fuck me like that. . . like that!" the naked young wife groaned 
insanely, her lushly ripened body squirming like a fish amidst a sea of 
hands and faces and cocks which seemed to surround her. "Go on! Like that! 
Fuck me harder!" 

Her legs curled obscenely around Freddie's back and, as her ass-cheeks 
arched high off the mattress, she felt a man's hand attack her vulnerable 
backside again, this time with a savage insistence, the outstretched finger 
worming its way promptly into her offended anus and moving back and forth in 
time with the man's wildly fucking strokes. The long rigid shaft of hot 
flesh thrusting inside of her wetly pulsating pussy seemed to be going with 
jackhammer speed now, and she felt herself floating higher and higher. 

Then, with an abruptness that was stunning, her climax hit her suddenly, 
unexpectedly, like a kick in the stomach, and she howled like a wounded 
animal as great swirls of incredible pleasure stormed through her overloaded 
nervous system, jamming all the circuits like a telephone system gone 
completely haywire. Freddie came at precisely the same moment, his massively 
expanded cock spitting far up into her convulsing young cunt. The pungent 
odor of cum reached her nostrils from the semen mixing with the orgiastic 
liquid pouring from her own nakedly rejoicing body and overflowing from her 
overfilled cunt onto the mattress below them. For a moment of sheer maddened 
ecstasy, she absolutely wallowed in cum, feeling its slippery warmth 
sensually coating her thrashing ass-cheeks. 

Things began to get confused after that, and Joan's mind faded out 
completely as the bed suddenly sagged with the weight of several more men. 
Soon they were all around her and there was a great empty place in her cunt 
as Freddie's long magnificent cock was abruptly jerked away. She felt 
herself being turned over on her stomach, and there was no resistance left 
in her anywhere to oppose anything they wanted to do to her now. There were 
penises all around her, and she was loving every obscene moment of it. A 
man's hands appeared on her hips, hauling her up to her knees while her full 
sensuous breasts swayed against the cum-soaked mattress below her. A split 
second later, she felt the blunt meaty end of his cock pressing cruelly into 
the widened opening of her vagina and with a grunt, he surged into her, 
tilling the vacancy left by Freddie. Joan was beyond caring at this point, 
and she waved her buttocks back at him like a bitch in heat, inviting him to 
do whatever he liked with her helpless body. Almost simultaneously another 
faceless man presented himself in front of her, his long hard cock stabbing 
toward her wetly parted lips. 

This time, there was no need for anyone to torture her into opening her 
jaws. Her helpless mouth simply tumbled open, and the man's grateful penis 
slid past her ovaled lips, embedding itself deeply in her throat. The man 
was kneeling on the bed in front of her, holding her head between his hands 
and fucking viciously into her face as if her mouth were merely another cunt 
which he could mistreat as he pleased. Joan gagged slightly and then caught 
the lewd rhythm, clamping her lips tightly around the man's penis and 
sucking him as hard as she could. She was no longer really conscious in the 
strict sense of the term, now reduced to a sucking, gyrating, mindless mass 
of flesh with no will of her own and no desire to do other than serve her 
masters. Men seized her hands and she found herself holding two more cocks 
in her fingers and rejoiced at the thought. They were using her! They could 
do anything they wanted to her! She was a fucking machine and nothing more! 

The man behind her suddenly groaned and his hot heavy sperm shot up into the 
depths of her womb. Instantly, he yielded his place to someone else who at 
once began fucking her savagely. The man whose wildly throbbing penis was 
trapped in her hungry young mouth groaned as his climax approached, and Joan 
nearly cried for joy as she felt the blood-filled cock-head explode into a 
torrent of white hot cum. The saline liquid flooded into her mouth and she 
swallowed it gluttonously as another orgasm began to quake through her own 
body. And another! And another climax after that! Time seemed to vanish and 
the clocks all stopped. The night went on forever. She groaned and screamed 
and begged for more until the men were too tired to give her what she cried 
for. When the sun started to come up, they left her with a shower of lewd 
compliments, sleeping in a pool of cum. On her face, there was a smile and 
her sleep was dreamless. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

"Clarence! What are you doing?" came an unexpected shriek behind him, and 
Mr. Clarence Johnson, Chairman of the Central Church Committee on the Fine 
Arts, straightened up quickly, banging his head against the window frame as 
he tried to conceal the fact that he had been looking lecherously into the 
Caruther's backyard. But Mrs. Johnson, a stout horse-faced woman in her 
early fifties, bustled angrily past him, ignoring his howls of pain as the 
chairman held his hurting head, and looked out the window herself, 
confirming her worse suspicions. 

"Ah ha!" she proclaimed theatrically. "So this is what you've been up to all 
this time!" She picked up the binoculars she had given her husband last 
Christmas for bird watching and waved them menacingly in his face. "So 
you've been spying on that shameless hussy next door!" 

"No...no, dearest, I assure you," struggled Clarence Johnson, his head still 
smarting from its brusque encounter with the window frame. 

"There was a double breasted.. . I mean a speckled breasted blue jay on the 
Caruthers' garage and I was observing it.. . " 

"Of course you were," the old battle-axe replied sarcastically. "The only 
thing with breasts I see down there is our neighbor's wife, and what a good 
man like Allen Caruthers sees in her I'll never know!" 

Mr. Johnson, having observed the subject carefully with his binoculars knew 
exactly what his neighbor had seen in the young lady, particularly since 
Joan had recently gotten in the habit of removing the top of her bathing 
suit while she lounged in the mid-afternoon by the side of their pool. She 
must know that she could be observed from the bedroom window of the 
Johnson's home, and yet she did it anyway apparently not caring whether 
anyone saw her or not. 

"Hmmmmmph! Lying half-naked around in the yard," stormed the irritated 
society woman indignantly. "I've got half a mind to speak to Mr. Caruthers 
about it. I'm sure he has no idea how his young wife behaves herself while 
he's away at the office. I don't forecast much of a future for that 
marriage, Clarence. A man must never marry beneath his class!" 

"I don't see any evidence that Mrs. Caruthers misbehaves," offered the 
humiliated husband meekly, the pain in his head starting to disappear. "I 
hadn't noticed that she was not completely dressed, but then it's her own 
backyard and no one can see her." 

"No one but you, of course!" snapped his wife sharply. "Clarence, I'll never 
understand you men, always ready to have the wool pulled over your eyes by 
any young thing with a pretty body...." 

"She does have a nice build now that you mention it," Clarence agreed, 
stealing a glance over his shoulder at the young wife who continued to relax 
under the warming rays of the autumn sun, unaware of the commotion her 
splendid young body was causing. 

"Clarence, stop looking!" snapped the wife. "A 'nice build' indeed. Cheap, I 
would call it, like everything else about that girl. Cheap. Cheap. Cheap!I 
For one thing, she's top-heavy and no respectable woman has a bosom that 
big! She has low-class written all over her in big letters. Even when she 
entertains, you can tell that Allen has done a very poor job of educating 
her, although you must give the poor man credit for trying." 

"Well dear, I think she does very well considering her origins.. . " 

"It's not quite good enough! You can tell that she was once a barmaid and 
God knows what else every time she entertains. She has that barmaid way of 
handling glasses. You can always tell a member of the lower classes when 
they try to be something they're not. I shudder to think of having to have 
her here in our house as a guest, but I suppose one does have obligations to 
one's neighbors." 

