Tricked Into Blackmail
by Winston Mcelroy
(BSS-730T)


FOREWORD 

Throughout history, woman has faced the oftentimes unpleasant choice of 
giving her total self to save either a principle or a loved one. Perhaps the 
first such recorded incident, other than various quoted incidents in the 
bible, was the sacrifice the young princess of Egypt, Cleopatra, made to her 
Roman captors. Many love stories have been written around the relationship 
of Julius Caesar, Marc Anthony, and the hapless princess, but it is fairly 
well documented today that her love was not for her conquerors but for her 
people, whom she attempted to save by the use of her womanly charms from 
their hated conquerors. 

In Mr. McElroy's novel, he has applied this situation to a not too unusual 
modern-day circumstance. He has placed the heroine, an innocent young 
housewife, in a position where she must make a historical Cleopatran choice. 
That is, the choice between the safety and well-being of a loved one or the 
prostitution of her own body and soul. Her task, unfortunately, is not made 
easier by her ambitions but irrational young husband. He becomes, in effect, 
an unwitting instrument in his wife's own moral destruction. 

We, the publishers, do not wish to make a decision as to the justification 
of our heroine's action but will leave this to you, the reader. In saving 
her husband from his own avaricious greed for the material things of life, 
we can only hope that it shall raise a question, and consequently lead to 
serious thought by you, the reader, on this entire field of moral 
justification. 

-The Publishers 

 Chapter One 

The staccato roar of a huge, particularly noisy Diesel truck rig on the 
freeway, not more than fifty feet away from her bedroom window brought Rhoda 
fully awake, again from a restless sleep, having gone back to bed after Phil 
had left for work. It was nine o'clock, already, she noted as she flipped on 
the radio on a shelf of the headboard. She had become accustomed to the 
almost constant, speeding hum of the automobile traffic, but the trucks 
still frightened her. She had a recurring vision of the horror of a rending, 
splintering crash as one of the behemoths lost control and came off the 
freeway, slicing into their apartment and . . . ! She shook the thought from 
her mind, but she found it would not leave her ... Her father had been a 
truck driver; she had not seen him for over sixteen years, and what if. . . 
! With a tremendous surge of willpower, she switched off that trend of 
thought. It was only a big What If, she told herself. 

It's my over-active imagination. . . but I do wonder sometimes. . . whatever 
happened to my Daddy . . . That's natural. . . I think. . . 

Unfortunately, her husband, Phil was not sympathetic with her fears. 

He had told her, Rhoda, more people die from accidents in their bathrooms! 
The possibility of a truck coming through here is pretty slim . . . Read the 
statistics ..." 

That's just his scientific, analytical mind working! I swear. . .he's got an 
explanation for everything! 

She stretched under the sheet and looked languidly around their bedroom, 
seeing it for the thousandth time and not being able to do anything about it 
. . . its cramped dimensions, barely able to contain the double bed and the 
dresser, the small closet, jammed to overflowing with their clothing and 
boxes of belongings that remained unpacked because there was no place to put 
them in the small, one-bedroom apartment and, off in one corner, on a small 
table, the mess that Phil had left from his work of the evening before . . . 
she saw it all, and shivered with revulsion. She could not understand why 
Phil insisted it was cheaper to buy electronic kits and put them together 
himself. He was always making a mess. The array of wires, switches, 
transistors, resistors, his soldering gun and other small tools strewn 
haphazardly over the table offended her natural desire for order and 
tidiness, especially in the bedroom. His orders to her were specific: DON'T 
TOUCH! She had to admit, though, the radio he had built worked well, and his 
present project, a stereo record player, would be a welcome addition to 
their drab apartment, affording them many hours of inexpensive 
entertainment. 

I just wish Phil wouldn't leave his things in such a mess.. . ! For a 
scientist. . . somebody who's supposed to be neat and orderly . . . he's the 
messiest guy I know. 

Then, she remembered how impressed she had been when she had visited his 
laboratory, during an open-house affair for the families of employees. His 
working space had been extremely clean, neat and orderly; everything was in 
its place and there was a place for everything. She had decided that he was 
a Jekyll-Hyde character - one way at his work, another, opposite way at home 
with his hobby. 

Her eyes moved on around the dreary room, taking in the cheap drapes at the 
window, through a gap of which she could see that there was another smoggy 
day in store for her. The Greater Seattle area was solidly smogged over for 
the day. Then, her disgust with the color of the paint on the walls hit her, 
again, as it had every day of the nine months they had lived in this 
run-down apartment. 

Beige! I hate it! Can't apartment owners think of any other color? I get so 
tired of looking at these blah walls I could scream!. . . not that it would 
do any good. . . 

A couple of weeks ago, Phil had finally become tired of listening to Rhoda's 
complaints and had asked the owner if he could re-paint the apartment, 
himself. .. even offering to furnish the paint. He had been given a definite 
NO for an answer. There would be no amateurish painting done by the tenants! 

The sounds of small children playing in the courts and in the alley drifted 
up to her, their treble voices fussing, whining, laughing, arguing and 
crying reminded her that she still did not have a child of her own, yet. 
There was nothing she wanted more than a cuddly baby, the fruit of her own 
womb, to care for, to love, giving her own life direction and meaning in the 
complete involvement of a mother with a helpless, dependent infant, but Phil 
adamantly refused to start their family, as long as they didn't have some of 
the other things they wanted, first. She agreed with him that their present 
location was not a good place to raise children; they should have their own 
home in a pleasant neighborhood, close to schools and shopping center. 

But, Dear Lord, I've got to have something. . . something more than this! We 
barely get along on Phil's salary . . . How are we ever going to save enough 
money for the down payment on a house . . . and closing costs.. ..and 
insurance... and I don't know what all else? It almost seems we're in a 
blind alley . . . trapped! 

"Damn!" she said aloud, allowing herself the luxury of the expletive to 
express her profound frustrations. 

She kicked off the sheet, sat up, stuffed her feet into worn, once fluffy, 
bedroom slippers and padded into the bathroom with its aging, greying 
fixtures. Try as she might she had never been able to get them clean, having 
tried several cleansers and bleaches on them, but it was a hopeless task 
that forced her, finally, to give up in disgust. Now, she only cleaned the 
ceramic and porcelain surfaces for sanitary reasons, knowing only in her 
mind that her bathroom was sparkling clean, even if she couldn't see it 
because of the drab greyness of the horribly antiquated fixtures. 

Pulling the nightgown over her head, she stuffed it into the dirty clothes 
hamper, noting that she would have to do the washing, today, in the 
coin-operated machines located in the room just below, and that reminded her 
of another annoyance - the sounds of the machines came to her constantly 
through the thin walls. It seemed to her that someone was always washing 
there, day or night. She told herself that some people never considered the 
time they chose to wash, knowing full well the noisy machines were a 
disturbance, especially late at night. 

It'll be the happiest day of my life. . . when we can move out of this dump! 

Ruefully, then, she remembered that they had moved three times before, but 
this apartment complex was really no better than the others in which they 
had to live. Maybe this one was a little newer . . . not quite so run-down 
.. . the clientele not quite so poor, but it was still not very desirable. 
No one could convince her otherwise. 

Rhoda busied herself preparing for her cleansing douche. It was a ritual - 
always the same with her - drawing the hot water, washing the attachments, 
again - even though they were already clean when she put them away - filling 
the bag with the hot water, adding the antiseptic powder, lowering herself 
into the bathtub to insert the curved fountain syringe into her tight, 
blonde-hair-lined vaginal opening, feeling the relaxing warmth of the hot 
water in the coral-lined depths of her femaleness, cleansing her of the 
sticky seminal maleness Phil had deposited there, giving her a sense of 
virginal cleanliness as she watched the long strings of whitish sperm being 
flushed from her and ridding her of the aftermath their love-making left; 
she watched with relief as it was slowly sucked down the bathtub drain, 
almost putting the life-giving fluid in the same category, in her mind, as 
the coffee grounds from the last evening's dinner. 

As she ran the water into the tub, this morning, waiting for it to get hot, 
the reflection of her nude figure in the full-length mirror on the bathroom 
door caught her attention. She didn't often look at her own nakedness. 

Somehow, her own flesh repulsed her. Her beautiful body had brought her 
nothing but agony; it was too perfect, too desirable, and she could not 
understand why this beauty of hers had not brought happiness into her life. 

On this morning, though, she felt constrained to study her body, critically, 
in the mirror. 

She was a petite five feet five inches tall, perfectly proportioned from the 
top of her golden blonde hair to the tips of her carefully manicured 
toenails. Her small but full and firm young breasts, marbled just underneath 
the milky white skin with faint bluish veins, giving them a translucent 
quality of depth, jutted out proudly from her rounded chest, the tiny, pink 
nipples rising from their darker aureola, their tips turned up, slightly, 
and the smooth, white skin of the globular tits drawing taut as she raised 
her arms over her head, posing provocatively, sexily, the way Phil was 
always wanting her to pose for him. I don't see why he's always wanting me 
to parade around in front of him. . . naked like this. I almost died the 
time he wanted to take some pictures of me! What does he want something like 
that for. . . ? After all, he's got me. . . in the flesh. I'd die. . . 
simply die, if anybody else ever saw a nude picture of me! And, Phil seemed 
so hurt when I told him I'd never allow it. Worse than that, though. . . I 
don't know what I'd do if another man ever saw me. . . actually saw me stark 
naked! It - It was hard enough to get used to having Phil look at me. . . 
and he's my husband! 

Now, her eyes ran down over her smooth flat stomach, the navel hidden in its 
deep, circular recess, a line of short, silky and fine, almost indiscernible 
golden, blonde hair pointing like an arrow to the triangle of softly 
curling, golden blonde hirsute adornment nestling, pristinely, atop her 
somewhat prominent pubic mound, the pink lips of her slit just above the 
enshrined clitoris peeping shyly through the light, sparse hair, her tiny 
waist swelling into softly rounded, feminine curving hips leading to 
tapering thighs, her knees linking them to the gentle curve of calf and 
small, trim ankle. Her feet were tiny and narrow with high, strong arches. 

She turned to view the globoid protuberances of her smoothly drawn and 
formed buttocks, the gluteal muscles rippling under the satiny white skin as 
she moved about to see better, as she hollowed and dimpled prettily and her 
eyes were drawn to the twin hollows on either side of her spine and just 
above the swell of her behind. 

Well. . . I certainly don't have a classic figure... I think my rump's a 
little too heavy. . . maybe. . . and my breasts are on the small side. Phil 
seems to make so much over me. . . I just can 7 understand why he goes so 
wild. . . telling me how beautiful I am . . . then tearing, mauling and 
biting at me. . . and. . . and ramming his hard penis in me! God! He's so 
huge. . . so long and hard! Sometimes, I think he - he wants to . . . 
destroy me with it! I'll never understand how I take all of him up inside of 
me. . . 

The water coming into the bathtub was steaming hot now she noticed, finally, 
and went about the ritual chore of preparing her douche; then, lowering 
herself into the bathtub, spreading her thighs and inserting the surgically 
clean syringe, carefully, into her tight little vaginal orifice, and 
discovering in the process that she was sore and irritated in and around the 
tender female opening down there between her legs. Allowing the water to 
drain from her, she probed in and around the coral moistness with her finger 
to determine the extent of the havoc Phil had wrought upon her in his 
frenzied sexual assault of last night. In her own mind, she could think of 
their lovemaking, last night, in no other terms. She had been ravished! 

OOOoooh! Oh! That hurts! Why did I let him do it. . . ? I should have 
stopped him . . . made him wait. . . like I have to do . . . sometimes. He 
can be so mean. . . and cruel, at times. . . And, I just don't know how to 
handle him . . . Things seem to get so mixed-up. . . I don't know what to 
do! 

Probing deeper into the smooth-walled warmth of herself, she pushed against 
her cervix and winced with pain, again. 

Oh God! Phil really did it to me, this time! I don't know when I've been so 
sore. . . except when we were first married. He almost split me in two, last 
night. . . from the way it feels! If he hadn't stopped off on the way home 
and had those drinks. . . he might have been more gentle with me. Dear God! 
Please! I wouldn't want him to start drinking. . . all the time. . . 
possibly become a drunk. . . I-like my Daddy was! I don't think I could ever 
take that! 

The memories flooded back to her, and she remembered . . . remembered too 
much, seeing it, again, in the eyes and mind of the little girl she was, 
without understanding . .. without perspective. 

There it was! All of it there, with its rawness and crudity rampant, and the 
adult, married woman could not, indeed, would not allow herself to believe 
that what had happened then, in her childhood, should not affect her actions 
and reactions, should not shape her attitudes and color her emotional life 
in the living present; the mature adult comes to realize this sooner or 
later and is happier for it when he can begin to live a new life, for 
himself; however, little Rhoda, a tiny girl just past five years old, was 
mother to the woman who was now in her twenty-first year, and the tragedy of 
Rhoda, the wife, was that those memories of long-ago, ingrained into the 
mind and neuro-reflexes of Rhoda, the moppet, were in control of the 
sex-life of Mrs. Phil Grey. 

Phil, her husband, had hurt her, last night; he had given her pain and 
discomfort. .. and he had done it with that monstrous thing between his 
legs. . . that thing that was a punishing bludgeon... a veritable truncheon! 
God! Oh, God! No! 

Suddenly, Rhoda hated her husband! He was a beast ... a beast of a man .. . 
just like little Rhoda's Daddy! 

The girl-child, Rhoda, had been awakened from her fitful slumbers, again, by 
the sounds of loud voices, yelling and screaming, punctuated by vulgar 
curses and the slap of flesh on flesh. It was her Mommy and Daddy in the 
next room - the bedroom - and Daddy must not be feeling very good, again. 
Her Daddy was sick; at least, that's what her mother had told her. 

Poor Daddy, she thought. Maybe he needs his medicine. 

She had climbed out of her bed, groping in the darkness for her favorite 
dolly, finding it, finally, and clasping it to her thin, little breast, her 
heart banging at trip-hammer speed against her ribs, for she had been told 
not to get out of bed for any reason! If she needed something she was to 
call for Mommy or Daddy to get it for her . . . but Daddy was sick . . . her 
Mommy was crying. 

Poor, poor Mommy . . . crying because Daddy is so sick. . . 

The linoleum covered floor was cold on her tiny feet, and she crawled back 
onto the bed, sitting cross-legged and hugging her nice dolly to her. She 
was torn between two forces; she wanted to help, to love her father and 
mother, cuddle with them in their bed to make her Daddy feel better and her 
Mommy would stop crying; on the other hand, there was the fear of what would 
happen to her if she disobeyed. More than once her father's big hand had 
been applied to her tiny, round bottom for minor infractions of the strict 
rules he had laid down for her. Humming a little tune and rocking back and 
forth to the rhythm, she cooed, soothingly, to her ragamuffin doll. She 
could take care of her dolly and be an awfully good mother to her, for 
mother was a magical word to the little girl who was Rhoda Steel. If the 
truth were known, to her, at that time, father was just a little lower than 
the sun, moon and stars, for such is the worship of the girl-child for her 
father . . . when she is five. 

There had been few sounds from her parents' bedroom for some moments, and 
her eyes became heavy with sleep, again, the darkened room, the lullaby she 
was singing to her dolly had mesmerized her. She snuggled back into the 
warmth of her bed, pulling the blankets to her chin and not forgetting to 
cover her dolly, too. 

Suddenly, the still night was shattered by a loud, cracking sound . .. the 
sound of an open hand on bare flesh, and her mother screamed! 

"Oh, God! Ray! Please . .. please, don't hit me, again!" she pleaded, her 
voice awful in its desperation. 

Rhoda jerked, sat up wide-eyed, awake, terrified and clasped her dolly close 
to her. It was Mommy . . . and Daddy was hitting her! 

And Daddy hits awful hard, too! 

"Open your legs . . . you goddamned bitch!" her father roared. 

"No!" her mother's voice, sobbing but determined. 

CRACK! 

"You bastard!" her mother screamed. CRACK! CRACK! 

Her father's voice, gratingly, again, "bitch!" 

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! 

"OOOOooooohhhh! Ray!" wailingly, from her mother. 

Then, the mother sobbed, uncontrollably, the heart-rending sounds of defeat 
coming clearly to the little girl huddled in her bed, helpless, too young to 
understand, too little to be exposed to the sordidness in the next room; she 
could only absorb like a sponge, the cruel words knifing into her child's 
mind as she sat and stared into the darkness, fear gripping her, holding her 
fast, not even allowing her to cry out. . . cries that might attract 
attention to herself. Rhoda might then feel her father's wrath, his hand 
smacking her bottom until it was red and smarting. The great fear in her 
caused her to gasp back her own sobs. 