"Yes...obligations to one's neighbors...." mumbled Clarence Johnson, putting 
his binoculars back in the case where he could find them tomorrow when his 
wife would go out to a Church meeting and Mrs. Caruthers would take her sun 
bath. 

"Now Clarence, promise me you'll never spy on that worthless cheap thing 
again." 

"Yes, dear," Clarence said humbly, hoping that tomorrow would be a good 
clear day for sun bathing. 

* * * 

Joan Caruthers knew perfectly well that old Mr. Johnson spent a certain 
amount of time each day watching her through his binoculars, but the idea 
failed to upset the young woman. A lot of water had passed under the bridge 
this summer, and she was no longer quite as shy about exposing her body as 
she had once been. She liked sun bathing topless, and if Mr. Johnson enjoyed 
looking, then they were both happy. Mischievously, she thought about coming 
out the next day stark naked under her bathrobe and giving the old phony a 
heart attack. 

In the meanwhile, however, she felt happy and comfortable. The summer had 
not gone badly, although there were still some unresolved problems she would 
have to deal with in the future. Allen's business negotiations in Saint 
Louis were going well and he was happy, despite the fact that he had to 
spend so much of his time away from home in the company of the disagreeable 
Mr. Tompkins. But Allen's absence from the house made things much easier for 
her. When he was gone she did not need to invent excuses to go to Split's 
parties or spend an afternoon window shopping with Liza. It was nice to have 
a girl friend again, and the two of them enjoyed their days together. And 
then there were the parties . . . 

She still felt guilty about the parties, even though she had already 
attended six of them over the summer and still had to attend two more in 
order to gain possession of all the incriminating photographs Lynch had 
taken of her on that first disastrous night. But somehow, relations between 
herself and the two men had softened, and she now genuinely enjoyed being 
with them, despite the fact that they were gently blackmailing her. Split 
had offered to share the proceeds from his parties with her, and she had 
finally accepted after three or four parties had taken place, finding the 
money useful for buying little things for herself which Allen might not 
approve of. But the big question mark still loomed in the future: What would 
happen when she had earned back all of her pictures? Could she possibly now 
go back to being the sweet little housewife in the suburbs? All summer long 
she had plunged herself jubilantly into the most degenerate orgies Split's 
inventive mind could design. It had been difficult at first, but now she 
clearly had to face the fact that her evenings at Jack Lynch's studio were 
bringing the only life and fun into an otherwise drab existence. Could she 
give it all up now? 

These days Alien was far too tied up with his merger to pay much attention 
to her, but sooner or later, he would catch on to the fact that she was 
leading a double life. And then she would be out on the street, and her 
husband's lawyers would make sure that she stayed there. But there was 
something even deeper bothering her. Could she go on like this, a whore on 
the inside and a respectable lady on the outside? She had married Allen and 
moved away from the area around the train station with the idea of making 
something of her life, not wanting to finish her days like her mother, a 
drunken old slut who slept with anyone and everyone. She had to break free 
of Split and Lynch and Liza no matter how much she liked them or she would 
be following a trail which led nowhere but down! There were two more parties 
to do to win her freedom. She would do them and that would be all! Perhaps 
she would go shopping with Liza once in awhile just for old time's sake, but 
there would be no more drunken parties and gangbangs in which she pretended 
to be an actress from the West Coast for the benefit of some perverted, 
depraved man she had never seen before. It was immoral and dishonest! 

Bt the phone was ringing and she collected her wits quickly, holding a towel 
over her breasts as she dashed into the house. It was time to stop 
daydreaming anyway. Allen would be home for work shortly, and he liked to 
find her properly dressed for dinner. 

"Hello?" 

"Hi, baby, this is Split." 

"How are you? Are we still set for tonight?" 

"Yeah, everything's ready, honey. Your hubby going outa town?" 

"Right. He should be home any minute now to eat and pack. I'll drop him at 
the airport and come right over." 

There was a moment's pause while Joan wondered why Split had bothered to 
call. Had something gone wrong, she would have taken the initiative to call 
him, and furthermore this party had been scheduled for weeks. 

"Listen, baby, this is kind of a special party tonight...a lot of important 
people coming...Jack and I are trying to make it something sensational." 

"So? What do I do, stand on my head?" she joked with him, wondering what he 
was working his up to. 

"No, not exactly, look, I was just wondering if you'd like to get those last 
two pictures taken care of in one night? We've got kind of an act worked up 
and if you wanna participate, I'll tell Jack to give you back both of the 
negatives, and we'll be even." 

"What do I have to do?" the young wife asked suspiciously, worrying that 
Allen might arrive any minute and overhear her end of this strange 
conversation. 

"Well, it's better if I don't tell you, baby, because if it's a surprise 
you'll react better. Kind of a happening, if you know what I mean." 

"Is it going to hurt?" 

"No, love, you know we'd never hurt you." 

She thought for a long minute. Split was obviously not going to come up with 
any more information than this, and she believed that he was sincere when he 
said that the "entertainment" would not hurt, but still she was doubtful. To 
promise to participate in something unknown sounded risky and yet. . . with 
those two negatives in her pocket she was free. 

"Okay," she agreed reluctantly. "If this is going to be my last night, we 
might as well finish up with a bang." 

"I hope this isn't going to be our last night," said Split seriously. 

"What do you mean?" she shouted at him. "You promised! You swore up and down 
that if I.. . " 

"Calm down, baby, calm down. Old Split keeps his promises. If you want this 
to be our last night, then that's the way it'll be. But there's some money 
to be made in this business, and I could get you a lot of work, honey, a lot 
of real work! Not only parties, but big money-makers. We could do some 
pictures of you, you know the kind I mean. If you only knew how many times 
guys have asked me to line up a weekend with you! They're willing to pay top 
dollar for someone like you, baby, and I only take ten percent." 

"I know, I know, Split," she agreed wearily. "But I can't get involved in 
games like that and still live out here with Allen. My whole life has 
changed, Split, and everything's different now. I can't go back." 

"Baby, I'm an organizer and not one of them skull doctors, but I can't see 
how a swinger like you is ever gonna be happy out there. I know what kinda 
people they are because I've arranged stuff for 'em, more than anyone's 
gonna ever admit. Don't they piss all over you? Don't they snob you and make 
you feel bad? I know they do 'cause that's the way those people treat a girl 
that didn't go to one of them proper dame's finishing schools. They don't 
want real broads out there, Joan, they want store-front models. That's why 
they all marry those skinny, flat chested dames! You don't belong out there, 
baby, you belong in here with us. Downtown you can be the queen. Out there 
you're shit, and you'll always be shit!" 

"Split, here comes Allen! I'll talk to you tonight!" Hearing her husband's 
car pull into the alleyway, she quickly hung up. 

"Who was on the phone?" inquired Allen curiously, evidently a little 
surprised at finding his wife standing in the hallway dressed only in the 
bottoms of her bikini and a towel draped around her breasts. 

"Oh, one of those people who try to sell you encyclopedias," she bed 
quickly. "They can be so hard to get rid of and he called just as I was 
changing my clothes. Would you like a drink, dear? You look tired." 

"Sounds good. Let me take a shower while you mix up a couple of martinis." 

Joan followed his instructions, mixing up a pitcher of martinis and helping 
herself to one while Allen stripped in the bedroom and took his shower. Wow, 
that was close, she told herself, sprawled on the bed while she waited for 
her husband to join her. I wonder what Split's got up his sleeve for tonight 
that he can't tell me about. 

Just thinking about what was likely to happen later that evening was a 
little exciting, and Joan finished her martini and started on a second one, 
feeling the alcohol warm her up all over. She decided the towel was a waste 
of effort in the privacy of her own bedroom and threw it into the corner. 
Maybe Allen would like a little good-by present. After all, he was going to 
be gone for the better part of a week . . . 

Allen came out of the shower naked, perhaps expecting that his wife would be 
waiting for him in the living room, and started a little when he found her 
watching him from the bed, only wearing the inadequate bottom of her bathing 
suit. 

"Ah! There you are," he said awkwardly, a little embarrassed at being seen 
naked despite the fact that they had been married for over a year. 

"That's right, here I am," she said with a saucy sexy lilt to her voice and 
she went over and took the towel from his hands, finishing the job of drying 
him off. Gradually she worked her way across his flat athlete's stomach and 
dropped to her knees in order to deal with his legs and thighs. The young 
businessman was obviously a little upset by her near-nakedness and the 
closeness of her face to his genitals, but apparently unsure whether he 
liked it or not. Joan had always been a little forward where sex was 
concerned, he reminded himself, but as long as no one else found out about 
it, there was no cause for alarm. 

The young man jerked slightly as he felt his wife's hands touch his 
testicles and he looked down sharply to see what she was doing. The pretense 
that she was helping him to dry off was slowly disappearing, and the girl 
dropped the towel on the floor and reached up with both hands to cup his 
softly twitching genitals between her fingers. 

"Thought you might like a little something before you went away," she 
crooned enticingly, puckering her lips to plant a moist kiss on his slowly 
hardening cock. "A week is a long time for a guy to go without some love." 

"Well.. . " mumbled the businessman, a little surprised by the directness of 
her approach and more than a little stimulated by the kiss she had just 
placed on his penis. Allen's cock was slowly but surely growing to its 
maximum length and hardness and the tip of his slender instrument brushed 
past her moistly parted lips as it rose, causing the girl to giggle. Taking 
a deep breath, she bent forward and seized his cock gently between her 
softly ovaled lips, her tongue dancing across the delicate glans at the end. 

"Oh...good heavens!" Caruthers groaned, not quite sure that this was the 
kind of sexual activity which was proper between man and wife. Wasn't this 
the sort of thing that whores were supposed to do to you? Where had Joan 
learned this depraved trick, anyway? But God, it was stimulating! 

"Come on, baby," Joan murmured temptingly, her words distorted by the 
presence of her husband's eagerly throbbing penis between her lips. Now 
deciding to throw herself into this bizarre act, she tightened her lips 
around his rapidly growing cock and began to suck on him in earnest, pulling 
him farther and farther into her throat as she stroked his balls lightly 
with her fingers. It was a disagreeable thing to think about, but not really 
bad to do once you got the hang of it, thought Joan, and a man is so 
tempting when he first steps out of the shower, all fresh and clean. She had 
done this same perverted act for so many other men that it struck her as 
unfair that Allen should miss out on all the fun. After all he was her 
husband and she loved him even if he wasn't quite as good as most of the men 
she had gotten to know at Lynch's studio . . . 

"No...no, dear, we really can't do a thing like this," he was protesting, 
his naturally tenor voice going even higher with tension as he carefully 
extracted his saliva-coated cock from her lips. "Let's get on the bed and do 
it the normal way." 

Oh you jerk, she found herself thinking, flopping back on the bed, 
automatically spreading her legs as he climbed clumsily on top of her. 
There's men in this city who would pay me two hundred dollars for what you 
just turned down. You may know something about business, but as far as bed 
is concerned, you're going bankrupt! All right, have it your way. If you 
like the missionary position so much, go ahead and do your stuff! 

Allen did, and it did not take long. Over-excited by what had just happened 
to him despite his disapproval, the young businessman stabbed inside of her 
with his long narrow cock, moving furiously backwards and forwards without 
any particular skill and ejaculated weakly into her unsatisfied womb a 
moment or two later before Joan had had a chance to get properly warmed up. 

"Gee, that was wonderful," he raved as he promptly hopped off of her 
disappointed body. "Was it good for you too?" 

"Oh terrific," she told him dully, her mind already moving ahead to the 
party that evening. "If those girls down in Saint Louis only knew, they'd be 
waiting at the airport." 

"Ha, ha, but you won't tell them, will you, uh?" he laughed, believing in 
his colossal innocence that he had genuinely brought her some pleasure with 
this brief encounter. "Well, I guess I'd better get packed. Those airplanes 
don't wait for anyone, not even a stud like yours truly." 

* * * 

"Look Split, I think you ought to tell her!" insisted Liza, tears coming to 
her eyes as she argued with her boss. The curvaceous brunette knew she was 
not the brightest girl on earth, but she prided herself on being fair to her 
friends, and when her friends were in conflict she suffered tremendously. 

"If we tell her it'll ruin everything!" put in Jack Lynch. "Look Liza, 
nobody's fonder of Joan than we are, but she's a lousy actress no matter 
what we tell the goons who come to these parties. If we explained in advance 
what was going to happen, she just wouldn't be able to behave naturally. 
She'd sit off in a corner biting her nails and getting stinking drunk and 
the show would be a disaster. We've got some heavy-paying customers coming 
in tonight to see this thing, and we can't take a chance on it going sour on 
us." 

"I still think it's mean," pouted Liza, unconvinced. "Joan might get mad and 
not come back anymore. Then what would we do?" 

"Oh we managed before Joan came along and we can manage if she decides to 
quit," philosophized Split moodily. "Fact is, that girl needs us worse than 
we need her. I worry about her out there in hick-land. She belongs here with 
her kind of people. She's never going to be happy living with that freaky 
businessman. It's just not in her blood. Hell, I remember her when she was a 
little girl and she was full of mischief even then." 

"When is Homer due to come by?" wondered Lynch, lazily getting out of his 
seat to pour himself another drink. 

"About nine o'clock. Look, try to keep Homer and Joan apart until things get 
going," warned Split worriedly. "If they get talking before the performance, 
Homer might not be able to keep his big mouth shut. And Liza, tonight Joan 
is your responsibility. You have to get her ready!" 

"What do you mean get her ready? She's not going to be wearing much of 
anything." 

"I mean psychologically ready. Jack'll give you some of those Mexican 
cigarettes that she likes and make sure she smokes as many as you can get 
into her mouth. And keep the whiskey flowing too. I want her stoned out of 
her mind before this little exhibition begins. Remember, this isn't going to 
be just another party. We're moving into the big leagues now and there's 
people coming in from all over the state. And stay off the pot yourself, 
Liza. All I need is to have you spinning off into space while I'm trying to 
get things organized. You can do your work sober." 

"Okay, boss," the girl agreed reluctantly. "I just hope that Joan is 
speaking to us all after the night is over." 