Her mother's voice came to her again, in agony, "Please, Ray ... please ... 
You're hurting me!" 

The child could stand no more! Terror in her, blood racing, Rhoda climbed 
from her bed; she had to go to her Mommy. 

My Mommy's hurting, she told her doll. Daddy's hurting Mommy. . . and Daddy 
needs his medicine! Mommy said! 'cause Daddy's sick! 

Creeping from her room to the entrance of her parents' bedroom, the little 
girl hugged her dolly to her scrawny chest and pushed at the slightly opened 
door. It swung inward, silently, revealing the scene to her childish gaze. A 
small bedside lamp glowed, dimly, casting enough light so that she could see 
quite well. 

She stopped, staring, her machine-gun pulse hammering in her, and she could 
not understand it. Daddy was on top of Mommy! 

Her father was cradled between her mother's long, tapering, white legs, 
pinning them wide apart, cruelly, her Daddy's pee-pee, huge, thick and long 
was pressed hard up against the lightly hair-lined thighs. The narrow, 
coral-tinged slit glistened dully in the dim light, and the mouth-shaped, 
slightly purplish lips of her vagina were stretched nakedly open, allowing 
Rhoda to gaze with terror into that secret place where Mommy sometimes had 
blood and had to wear a bandage to make it all well, again. 

Rhoda looked and looked but she could see no blood; there was no place she 
could see where Daddy had hit her Mommy ... no red hand marks on her 
smoothly rounded bottom. 

Daddy didn't spank Mommy. Why was Mommy crying so hard? 

Now, her attention was drawn to her father's penis. She had only seen it 
once of twice before, dangling and flopping loosely as he had stood in the 
bathroom toweling himself, vigorously, and she, little-girl-like, had 
wandered into his presence, only to be sent screechingly on her way as he 
roughly ejected her with a chastising swat. Now, her Daddy's pee-pee lay 
huge and wooden in the softly pink-edged slit of her mother's hair-lined 
crotch, the two egg-shaped testicles hanging down in their wrinkled sac, 
below, the foreskin sliding back, smoothly, and the bulbous blood-filled 
head, shining with moisture on its satiny smooth skin, snaked out, bursting 
forth like some primeval monster crawling out of its evil lair. It was huge. 
Rhoda's eyes widened in disbelief. Fresh terror sliced into her. This was 
not the part of Daddy she had seen in the bathroom. 

Rhoda had stood still, transfixed, unable to tear her eyes away from the 
horrifying spectacle. She watched, terror and fear clutching her, as her 
father's hand reached down to between them, his ringers curling around the 
long, hard shaft of lust-filled maleness and raised his slimy muscled behind 
high in the air, aiming the great cock straight at her mother's soft, naked 
and defenseless cunt, its length jerking in his hand, a small tear of clear, 
viscous liquid weeping from its hardened tip, as he paused there, 
momentarily, before the brutal assault. Then, she saw his muscles tense, 
heavily, his buttocks hollow, and he plunged forcefully with all his 
strength, stabbingly, driving the tumescent phallus deep into the tight, now 
moistly ready channel waiting naked and vulnerable there between her 
mother's milky white thighs. He had sunk his long, thick, lust-inflated cock 
into her as far as it would go. His balls slapped dully against her upturned 
bottom as pelvic bones smacked into each other with a resounding whap. 

Her Mommy had moaned, chokingly, up into Daddy's face as though she had been 
stabbed, her knees jerking up, involuntarily, as she screwed her hips back 
and down into the soft mattress to escape the cruel impalement, her toes 
curling inward to the soles of her slim feet with the agony of it. 

Rhoda didn't understand what she had just seen, but her mother's moan of 
anguish told her Mommy was hurting again. 

Daddy will make Mommy bleed, again. Daddy's hurting Mommy there! 

Then, her father had withdrawn, slightly, the thick, fleshy column sliding 
out for several inches before he thrust it forward and in, again, and her 
mother moaned, loudly, incessantly. Once more he came out of the widely 
spread channel, until the underside of the blood-engorged head showed redly 
in the moistness of her mother's coral-lined pussy. Unexplainably, then, her 
mother's long, full, softly tapering white legs had wrapped, suddenly, the 
twin-cheeked tautness of his sinewy-muscled buttocks, straining to pull the 
great length and breadth of him back inside her. The cords on the inside of 
her marble-white thighs flexed, tautly, as she shoved her golden, 
down-covered crotch back up over his whitely glistening prick trying to 
swallow the whole of it, again, her moist-walled, cuntal mouth climbed 
straight up his vibrating shaft, her hollowing buttocks lifting several 
inches off the bed as she struggled, desperately, to reabsorb, in its 
entirety, the thick, lusty cock her hungry cunt now demanded. 

A wet, viscous sound drifted across the bedroom to the ears of the watching, 
listening girl-child, who stared, wide-eyed, transfixed at a segment of the 
adult world she could not fathom. She was too terrified to move a muscle or 
utter a whimper. 

As she had watched, her Mommy's flexing hips began to beat, rhythmically, up 
and down the smooth, fleshy pole imbedded in her softly clasping love 
channel, the hair-covered sac of her Daddy's balls slapping in time against 
the tiny, faintly puckered anus below. Then, her mother was speaking, her 
voice choked, almost incoherent with her mounting passion. 

"Goddamn it, Ray! Fuck me! That's what you want... isn't it? Come on! Fuck 
me . . . hard!" her mother moaned. 

Rhoda had never heard the word before. It meant nothing to her. 

Rhoda's Daddy on top of her Mommy had said nothing. His breath came in 
panting gasps, his mouth open and jaw asag. 

Snake-like, her father's hand curled down under her Mommy's wildly pumping 
buttocks, and the tip of his middle finger began to encircle, tantalizingly, 
the rubbery, flexing nether ring of the tightly puckered anus nestled 
between the full-mounded hemispheres of her ass that slaved away so 
assiduously. His finger played there for a long moment, teasingly, suddenly 
bringing a high-pitched wail of pain from her mother's lips as it 
disappeared inside, her tortured body twisting and turning to escape the 
unnatural ravishment of her anal passage. 

"OOOoooohhh! Ray! Ray! You bastard! You're hurting me! OOOoooh!" she 
screamed. 

Her legs had kicked out as she squealed, again, in pain and torment, toes 
curling, and then her legs had locked tightly around him, drawing him into 
her, her wildly gyrating hips, uncontrollably, pumping viciously against 
both probing instruments ravishing her loins. 

The frantic, entangled limbs of her parents on the bed commenced to move 
faster and faster, her father's huge, thick, fleshy rod flashing whitely in 
glistening dully with viscous moistness, their naked loins smashing together 
with a harsh, slapping sound. Now, her father's hand with its probing finger 
came out of her with a faint, popping sound, and he supported himself on 
both hands, his hips moving ever faster and more powerfully, as he drove his 
giant cock deeper and deeper into the female softness of her mother's loins, 
punishingly. 

Again, her mother screamed, in agony, but the sound of it was somehow 
different. The watching child, of course, could not interpret it, could not 
tell how it was different. She knew only that her mother was screaming. 

"AAAAAaaaagggghhh! Ray! OOOOoooh, Ray! I'm just.. . about ready ... to cum! 
It's sooooOOOoo goooood! OOOOoooOOOhhh! Ray! AAAAAAAAAaaaaggghhh!" 

Her Mommy squealed out her orgasmic release, and the girl-child, Rhoda, 
could stand it no longer. She had to do something to help her mother. Her 
mother was hurting bad! 

Rhoda screamed, "Stop! Stop hurting my Mommy!" 

She climbed up on her parents' bed, her tiny fists beating an ineffectual 
tatoo against her Daddy's back. 

"Son-of-a-bitch! How did the brat get in here?" her father roared, as he 
rolled away to his side, his hardened cock pulling from his wife, spewingly, 
his hot, white sperm hosing from him in forceful jets, arching to puddle on 
her mother's thigh and running thickly down to the bedsheet. 

He sat up, grabbed Rhoda and shook her, her head flopping as he yelled at 
her, incoherently, his quick anger raging out of control. 

"Rhoda! Goddamn you! What the hell... busting in here like this! What do you 
think you're doing . . . brat? Busting in ... ruining everything! I'm going 
to bust you!" he trumpeted. 

His big hand smacked her on her tiny bottom, again and again, the pain 
causing her to scream ever louder and louder, but he would not stop at two 
or three of the powerful, flat-handed blows to her buttocks; insanely, he 
pounded on and on, roaring out his rage and frustration. 

"This'll teach you . .. you little brat!" he yelled. 

"Ray! Please, Ray! For Christ's sake! Stop! She's only a baby!" her mother 
pleaded with him. 

"Stay the hell out of this, Clara!" he grunted. 

Her mother sat up to restrain his hand, grabbing his sinewy forearm and 
hanging on, tightly, but he shook her off, his hard fist coming up short and 
fast to catch her flush on the jaw. She dropped back on the bed without a 
sound, unconscious, her head lolling back, forearms thrown over her face, 
instinctively, hair awry and her legs splayed obscenely apart. Then, he 
threw the child from him, giving her a violent shove out the bedroom door. 

"Now, get back in bed! And, don't you ever come in our bedroom ... at 
night... again!" her father ground out at her. 

Rhoda fell violently in the hallway, picked herself up and ran sobbing into 
her own room, crawling into the safety of her bed and covering herself up. 
Then, she remembered her dolly. She had dropped it in her parents' bedroom. 

Pitifully, so sobbed out her loss, "I-I.. . want. .. m-my d-d-dolly!" 

Her father had come into her room, then, the doll in his big hand. He hurled 
it with force toward her bed, its plastic head shattering into a thousand 
pieces against the wall, and he had turned and strode, naked and terrible 
from her life. 

The following afternoon she cowered in her mother's protective arms, as she 
watched her Daddy put suitcases and cardboard boxes in his car and drive 
away without a word. She had never seen him again. 

Mrs. Rhoda Grey of the here and now finished, quickly, the disagreeable 
business of the douche, washed down the bathtub, carefully, and drew herself 
a warm, luxurious bath. She soaked for a long time, trying to make her mind 
a blank, perhaps, symbolically, trying to wash away the stains on her mind; 
the emotional trauma of re-living the horrible scene of her childhood had 
been too much for her. She had learned, over the years, however, to blot out 
unpleasant memories, such as this one, at least for a time, but they always 
recurred. She had not learned that it was necessary for her peace of mind to 
rearrange her thinking .. . not letting the past affect her life. The 
actions of her parents in the dead past should have had no meaning for her 
in the living present. She had not begun to live her own life, yet; she was 
a half-living mirror reflecting too well a shadowy sordid past. 

As she was dressing, after her relaxing bath, the telephone rang. She dashed 
to the living room to answer the insistent ring. 

An impersonal female voice on the wire, said, "Mrs. Grey? Seattle City 
Schools, personnel office . . . We have scheduled an appointment for a 
personal interview at 1:30 this afternoon. Will you be able to keep the 
appointment?" 

"Yes ... why yes, I can. I'll be there!" Rhoda bubbled. 

She had almost forgotten that she had filled out an application form, on the 
spur of the moment, one day last week, thinking that if she were to go to 
work, the extra income would help her and Phil to realize some of their 
dreams and plans all the sooner. Teaching had not been foremost in her mind 
when she had taken her degree in Fine Arts; she had envisioned a 
professional career for herself in commercial art. Marriage had changed her 
plans. Phil had not wanted her to work. Now, she saw her potential 
employment as a way out of their financial dead-end. 

She had not taken any education courses, but she had been assured by the 
secretary who had taken her application that it was possible to take those 
courses while she, herself, was teaching. The prospect was enticing to her. 

Returning to the bedroom, she rummaged in her purse searching for bus-fare 
money. She found enough loose change for the bus and for lunch, deciding 
that she could pick up a hot dog and an orange drink at one of the small 
lunch stands near the downtown office of the school district. 

She looked at the pitifully small amount of money in her hands and decided 
that the clothes washing she needed to do would just have to wait. There 
wasn't enough money for both; of course, the trip to the school office was 
the more important. 

Rhoda dressed, carefully, her hair and make-up tasteful, heightening her 
natural beauty with understatement, and she was soon ready to leave. She 
felt buoyant and at ease. Happily, she thought she could very well have some 
good news for Phil, this evening, if the interview went well with the school 
people. She felt confident she could change Phil's mind about her not 
working. If she already had the job, he'd have to concede; she would be 
holding the winning ace .. . wouldn't she .. . ? 

Suddenly, her train of thought was interrupted by a more urgent, annoying 
thought. She checked the medicine cabinet in the bathroom to make sure. She 
needed to buy more birth-control pills, but if she took this trip downtown 
to see about a teaching position there wouldn't be enough money for this 
all-important purchase. Oh, well, she'd ask Phil for the money and get them, 
tonight, before the drugstore closed. Remembering the coin bank they kept in 
the book case, one of the type of saver-banks that looked like a book, she 
checked it, shaking it vigorously. It was empty! Phil must have taken all 
the coins in it, she decided .. . But for what? 

Damn! That's that! Ill just have to wait until tonight! If I don't get them 
... Phill'll just have to wait. . . for his sex! 

Her trip downtown was uneventful. The personnel office was crowded with 
applicants. She had to wait a long time, but her interview was short. The 
school district was interested in hiring her; there were several art 
positions open in various of the high school, and she could work with a 
provisional credential while she garnered the necessary credits in 
education. One thing Rhoda had not counted on: There was a fifteen dollar 
fee she would have to pay out for an evaluation of her college credits. She 
had to send for official transcripts relating to her degree work and send 
her application along with the fifteen dollars to the State Department of 
Education at Olympia. She hadn't realized there would be so much red tape, 
as she came away from the office, her head full of verbal instructions and 
her hands full of brochures and forms. She just had to have the money for 
this purpose, but the only way she could get it was to ask Phil for it. 
She'd ask him, tonight, she resolved; after all, she was just as good as 
hired, already. 

Imagine! Me!. .. Rhoda Grey is going to be a teacher! I'll probably be more 
scared of the kids than they will be of me. .. Especially, those big high 
school boys! 

Returning to the apartment, she went over to the brochures, studying salary 
schedules and employment benefits and filling out as much of the application 
forms as she could. 

Turning to her housework, she did up the necessary chores, quickly, and at 
5:30 she began to prepare a simple but nutritious meal for them; Phil was 
usually home by 6:00, if he didn't get caught in a freeway traffic jam. 

However, Phil was not home by 6:30, and she put the food aside to warm up, 
again, when he would arrive. He was still not home at 8:00. Rhoda was really 
worried, now. 

By 8:30 she was almost hysterical. Visions of flaming accidents on the 
freeway, of muggings or riots ... any number of violent things she imagined 
that could have happened to Phil passed, in succession, through her active 
mind. Finally, at 9:04 she heard his car as he parked it in the covered 
space beneath their apartment. 

Rhoda met him at the door, flinging herself with tears of relief into his 
arms. 

"Phil! Oh, Phil! I was so worried about you!" she sobbed, hysterically. 

He held her close, the fumes of the alcohol on his breath drifting strongly 
to her. Phil had been drinking; his words were slurred, slightly as he 
spoke. 

"Sorry .. . Rhoda . . . Stopped to have a couple o' drinks on th' way home . 
. . some o' th' fellas ..." he mumbled. 

She heaved a sigh of relief. His drinking was rare and irregular - although 
this was the second night in a row he had arrived home inebriated - and 
Rhoda didn't like for him to drink; however, she felt that having him home 
safe but drunk was infinitely so much better than any one of those horrible 
things her imagination had conjured up while she was waiting so alone and 
lonely for him to come home. 

Leaning into his arms, trembling, she sought there the solace she needed 
from her own mind-fright of the past several hours. 

"I-I wish you had called me..." she started. 

His reaction was different than she had expected; to her, her question was a 
typical, innocent female demand. 

"Why the hell should I?" he bristled. "You checkin' up on me . . . all the 
time?" 

"No . . . I-I just didn't know . . . where you were, Phil. .. and I-I..." 
she half-apologized stopping when she saw his dark look, not wanting to 
provoke an argument... then, rushing on with a happier thought, "I've got 
some good news..." 

"Well, get the hell off my back!" he flared, cutting her off. 

The cruel words stung her. She put her arms tightly around him, grinding her 
loins into him, feeling the instant hardness of him, there, as she tried to 
show him that she was concerned, really concerned for him, because she loved 
him. 

"I-I love you .. . Phil! It's because I love you ... so much! Don't you 
understand .. . that?" she said, desperation in her voice. 