* * * 

CALLING MR. CARUTHERS! CALLING MR. CARUTHERS! 

The voice on the public address system at the airport was nearly covered 
with static and indistinct, but Allen finally understood that they were 
paging him and hurried to the information booth. His plane was due to depart 
in a matter of minutes, and he could only think that Joan had suffered an 
automobile accident on the road. 

"I'm Caruthers," he said breathlessly, arriving at the booth. 

"Urgent phone call for you, Mr. Caruthers," responded the pretty girl behind 
the counter as she handed him the receiver. "It's your office." 

"Caruthers here." 

"Allen? This is Jameson," came the voice of his boss and the president of 
his company. "Thank God I got hold of you before you left. Listen that nut 
is coming here!" 

"What nut?" replied Allen, a little confused. 

"Tompkins! We just got a call from his Saint Louis office saying that he 
wants to conclude the negotiations up here and have a night on the town to 
celebrate before signing the final papers. Stay right at the airport, 
because he should be coming in within the hour." 

"Oh Christ," groaned the young businessman. "Does that mean I've got to go 
bar-hopping with him all night?" 

"Not unless you'd rather not be Second Vice President of this corporation," 
Jameson reminded him stiffly. "That's part of every executive's job, Allen. 
I don't care what he wants, but keep the guy happy and out of jail until 
tomorrow morning. Once he signs those contracts you can spit in his eye for 
all I care. In fact, I might spit in his other eye. But tonight, he's the 
king and remember that it's all on the expense account. Don't spare the 
horses." 

Exactly one hour and five minutes later, Tompkins was safely ensconced in 
the airport bar, while Allen was frantically calling his office. 
Unfortunately, Jameson had already left for the day, and he had to content 
himself with speaking to the assistant director of the art division, a man 
Allen had never thought particularly highly of. But at the moment, he was 
desperately in need of advice. 

"Look, Thomas, I'm in a jam," he explained to the younger man, a 
disagreeable artist with a reputation for being a lecher and a womanizer. 
"And maybe you can give me some help. Have you been following the 
negotiations for the Tompkins merger?" 

"Sure Allen, who hasn't? Boy, if we land that big fish there's pay raises 
for everyone. Hear they're going to make you a big shot, too. 
Congratulations." 

"Yeah, but save the champagne until after we get the contract signed. At the 
moment the big fish in question is sitting in the bar getting fuelled up for 
a swinging night on the town. I guess his wife doesn't let him out of her 
sight very often, and when she does he wants to live it up in the big city." 

"Well, no problem, Allen, take him around to some of the night 
clubs...lemmie see, they've got a hell of a good floor show over at the 
Rising Sun, and if he's in the mood for something a little heavier, you can 
always take him around to the concert at Symphony Hall." 

"Thomas, you are not following me," groaned Allen Caruthers in desperation. 
"This man is a sexual monster. He wants to see something he calls a 
'live-show'. Is that what I'm afraid it might be?" 

"A live-show? Wow, he is a dirty old man," whistled Thomas in admiration. "I 
guess that's something you can't find in Saint Louis." 

"The question is," said Allen through gritted teeth, controlling his 
irritation with difficulty, "can we find one here? I've heard about such 
things going on in Denmark and Hong Kong, but surely the police...." 

"Oh the police like 'em as well as anybody else," replied the commercial 
artist cheerfully. "Don't worry, I'll make some phone calls and see if I can 
come up with something. On a Friday night there's gotta be one around 
somewhere. Where can I reach you if I make contact?" 

"I'll call you. Right now I'm going to take him out to dinner." 

"Make sure he doesn't eat the waitress, Allen," laughed the artist. "Dig you 
later." 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

"Caruthers, m'boy, there's no fucking use in having dough if you don't know 
how to live, that's what I always say!" 

Allen could think of no intelligent reply to this profound piece of human 
wisdom, so he concentrated on his driving, knowing that it would be 
disastrous if he got the corpulent businessman from Saint Louis involved in 
a traffic accident. This was the part of town he did not like and did not 
know, and he was cursing the fate which brought him here in such poor 
company, to see a kind of lewd spectacle of which he genuinely disapproved. 
He could picture the police choosing tonight to make a raid on the place and 
catching him inside, despite Thomas' assurances that the police had better 
things to do. He imagined how it would read in the morning papers when the 
headlines announced that Mr. Allen Caruthers, a prominent young businessman 
had been arrested while watching a depraved and immoral performance. The 
neighbors would cut him off as if he were dead, and the firm would pretend 
it knew nothing. 

"Now down in Saint Louis, we don't get this kinda thing," continued 
Tompkins, unaware that he irritated Allen every time he opened his mouth. 
"Not much real life down there, and when this kid gets up here in the big 
city, he likes to let off a little steam. That old battle-axe of mine always 
wants to come alo'ng, damn her soul, and I once had a hell of a time talking 
her out of this trip. The old bitch! I don't know why she doesn't die and 
leave me in peace. Why with my dough I could get me one of my cute-ass 
little secretaries to live up in the house and really have myself a ball. Of 
course, I get into their pants once in awhile, anyway, but a man like me 
still needs it regular, goddamn it, and I can't get it regular with that 
damn wife of mine around. Naturally I could get it from her, but most times, 
I'd rather do without. You married, Caruthers?" 

"Ah, yes, Mr. Tomkins, I've been married for just over a year now." 

"Who'd you get hooked up with, one of them society dames?" 

"Well, my wife comes from a very good family naturally," Allen lied. "But I 
wouldn't say she was high society." 

"What a pain in the ass it is being married," grumbled that fat man, 
shifting around in his seat with anticipation as he thought of the night's 
activities ahead of him. 

"Oh, I don't know," continued Allen, realizing that he had to say something 
or Tompkins would think he was getting high hat. "Mrs. Caruthers and I have 
been very happy...I must say...." 

"Hey you got a picture of your old lady?" 

This was going a little far, Allen thought, but second vice-presidencies are 
not easy to come by so he fished around in his pocket with one free hand, 
extracting his wallet. Inside there was a picture of Joan and he handed it 
to the businessman, turning on the car light so that the photo was visible." 

"Wow! No wonder you like being married, kid! A good-looking babe, no 
question about it. She must get very bored while you're outa town." 

"Well, she had her church activities," mumbled Allen, knowing perfectly well 
that Joan only went to church on occasional Sundays and then only under 
protest. 

"Hey, tell me something, young fella, this wife of yours, is she...ya 
know...any good between the sheets?" 

This question struck Allen as being out of bounds for polite conversation, 
but he reminded himself that Tomkins had not had the benefit of gentlemanly 
breeding and did not know the difference between good and bad taste. 

"Mrs. Caruthers and I have a very satisfactory relationship in all 
respects," he replied stiffly, hoping this would end this train of 
conversation. 

"Really? Hot shit, listen kid, will she blow once in awhile? I been asking 
my old lady to do it for thirty years now and every time she locks herself 
in the bathroom. To me, a woman ain't much good unless she puts her heart 
into the business and gives you everything she's got! Am I right or wrong?" 

Allen quickly conceded that he was right, dodging the earlier question 
concerning Joan's permissiveness in the bedroom, since after his experience 
earlier that day, he was slightly touchy on the subject. 

"Look, I think we're here," he informed his business associate, pulling the 
car gently over to the curb. "I was told we should knock on the door of that 
shop over there." 

"Goddamn! Now we're getting somewhere! Hey, do you suppose they really do 
it? Right there in front of everyone?" 

"This is my first time," admitted Allen, realizing that it was the first 
truthful comment he had made all evening. "I was told that they 
uh...actually do it, yes." 

"Shit! Can't wait to see it! And I'm gonna be horny as hell after this son, 
so I hope you've got some good telephone numbers in your little black book. 
Or maybe you can take me home to see that wife of yours! Ha!" 

Allen grimaced and got out of the car, contemplating the pleasure of seeing 
Tompkins dead and in his grave with weeds growing around the tombstone. An 
extremely tall and slender man answered his knock, looking at him carefully 
before stepping aside to allow the two men to enter. 

"I'm Thomas' friend," Allen stated, preferring not to use his own name for 
identification. 

"Yeah, Mr. Thomas called and said you guys would be coming over," said the 
man. "Well, welcome aboard. The show's gonna start in a few minutes and the 
drinks at the bar are on the house." 

Allen discreetly slipped him the required amount of money and followed him 
through the shadows of the photography shop into a brightly lit room which 
seemed to be an artist's studio. There were chairs set up around a stage on 
which a large bed had been placed. In one comer there was a bar, and the 
room was already crowded with men and not a few women as well, all busily 
drinking and chatting as they waited for the evening's lewd entertainment to 
start. 

Oh well, Allen thought as he elbowed his way through to the bar to get 
drinks for himself and Tompkins. I can always close my eyes if it gets too 
bad. 

Joan was already blown out of her mind. Lynch was normally stingy with his 
marijuana, since it was difficult and dangerous to get and he made a large 
portion of his income by selling it, but tonight he had been extremely 
generous, popping a reefer into her mouth every time she turned around. The 
young wife was shrewd enough to realize that they were softening her up for 
what was to happen later on, but she willingly played along with it, knowing 
that it might be just as well if she were half out of her head for this 
little performance. 

Her mind wandered vaguely as she sat before the big mirror in the dressing 
room, a drink in one hand and a marijuana cigarette in the other while Liza 
fussed over her outfit. She knew only mat she was going to be a participant 
in-some kind of performance tonight, and with what was left of her reasoning 
power, she speculated on what it might be. The idea of performing sexually 
rather upset her, as Split had predicted it would, but she reasoned that she 
had made love in front of other men frequently in the past. This time the 
spectators would be holding tickets and sitting on chairs, which made it all 
a little formal, but she decided dreamily that it made no real difference. 
She was being paid to fuck one way or the other and this way she would 
presumably only have to deal with one man instead of half a dozen as was 
often the case during the parties. 

"How do you feel, honey?" asked Liza solicitously as she vigorously applied 
make-up to Joan's face. 

"Oh, I'm floating...just floating," confessed the drugged young wife. "I 
don't know why they don't make this stuff legal. I could just stay stoned 
all day long and never come down." 

"Hmmmmm, that's good. Open your gown, honey, I want to do your breasts." 

"Wha . . . ? " 

"Make-up," Liza explained, blushing a little as she considered her own role 
in the evening's entertainment. 

Joan nodded sleepily and opened her dress while Liza got down on one knee 
and darkened the tip of each breast with make-up so that her nipples would 
be plainly visible under the lights. Both girls were dressed identically, 
naked under a long flowing white robe similar to an Arab shepherd's costume. 
The cloth was vaguely translucent and when the light was right, one could 
catch a glimpse of naked flesh beneath. 

Joan heard Split announcing something to the crowd outside, and a dangerous 
tingle started in her stomach as she realized that the performance was about 
to begin, for better or for worse. 

Tonight, she was in one of those totally abandoned moods when she cared very 
little what happened to her, and the pot-alcohol mixture was not doing much 
to increase the clarity of her thought. It doesn't matter, she told herself 
dreamily, rising to her feet, a little surprised that she could still stand 
up. I'll end up liking it no matter what they do to me. I always do. I guess 
I'm just evil! 

The lights on the platform were terribly bright and Joan found that she 
could not see out into the audience very well. For a moment she felt 
comfortable and happy with just Liza standing next to her near the bed. She 
could hear the rustle of anxious bodies out in front of her, and smell the 
fragrance of whiskey and tobacco in the room, but all she could see were 
Lynch's powerful photographic lights focused on her and Liza and the bed 
which sat suggestively behind them. The lights were uncomfortably bright and 
they also generated a great deal of heat so Joan felt more relaxed with her 
eyes closed. But the warmth felt good on her lightly clad body, and she 
floated off into space again as she felt Liza's soft hands on her shoulders, 
barely conscious of the fact that her girl friend was once again undressing 
her . . . 

The crowd was packed in so tightly that Allen was finding it difficult to 
see what was going on. Tompkins had used his enormous bulk to wade into the 
mob of eager spectators and Caruthers had followed in his wake, like a life 
boat being tossed behind a steamer. But even though he had succeeded in 
working his way reasonably close to the platform, he now found it impossible 
to see past the businessman's huge shoulders. He had caught the barest 
glimpse of two young women, one blonde and one brunette, moving out in front 
of the bed in smooth translucent gowns, but after one quick glance, his 
vision had been immediately obstructed by a forest of heads and shoulders. 
For a moment he paused, feeling a little ashamed of himself for trying so 
hard to see a viciously depraved spectacle to which he objected on moral 
grounds, but he quickly justified his efforts, deciding that he might as 
well look as long as he was here. After all, he would be arrested along with 
everyone else if the police should chance to interrupt the performance, and 
he would land in jail whether he was looking or not, so why not look? 

He banded into something in the darkness and discovered it was a chair. 
Originally, Split and Lynch had intended that the audience be seated and set 
out chairs for that purpose, but there were too many people, and the crowd 
was too excited to sit down anyway. But Allen capitalized upon his 
discovery, by climbing up on the chair for a better view. 

A second later, he nearly fell off again with shock. The blonde-haired woman 
who had been led out onto the platform was a dead-ringer for his wife! 

He shook his head, wondering if he was losing his mind, closing his eyes 
with the wild hope that when he opened them again the hallucination would be 
over and he would see something else. But it was no optical illusion; the 
girl on the stage before him was Joan Caruthers, or her twin sister, one or 
the other. For a moment, he grabbed desperately at this new idea. Joan had a 
twin sister who worked in these degenerate live shows. Ashamed to mention 
the fact to her husband, she had never said anything about it, hoping that 
he would never learn of this black sheep in a family which was morally gray 
at best. It would explain everything. Joan was home in bed, probably 
dreaming of him. 

This wild hope only lasted for a few seconds, since the brown haired" girl 
stepped behind her companion, her hands reaching over her shoulders to 
unfasten the long shepherd's cape which covered her body. Slowly and 
teasingly, she unhooked the blonde woman's cape, drawing it seductively down 
off of her shoulders. Allen's eyes dropped immediately to the blonde's now 
naked left breast where his wife had a beauty mark just above the nipple. So 
did this girl and his hopes went through the floor. This was Joan Caruthers, 
standing stark naked before a group of total strangers and presumably about 
to participate in some lewdly erotic spectacle. 