Then, his mouth was on hers, hungrily, his tongue lashing into her mouth, 
probingly, his passion rising, quickly, fiercely, within him, his penis 
jerking in his pants, as he captured her in his arms, pressing her to him 
and his hands moving to her buttocks to pull her in closely, roughly to him. 

"Let's go to bed, doll!" he said, huskily, into her mouth, his hands busy on 
her body. 

"Now . . . Phil? I've fixed dinner for you . . . don't you want to eat . . . 
first . . . ? she asked. 

"No . . . All I want's you . . . right now! Come on!" he rasped, as he 
grabbed her hand to lead her to the bedroom. 

She resisted, pulling back from him. "Not now, darling . .. let's wait..." 
she persisted. 

Animal sounds came from his throat. His hand shot out, flat and true to 
catch her on the cheek with a resounding slap. 

"I said, now! Goddamn it!" he roared at her. 

Rhoda cringed back and away from him, shock and terror in her eyes. Her free 
hand went to her smarting cheek. 

"OOOOoooh! Phil!" she sobbed, her heart breaking within her as she stared at 
him without comprehension. 

Her voice was as remote to him as if she were speaking from another world. 
Roughly, he jerked her by the hand, pulled her into the bedroom and shoved 
her sprawling to the bed. 

"Bitch!" he gritted. "I'm tired of this crap . .. ! Always tryin' to put me 
off.. . when I want it! I want to fuck you, now!" 

Phil reached for her, his fingers like talons, "You going to get those 
clothes off... or do I rip 'em off?!" he threatened. 

Dully, dutifully, she obeyed, removing her clothing, mechanically, disbelief 
surging through her; it was impossible that Phil - her own husband - was 
acting like this . . . like an animal... forcing her to have sex with him . 
.. actually raping her. Yes, that's what it was . .. Phil was raping her. 

Oh, Dear God! Does it have to be like this. . . ? Do I have to go through 
the same thing my Mommy did? I can't believe it! Phil! Oh, Phil! I love you! 
Please. .. please, Dear Lord. . . don't let my husband treat me like this! 
Sweet Jesus! I need your help . .. ! 

Her clothes off, now, she sat, nakedly dejected on the edge of the bed. 
Phil, meanwhile, had thrown off his own clothing and stood by the bed, his 
cock erect, standing up, proudly, like a truncheon against his hairy 
abdomen; then, he was on her, clamping her to the bed with one heavily 
muscled arm, while the other hand moved, rapaciously, over the tender, 
supple contours of her rigid yet unresisting young body, squeezing and 
kneading, fiercely, savagely, at her pure, white, fully rounded breasts, his 
fingers pinching and pulling at the tiny, coral nipples, until they stood 
out firm and erect. Then, his mouth dropped, greedily, to feed, upon them, 
chewing hungrily at their tips, until he felt his teeth break the tender 
skin of them; the resilient flesh gave way before his savage onslaught and 
there was, suddenly, the taste of her warm, salty-sweet blood oozing into 
his mouth and spreading over his lashing tongue. 

"OOOOOoooooh! No! NOOOOooooo! Phil. .. please . . . not like this! You're 
hurting me!" she moaned, pleadingly, but her words fell on deaf ears. 

He held her desperate, straining body helplessly pinioned to the bed, 
imprisoning her with his superior weight and strength, his heavy, tensed 
chest weighing down upon her like a great stone. Her long, blonde hair began 
to thrash, as she flailed her head from side to side in agony, her lovely 
face twisted into a grotesque grimace of fright and terror. 

The horrified disbelief registered in her eyes and face, but Phil ignored 
it; he was intent upon one thing only ... his own sexual satisfaction. He 
wanted to fuck this lovely too-sweet wife of his, now! Nothing else 
mattered! He was going to fuck her silly, by God! 

Turning a deaf ear to her groaning, incoherent cries of pain, he bounced on 
top of her, his drunken mind reeling as he forced his trim hips brutally 
between her long, slim legs, wedging himself, heavily, between her thighs, 
splaying them out, cruelly, and securing her jerking, hollowing buttocks to 
the soft mattress, securely. She was trapped. 

The soft, golden down of her crotch brushed teasingly against his hard 
throbbing cock, enticing him to utter unintelligible babblings of frantic, 
uncontrolled lust. 

"I'm going to fuck you to hell and back . . . fuck you until you can't stand 
up . . . Goddamn, you goodie, goodie girl!" he croaked. 

Rhoda moaned, not daring to speak for fear he would hit her again; she had 
visions of her lovely face scarred and mutilated, and the fear in her 
stilled her tongue. 

Her husband spread her thighs even farther apart with his knees and ground 
his pelvis hard into her squirming, defenseless and naked loins. The hollows 
of her buttocks jerked, spasmodically, attempting to escape him, as he 
reached down between them to grasp his spasming prick and worked the 
blood-inflated head of it up and down in her moist, tight slit, the red cowl 
moving in her narrow hair-lined furrow until he found the snug portal to the 
velvet-lined, fleshy passage between her legs and rammed it in hard, with 
all his strength of back and legs, the length of him going into her with one 
long, agonizing plunge. 

She wilted before his attack, wailing in pain, her tormented body thrashing 
on the bed, her hips jerking back into the soft mattress, but she was 
impaled on his hardened rod of flesh ... impaled like a biologist's specimen 
on a display card, her legs flailing out wildly in her crazed effort to 
escape.. . but there was no escape. 

His rock-hard shaft of lust-filled maleness battered deeper into her warm, 
yielding flesh until his hairy pelvis crashed into hers with a resoundingly 
painful slap. Only a little stretch of his cock showed above her cuntal 
lips, as he held it there, rigidly completely submerged in the secret 
recesses of her quivering belly, the warm, wet walls of her unwilling cunt 
clasped tightly around the great length and breath of his phallus. 

Phil didn't stop. He couldn't stop, then, moreover, he didn't even give her 
a chance to adjust to the presence of his giant cock buried so deeply, to 
the hilt, in her pussy. He just began to fuck, drubbing in and out of her 
cunt like some feral, rutting animal, his one lustful thought to shoot his 
hot, sticky load of waiting semen deep up inside her soft, white belly, 
where it belonged. After all, she was his wife! 

Pounding on and on, he came to his climax, swiftly and completely, filling 
her with the hot, viscous fluids of his demanding loins. He collapsed, 
groaning, on top of her as the last pumping sensations milking his testicles 
of their load were gradually subsiding. 

Rhoda had not reacted .. . indeed, could not react, erotically to this 
loathsome rape of her genitals. She could not believe that it had happened. 
Her own husband had just raped her! She lay dry-eyed under him, her shock 
draining her of all feeling ... all emotion. She felt like a husk, thrown 
aside, after the succulent roasted corn has been eaten. 

Finally, after long minutes, Phil stirred and rolled over from on top of 
her, his now tumescent prick pulling from her with a sucking, fluid sound. 
-He had come to his senses, partially, realizing what he had really done. 

He tried to apologize. Desperately, he endeavored to get even the faintest 
response of forgiveness from her. He told her he was genuinely sorry for 
allowing his unbridled lust to overcome him. It was useless. Rhoda lay on 
the bed, unmoving, unseeing, unhealing ... and mute. 

Phil arose from the bed overwhelmed with disgust for his actions, and he 
asked for a final time, "Rhoda . . . sweetheart... will you please forgive 
me ... ?" He was contrite. 

Looking at him coldly, her words like the keen edge of a knife, she said, 
"If you're through using me for the night.. . would you mind covering me 
up?" 

Gently, now, he complied with her request. He tried, again, "I-I'm sorry . 
.. Rhoda . .. You know ... I really do ... love you ..." 

But she turned her back to him, as she coldly said, "Turn out the light as 
you leave!" 

"I'm not going anywhere..." he said, puzzled. 

Her voice was flat, dull, "You're not going to sleep with me!" 

Gathering his clothes and a blanket, he turned to leave the room; again, he 
tried, "You won't change your mind. ..?" 

"Goddamn it!" she screamed. "Leave me alone!" 

Her husband left the bedroom to sleep on the couch; then, and only then, did 
she allow herself the luxury of tears. 

Oh, God! My poor Mommy! Now, I know what it must have been like for her! 
Men! They're beasts... sex-crazy monsters! I hate him. .. right now! . . . 
But, God! I do love him ... so much! Phil! Phil. . . I love you ...// want 
to be the right kind of wife! Please, Dear Lord, help me! Help me to be the 
right kind of' wife. .. a good wife for him! 

The morbid past and the horrifying present crowded in upon her, suffocating 
her, paralyzing her will.. . and it was too much for her. Only the cleansing 
tears were left to her. 

A final clutching thought came to her before she drifted off into a fitful, 
restless sleep ... a nightmare sleep ... and she could not tell the 
difference between the dream and reality. That thought raced through her 
mind and stabbed a new fear into her. She had not gotten the pills! 

God! What if I get pregnant.. . ?! I wouldn't want a child begotten like 
this. . . in rape!.. . Even if the rapist is my husband! 

 Chapter Two 

The following morning, Rhoda arose first, as usual, and fixed breakfast for 
them. She didn't feel much like eating; she just picked at her food. There 
was little conversation between them, the atmosphere being a little like an 
armed truce. Phil was very polite ... and, she thought, contrite, as he ate 
his breakfast, in silence, lost in thought, a worried frown on his handsome 
face. Rhoda noted, also, that his color wasn't good! He looked as though he 
might be ill. She decided that it was just a hangover from his drinking of 
the night before. Two or three times Phil started to say something to her, 
but he changed his mind just before broaching the subject... or he hadn't 
known what to say - or how to say what was on his mind. 

After he was shaved, dressed and ready to leave for work, he came to where 
Rhoda still sat, at the breakfast table, nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee. 
Sitting down opposite her, his face serious, drawn . . . worried, his brown 
eyes sorrowful, he reached out to cover her hand with his own big one. 

"Rhoda," he began. "You know ... I really love you ..." 

She raised hurt eyes to him, in turn, "Was that. . . love . . . last night. 
.. ?" she parried. 

"No . . . that was something in me .. . something I couldn't control. .. I-I 
just flipped ... I guess ..." he stumbled. 

"I won't be able to ... to keep on living with you . .. Phil... unless you 
can learn t-to ... be gentle with me . . . and teach me to respond ... to 
love . .. real love ..." she said. 

"I'll try . . . Rhoda! Ill try ... " She had thought of it often before, but 
had not dared mention it to Phil. Now was the time. Phil was ready! 

"We could get help... some marriage counseling sessions..." she suggested, 
not knowing what his reaction would be. 

"Yeah . .. maybe that's an answer . . . but the cost. .. ?" he objected 
mildly. 

Elation and hope came to her, once more; her despondency fled before the 
sunshine of his amiable agreement. 

"There are agencies ..." she said, quickly. "Family Service . . . where you 
pay according to your income." 

"Oh . ..?" 

Persisting now, she went on, "Something like four or five dollars a session 
.. . Should we look into it. .. Phil?" 

"Yeah . . . yeah, go ahead," he said absently. But, Rhoda, there's something 
I've got to tell you ... at least part of it before I go. You know my 
work... a lot of it is secret, top drawer, confidential stuff..." 

"Yes, I know, Phil... But.. . Phil! Is something wrong?" She was confused, 
worried now. 

"It could be serious... All I can tell you is . .. somebody's trying to get 
the data on my project! That's what's been bothering me .. . the reason why 
I got blotto, last night. . . and when I came home ... to you ... I just 
went off my rocker . . . and . . . Well, I'm sorry, Rhoda . .. but I wanted 
you to know .. . about this other thing ..." he struggled, trying to tell 
her of his all-consuming problem, his realization that he had treated her 
wrongly, all without, at the same time, telling her anything that would 
violate the plant security. 

"Oh, Phil! I - I had no idea ..." Rhoda said, immediately understanding and 
sympathetic. "Do you know who's trying to ... to get the information on your 
project.. . ?" 

"Yes, I know! But, they'll play hell getting it!" His voice was strident, 
emphatic. 

"Darling . .. please, be careful," she cried. "You won't take any chances . 
. . risk getting hurt. .. ?" 

She rose with him as he stood to his feet and came into his arms, offering 
him her lips. Phil kissed her tenderly, holding her close with gentle 
strength. "I'll be all right!" 

Phil went on, "Rhoda ... I love you. Please give me a chance ... to work 
this out..." 

Rhoda was ecstatic. "Yes, oh, yes, Phil.. . We'll work it out, together!" 
she bubbled. "And Phil . . . you know how much I love you .. . too!?" 

He left for work, then, hurriedly, to get to the plant on time, his stride 
firm and confident on the stair, and Rhoda knew that part of his great 
burden had been lifted from him just in the telling of it to her. 

Her whole being sang; her heart was lighter, her spirit more buoyant and 
there was deep hope in her heart that their marriage would not flounder. She 
watched him drive away and knew that now she could hardly wait for his 
return in the evening. She had so much to tell him. 

Oh, My Dearest Phil! I didn't know he was facing something all that 
serious!... I know he'll tell me all about it. .. when he can. And, he 
agreed that we need some marriage counseling.. . That's a good sign. .. a 
healthy sign! Oh, God, I was so close to losing him!. . . I don't know how 
much longer I could have stood it. .. before I walked out on him. . . 
divorced him ... or cracked up, myself! I don't want any kind of "like 
mother. . . like daughter" situation in my life. .. 

* * * 

Rhoda went about her housework with vigor, and by ten had finished all of 
the daily chores, plus a few of the irregular ones; however, there was still 
the washing of the hamperful of dirty clothing, but she was unable to get 
that job done for the simple reason she still had no money for the 
coin-operated machines. She sorted through the mess of soiled garments and 
selected some she could do by hand in the bathroom sink. She had just 
started this hand washing when the doorbell sounded. Hastily wiping her 
hands she went to her door. 

Standing on the covered landing she saw a sallow-faced man of medium height 
with greying hair; small, actually perceptive eyes and a thin straight gash 
for a mouth. He held a black attache case in his hand. Thinking, at first 
sight, that he was a salesman, she said, "I'm sorry ... I don't need 
anything, today." 

She started to close the door, but Sallow-face pulled his mouth into a 
horrible grinning grimace, revealing long, tobacco stained teeth and said, 
"Mrs. Grey ... ? I'm Don Proctor, Chief Security Officer for Northern 
Chemical and Research. Your husband is employed with us there... and... " 
"Oh .. . ? Yes ... Phil is in Research ... at Northern ..." 

"May I come in ..." he asked, politely. 

"Phil!" she choked. "Something's wrong with Phil!?" 

"No .. . your husband's perfectly all right, but there is a problem I've got 
to talk to you about. . . concerning him ..." He smiled that awful smile at 
her, again. 

Heaving a quick sigh of relief, she said, "Why yes, of course ... please, 
come in ... " Rhoda led the way to seats in their small living room. Don 
Proctor sat on the couch, facing her across the small coffee table. His 
quick eyes took in everything, including a quick sweep of her voluptuous 
young figure. 

A little nervously, she asked, "What is it... about Phil?" 

The security guard looked at her, steadily, for a moment, his little, 
ferret-like eyes burning into her own, until she felt he was trying to see 
into her soul; finally he began to speak. 

"Mrs. Grey ... as Chief Security for the plant it's my job to know 
everything that goes on . . . any and everything affecting the safety... or 
the security at N.C.&R. is my responsibility." 

"Yes ... I understand that. .. but Phil's been cleared . .. for top 
security. After all, he's in research ... and ..." she said, trying to 
affirm Phil's position at the plant. 

"There's no question of his clearance ... now," Don explained. "It's whether 
he can keep it... in the future." 

Rhoda frowned. "Why .. . ? Has something changed ... Is there some new 
regulation ... ?" 

"You didn't understand what I said, Mrs. Grey ... I said he may not be able 
to keep that top security clearance ... for long. You see ... I have some 
evidence here . . . evidence that seems to show your husband, Phil. . . may 
be a dangerous security risk at N.C.&R." the plant guard said, grimly, not 
smiling, now. 

"Oh, My God! . . . What do you mean ... is there some kind of. .. ?" she 
started, then stopped herself, remembering what he had told her that 
morning: That someone was trying to get his research data. Had they been 
successful? Was this part of an investigation . . . the reason for the plant 
security man being here . . . ? 

Oh, God! Phil's in some kind of trouble! Don't let it be so . . . please, 
Dear Lord! 

Then, she caught his ferret-eyes as they swept over her appraisingly, a 
salacious smile parting his thin lips, giving him a strange, unreal look, as 
though he were the work of a Hollywood studio make-up artist getting him 
ready to step before the cameras to play the heavy in a grade B horror 
movie. 

What is it about this man. . . that gives me the jitters. . . ? I should be 
able to trust him . . . I suppose, because he is from security . . . But, 
he's so . . . slimy looking. . . or something. Ugh! The awful way he looks 
at me makes my skin crawl! 

"It's all right here, Mrs. Grey... I think maybe it'd be best if I just 
played the tape for you ... and you can judge for yourself . .. " Don 
Proctor said, his eyes never leaving her. 

He picked up his attache case, laid it flat on the coffee table, opened it 
and removed a small, portable casette type tape recorder which he placed on 
the couch beside him. He went on, "I'm sure you'll recognize one of the 
voices on this tape . .. the other voice, I'm not at liberty to identify for 
you ... yet. But, he is very big in scientific research. Listen!" 

Don set the machine for playback and started it. There was a few seconds of 
silent lead-in tape; after that there were several squeaks and squawks and 
the tail-end of a solid rock number, the buzz of voices, the clink of 
glasses, identifying the location as a bar, probably. Rhoda cocked her head, 
listening carefully, so she would miss nothing. 

PHIL: (short laugh) Yes. . . that's right . . . I did publish that article. 
.. It came out about October, last year. . . 

VOICE: (a man's voice, baritone in quality) I try to keep up. . . read what 
I can.. . but I find it gets harder. .. since I'm more in the business end. 
. . 

PHIL: I remember your work. . . especially the research with insecticides. 

VOICE: Yes. . . very interesting, but it's too bad about this residual 
thing. That hurts. .. but it keeps us looking for something better. . . 
isn't that right? 

PHIL: Yes. 

(Silence. Background noises, but no conversation) PHIL: Well, thank you for 
the drink... I should be getting on home. . . 

VOICE: Look, Phil ...I know you don't want to talk to me - and with good 
reason - after all... I am part of the competition. . . But that doesn't 
mean we can't have a drink or two on a social basis.. . does it? 

Come on. . . have one more with me... ? 

PHIL: All right... the same, then . . . thanks. 

(Background noises, business of ordering drinks, scuffing and scraping 
sounds, clink of glasses, Rock band starts playing. . . then, dead silence 
for several seconds) VOICE: I'm glad that's over! 

PHIL: What was it you started to say . . . ? 

VOICE: There has to be something better than Teflon . . . just imagine... a 
material so tough that it could be used as cylinder in internal combustion 
engines... something that can be produced cheaply. .. cheap enough to line 
the inside of cross-country oil and gas pipe-lines... life-time bearings in 
machines. . . imagine, never having to replace the bearings in a generator 
... or an automobile engine... Bearings that never have to be lubricated. . 
. and used in paints. .. you'd never have to polish a car, again . . . And, 
I could go on and on... 

PHIL: You don't have to. . . I've already done a lot of day-dreaming about 
all the possible applications. . . if somebody could come up with such a 
material.. . Wow! 

VOICE: Isn't it more than day-dreaming, Phil? You're the guy who knows how 
to make it! 

PHIL: What makes you say that. . .? 

VOICE: Because. . . I think that's what you 're working on.. . over at 
Northern . . . and that you can already write the formula for it! 

PHIL: That's a laugh . . . If I knew that I'd be a rich man . . . 

VOICE: You can be a rich man . . . ! Would fifty thousand dollars help? 

PHIL: You bidding on something. .. ? 

VOICE: If it's for sale ...The bid could go the seventy-five thousand route. 
.. 

PHIL: And if I could produce. .. it might be worth one-hundred thousand. . . 
? 

VOICE: A workable formula might be worth another twenty-five... on top of 
that! 

PHIL: It's very tempting. .. 

Rhoda gasped, "No! I don't believe it!" Don Proctor hissingly commanded her 
to silence. 

VOICE: Are you selling.. . 

PHIL: I'll have to think about it. 

VOICE: A hundred thousand and twenty-five thousand dollars is a lot of 
money. .. you can do a lot with that. . . 

PHIL: How do you plan to pay off. . . ? 

VOICE: Numbered Swiss bank account. . . regular drafts to your bank.. . 
O.K.? 

PHIL: Sounds good. 

VOICE: Can you deliver? 

PHIL: Yes. 

VOICE: When? 

PHIL: A week O.K.? 

VOICE: Good! Let's drink to that! 

Rhoda couldn't believe her ears! Phil had actually agreed to sell his secret 
formula to that other man. . . whoever he was! It was impossible! Phil! Phil 
was selling out. . . and, yet, he had told her just before he left this 
morning that he would never let them get hold of his research data. True, he 
had been offered a large sum of money, but Phil selling out his principles . 
. . it just didn't square up! She was in an agony of confusion and 
uncertainty; her quick, hot tears came, unbidden, as she dropped her face 
into her hands, the wracking ululation bursting from her in sniffling hoots 
and wails. 

Reaching over to the tape recorder, Proctor pushed the stop button; there 
was not much more to hear, anyway. He watched her cry for a few moments, 
sadistically enjoying the spectacle of her emotional outburst. Her light 
house dress molded her superb, young, rounded contours, and the hem of her 
dress had ridden up her thighs, exposing a good deal of her naked charms to 
his shifty gaze. The exposed white, flesh of her thighs triggered his sex 
fantasies, the crawling, pulling sensation of his scrotum and the quick jerk 
of his penis telling him that it had been worthwhile, after all. The long 
hours spent in tailing Phil Grey, getting the conversation on tape and 
preparing it for today's premier . . . was going to pay-off now with an 
unexpected dividend ... a roll in the sack between Grey's young wife's lust, 
white legs. 

This one's going to be a pushover! Damn, she's delectable! Look at those 
hips and thighs... just the way I like 'em! Not too thin. .. and not too 
meaty . . . and those tits. . . man! I'm really going to give it to her! 
I'll fuck her every way but sideways! God! I can hardly wait! Just watching 
her. . . my cock's getting so damned hard. . . it's starting to ache! If 
that bitchy, pill-popping wife of mine would only put out regularly . . . I 
wouldn't have to get it someplace else. . . but, shit! This is more fun . . 
. anyway! Little lady . . . you're going to get some fancy fucking. .. in 
just a little while! 

"Well!" he snapped at her, his voice cutting through to her commandingly. 
"What do you want to do about it?" 

Rhoda looked up at him, misery imprinted on her face, "D-do . . . w-what do 
you m-mean ..." 

Looking at her with piercingly lewd, ferret-eyes, he said, "Your husband is 
about to sell out... you heard! For all we know he may have done it, 
already! It's all there ... on the tape! Do I make my report to the 
president of N. C. & R.... turn this tape over to him ... or do we make some 
kind of agreement. .. you and me... " Again, Rhoda was confused; she hadn't 
followed his meaning. 

"Agreement..." she asked, perplexed. 

"Yes! Would you like to have that tape?" 

That's it! My God! I've got to get that horrible tape. . . and destroy it or 
Phil will never work again at the thing he loves most! 

"My God! Yes!" 

Don reached out a hand, blue veins standing out in ridges, covered with 
brownish liver spots, and placed it on her thigh, carelessly, just above her 
dimpling knee. 

"You can have it . . . after you've gone to bed with me," he said, trying to 
make his voice seductive. 

Her reaction was swift. "No!" she said, horror creeping in her eyes and 
sweeping his hand from her leg. 

"Your husband could lose his job!" 

"No! Damn it! No!" she blurted, unable to believe what this horrid little 
man was proposing. 

"You could only see him on weekends ... if he's lucky... and they send him 
to Chino!" Don suggested. 

"Prison! Oh, n-no! Oh, God! No!" 

Quickly, she stood to her feet; she felt faint, the shock, the unreality of 
the situation bearing down on her. That horrible tape. . . Phil agreeing to 
sell his secret project - his company's property - to another firm; now, 
this caricature of a man suggesting that she go to bed with him ... let him 
make love to her ... in exchange for the tape was too much. She wanted to be 
alone... to think the thing through, rationally. She swayed, slightly, and 
Don Proctor was there to take her swiftly in his arms, capturing her mouth 
with his own and covering her lips, completely, engulfing them moistly, as 
his tongue darted out to snake itself between her lips and against her 
teeth, one hand coming up to her jaw, his fingers pressing, cruelly, into 
the jaw muscles at the hinges, forcing her mouth to open, and his tongue 
lashed inside probing and tasting at her delicious youth. 

She resisted, trying to pull away from him, disgust and revulsion in her at 
his vile physical contact, but his strong arms held her close to him, his 
hands hot and moving, restlessly, as they pressed into the smooth, 
curvaceous outlines of her buttocks, smoothing and kneading them, his 
strength forcing her pelvis tight into him where the throbbing bulginess of 
his manhood pressed hard into the triangle of her loins. She knew what he 
wanted. 

No! This is impossible! This foul man is . . . is trying to... to blackmail 
me! Wanting me to go to bed with him. . . in exchange for that awful tape. . 
. Phil. . . oh, Phil! I love him ... so much! But, if I let this. . . beast 
make love to me. . . I'd be an. . . a-adulteress! Oh. God, help me. . . yet, 
if Phil went to . . . prison . . . I'd die. . . I'd just die! Oh, it can't 
happen . . . but, isn't there any other way. . . but this? Oh, Lord. . . 
help me... I need you, now! 

Pulling her face away from hid devouring lips, struggling to escape his 
imprisoning arms with all her strength, she grated out at him, "Let me go! 
Damn you! I'll never go to .. . b-bed with you!" 

He released her. She sank down into her chair, sobbing with relief, tears 
streaming down her cheeks, unchecked. Don stood over her frowning his 
frustration. 

"O.K., baby! You didn't buy the easy way out... so, I'll move along . . . 
start the old ball rolling. .. and I can guarantee you that your husband 
will be in a cell in less than two hours!" he threatened, as he stooped to 
return the portable tape recorder to his attache case. Rhoda didn't know 
what to do. 

Watching him pack the machine away, close the lid and grasp the carrying 
handle as he straightened up, she knew that she could not let him leave the 
apartment until she had that incriminating tape in her possession. She knew 
what she had to do. Her only prayer was that it be gotten over and done 
with, quick. She looked up at him, as he turned to leave. "No. .. wait!" 

Don Proctor came back to where she sat, a salacious grin of triumph 
distorting his already misshapen face. 

"You get smart, fast, baby doll!" he chortled evilly 

 Chapter Three 

Rhoda had made one of the most difficult decisions of her young life. It was 
a hard decision to make, and she knew it would be harder, much harder to 
carry out now that she had determined her course of action. 

The security guard put down the case again and reached for her, claiming his 
prize; he took her by the wrist and moved her from the chair to the couch, 
his mouth, once again, avidly searching hers as a hand went to a full round 
breast, his fingers digging into the flesh through her clothing. 

Oh Lord. . . I won't be able to stand it. . . ! How do I let a man make love 
to me. . . a man I don't love ... a stranger? It's wrong, wrong. .. wrong! 

Momentarily she struggled against him, trying to escape his pillaging 
tongue, his rapacious hands moving on her body, and she knew that it was 
futile. She had made her bargain with this beast. Now she had to keep it. 

I'm doing this for Phil! That's the only thing I have to remember.. . It's 
for Phil! If I just think about that. . . all the time he's. . . doing it to 
me. . . I might be able to get through it! Ugh! He's vile. 

She groaned, but it was not a groan of sex or passion; the sound escaped 
from the very depths of her tortured soul. It signaled defeat, but Don 
Proctor heard and misinterpreted. He thought she had groaned in pleasure. 

Take it easy, baby . . . there's plenty of time," he croaked as he shoved 
her back on the couch and began kissing her neck, his tongue laving her 
moistly, now poking into her ear, the tip running around the edges, giving 
her the shivers. 

"You're a delectable little piece," he hissed down at her as the lay 
stretched at full length now on the couch, her thighs tightly clenched, 
dreading the time when he would want to touch her there ... on the private, 
secret place of her womanhood that had heretofore been touched only by her 
darling husband. 

His hand roamed down across her flat belly on down the inside of a thigh to 
the hem of her dress then back up the smooth warm flesh to the juncture of 
her trembling thighs, pulling the dress up to expose her completely to his 
lustful gaze as his hand touched her soft silky pubic hair. He grinned and 
used a finger, smoothly inserting it into the crease at the top of her 
quivering vaginal slit and moving it in to find the tiny enshrined button of 
her clitoris, rubbing at it to instigate those vibrant sensations of wanton 
sexuality he knew resided there in every woman regardless of how haughty she 
might appear to be. 

Rhoda cringed inwardly with each touch, her mind wrestling desperately with 
principles and value judgments, trying to rationalize for herself the what 
and why of what she was doing. She found no additional answers. 

"Oh, please ... Mr. Proctor . .. don't!" she moaned as she felt his strong 
hands force her thighs apart and his fingers pulling and tugging at the thin 
band of nylon protectively covering her defensively cringing cuntal lips. 

"Mr. Proctor!" he cackled. "God damn! 

That's a good one! As close as we're going to be . . . you'd better start 
calling me Don .. . I'm the Don of Hearts!" He roared with laughter at his 
own punning joke then twisting his hand into the crotch band of her panties, 
he gave a prodigious yank, tearing them away from her, the material ripping 
asunder, leaving her loins young, tender, tremblingly naked and defenseless. 

"No! Oh no!" she cried, clamping her legs tight together, a hand going 
instinctively down to cover her shame. 

"Open your legs . . . Bitch!" he grunted. "I don't want to get rough with 
you . . . But if I have to, I will!" 

"Leave me alone!" she flashed. "IT just. .. can't g-go through with it.. . 
!" 

"You want your beautiful face marked up .. . Rhoda, baby?" 

"Y-You .. . wouldn't ...?!" She was aghast, visions of herself... in the 
hospital. . . surgeons rebuilding her face! 

"Try me!" the sadistic plant guard chuckled. "Now, do you get those legs 
open or not?" 

Defeat, disgust and fear mingled in her, and she relaxed the muscles of her 
thighs, allowing the marble-white curving columns to splay out slightly, 
revealing the pink slit, glistening dully there, a golden ring of sparse 
blonde hair lining the soft femaleness where the petals protruded slightly, 
like a tiny nether tongue peeping out, and above the miniature phallus her 
clitoris lay in its protective canopy of flesh. 

Then it began! 

She felt his finger moving on her . . . moving as it traced the thin pink 
furrow of her softly naked cunt, and she squirmed and shivered with 
abhorrence at the lewdness of his tracing finger; then there was a moment of 
strange masochistic warmth, of prurient delicious agitation, she could not 
explain as he insinuated the finger deeper and deeper inside her warm 
moistly tremulant vaginal passage. 

In her helplessness, something was happening to her, and Rhoda could not 
explain it to herself. That spreading warmth in her belly, the tingling 
awareness and the heightened sensations seeming to center there where his 
finger probed signaled pleasure . . . forbidden pleasure! 

Oh God! That feeling! His finger is driving me crazy! 

Rhoda moaned in an agony of emotional conflict and an as yet unrecognized 
sensual desire, her nerve endings alive with the shimmering electric shock 
of it along the flesh of her thighs, her loins surgingly responding to him 
but not wanting to respond . .. not wanting it to happen this way. Why 
didn't he just throw himself on here . .. and do it . .. and be done with 
it? God! 

Squirming her buttocks down into the soft cushions of the couch, she sought 
to escape the tantalizingly worming finger, her moan changing to a helpless 
mewling whimper as his fingers taunted the tight sensitive portal, gently 
thrusting into it several times then parting the softly curling pubic hair 
to make a sudden electrifying contact with the tiny pulsing head of her 
erect clitoris. She felt the moisture seeping from her from the unwanted and 
forbidden sexual excitation that had now filled her whole being, and she 
clenched her teeth to hold back her groan of pleasure. She would not succumb 
to the salacious feelings building within her! 

No! Good Lord, no! It's wrong! So terribly wrong! I'm a married woman!. . . 
And I'm about to break my marriage vows. . . become an adultress!. . . 
Actually worse . . . I'm selling myself. . . for that awful tape. . . to 
save Phil! That's almost the same . . . as . . . as prostitution! God! Oh, 
dear God! I don't know what to do! Help me! Suddenly she knew! 

She couldn't let this vile creature do these things to her! What kind of 
addlepated thinking had she been doing. Forcefully she thrust her hands 
against his chest as she writhed and kicked, attempting to push him away 
from her. 

"No! Stop it! God damn you!" she snarled up at him: "Get off of me!" 

Her sudden change of mind and the force of her attack caught Don by 
surprise, but he was not startled enough to release her, let her escape him. 
He caught both her wrists in his steely-fingered grasp, his weight on her 
pinning her to the couch beneath him. 