Allen's head spun with the shock and for a moment he feared that he was 
going to fall off the chair. His mind searched futilely for an explanation. 
Perhaps she had been drugged. He searched his wife's face for a clue, but 
the young woman was standing with her eyes gently closed a quizzical 
half-smile on her perfectly formed features. She looked totally relaxed and 
happy, but there was no clear-cut sign of drug-induced madness. 

Or had she been forced into this? Blackmail? The gun hidden behind a curtain 
somewhere? No, it would not wash. That same easy going smile destroyed that 
theory as well. She seemed perfectly happy to be where she was and an 
innocent woman being forced to strip in front of a group of people against 
her will would surely show some signs of embarrassment. Allen's mind had 
searched all the alleys which might lead to a decent explanation and they 
had all turned out to be dead ends. His keen businessman's intellect could 
no longer avoid accepting the obvious. His wife was leading a vicious double 
life. Housewife by day, and sex performer by night! 

"Hey, good-looking chick, eh?" muttered Tompkins lustily, turning his head 
slightly to communicate this evaluation. "See those tits? You don't see tits 
like that in Saint Louis!" 

No answer seemed called for under the circumstances, and Allen merely 
grunted as his disbelieving eyes helplessly followed the perverted action 
before him. Now that Joan was suitably naked, the brunette quickly threw the 
cape off of her own smoothly tanned shoulders, leaving herself as brazenly 
naked as her companion. Then, taking the girl by the arms, she turned her 
around so that both women were facing one another. It was obvious that the 
"live-show" was destined to start here! 

What should he do? Allen Caruthers had made his rapid climb in the business 
world by being a man who could react quickly to emergencies, making snap 
decisions which inevitably turned out to be correct in the final analysis. 
But this was something completely out of his realm. His wife was clearly 
about to participate in some sort of bizarre lesbian exhibition, and in fact 
the brown-haired girl had already stepped close to Joan, so close that their 
breasts were touching. Allen found himself shivering with nervous excitement 
and anguish. What could he possibly do? Rush down screaming that she must 
come home with him immediately? No, that was insane! First he would probably 
be beaten up and thrown out on the street by the guards and secondly he 
would make a strange impression on 

Mr. Tompkins. Whatever else happened, he reminded himself that he could not 
jeopardize this business deal. There was no use in being happily married 
unless the family had a secure income. 

Of course, he could call the police, he considered, watching the other girl 
kiss his wife squarely on the lips, their bodies now crushed up against one 
another, and what would the result of that be? The cops would come, arrest 
everyone, and he and Joan would have their pictures in the morning paper. He 
would still be out of a job, and facing some kind of criminal charge on top 
of it. Tompkins would wind up in prison too. 

"Goddamn, sure glad we came," chuckled the businessman from Saint Louis, 
pushing his way forward in a crowd. "Never saw two dames do it before, did 
you, Caruthers?" 

Allen wished desperately that Tompkins would stop using his last name in 
this seamy joint. The situation was bad enough without compromising his good 
name! 

So, when he came right down to the hard facts of the case, there seemed to 
be little enough he could do. Later, perhaps, he would have a little more 
room for maneuver, but at the moment, he was trapped by circumstances, and 
too dazzled by what he was witnessing to give the matter any more thought. 
Anything he did or said would tip Tompkins off to the fact that something 
was wrong. 

The scene was progressing, but slowly to give the audience time to get 
emotionally involved in what was happening. Joan's eyes were still closed as 
she felt Liza lay her down gently on the bed, and the same dreamy swaying 
sensation was still flowing through her drug-confused mind. This isn't so 
bad, she was telling herself vaguely as she felt Liza's gentle lips coursing 
lecherously over her lewdly exposed young body. I never knew Liza went in 
for this kind of thing, but it doesn't hurt and who cares? Is this all it's 
going to amount to? Somehow she felt as if no one could see her simply 
because her own eyes were shut tightly and she could see no one else. It was 
a nice private sensation and she enjoyed it to the fullest, letting her 
euphoric body sink down into the mattress. 

For a few moments, Joan actually dozed off to sleep, despite the 
circumstances she was in. She was not used to all that pot and all that 
alcohol, and the young wife felt herself fading in and out of consciousness. 
She knew she was lying on a bed, and she could feel that there was someone 
with her, but she had completely forgotten that there was a crowd of total 
strangers looking on curiously. Who was touching her? There were soft, 
gentle lips teasing the tiny ripples of her breasts, but they seemed softer 
than any man's! Liza? What was she doing? The girl was stroking her 
carefully, expertly, between the legs, and almost dream-like Joan felt the 
orgiastic juices within her body begin to flow. Too bad, she told herself 
dreamily...I feel so nice. . . what a pity to ruin it all by feeling sexy . 
. . 

On top of his chair in the middle of the crowd, Allen Caruthers looked on in 
anguish, trying to make some kind of sense of all this in his mind. Was his 
wife a lesbian then? It didn't seem possible, and yet there was the evidence 
right before his eyes. She was spread-eagled on the bed with a naked girl 
crouched over her, stroking her gradually into a state of high excitement. 
In fact, the signs of erotic stimulation were already clear enough. Joan had 
opened her mouth and sighed passionately a few times, and her smooth 
graceful hips seemed to be twitching restlessly as the sleek, slender 
brunette explored the soft pussy hair. 

For a moment, the thought that Joan was secretly a lesbian comforted the 
young husband in an odd fashion. It was hardly his fault if he had chanced 
to marry a woman who was queer for other girls. So long as she had not gone 
to bed with other men, she had not really betrayed him...but it was a 
shallow comfort, and not destined to last much longer. While he was 
considering the possibility of getting her to a good psychiatrist, a man 
approached the brightly lighted little stage. 

"It's Homer!" cried a member of the audience, and Allen tightened up, 
realizing that this Homer had some role to play in this lurid spectacle. On 
closer inspection, he seemed exactly the type. Wearing only a towel draped 
suggestively around his waist, Homer looked like the statue of a Greek 
athlete come to life, with enormous powerful muscles bulging under his 
deeply tanned skin. The youth ignored the cheers of the crowd, his eyes 
fixed on Joan's lust-tormented body as he approached the platform. 

Liza's role in the 'live show' seemed to be more handmaid than direct 
participant, and as Homer approached the bed, she knelt up over Joan's 
submissively inviting body, prepared to yield her place to the man. Allen 
found that his fingernails were digging fiercely into the flesh of his palms 
as he watched, not knowing that his worst fears were going to be confirmed. 
No, Joan was not a lesbian, as he had first feared. She was something much, 
much worse, a complete and total sensualist, too degenerate and too depraved 
to care whether the hand which caressed her body belonged to a man or a 
woman. She was just plain sex, indiscriminate, undisciplined, and rampant 
sex! 

Homer glanced significantly at Liza and the two of them cooperated, rolling 
Joan's nakedly unresisting body over onto her stomach, her lush ripened 
breasts crushing into the firm springy mattress as her beautiful face turned 
towards the audience. Her eyes were still closed, but Allen thought he 
detected a look of abandoned mindless pleasure pass across his wife's face 
as she felt the man's hands on her helplessly exposed body. Homer now knelt 
between Joan's outstretched legs, his hand coursing lewdly over the white 
half-moons of her undulating buttocks while Liza crouched submissively to 
one side, waiting to be of service. It seemed like some ancient pagan 
ceremony with Homer acting as the high priest, Liza the temple slave, and 
Joan the willing victim, ready to be sacrificed to some powerful god of lust 
and sensuality. 