"You little bitch!" he grated at her, forcing his hip and leg between her 
thighs, wedging them open while his finger went on plundering the moist 
readiness of her gently clasping vagina. "You're going to get fucked, baby . 
. . but nobody can ever say you were raped because you'll be climbing the 
walls wanting it.. . begging me for it! So relax . .. and cooperate!" he 
rasped down at her, his lewd smile twisted on his face. 

"No! Never!" she shrilled. "I'll never beg. . . for that!" 

"We'll see!" 

Then slowly, Rhoda stopped struggling, and she relaxed into the soft couch, 
the insane horror of her helpless, completely defenseless situation sinking 
into her frantic brain. God! She was trapped! She could only lie there and 
allow this beast to do his will with her... let his hands roam at will over 
her helpless body, taking any and all indecently lewd liberties with her 
that he pleased; presently, when he was ready ... he would take her sexually 
. . . violating her warm young body as he squirted his abominable sperm deep 
into her unwanting belly. There was nothing she could do now to stop him ... 
and either way she was on the losing end. She was damned if she did and 
damned if she didn't. Now, the real irony was revealed to her. She was being 
used! 

The tears of her humiliation flowed down her cheeks; the revulsion in her 
for her own reactions catching in her throat as she found that the 
tantalizingly cruel play of his fingers on her genitals elicited 
uncontrollable responses in the aroused wetness of the female slit between 
her legs. 

His voice was loud and raspy in her ear, his breath hot against her, 
"Starting to feel good . . . isn't it.. . ?" he teased. 

Rolling her head aside, trying to twist her face away from him, the words 
caught in her throat; she couldn't speak, the sensual shock of his maddening 
fingers massaging her quivering clitoris causing her to work her writhing 
buttocks down into the cushions to escape the frenzied nerve-shocking 
sensations that coursed through her soft vibrating pussy. 

"Oh God! Oh God! Oh!" she whimpered involuntarily as he continued his 
manipulation of her abused clitoris. 

Don moved his scrawny body up over her, freeing her wrists from his 
strong-fingered grasp and bringing his hand up to her head, he grabbed a 
handful of her golden tresses. He drew her head to him and kissed her wetly, 
his tongue sliding deep into her mouth as his finger began to massage her 
naked cunt once more. 

"I'm going to make you naked, baby," he grunted. "And you're going to 
cooperate!" 

She knew dully that she would; at this point she could do nothing to help 
her situation. 

Rhoda felt him raise her up and heard the zipper of her dress being drawn 
slowly down her back. She closed her eyes, not wanting to think about what 
she was doing, helping him with the proper movements, wriggling her 
shoulders and hips, raising and lowering as he removed her dress and slip; 
then she felt his hands behind her once more as he unfastened her bra, and 
the cool air rushed over her full throbbing breasts, the hard distended 
nipples pointing like spikes into the palms of his hands. He gasped as his 
talon-like fingers enclosed the warm vibrant flesh, hotly kneading squeezing 
and rolling the sensitive nipples painfully between thumb and forefinger 
until finally his hot wet mouth was on her, taking one of the hardened buds, 
areola as well, between his lips, his tongue licking, lips sucking the 
nipple maddeningly. Transferring then to the other breast, he paid it 
similar homage, his long wet tongue trailing finally down through the narrow 
cleft that separated them, and her stomach muscles tightened tensely as he 
slithered down her, his tongue dipping moistly into her navel, teasing it 
while his hands kept up their constant kneading of her aching breasts. 

Now she could feel his hands as they left her breasts, moving down along her 
ribs to her waist, sliding down over her hips and the outside of her thighs 
to her knees then back up the insides of her smooth warm thighs, spreading 
them, exposing her naked loins to him completely, his breath rasping in his 
throat as his hand again plundered her thighs, her almost virginal cuntal 
lips. She kept her eyes closed tight as he raised from her where she lay 
naked on the couch, and she could hear the whisper of cloth and zipper, and 
she knew that he was undressing himself. 

Oh God! I can't look! Phil Oh Phil. . . will you understand. . . ? Forgive 
me! Dear Lord, forgive me! 

"You'll have to face it, baby ... so you might as well open those gorgeous 
eyes of yours," he insisted. She recognized the truth in what he said. She 
did have to face up to it now that she was deeply involved. Slowly, 
reluctantly, she unclenched her tightly closed eyes. She gasped aloud. 

She saw him naked, kneeling now between her legs, his face twisted into his 
distorted lewd grin. Involuntarily, her eyes swept down his scrawny body 
with its slight paunch of a belly to his thick hardened penis standing out 
below obscenely. Her eyes widened, disbelieving what she saw. For a man of 
his small stature and thin-chested paunchiness, his manhood stood out from 
him, huge and thick, and while his salacious smile twisted his face 
horribly, she saw his hand caressing the oversized rod of hardened flesh, 
stroking gently back and forth, the foreskin slipping easily over the 
blood-engorged corona with each stroke, obscenely jerking in his hand. 

"It's so big!" 

"Your husband got anything to match this ... ?" he chortled. 

Rhoda continued to stare at him in miserable humiliation, the degradation of 
the sight of her own naked obscenely spread body filling her with shame, and 
again she was aware of the helplessness, the utter aloneness with which she 
faced this madman. 

For surely he was a madman! Her racing brain had concluded that he was 
actually enjoying his almost brutal debouchment of her, the cruel gleam in 
his ferret-like eyes as she watched the misery he was subjecting her to was 
the gleam of a mentally deranged mind . . . the mind of a sadist! 

Even as she stared and because of her helplessness, faint tinglings of 
unwanted desire surged into her loins, the summer-lightnings played there, 
discharging feelings of wanton depravity along the sensitive nerve endings; 
nevertheless a new sense of horror arose in her as she watched him on his 
knees before her, lewdly stroking himself. Her eyes fixed upon the 
lust-filled cock he held in his hand with utter disbelief and loathing. Its 
sheer size terrorized her. Oh God! It would split her in two! How could she 
ever take that.. . inside her? 

Don saw her fixed stare. "Like it?" he leered. "Just wait until you get this 
in that tight little cunt!" he continued, tormenting her and watching the 
expression of horror and fear that contorted her beautiful face. "You'll 
know you've really been fucked then!" 

Again tears welled up in her eyes, overflowing the brims and dribbling 
unnoticed, down her cheeks as she realized that this beast of a man would 
show her no mercy. She hardly noticed his filthy language anymore; her mind 
was too busy with the hopelessness of her position and the horrifying 
realization of knowing there was no escape from the ravishment he was going 
to inflict on her helpless young body. This sex-crazed satyr was going to 
ravish her defenseless body! There was nowhere to turn ... she had never 
felt so alone. She was completely at his mercy. 

Leaning forward, suddenly, he dropped the full weight of his body upon her, 
knocking the breath from her lungs momentarily, the long hard thickness of 
his penis pulsating against the soft flesh of her belly, his brazenly 
searching hands once more squeezing the smoothly mounded fullness of her 
breasts savagely, causing her to whimper in pain beneath him while his mouth 
sought hers avidly, his tongue stabbing deep into her throat as animal 
noises of his lust came from deep in his chest. 

After long moments, he raised his head. "God! You're luscious! But... you're 
not reacting! Before I'm through with you . .. you'll be flipping!" he 
bragged. 

Too late she realized his meaning as he slithered down her body, sliding 
down until his head was just inches above the juncture of her thighs. The 
thought of what he was about to do to her caused Rhoda to recoil in 
repugnance. 

"Please ... don't do that to me ... I-I've never..." she pleaded, but he had 
already placed the palms of his hands against the soft flesh of her inner 
thighs and was spreading them far, far apart; her efforts to keep him from 
splaying her were futile. She whined in her throat as she looked down 
between the twin mounds of her breasts to the golden triangle to where she 
could see the top of his head, his face distorted in passion as it poised in 
space over her softly palpitating cunt. 

"Oh my God, no! Not even Phil has ever done ... that t-to m-me!" she moaned, 
a swift feeling of guilt stabbing at her. 

How many times have I. . . refused.. . to let Phil do it? And. . . and I'm 
helpless to stop this vile monster! God! Oh God!. . . Help me now! 

There, between her legs, kneeling, his hands pressing apart the soft warm 
columns of her smooth white thighs, Don Proctor gazed down hungrily at the 
thin pink furrow of her womanhood, ringed with soft golden hair, the petals 
peeking out like two tiny tongues, viscous droplets of clear moisture 
clinging to them delicately, and as she lay there in terror beneath him, her 
eyes pleading with him not to debase her further; then, her humiliation 
complete, she watched, petrified, as his hands moved up, and she felt him 
place his thumbs against the soft trembling lips of her cunt, part the soft 
curls of pubic hair and draw them slowly apart, exposing her innermost 
secret passage to his salaciously deranged gaze. 

Rhoda felt the heat of his breath on the sensitive coral flesh and she 
moaned aloud in agonized shame as, still watching and unable to tear her 
eyes away, she saw him drop his hand to her loins and felt the moist length 
of his tongue slide snakelike into her defenseless quivering vagina. 

Tremulously, her body responded, instinctively twitching with convulsive 
determination to escape the unnatural outrage he was perpetrating against 
her defenseless pussy; her hips ground down and back into the cushions as a 
morass of revulsion welled up in her for the loathsome creature who was 
using his tongue on her while he went on and on, his oral member moving in 
and out of her furiously. 

He's a-a perverted madman!. . . Beast! ... Monster! 

"OOOooohh . . . My God! OOooohhh ... No! NOOooo!" 

She groaned. How debased . . . how humiliated and tortured she was. It isn't 
possible! This couldn't be happening to her! The thoughts tumbled around and 
around, spinning through her mind, but it was there .. . She couldn't deny 
the reality of it! Don Proctor's tongue was there racing up into her 
unreceptive yet rapidly stimulating cunt. 

"Oh God, Mr. Proctor! Stop! Please . . . stop!" she begged in her shame as 
unwanted sensations of forbidden pleasure began to course through her whole 
body from his depraved animal-like stimulation of her moist, quaking vaginal 
furrow. She fought desperately to keep her mind from acknowledging the wild 
sensual twinges of sexual madness racing maddeningly through her, stabbing 
at her loins with explosive power and subverting her body to this man's lewd 
salacious will. She knew now that she was betrayed. In spite of her 
revulsion her own body had turned against her! 

Then she saw his eyes, staring up at her over the golden-haired triangle of 
her loins, watching her sadistically while his mouth and tongue labored at 
the widespread slit between her legs with wet obscene sucking sounds, and 
she knew, somehow that he was waiting for her final unconditional surrender. 

I can't! I won't give in to him! Ooooh! What's happening to me. . . ? I 
can't think straight! Those feelings down there between my legs. . . they 
're driving me crazy! 

Don's eyes remained fixed on her lovely contorted face, his tongue still 
thrusting unceasingly into her wild searingly hot vagina. Tears came once 
more to her eyes, and he watched with ruthless satisfaction as she fought 
her losing battle with him .. . with herself. 

Fight it baby! Fight it hard. . . because when you give up fighting. . . 
anything goes. . . because you 'll be all mine. . . mine to do with as I 
damn well please! 

Suddenly his lips probed until he found the erect, pulsing shaft of the 
miniature phallus. He heard her whimper of agonized pleasure as he took the 
tiny trembling bud between his teeth and, holding it firmly, ran his tongue 
around and around it, finally coming to the sensitive button where he laved 
and massaged it with his oral member; presently he felt the involuntary jerk 
of her loins as they began to grind up at him in uncontrollable rhythmic 
counterpart to his abusive tongue. Now her head began to flail from side to 
side, the sensations so intense that she could but agonize, and he heard new 
mewls and whimpers of pleasure from her, coming from deep in her chest; he 
reached under and drew her legs up, sliding his arms under them so that her 
legs draped over his shoulders, and his hands went beneath her quivering 
half-moon buttocks to pull them up cruelly to him. 

Her cries of involuntary pleasure filled the apartment as he shoved his 
agile tongue deep into the searingly moist depths of her wildly clasping 
cunt. Suddenly, her hands reached out to him as she lost the desperate 
battle with herself and her fingers entangled themselves in the gray thatch 
of his head and pulled his face tight into her steaming crotch. 

She was his! She belonged to him now! He was the absolute master and she was 
his to destroy ... to fuck ... to do with as he chose. She was lost beyond 
all recall. 

God! It was worth it! She's a luscious piece! Damn me! I could fuck all day. 
. . and all night. . . if I had something like this. .. regular! 

Rhoda's body had betrayed her and was now in complete command. She could 
only obey the demanding sensations of her loins. Her buttocks jerked and 
spasmed, moving in circles upward to the plunging tongue as she pulled 
steadily on his hair, and lightning bolts struck at her love-starved loins 
when she felt his tongue flick from her vagina downward toward the hidden 
tiny nether ring of her anus. She wanted to scream, but it was subverted 
into a moan of sensual pleasure as his hot wet tongue flicked at the 
sensitive opening. It was only a momentary digression from his goal; in the 
next few moments his tongue was back at work in the cusp of her loins. She 
cried out deeply from the unplumbed depths of her soul for the fulfillment 
that had been denied her so long. Her decision had been made. She could no 
longer resist; it was useless to do so. 

"Don! Love me! Love me, now!" she moaned. 

The sadistically crazed security guard could not contain his savage elation. 
She was broken to his will, beginning to ask for it... not the way he wanted 
her to, but she was asking him nevertheless. In a few moments he was going 
to shove his big aching cock in her tight little cunt... and fuck her until 
she couldn't walk! God! His load was building in his balls ... and he could 
hardly wait to shoot his hot sperm into that tight unstretched little pussy. 

He jerked his head free of her insistent hands in his hair, raised his head 
and looked at her with that crazy twisted smile. "You're hot enough to fuck 
now, baby!" he rasped. 

Rhoda felt as though she couldn't move ... as though she didn't want to 
move; all there was in the world was this! Her eyes locked on his long thick 
cock, and she knew she had to have it grinding around inside her or she 
would go completely insane. 

Dear God! Don't let me do it! I must be going crazy. . . I feel like I 
actually want him to. . . k-keep on going. . . put that huge vile thing in 
me. . . and. . . ! No! It's not possible! I can't! It's wrong!. . . But dear 
Lord. . . I can't stand this torture. . . much longer! 

"O.K. baby, take my cock and put it in that hot little cunt of yours!" he 
ordered. 

"No God! No! I can't! Don't make me do . . . that!" 

Yet, against her will, her hand slid between them, reaching for his 
monstrous red-cowled rod of hardened maleness, her hand pausing only an inch 
from it; she could not bring herself to this final degradation. 

"Do as I say .. . you little bitch!" he snarled. "Put it in for me . .. 
now!" 

"Ooooh God!" 

Reaching the final inch, her tiny hand encircled his thick lust-inflated 
cock, feeling for the first time the truly enormous size of him, using the 
bulbous head to part the golden hair-lined lips of her moistly ready cunt, 
her brain shocked, reeling with both fear and anticipation. 

He flicked his hips slightly and the head forced its way into the tight 
elastic opening, stretching it cruelly, and Holly was sure that the great 
breadth of it would tear her asunder as the resilient flesh was stretched 
even more and more with the almost unbearable pressure he exerted. 

The pain was more than she could stand. She screamed. 

"Oooh God! You're ripping me ... ! I can't stand it... ! Please, oh please 
don't. .. !" Her pain-tortured eyes pleaded with him for mercy, but through 
her tears she saw the evil sadistic leer twisting his face that told her 
there would be no mercy. His pleasure was evident as he grimaced, the cruel 
light in his eyes telling her that for him it was sheer delight to see her 
suffer while he brutally continued his inexorable impalement of her buffeted 
cunt. 

Inch by inch, his massive cock bored into her vaginal vault until suddenly, 
he thrust with all his strength, sending the rock-hard shaft plunging up 
into her tightly resisting passage with the force of a primeval boar. 

She screamed with the excruciating pain of it. 

"AAaaagghh! You'll kill me .. . with that!" 

The thick lust-inflated prick raced full length into the coral softness of 
her vaginal passage, pushing the warm walls of resisting flesh before it 
until she felt his heavy sperm-laden balls smack heavily against the smooth 
white cheeks of her naked upturned buttocks. 

He lay still for a moment atop her, breathing hard, the air raspy in his 
throat; then he grunted and expanded his cock buried deep in her, flexing it 
muscularly inside the tightness of her soft fleshy sheath, moving it into 
her cunt another fraction of an inch deeper. 

Rhoda groaned. He continued, repeating the expanding action several times, 
each time eliciting tearful groans of agony and shame from deep in her 
throat. Surprisingly then, slowly, the stretched passage began to adjust, to 
accommodate the great length and breadth of the throbbing cock deep up 
inside her wet love channel. Her grunts of pain became fewer as he began a 
slow grinding motion of his pelvis, insinuating his cock even more tightly 
into her naked crotch, expanding and stretching the resilient walls of her 
cunt until her whimpers of pain became mewls of forbidden pleasure that she 
couldn't control. She was on fire. Unbidden, her loins began to move under 
him, counterpointing his revolving grinding motion. 

She was ready to beg, he grinned triumphantly to himself. Levering himself 
up on his arms above her, he withdrew his massive prick from her until only 
the head of it remained clasped between the fleshy folds of her softly 
hair-lined now-hungry cunt. 

"Now baby! Beg for it! Beg me to fuck you!" 

"No! Please nooo! Haven't you done enough to me . . . already! Do you . . . 
have to . . . keep on .. . humiliating me?" she whimpered, legs widespread 
beneath him. 

"Beg! Goddamn it! Beg! You know the words!" he roared, expanding the 
blood-engorged head once more, just inside, against the sensitive walls of 
her vagina. Rhoda mewled in ecstasy. She couldn't help it. Every fiber of 
her being rejected it, but suddenly she was saying it . . . saying those 
words she thought she would never say. 

"Ooh yes! God! I-I want it! F-Fuck me! Y-Yes! Please . . . fuck me?" she 
begged, rasping the words out between tightly clenched jaws, realizing that 
now nothing was left to her. There was no pride ... no morals; all there was 
in the world was sensation . . . the feel of his pulsating huge cock buried 
deep in her sensate cunt. 

"Where?" 

"In my c-cunt!" It was easier now and she moaned the lewd words out with 
desperate conviction. 

With what? Goddamn it! With what?" 

"With that big c-cock of yours!" she moaned. 

Don rocked above her, thrusting in and out of her with short, smooth 
strokes, her body reacting of its own volition, her fight against the lewd 
sensual sensation in her loins already lost on the field of dishonor and 
ravishment. She had no further will to struggle; she only wanted to 
surrender unconditionally to the wanton desires of her flesh, and the 
thought of her surrender brought further excitement to her, the summer heat 
lightning jumping from nerve to nerve and grounding in the close wet 
tightness where Don's cock had begun to thrust longer and faster into the 
love-starved pussy that had for so long been a barrier to her complete 
fulfillment. 

Rhoda felt her whole body responding to the increased speed and depth of his 
stroking into her. She squirmed and writhed beneath him as he dropped his 
lust-distorted mouth to hers, and she thrust her tongue deep into his throat 
to be sucked. She moaned incessantly up into his face, her passion-fired 
mind willing now to accept anything. She began to grind her naked loins up 
to him in tempo with his plunging, driving cock, her lovely face contorted 
with desire, her eyes glazed, nostrils flaring and her breath coming in a 
jerky panting rhythm of the ages-old dance of animal coupling. 

Never in her life had Rhoda believed that such rapture existed. Never had 
she expected that from the licking and sucking of her cunt to this moment 
with his cock moving in her cuntal passage, filling her completely, that she 
would want anything so much. It was marvelous . .. magnificent! 

Now she found as she moved with him, sliding her cunt up and down his thick 
shaft, that the intensity of her sensations became more delicious and 
unbearable. She hadn't known that lying beneath a man, his cock in her cunt, 
being fucked against her will - being raped, as it were - could possibly be 
so pleasurable; likewise, she hadn't known that she would want to give 
pleasure in return. That's what she wanted. She was being given this 
wonderful thing .. . against her will, but now .. . now she wanted to give 
of herself in return. 

Oh God! It's wonderful! Don't ever let it stop! I want this marvelous cock 
fucking me in my cunt. .. forever! 

He reached down with a hand, moving it over her gyrating buttocks to the 
defenseless puckered nether ring of her anus. Dipping a finger in the 
viscous moisture that seeped from the well-filled coral passage above, he 
circled the tiny hold before placing the tip of it against the rubbery 
softness of her back passage. He felt her sharp intake of breath, the sock 
of it in her body as he pushed slightly against the elastic tightness of the 
warm puckered opening. 

"Now you're going to get it, baby! I'm going to shove my finger up your ass 
. . . as far as I can shove it!" he gloated. 

This was it! His words were a further excitant to her already inflamed 
passion, and wantonly, insanely, she wanted it.. . she wanted to be hurt... 
to hurt until she screamed. 

"Yes! Oh yesss! I want it! I want your finger in my asshole... Oh God, I 
want it everywhere!" she strangled, delirious rapture overcoming her. 

He pushed hard! His finger surged into her all the way to the palm of his 
hand. She screamed as the finger wormed in past the resisting elastic 
muscle, deep up into the rubbery sponginess of her warm, un-used rectum. 
Never had she felt the agony of such pleasure-pain in her whole life; even 
as unbelievable sweet rapture filled her loins, she adjusted to the painful 
presence in her anus and tried to skewer herself back onto that sadistically 
torturing middle finger; at the same time, she strained to absorb his 
monstrously huge cock completely into her slaving cunt. 

Now he thrust into her with increased speed, feeling the bulge in the 
separating tissues while she writhed wildly, uncontrollably beneath him, 
grinding up and down his cock with mounting fury, her legs jerking, toes 
curling, buttocks moving, her back passage against his finger in abject 
subjugation to the double ravishment of her loins; then he began to pound 
into her, yanking his fingers from her anus with a hissing pop, using both 
hands to press her knees back against her breasts, mashing them, exposing 
the whole of her naked and defenseless crotch to his merciless attack. 

Her lovely face contorted with passion. She felt it coming to her, and she 
began to chant up into his face. 

"Ooh, oh, oooohhh! Fuck me, hard! Harder!" 

He slaved away, thrusting and plunging wildly, his jackhammer strokes into 
her becoming ever more and more forceful. 

Damn! I've never known a woman. . . who could take me. . . like this! 
Christ! She's a tiger! 

And then it was there for her! 

She tossed her head wildly, her body convulsing in wave after wave of 
muscular relaxation that brought her to the heights where brilliant 
multicolored stars, planets and shooting comets cavorted; there she was, one 
with the stars, her spirit soaring free for ages, the moments of time 
expanded for her; then she fell through limitless space, weightless, to land 
feather-light on the couch in her own living room. 

As in a dream, she heard herself when she had been transported, rocketing 
into sensual space, her voice unreal in her ears. 

"AAAaaghh! I'm almost there! It's coming ... to me! Now! Oohhh! Now! 
NOOOoow! Oh dear God! It's . .. it's heerre!" 

Don, pounding into her, felt the great tremors in her body and knew that she 
was in orgasm even as his own began deep up in him, behind his great cock, 
in his balls, hosing through him in great spurts from the lust-inflated head 
of his cock, the hot white viscous semen jetting far up into the dark moist 
confines of her wildly clasping cunt. 

"God! Oh God! Rhoda! Baby! I'm there . . . right with you! Damn! It's 
pumping me dry! Oh God . . . what a gorgeous cunt!" he groaned and collapsed 
on top of her, his penis still jerking inside her. 

After long moments, Rhoda roused herself and pushed up at him, trying to 
rise from the couch. 

"Let me up now ..." she said. "Why . . . ?" 

"We're finished . . . ! You got what you came for. . . " she said dully. 
"I've got to get myself straightened up ... " Reluctantly he pulled from her 
with a faint, popping sound, his cock rapidly deflating as he sat up on the 
edge of the couch. He began to dress while Rhoda lay back on the cushions, 
her hand clasped over her pubic triangle in a faintly growing embarrassment. 

When the plant guard was dressed, he stood to his feet and looked down at 
her. 

"You're a luscious piece ..." he said. "We'll have to have another go at it 
sometime." 

"Like hell!" she snapped. "This is it ... the end of the line . . . except 
for one thing - I'll take that tape, now!" 

"O.K. I keep my bargains baby . .. but don't bet too hard that we won't be 
seeing each other!" he grunted, reaching for his attache case. 

He opened the lid, fumbled with the recorder and palmed an extra blank 
cartridge, which he handed to her. Rhoda accepted it and glared up at him. 

"Good-bye Mr. Proctor!" she said pointedly. 

He turned and walked to the door where he paused his hand on the knob. He 
looked back at her. 

"One thing, baby... you'll have to admit .. . you enjoyed it!" 

"Please go," she said simply. "You've done enough to me already." 

Don Proctor left the Grey apartment in a state of joyful elation he could 
hardly contain. He had had a completely satisfying fuck, he still had the 
doctored tape of Phil and the unidentified - except to him - industrialist, 
but even better, he had a complete taping of all that had transpired in 
Rhoda's apartment from the time he had first closed his attache case and 
threatened to leave. God! What luck! He'd have that little piece of tail 
flat on her back anytime he wanted it now. 

 Chapter Four 

Taylor Robbins, D.Sci. Cal Poly, '48 brilliant research scientist and 
president of the company he had founded, Research and Development 
Corporation, based in Seattle, sat with his wife, Tina at the plush bar. 
Tina's dark, brunette beauty stood out from the common crowd, even in Las 
Vegas, where female beauty was a plentiful commodity. Her flashing black 
eyes were angry. She had already downed three martinis in quick succession 
and was beginning to show the effects of the alcohol; her speech was 
slurred, coming to him over the muted sounds of the casino that drifted in 
to them ... the soft click of the wheels and the chanting calls of the 
stickmen all blending into the general background hum. 

"All right," Taylor said, finally, in exasperation. "You can have another 
five bills ... but that's all! If you lose that... go see a show ... or go 
back to the room ... understand?" 

Tina was petulant, acting the part, almost, of a spoiled child. "No, 
Taylor... I don't understand... ! Aren't we here to have some fun ... ?" 

"For Christ's sake, Tina! You've already dropped over two thousand! I'm not 
made of money! ... Besides, I'm here on a business deal... And you horned in 
on the trip!" 

"O.K. . . . then, you take care of business ... and I'll take the fun," she 
said, brightening and putting her hand with its long, slender, 
well-manicured fingers on his own big, strong-fingered hand. 

She gave him a suggestive, lascivious look, her eyes smoldering, smokily, at 
him in the subdued light, as she continued, "... And, maybe, we could have 
some fun, together ... later ... eh?" 

Her delicate fingers made a lewd symbol of their joined hands on the table 
top. Taylor jerked his hand away from her and grunted, "Do you have to be so 
Goddamned vulgar... in public?!" he seethed. 

Taylor may as well have slapped his wife's face. She was startled, shocked. 
She dropped her eyes, the long lashes fluttering as she fought for control. 
Never, ever, would she allow him to make her cry in a public place; despite 
her deep hurt, she looked up at him, her black eyes burning into him. 

"What's happened to us ... Taylor?" 

"Not a damned thing that you couldn't solve!" he grated, his anger rising in 
him. 

"Meaning ... ?" she queried, raising an eyebrow. 

"Get the hell off the sauce ... and quit twitching that beautiful behind of 
yours at any and every sonof-a-bitch that comes down the pike!" 

"Very specific ... Mr. Robbins!" she taunted. "Why don't you crawl down off 
your cross!?" 

"At least, I can be discreet! That's something you never are!" he hissed, 
almost apoplectic, now. 

"And, can you be honest... darling?" her voice harsh, dripping with sarcasm. 

Taylor stood to his feet, removed his wallet from his inside breast pocket, 
took five one-hundred dollar bills from it and flung them to the table top. 

"Have fun!" he said, grimly; then, with finality, "But, that's the absolute 
limit!" 

"Thanks! Thanks for nothing . . . Shylock ... or is it Don Juan ... ?" she 
jeered, gathering the bills and stuffing them into her handbag with 
trembling fingers. 

Reaching for her empty martini glass, she raised it to her lips to drain the 
last drops from it, "Order me another one of these Mothahs before you go to 
meet Mata Hari!" she demanded. 

He curbed a sudden desire to slap the insolent, knowing look off her face; 
instead, he leaned down, putting his face up close to hers and breathed an 
angry so to voce command, the threatening tone undisguised even in the 
whisper. 

"Don't you ever say anything to anybody about why I'm here ... or who I came 
here to see!" 

Straightening up, he signaled the cocktail waitress to him and ordered the 
martini for his wife. She sat in shocked silence, aware that she had really 
stepped out of line, this time. He was angry with good reason, now, and 
fearfully, she expected he would punish her in some way. He always had! 

Finally, she said, "Taylor... I-I'm sorry ... truly sorry." 

"I'll find out how sorry you are ... later!" he growled. 

Seething with anger, Taylor left his wife in the bar and entered the casino. 
The roar of sound, the frantic activity soon relieved him of his anger. He 
looked around, noting details, absorbing sounds and enjoying his present 
role as spectator. 

Nothing ever changes, here, yet the whole place is in a constant state of 
dynamic change; people come and go, several hundred new faces replacing 
those who are just leaving, and pitifully few of those leaving ever leave 
with more money than they brought with them; similarly, faces change, as 
employees come and go, the croupiers and stickmen are different, yet are all 
of one mold. He realized he was drawing generalities, as he gazed around the 
multi-million dollar carpeted temple of wager, alcohol and blatant sex. Yes, 
nothing ever really changes, he decided. 

The clientele seemed to be mostly week-enders he noted, the dinner crowd 
still catching the nine o'clock show, but the tables were jammed shoulder to 
shoulder with ardent gamblers. 

Along the walls, row upon row of slots added their mechanical din to the 
roar of human voices, the louder, cutting tones of the stickmen rising above 
all the cacophony as they chanted their litany in response to the rolling 
dice. 

He recognized the frantic, clarion call to him, inherent in the wild, 
fabulous action that was The Strip in Las Vegas; however, the calculating, 
finely trained, scientific mind of Taylor Robbins told him exactly what the 
odds were - everything was in favor of the house - and he was having no part 
of this scene ... as far as gambling goes. He was there, he reminded 
himself, to make a business contact; the gambling he would have to do being 
only an image he would project for as long as necessary ... and no more. 
God! How he wished he could get across to Tina that it was impossible for 
her to win any real money in Las Vegas! She'd probably lose the five hundred 
he'd just given her in a matter of minutes! 

The good, solid sound of two-beat Dixie, a famous headline belter dishing it 
out over the wailing horns came to him from the stage in the adjacent 
lounge, her imploration for Bill Bailey to please come home interspersed 
with the rhythmic click of the roulette wheel, the croupier's voice droning, 
"Sixteen on the red," while at the nearest craps table the stickman chanted: 
Six! Six a number! Let's have odds the hard way. Come on, get 'em down... 
Field your bets! Here we go! Shooter's coming out! Four! Four... six the 
number. Looking for a six. Sir! A six'll do it for you! Let 'em roll! Roll! 
It's seven! Seven's the loser! Next shooter! Coming out, Sir? All bets down. 
The dice are coming out! Let 'em roll...,!" 

Taylor wandered, casually, from table to table, heading for the far corner 
where he was to meet her. He mused to himself that his meeting was like some 
old-fashioned melodrama or bad cloak-and-dagger, James Bond-spy-thriller 
type as seen on television or the movies. Glancing at his watch, he noted 
that it was almost time. 

All right, men, synchronize your watches! Let's see. .. she said, exactly 10 
o'clock p.m. in the main casino of the Flamingo in Las Vegas, Nevada on 
Saturday, June 28th... the far comer table... and she answers to the name of 
Wini Brent. Well, here I am... in the right place ... the right time... and 
I damn well hope I'll see the right person. Miss Wini Brent... Taylor 
Robbins... number sixty-nine reporting! God! This is real corn! Maybe Tina 
is right... she may turn out to be Mata Hari... reincarnated! 

Standing on the fringe of the crowd around the table he studied the faces 
clustered, intently, around the play of the cubes on the felt, his 
analytical mind sorting them out, eliminating the obvious tourist 
housewives, the hardened gamblers, the too-perfect showgirls, narrowing the 
choices until he was fairly certain that the petite redhead with the 
pixie-face framed in a feather cut, dressed in a mini-mini thing that had 
shrunk from both directions; from where he stood he could see the expanse of 
breasts, deeply cleft the white, translucent skin innocent of sun-tan in 
this Mecca of roasting epidermae. As he watched her, closely, he convinced 
himself that she had very little, if anything, on under the pale green 
mini-dress. He looked around, again, weighing the evidence, coming to the 
conclusion that the only other woman at this table who might possibly 
qualify was the fully mature, statuesque brunette over to his left, five 
spaces down. 

The redhead was almost directly across the table from him, and he 
concentrated on watching her for a few moments. Satisfied of his ground, 
ninety-nine percent positive, now, in his own mind that she had to be Wini 
Brent, he extracted a C-note from his wallet and worked his way up to the 
table. 