Homer rose up on his knees, straightening his body to reveal that beneath 
the towel he wore draped around his waist like a loin-cloth he had already 
achieved an enormously strong erection. The material stuck out in front as 
if there was the stout shaft of a sword beneath the fabric, and Allen heard 
a ripple of interested comment run through the crowd. The young businessman 
shuddered with a combination of fear and anger wondering how it was possible 
for the sex actor to get an erection with so many people watching! 

Liza picked up her cue, leaning forward theatrically as her hands reached 
out to the young athlete's face, and in a moment, Allen realized who this 
was. It was Homer Mendelle, the runner who had swept the Olympics three 
years before, bringing home a number of gold medals for track and field 
events, and the man who had been barred from amateur sports after he had 
been discovered one night with half of the Russian woman's team in his 
room...Allen tried to remember the details of the scandal as they had been 
presented in the paper, his eyes following the deft and subtle movements of 
Liza's hands as she undid the towel and slowly drew it away from the young 
man's body. 

There was a scattering of applause as Homer's massive penis sprang into 
view, and Allen found he was feeling a little faint. He could not disgrace 
himself by passing out in front of all these people, and to steady himself, 
he put his hands on Tompkins' broad shoulders. 

"Hot stuff, eh?" proclaimed the stout businessman. "He's really gonna stuff 
'er with that baseball bat!" 

The scene on the stage was growing more intensively erotic by the moment, 
and the group fell silent again. Liza, apparently acting on previous 
instructions, leaned forward and moistened the tip of Homer's rigid penis 
with her lips, taking the broad bulbous tip into the warm wetness of her 
ovaled mouth, and running her tongue lasciviously over the hard, 
blood-engorged glans. Homer looked down on her for a few moments, obviously 
enjoying this added attention, but then he gently lifted Liza's head away 
from his groin. The High Priest had not come to discharge his hot swirling 
cum into the humble mouth of a handmaiden! 

Allen felt his head whirling, and he found it difficult to believe that this 
was not all part of some foul degenerate dream. He would take a cold shower 
when he awoke, and drink a cup of strong black coffee, and the whole 
unpleasant hallucination would be forgotten. Except that the dream showed 
absolutely no sign of coming to an end. It was going on and on, and becoming 
progressively more sordid and depraved as the moments passed. 

Homer reached down and pulled Joan's lushly yielding body up on her knees, 
so that her buttocks were waving obscenely in the air while her proud young 
breasts continued to rest on the smooth linen sheets which covered the bed. 
Allen studied his wife's face, desperately looking for some sign of 
rebellion or resistance to the coming defilement, but the girl seemed 
completely passive, willing to accept anything the athlete chose to do to 
her. Her eyes were still closed, and she murmured softly as Homer bent down 
behind her, his face probing into the narrow furrow between her exposed 
flanks. 

Obviously enjoying himself, Homer used his hands to force the yielding flesh 
of her buttocks farther apart, and the audience gasped as they watched his 
tongue flick lewdly out, burying itself in the temptingly exposed pink slit 
of her cunt. 

Allen gritted his teeth, now aware that he lacked the moral strength to 
climb down off his chair and desert this vile performance. There was no 
question in his mind now about the caliber of his wife's morals. Any decent 
woman would have tried to escape at this point, but instead a shudder of 
delicious pleasure had run through Joan's nakedly tantalizing body, and the 
woman had spread her legs even farther apart, obviously wanting to give the 
degenerate ex-Olympic champion the greatest possible access to the moist 
mysteries of her body. 

This could not be Joan! The woman he had married a year ago! Was this the 
girl who had worked so hard to learn how to dress properly, and talk to 
guests without using four-letter words? 

His modest little bride was now flexing the twin globes of her buttocks back 
and forth lasciviously, as if she were inviting the man to do his worst to 
her. Muscles along her inner thighs had gone tight and rigid, showing that 
she was turning on powerfully to this bizarre unnatural stimulation, and 
Allen could see that a light layer of perspiration was forming on her fine 
tanned skin. Any minute now the young husband sensed that Homer was going to 
ram that massive instrument of his plunging into her helpless young cunt, 
and there was not a thing he could do to stop it! 

But Homer's focus seemed to have changed subtly, and Allen's horrified eyes 
took in the fact that the corrupted athlete seemed to be licking the tiny 
puckered hole of her anus. There was something different about the way Joan 
groaned and twitched her body that told him that this new approach was not 
entirely unwelcome. Homer's hands were at work again, and he wrenched at the 
girl's buttocks as if he meant to tear her into pieces, his fingers slowly 
invading the moistened narrow furrow of her backside. 

"Shit, he's gonna give it to her in the ass!" announced Tompkins in absolute 
carnal delight. 

Allen stared, now really shaken. Could it be true? Did people really do such 
things and was it possible for his wife to be one of them? 

No, there were no longer any reasonable grounds for doubt! Homer's 
outstretched middle finger had now plunged vilely into her rectum, worming 
its way past the red-rimmed flesh around her anus and entering her body with 
a vulgar pop which could be heard all around the room. 

Joan's face tightened, as if she had not quite been prepared for anything 
quite this depraved, but it was obvious that the girl was in no mental or 
physical condition to object now to anything Homer chose to do to her. Liza 
was sitting quietly by on her haunches, her high, well-formed breasts 
visible over the top of Joan's quivering buttocks, ready to help if help 
were required. 

But there seemed to be no difficulty. After a momentary flicker of 
discomfort, Joan's body seemed to relax again, and she reared back against 
the man's impaling finger as if it were bringing her pleasure. Homer 
expertly rotated his hand in ever-widening circles, preparing the narrow 
entrance for the greater impalement yet to come and Joan's body jerked 
convulsively as she caught the rhythm. Another finger followed the first, 
and the crowd seemed to be holding its breath waiting to see how far the 
athlete could take her before she rebelled. 

Joan's mouth dropped open, and Allen could hear her panting like an animal 
as the merciless fingers worked their way in and out of her offended rectum, 
but the moment of rebellion never came. Joan was beginning to groan and 
mutter one unintelligible cry after another, but it was clear she was not 
beseeching him to go away and leave her alone, but begging him to keep it 
up. 

It was the moment of truth. Yanking his fingers free of her helplessly 
writhing body, the man moved in for the kill, poising his lust-hardened 
thickness at the fragile pink entrance to her nether passage. The muscles in 
her anus resisted automatically for an instant, obeying some primitive 
instinct, but the man's strength was too great for her. The tender flesh of 
her rectum gave away with a sudden pop, and the next instant, his massively 
throbbing cock-head disappeared inside the tight anal ring. 