The money man pushed a stack of five-dollar chips at him. He left half the 
stack on the pass line. In so doing he attracted the attention of the 
flame-haired girl who looked up at him, levelly, her impish face breaking 
into a slight smile that told him she was pretty sure of him, herself. He 
looked away from her to the shooter, the big brunette, and watched as she 
crapped out, a vulgar oath referring to a specific oral-genital sex act 
ripping from her in regular barracks style, as she tossed down another 
five-dollar chip. Taylor moved the remainder of his chips to the pass line 
and watched the brunette roll an eight. 

The stickman chanted: "It's eight, easy eight, lady..." Picking up the dice, 
the big-bosomed brunette held them between her palms, prayerfully; Taylor 
looked over at the redhead, and she gave him another encouraging smile, her 
eyes boring into him. He noticed that those smoldering eyes were green. She 
put a twenty-five-dollar chip on the pass line. 

Again, chanting his litany, the stickman brought out the brunette: "Eight a 
point. . . four. Eight a number. . . Six! Six, the hard way, six. . . Eight 
a number. . . and a five! Eight! Eight a point. . . Two! Snake-eyes! Pay the 
field. Eight's the number, lady. . . Twelve! Pay the field, again! Eight's 
her number. . . Let 'em roll! Seven! Seven's the loser! Next shooter. Bets 
down . .. Shooter coming out!" 

Now, the little, pixie-faced redhead looked at him with sorrowful eyes, as 
she cocked her head to one side and surveyed him, carefully. Taylor produced 
another hundred and brought twenty-five dollar chips, moved them to the line 
and picked up the red cubes. He grinned over at her as he tossed a natural, 
looking at her for a reaction. She pursed her lips into a kiss and tossed it 
to him, then moved a stack of her own chips to the line. He let his all ride 
and rolled a five-deuce, again! 

"Seven, the winner!" the stickman intoned. "Pay the front line! The 
shooter's hot! Get your bets down . . . He's coming out, once more! Will he 
or won't he ... ? Same lucky shooter. . . coming out. . . " When Taylor 
looked up, she was gone; then, suddenly, she was beside him, the light, 
heady perfume she wore thick in his nostrils. He glanced down at her. She 
was a vision of loveliness, as he looked down the cleft of those perfect 
breasts, almost all the way to her navel, noting at the same time that the 
dress creation she wore had peek-a-boo cut-outs along the sides, dipping 
almost to the waist. 

"Drag some of that, Mr. Robbins... and we'll go on a sightseeing tour... 
O.K.?" she murmured, throatily, in his ear. 

"Miss Brent... ?" 

"Wini... Wini Brent," she affirmed, smiling up at him, disarmingly. 

The stickman prodded: "Here we go ... Shooter coming out! Same lucky 
shooter! Sir? Coming out now... ?" 

He left a single chip, picked up his winnings and backed away from the 
table, someone behind him taking his place, immediately. She stood beside 
him as he pocketed the chips. 

"You were hot!" she said. "Maybe I should have let you make a run ... ?" 

"Accident..." he allowed. "It's only money... Where shall we have our little 
conference ... ? Drink ... in the bar?" 

Wini took his arm. "My car..." she suggested, firmly, and with finality. 

She led the way, treating him to a view of her behind as she walked, just 
ahead of him, toward the parking lot. Taylor controlled his desire to reach 
out to those undulant orbs to feel their smooth muscularity as they worked. 
The outline of them under her dress was invitingly sexy, and by the manner 
of her walking she projected a sensuous, almost salacious effect. 

Damn! That's sexy as hell! I'd just love to get my hands on those! She's got 
nice tits... too! God! If I play it right... I might be able to get her into 
the sack with me... tonight! Christ! I'm already getting the hots for her! 

Wini drove her new Jag; Taylor, belted into the other seat, admired her 
quick, sure handling of the powerful car as she churned out into the desert, 
turning off the highway, shortly, onto a secondary road and, finally, 
entering a dirt track, she braked to a halt and extinguished the headlights. 

A cold, pale moon cast its light into the car and Taylor could see her, 
plainly, her small, pixie features looking a little mysterious in the 
half-light. The scene, the situation was not lost on him; he felt the 
familiar signs in his loins, a slow building of desire, the crawling 
sensation in his scrotum, his penis becoming tumescent and beginning to 
throb, slightly, as he began to build sex fantasies around her. 

She turned to him, full face. "We can talk, privately, here," she said. 

"No bugs ...?" 

"Only the crawly kind," she affirmed. "That's why I came out here." 

"In my position... I can't be too careful..." he began. "Trust me, Mr. 
Robbins ... This is a perfectly safe place," she said. "Now ... why do you 
need my particular services?" 

Taylor parried, "And, your services, Miss Brent... What do they include ... 
?" 

"I can enter and leave any building ... open any lock ..." she said. 

"But, you're a woman ... and so tiny ... " She smiled. "Sometimes, being a 
woman is an advantage . . . And I'm in top physical condition." 

"Most plants have security guards..." he offered. 

"I can take care of myself... believe me Mr. Robbins. I studied Karate in 
Japan ..." she said, matter-of-factly. "Now, really... I must know what you 
need me for?" 

Taylor paused, before giving her an answer. "I want the research data on a 
new product that's being developed at Northern Chemical and Research," he 
stated, flatly. 

"And, the nature of it... ?" 

He waited again, looking at her, measuring her, finally deciding he could 
trust her, as she gazed back at him, levelly, her intelligent green eyes 
showing great interest in what he had said. 

"A material ten times better than Teflon!" he said. 

"And, I suppose you've already tried ... What have you done ... so far ... 
?" 

Taylor's answer was candid. "I tried to buy it from the young chemist who is 
developing it." 

"A bribe ... ! And ... ?" 

"He turned it down cold!" he answered, ruefully. 

"So . . .he couldn't be bought! How much ... ?" Again, Taylor studied her 
and decided to give honest answers. He said, "One hundred and twenty-five 
thousand!" 

Wini was interested. "What's his name?" 

"Phil Grey." 

"Married ... ?" she queried. "Yes." 

"Children ... ?" 

"No, I don't think so ..." he answered. 

"I'll have to have a hundred and fifty thousand," she said, casually. 

Taylor's breath caught in his throat; he hadn't expected her to ask that 
much. 

Going on, Wini said, "Half now ... half after I deliver ... O.K.?" 

Breathing deeply, he said, "It's a deal... but I don't carry cash ..." 

"Naturally ... Monday morning deposit a certified check in the downtown 
branch of Wells Fargo . .. made out to The Cinderella School of Beauty and 
Charm," she instructed. 

"Some kind of cover ... ?" he queried. 

"No, it's for real... You'll be making an endowment..." 

"Are you for real... Wini?" he asked, reaching out to put a careless hand on 
her nylon clad knee. 

"Yes ... Mr. Robbins ... I am ... but sex is not one of my ... services!" 

His hand moved, surely, gently, smoothly up the inside of her thigh. 

"Nonsense ... You use sex ... all the time ... in your business!" he 
ventured. 

"Not with clients!" she snapped. 

Moving constantly, his hand was now up under her dress and his fingers 
slipped under the wispy leg band of her nylon panties and probed in the 
softly curling hair to the warm, softly palpitating slit below her pubic 
mound searching for the sensitive clitoris in its soft, protective canopy of 
flesh. He felt the electric shock in her body as he found it, her pelvis, 
suddenly, sliding down and tilting upward, her thighs splaying out offering 
him full access, invitingly, a low moan escaping her lips as she leaned 
toward him. 

"Goddamn you, Taylor!" she swore, her lips avidly searching for his. "Why... 
did you ... have to do that... ?" 

"Simple ... I like sex!" 

"So do I... too damned much!" she moaned. "It's a weakness of mine ..." 

Her searing lips worked on his, her tongue snaking into his mouth, sending 
him sensual messages, his mind-body interpreting them while his prick came 
jerkingly alive in his pants. 

Boldly, knowingly, her tiny hand moved down to his crotch, expertly opened 
his zipper, delved inside and came up with his cock, bringing it out into 
the car, liberating it... making it available. 

The touch of her hand on his hardening, fleshy rod caused it to jerk in her 
hand, expanding and growing, even as she worked the foreskin back to reveal 
the bulbous head of it, blood-engorged, shining smoothly, redly ... filled 
with lust for her. She fondled and caressed, her fingers, finally, 
attempting to encompass its thickness; failing this, he felt her agile hand 
measuring him in hands-breadth, her delicious tremor of excitement 
communicated to him through her undulant pelvis as her loins were ignited 
with an even more intense fire. 

She broke their kiss, suddenly, and gasped, "There's a blanket behind the 
seat . . . These cars aren't made for this!" 

Taylor felt behind the seat, found the blanket, got out of the car and 
spread it on the ground a pace away. 

"Not quite the Beverly Hilton," she said, getting out of the low-slung car. 
"But, be my guest..." 

Wini came around the car to him from behind, just as he straightened up; she 
reached around him, began to undo his belt and unbutton the single button at 
the waistband. His trousers dropped to his ankles and he stooped to remove 
them over his shoes; then, he removed the rest of his clothing as she turned 
from him to remove her own things. He tossed his clothes onto the seat of 
the Jag, turning completely nude, at last, to find her standing naked before 
him, waiting. She had removed everything but her shoes. 

He was stunned by her beauty. In the pale moonlight, her body shone like 
translucent Italian alabaster. The twin mounds of her upthrusting breasts 
were thrown into sensuous high relief, the pink nipples hard and pointed. 
Her flat stomach showed the undulating twin ridges of muscle rippling 
smoothly under the skin. A tiny, wasp-waist blended into perfectly swelling 
hips, the darker triangle at the cusp of her thighs was a mass of softly 
curling red hair. Even in the cold, half-light of the Nevada desert moon, he 
could see that she was a true redhead. 

Dropping, suddenly, to the blanket, she lay down on her belly, spread-eagle, 
and her hips began to move, sensuously, the perfect, milk-white, half-moon 
orbs of her buttocks hollowing and dimpling with her salacious movements. 

Quickly, Taylor lay down on top of her, the throbbingly needful ache in his 
cock becoming more painful with each passing minute. His rod slipped easily 
down between the rotating cheeks of her working behind, running on down into 
the moist, warm furrow, the blood-engorged head coming to rest on the tiny, 
tremblingly erect clitoris enshrined there. 

Lying on top of her, he ground his hips down onto the gyrating buttocks 
beneath him and heard the mewling pleasure-sounds emitting from her throat, 
as the hard contact of his blood-engorged shaft with the warm, pulsing flesh 
of her slit struck sparks of sexual passion in her. 

He kissed the back of her neck under the carefully feather-cut red hair, 
then began to move farther and farther down her body, kissing her soft 
shoulders and back, sliding off her, finally, to kneel between her 
widespread legs; in the same way, he paid homage to her buttocks and thighs 
with lips and tongue. Now, he used both hands on her waist, pulling her up 
to her knees; she came easily up, the white, smoothly sculpted thighs 
spreading, naturally, as she rested on knees and shoulders, her head turned 
sideways on her hand, underneath. Her rounded, twin-moon buttocks were 
raised high, wig-wagging in the air before him, and the viscous moistness of 
her cunt glistened like pearls of dew in the pale light of the moon. 

Crouching down behind her, he used his hands, one on either side of the 
hair-lined softness of her fleshy female cleft, his thumbs slowly drawing 
the inner lips apart, revealing the tight, trembling passage to her 
innermost being. He moved his head forward and placed his lips firmly 
between the coral lips of her nether mouth and flicked his tongue deep into 
the velvety smoothness of her vagina. The quick, sucking intake of her 
breath, the nerve-shock in her body, told him that she loved it... wanted 
more of it, as her hips pressed back against his face, grindingly. He moved 
his tongue in circles against the sensitive walls of her pussy, the 
excitement of it growing in her as she began to moan in ecstasy. 

God! She's a hot little bitch! Hot as a firecracker. . . and she's really 
got a short fuse! 

Her breath came in jerky gasps. "Oh, God! Taylor! That's wonderful! Eat me! 
Eat me ... some more!" she groaned. 

His searching tongue contacted the tip of her tumescent clitoris and licked 
it, her bottom dancing with salacious undulations, the whimperings and 
mewlings becoming increasingly louder and incessant, seeming to come from 
deep in her throat, animal-like in their wailing croon of sexual arousal and 
throbbing need. 

Behind her, his mouth working, lewdly, Taylor's pulse pounded hard in his 
veins, his prick throbbed, achingly, and from the orifice in the tip of the 
red-cowled head he could feel thick, viscous droplets of preparatory 
lubricant oozing out. He was ready! God! He was more than ready! 

"Put it in, now .. . Taylor!" she moaned back at him. 

Rising to his knees, he moved up close in back of her, his rock-hard shaft 
of man-flesh standing out before him. He could hardly wait to get it into 
her. The agony of his need had been building steadily within him, and he 
could feel the acid-like burning in the root of his cock that told him it 
would not take much more excitation to bring him to a spewing ejaculation. 

As he moved in closer behind her, she reached back behind and between her 
legs, grasping his massive cock in her tiny hand and guiding it the last 
inch to the seething, hungry wildness of her moistly prepared pussy. 

The bulbous, blood-engorged head went into the wet, satin-lined cuntal 
opening, and as he pushed and prodded, the resilient flesh of her passage 
expanded and moved before it in wavelets, the elastic muscles of the portal 
stretching, cruelly to accommodate him. 

"Oh, you're big and nice!" she gasped. "Fuck me good with it!" 

Wini pushed back against him, helping him, making his entrance into her 
easier, her hips wriggling and gyrating; literally screwing herself back 
onto him, impaling herself on his ever growing and expanding cock; then, 
with a final effort, he flicked his hips forward, driving with the strength 
of his legs, to drive the last punishing inch of his giant cudgel inside 
her, and he could feel the fluttering internal muscles as she worked them to 
milk at him. He grunted in satisfaction when he felt his pelvis smack into 
her backside, his balls swinging free below, grazing the pubic hair of her 
loins, tantalizingly. 

Her hand was there, still, her fingers caressing his testicles, the 
deliciously lewd sensations arcing across his nerve endings. He paused with 
his cock buried to the hilt up inside the warm, clasping, vaginal vault and 
expanded the head, flexing it outward, the entire length of him in moist 
contact with the softly pulsating walls of her sensate cunt. 

Reaching out to her hips with both hands, he began to move in and out of 
her, slowly, at first, ramming his prick home full-length and pulling out 
until only the head remained in the dewy exudation of her clasping furrow. 
He began to squeeze and knead her full, firmly rounded buttocks, the smooth, 
cool flesh plastic under his strong-fingered manipulation. 

Now, he felt the load of his semen, blocked by the cofferdam of tumescent 
flesh - somewhere back behind the root of his cock - begin to burst. He 
slammed into her faster and longer, the smooth strokes hammering into her 
with demon-like force. She thrust back at him with equal fury, absorbing him 
to the fullest with every stroke and reveling in the magnificent power of 
his great, rampaging cock fucking into her. 

Her breath was coming in one continuous whine of pleasure. The urgency of 
her need convulsed her body and he knew that she would soon be reaching the 
brink of her climax. She was moaning in an increasing crescendo, incoherent 
animal sounds coming from her in an unceasing flood of sound. 

"OOOOooooh! God! I'm ready ... to cum!" she squealed, her hips pushing back 
at his plunging cock, frantically, and suddenly, explosively, she was there! 

"It's sooooo good! AAAAAAaaaaaaggghh! Oh, Christ, Fuck me! FUUUUUuuuuUUUck 
meeeee!" 

Wini reached back behind him, pulling his hips into her, tighter as he 
fucked into her for several more agonizingly pleasurable strokes, just on 
the verge of ejaculation, burning like acid in the base of his prick, before 
his semen jetted from him, surgingly, hosing the white, hot, viscous fluid 
through the lust-filled length of him, squirting from the nozzle to spray, 
thickly, all over the inside of her wildly clasping vaginal passage. 

They collapsed together onto the blanket, their breathing harsh in their 
lungs from the effort. After a few moments, she stirred under him and he 
rolled to his side as she turned on her side to face him, her red hair 
framing her pixie-like face; she had her breathing under control, now. She 
smiled impishly at him. 

"That's a lesson in how to spoil clients ..." she said. 

"I'm paying enough ... Spoil me some more ..." 

"Later ..." she agreed. "I'm a working girl, now ... I've got to catch an 
early plane back to L.A. I'll call you in a few days ... but don't try to 
call me ... O.K.?" 

"O.K ... ?" 