"Oooogh," she groaned, not quite prepared for the pain, but the crowd could 
tell that the submissively kneeling young woman would adjust fast enough to 
this lewd impalement. But whether she adjusted or not, he had her skewered 
like a chicken on a spit, and Liza's arms were on her shoulders to prevent 
her from breaking away. Homer's long thick cock throbbed eagerly inside of 
her for a moment, while her pain-filled rectum gradually accustomed itself 
to the massive presence in her belly. The moment Homer felt he could move 
again, he did, pushing violently into her enlarged anus until his balls 
slapped loudly against the unprotected cheeks of her ass. As soon as he 
found himself in position, the former athlete began fucking methodically in 
and out of her, the thick glistening shaft of his muscular cock pistoning in 
and out of her tightly stretched passage like some drilling machine. 

Allen could barely believe his eyes. As far as he could see, the pain and 
discomfort was now gone completely, and Joan gave every sign of reveling in 
this depraved unnatural defilement as the athlete rammed rhythmically into 
her battered young anus with hard cruel strokes. Each thrust seemed to draw 
the pink fragile flesh of her anal ring out with it as if he were on the 
verge of turning her inside out. His wife's teeth were bared as her lips 
curled back in approaching ecstasy, and she was chanting mindlessly beneath 
him, uttering a word with each pounding stroke. 

"Oh...yes...fuck...me...like...that.. . oh" 

Her sensually quivering body was shivering with dire masochistic pleasure, 
and her thighs flexed and relaxed in quick succession as the naked young 
girl thrust her lust-tormented body back against the man's solid loins, 
trying to sink his murderous shaft deeper and deeper inside of her. 

"Harder! Harder!" she was grunting, and Allen instinctively covered his 
ears, no longer able to bear the sights he was seeing and the sounds he was 
hearing. He tried to close his eyes and avoid being a witness to the end, 
but for some perverse reason, they would not stay closed and he was forced 
to see it all, every bizarre unnatural minute of it. 

Homer's fingers were now digging cruelly into the soft white flesh of her 
wantonly writhing hips, as he pounded his massive cock far up into the warm 
buttery depths of her rectum, fucking her with all the strength in his hard 
lustful body. His heavily swaying balls seemed to be swelling to an 
impossible size from the weight of the sperm accumulating there, and they 
slapped insistently against the open quivering flanges of the kneeling 
girl's cunt, keeping her constantly stimulated as he built towards his own 
gigantic climax. 

Joan groaned incoherently, waving her luscious ass-cheeks back at his 
lasciviously as she sensed that the man was about to shoot his great flood 
of hot cum deep up into her wantonly quivering rectum. What was more, she 
wanted it, wanted it more and more with every passing minute . . . 

Homer's cry caught everyone by surprise and those cynics in the audience who 
thought that the athlete was putting on some kind of act suddenly became 
true believers as they watched his iron body suddenly stiffen with the 
tension of the wild orgasm. Joan could feel his mighty cock exploding 
convulsively as he buried his hotly spewing penis one last time all the way 
into her widely stretched rectum. Suddenly the fire caught in her 
shamelessly aroused body. 

With a cry which was more animal than human, her legs unexpectedly flew out 
from under her and she collapsed forward on the bed, pulling Homer with her. 
The two naked performers lay there groaning at each other like a pair of 
maniacs. The man's searing cum spurted into her rectum endlessly, triggering 
her own orgasm and the sex-crazed young wife screamed out her release as the 
crowd swarmed closer to the platform, trying for a better look at the end of 
this weird, unnatural coupling. 

Allen Caruthers sat down alone on the chair, his mind spinning in agony as 
the mob climbed over the bed, blocking his vision. Working in the dark, he 
was scribbling a note on a piece of paper and when he finished writing, he 
held it up to the light in an attempt to review what he had said. But he was 
given no time to collect his thoughts. Tompkins was by his side in a moment, 
talking to him urgently about something, and the young businessman shook his 
head, trying to clear away the fog and understand what the man from Saint 
Louis was saying. 

". . . and I've got to have her, do you understand?" 

Allen looked at him dumbly as Tompkins thrust five one hundred dollar bills 
into his hand. 

"Talk to that tall guy! Fix it up! Come on, Caruthers, do you want that 
contract signed tomorrow or don't you?" 

Allen stumbled to his feet, his eyes streaked with tears, looking hopelessly 
through the crowd for the tall slender man they called Split. He found him, 
standing by the bar, a drink in his hand and a satisfied expression on his 
face. Order had been almost completely restored by this point and the two 
women and Homer had disappeared into the back room. Split smiled as he 
watched the young businessman approach him. 

"Hmmmmmm, wonder what you want, you fellow," smiled the organizer lustily. 
"Five hundred, eh? That'll get you a half-hour with the blonde and a little 
bit longer with the brunette." 

"I...it's for my friend...the fat guy...." Allen managed to mumble, jerking 
his thumb over his shoulder as Split removed the five hundred dollars from 
his trembling hand. 

"All the same to me," said Split amicably. "Which gal does he want?" 

The young businessman seemed to choke on the words and Split suddenly 
noticed that there were tears on his cheek. You get all kinds of nuts at 
these shows, he told himself, but so long as they're rich nuts . . . 

"The blonde one...and give her this note for me, please...after I've left." 

* * * 

Jack Lynch had fallen asleep under the bar and Split walked through the 
broken glass on the floor, counting the money in his wallet. There was 
something just over five thousand dollars there, all of it clear profit, and 
he mentally calculated how soon he could schedule another live-show. Money 
like this was easy and the organizer sensed that there was plenty more where 
this came from. Most of his clients tonight had been rich cats from the 
other side of town, people with lots of cash and lots of inhibitions who 
would always turn their pockets inside out for a little wild life down in 
the slums. Like that nervous kid with the coat and tie and his fat friend, 
for example. Split reminded himself to give the five hundred directly to 
Joan and he successfully fought down the temptation to take a hundred or two 
for himself and give her the rest. You have to play fair with the people who 
work for you, he told himself sincerely, and he took the five hundred 
dollars out of his wallet, folded it and placed it in his shirt pocket where 
he would remember to give it to her. 

And, ah yes, there was the note the other guy had left, the guy who was 
crying over something. Split took it out of his pocket curiously and walked 
slowly through the rubble in Jack's Studio to the bedroom in back where Joan 
and Liza were both still naked except for the soiled sheet they had drawn 
over them. Just as long as they don't get to like it too much and forget 
about Jack and me. 

It was none of his business, but Split felt so noble about giving Joan all 
the money which was due to her, that he could not now fight off the 
temptation to read her note. There was a little light from the window, as 
the first rays of dawn penetrated the smog over the city, and Split held the 
crumpled note up in the air to read. The hand-writing was clear and concise, 
like a school teacher's, and he moved his lips as he digested every word. 

"Joan please don't come home. My lawyers will contact you at the Photography 
Shop, and I will arrange for a sum of money to be deposited in your name at 
the First City Trust Bank which should be adequate for your needs. I intend 
to seek a divorce on the grounds of mutual incompatibility to spare both our 
names, and please do nothing to interfere with my lawyers, since you realize 
that I could easily cut you off without a cent. However, I prefer it this 
way. I will have your clothing and personal things delivered to the shop 
sometime tomorrow. Do not try to contact me. Allen." 

Split was a tough, no-nonsense man, but somehow the note moved him deeply 
and he sighed as he set it down on the night table next to Joan's slumbering 
body. It's probably all for the best, he told himself philosophically, as he 
laid his long body down to sleep crossways at the bottom of the bed. 


THE END