He reached out to her, taking one of her breathtakingly beautiful breasts 
into his hand to stroke and knead, rolling the nipple to erect hardness with 
thumb and forefinger. 

"Could you take a later plane, Wini?" he asked, then. 

"Yes . . . but let's get more comfortable ... My bed at the Flamingo is a 
lot softer than the rocks out here on the desert. 

 Chapter Five 

Phil Grey was in a mental purgatory. He didn't know what to do or where to 
turn; the final stages of his research project were going well, only a few 
more qualitative tests would determine, within a few days, whether or not 
Northern Chemical and Research would go into full-scale production of his 
new plastic coating. He knew he had a real winner .. . had known it from the 
time he had stumbled across a new molecule cluster and had analyzed it, 
discovering that it had many of the properties of other commercially 
produced slick plastic coatings derived from certain combinations of 
chlorine; however, this new substance proved to be tougher, able to 
withstand extremely high temperatures and lent itself, easily, to wider 
applications. The happiest part of his discovery was that it could be 
produced ridiculously cheaply. This, of course, put it in direct competition 
with one of the giant chemical manufacturing firms. 

He had been given the go-ahead to research it on his own, an almost unheard 
of thing at venerable N.C.&R.; he was one of the younger junior chemists, 
and he had worked for the company such a short time that he had no real 
hopes of getting a major assignment for some time. It had been a real 
feather in his cap when he had been told to see what he could do; shortly, 
he was to learn that Dr. Friday, his division supervisor, had spoken up for 
him and assured the president of Northern that Phil could do the job. 

He was thankful that the brilliant, world-renowned Dr. Friday had such faith 
in his ability, and Phil had worked long, hard, overtime hours to analyze 
that peculiar molecular structure; as a result he had made excellent 
headway, arriving at the formula in a very short time. Then, he had begun 
the long series of qualitative tests to determine its possible applications. 
He found it to be an amazing substance. He knew that it would revolutionize 
many aspects of American industrial technology; he even suggested its use in 
the space effort. From his testing, he knew that it could be used to coat 
the outside of space capsules much more cheaply than at the present time. 
Phil had been walking on air after a highly secret interview with an 
official of NASA, and there were hints of a contract with Northern to work 
on the problem. It was heady stuff for Phil! 

Then, Dr. Robbins had come into his life, quite unexpectedly. Phil had been 
sitting at a table near the runway in a bottomless-topless bar enjoying a 
bourbon and the sexy gyrations of a voluptuous nude dance, having stopped 
there on the way home, because he felt the need for some care-free 
relaxation. There was another reason, too. He wanted the sexual stimulation 
afforded him by the suggestive dances. His sex-life with Rhoda left much 
room for improvement, he felt. 

At any rate, as he sat there, a tall, distinguished looking man came over to 
his table, carrying his drink, and introduced himself. 

"Dr. Grey. .. ? I'm Taylor Robbins of Research and Development Corporation . 
. . You may have heard of me ... ?" 

Phil greeted him, cordially, for he had, most certainly, heard of Dr. Taylor 
Robbins; everyone in the industry knew of him. His research with pesticides 
was well known to almost every chemist; his papers had been read by him 
before almost every scientific body throughout the world, in addition to 
having been published widely in various journals. - Meeting this man had 
produced mixed emotions in Phil; he felt exulted that the older, famous man 
had wanted to meet him as another professional, but there was also 
trepidation, a small, lingering doubt was there deep in his mind . .. 
something that told him to be suspicious of this man's motives. Phil was 
aware that Taylor had the reputation of being a sharp, shrewd, man of 
business, especially since he had organized his own firm for industrial 
research. There were also rumors that this charming, brilliant man was also 
ruthless and calculating in his approach to some problems. People who knew 
him were heard to say that he was an extremely tough-minded individual who 
always got what he went after. Knowing these things about Dr. Robbins - some 
of them obvious items of gossip - Phil still felt that he should be somewhat 
circumspect and close-mouthed in the man's company. 

Phil further knew that their first meeting in the bottomless bar had not 
been accidental. Taylor Robbins had made a point of initiating the contact. 
They had talked pleasantly of current scientific developments, at the same 
time, mutually enjoying the spectacle of the bottomless dancers. Their 
second meeting had been arranged, then. Phil had met Taylor at a place of 
Dr. Robbins's choosing, an out of the way bar where neither of them was 
known. Phil had gone to the meeting; indeed, had readily agreed to it, 
because he was curious to know why this great man was obviously cultivating 
his friendship for some reason; Phil was quite sure, in his own mind, that 
there was an ulterior, perhaps even a sinister, motive involved, and the 
possible intrigue beckoned to him. 

His suspicions were borne out for him in their subsequent conversation at 
the second meeting. Taylor Robbins had tried to bribe him . . . buy him out! 
Phil had been both shocked and flattered, but he had turned down cold 
Robbins' offer of an eighth of a million dollars - one hundred and 
twenty-five thousand dollars - for Phil's secret formula. 

The man must be mad! If I sold out to him . . . I'd lose my job . . . maybe 
never be able to get another one like it! It wouldn't be hard for the 
security people to figure out how the competition got it. True. . . I won't 
get anything other than my salary. . . Oh, there might be a bonus. . . But, 
all research data belongs to Northern... I, and every other researcher have 
to sign an agreement to that effect. Actually, I'd be stealing. . . and I'm 
no thief! I'd sure hate to mess up my future in this industry. 

There's still such a thing as loyalty. . . and Northern had sure given me 
some breaks! Why should I turn on them . . . for money? Hell! I'm tempted... 
there's no denying that! Who wouldn't be. . . ? Christ! The things I could 
do with that amount of loot! Buy that nice house we both want. . . start our 
family. . . acquire some good investments... good growth stuff. . . But I 
know Rhoda would agree with me. . . We just couldn't do it with crooked 
money! No, Sir! I've made my decision . . . and I'm going to stick with it! 
I don't want to have any part of Taylor Robbins. . . or his money! Anyway, 
no amount of money could convince me to sell out Northern . . . or myself! 

After the meeting with Taylor Robbins, Phil had driven to another bar and 
proceeded to get drunk, finally going home, sick at heart, worried to death 
that Taylor would find some other way to get hold of his research notes. He 
was sexually frustrated and needed the comfort of sex. Unfortunately, he had 
been brutal with Rhoda. He hadn't meant to be, nor had he intended it, but 
her questioning his late arrival had triggered his already mean mood into 
outright sadistic rage. He hadn't understood himself, for afterward, he was 
truly sorry, contrite and guilt-ridden. Rhoda had made him sleep on the 
couch that night. He had deserved it, he guessed, but he had vowed to make 
it up to her; he had even agreed that they should go together for marriage 
counseling. That was a giant step in the right direction. 

Phil could not understand it, the reason for it seemed to escape him, but 
for the last several nights, the lovemaking sessions in bed with Rhoda had 
been different . . . more satisfying, for him; although he knew it had not 
been so for Rhoda. Phil's need had been great. 

He had kissed her breasts, the nipples coming up hard, erect, and then she 
had writhed under him, moaning gently. 

"Phil, oh Phil! Love me! Lick me . . . there!" 

There had been both shock and pleasure in him. He had been trying, 
unsuccessfully for some time, to convince her that the act was desirable, 
but the very thought of cunnilingus had been repugnant to her. She had, 
consistently, adamantly refused his overtures in that direction. 

He had moved over her loins, his tongue seeking and probing, but he had been 
inept, in too much of a hurry to get to his own enjoyment, leaving her naked 
loins too soon, to ram his hard cock into her with rampaging fury. She had 
been left frustrated, right on the verge of a soaring climax as his 
thundering prick had spewed into her... too soon. He couldn't understand her 
quick tears, and she was unable to communicate her need to him to tell him, 
specifically, what it was she needed. 

Damn it to hell! You're damned if you do . .. and damned if you don't! I 
wish I could understand Rhoda. . . figure out what she really wants! God! I 
was so hot. .. and so was she. .. but I couldn't bring it off. . . for some 
reason. She sure surprised me. . . wanting me to go down on her. . . 

Then, Wini Brent had come into his life. 

She was the newest girl in the secretarial pool. He had sent down a report 
to be typed, and she had made it a point to return it to him, personally. 
She had wanted to make sure that she had spelled all of the technical terms 
correctly. Standing at his elbow, helpful, eager eyes looking out through 
her glasses up at him, as they checked over the twenty page report, 
together, she had captivated him. 

"What did you say your name was ... ?" he asked. 

"Wini. .. Wini Brent..." she murmured. "I'm new . . . " "Yes .. . Well, I 
like the way you did this report for me. . . I'll have to try to get you, 
again ..." he promised. 

She smiled. "I try to please . . . Mr. 

Grey . . . every way I can ..." she lilted. 

Phil looked at her again. Red hair framed a small, pixie face, petite body, 
sensibly dressed in skirt and blouse, not too revealing, although he was 
sure that underneath the working clothes there was a magnificent body. He 
came back to her face where the glasses gave her an owlish look and decided 
that without her glasses she would be extremely attractive . .. not 
attractive . . . beautiful! That was the right word. The implication in her 
voice was not lost on him. 

"Every way . . . ?" he asked. 

"Why don't you try me ... " "Meet me for a drink... right after work . . . ? 
The Pump Room . . . ?" he suggested. 

They had two drinks. Their hands wandered. "I have a small apartment . . . 
not far from here ..." she invited. "Let's go!" 

They were in her bedroom. 

"God . . . you're a beautiful woman!" Phil said, staring at her nakedness. 
She lay on the bed nude. Phil still stood beside the bed, his trousers still 
on; he was hesitant . ..wanting it. . . wanting her, yet he held back. 
Infidelity was new to him; twinges of conscience stabbed him just at the 
point of his taking action. 

Christ! What am I doing here. . . ? I'm sure not playing ball with Rhoda! 
But, damn it! I'm so hot now. . . there's no turning back! What the hell! I 
guess I'll only live once! 

"Let me help you get your pants off . . . Phil," Wini volunteered. 

She sat up and reached for his fly, unbuckling his belt, zipping down and 
assisting him to remove trousers and shorts; then, she reached up, put her 
arms around him and pulled him down to the bed on top of her, her mouth 
open, expectant, waiting for his kiss. Her body was all soft, warm and full 
of curves. His mouth was on hers and her tongue burst into his mouth 
bringing the sweet-sour of her with it. Below her pelvis ground up at him, 
capturing the length of his cock between her thighs and bringing his 
blood-engorged shaft to painful hardness. He could feel the lubricating 
juices spasm from the tip, the jerking tool resting in her nervous furrow. 
His cock was so sensitive now that he felt he would come to ejaculation with 
the slightest extra pressure. 

He thrust his tongue against hers, pushing on through to lash his oral 
member into her mouth. She sucked his tongue, gently, using her teeth to 
nibble on it, taking tiny, playful bites. He couldn't get Rhoda out of his 
mind; the guilt of what he was doing to her, to their marriage, weighing 
heavily down upon him. 

Wini turned her head, breaking the oral contact. 

"Thinking about your wife . . . ?" she asked. 

It was almost as though she were psychic, able to read his mind; he was 
startled. 

"Yes .. . yes, I was ..." he admitted. 

"Don't!" she said. "I want you to live ... for just this moment . . . this 
space in time . . . with me." 

Intelligently, Phil followed her reasoning. It was not a new philosophy of 
life. "Existential..." 

"Yes . . . the only way ... for me!" she said. Her body quivered and moved 
licentiously under him. 

"You do want to . .. fuck me .. . don't you . . . ?" she pouted. 

"Yes! Christ, yes!" He had never heard a woman use the word before; it 
excited him, even more. 

"Then why don't you tell me . . . ?" 

"Wini ... I want to fuck you!" 

"How?" she moaned. "Tell me how you want to fuck me!" 

"God! I want to bury my cock in you ... as far as it'll go . . . Fuck you 
like a rutting bull!" he grunted. 

Her legs splayed out beneath him, and her hand searched down between them to 
the hardness of his cock. Her cool hand found him, touched him, her fingers 
closing around the rigid maleness of him, sending gasps of pleasure 
emitting, involuntarily, from his throat. 

She pulled her body in close, her hands running down over his body to his 
buttocks; grasping them, she strained to get his tool wedged into her. She 
shaft of his lust-filled penis lay hard in the cusp of her thighs, pressed 
into the narrow, hair-lined, quiveringly ready slit. Now, she guided the 
slick, rubbery head up and down her pink, wet furrow, spreading the inner 
lips to gain access to the waiting portal of her palpitating vagina. The 
hair grazed and teased his cock, making it grow even harder in her hand, and 
the ache of it . . . the need to plunge it into her was so great he could 
hardly stand it. 

God! He couldn't hold back another second. Flicking his hips forward, he 
drove his massive phallus into the hot, gaping cuntal passage below, rutting 
into her with animalistic abandon. 

"OOOOoooooooh!" she moaned beneath him. 

His cock went into her, stretching and driving all before it. He felt the 
warm, elastic sheath of her vaginal walls slip wetly over his sensitive, 
naked length. The knobbed cudgel raced up her cunt to the full depth of her 
and he hit bottom, his loins crashing into hers as his balls slapped hard up 
against the full, rounded cheeks of her bottom. 

Screaming a guttural, animal-like scream beneath him, Wini twisted and 
turned trying to escape the sudden, unexpected pain of his entrance, but he 
thrust even harder into her, an animal cruelty in him, making him want to 
hurt her. She thrust back at him, then, lifting them both off the soft 
mattress as she took him full-length and breadth into her seething pussy. 
Insanely, he began to pound into her with long, ramming thrusts of pure 
lust. 

Wini moaned unceasingly beneath his pummeling, pumping body, her legs 
splaying wide, her loins rising to meet him, working herself up and down his 
skewering cock fucking into her searing depths, chanting a rhythm as old as 
man, dancing the dance of age-old sex that was new to every man and every 
woman. Her mouth hung open, her head turning from side to side, her eyes 
glazing, as she crooned to him, mewling deep in her throat. 

"Fuck me hard . . . harder! Deep! Hard! Fuck me! Oh, fuck me!" 

Her words served to fuel his own desire, as he continued to drub his 
blood-engorged shaft into her, his cock a living instrument of torture and 
pleasure to her at one and the same time. 

Suddenly, she had to have more . . . more pleasure . . . more pain. Her 
contorted face grimaced up at him, as she shrilled, her voice inhuman in 
timbre and volume. 

"Oh, God, Phil! Hurt me! Make me scream! I can't cum until you . .. make me 
scream!" 

"What ... do you want. . . Wini, Baby!" he panted. 

"Shove your finger in my ass! Shove it in . . . all the way!" 

Phil had never done it, but he didn't hesitate. The sadistic streak in him 
was counterbalanced by her need for painful punishment. He reached under 
her, groping between those slaving buttocks as he drove his rock-hard cock 
deeply into the moistness of her demanding, voracious cunt. He stretched 
widely, his hand plundering, the tip of his little finger searching for that 
brown, puckered nether ring of her rectum. 

He found it. Teasingly, he allowed his finger to circle that secret place. 
Viscous moisture dripped down from the cuntal opening, wide-spread to 
receive his hard rod of maleness that drove into her. It served to lubricate 
the tight, puckered little hole, as he dragged his finger through the 
wetness, moistening the tip of it. Probing experimentally, he pushed, 
feeling a little give, then shoving harder he felt the tight elastic muscle 
ring give way completely and his finger went into her up to the first 
knuckle, his fingernail scraping the soft, inner passage. She jumped, her 
instinctive reaction to get away from the pain, shrink back away, causing 
her loins to jerk back and down, screwing into the softness of the mattress 
in an attempt to escape the first punishing pain. 

"AAAAAAaaaaagh! God! Oh, God it hurts!" 

He shoved, again, and his finger went into the soft sponginess of her rectum 
to the second knuckle. 

"More! Give me more! Make it really hurt!" she demanded. 

Screwing her hips back, she worked herself back on his finger until it was 
sunk in her backside all the way to the palm of his hand. He moved his 
finger in a circle inside her anus, feeling his own rampaging cock through 
the thin walls of tissue that separated her cunt from her rear channel. It 
was a rare sensation to feel his penis sliding in and out of her; he 
experimented with moving his finger in such a way as to gain maximum contact 
and the erotic feeling it gave him was almost unbearable. Then, he began to 
move it in the fleshiness of her backside in tempo with the larger phallus 
of his loins that ravished her cunt. She spread her legs wide to give him 
better access to her pelvic floor as both instruments drubbed in and out of 
her to the inexorable rhythm of primitive sex . . . raw, lustful, salacious 
sex. 

Phil felt his cock as it grew ever larger and longer inside her, the 
pleasure-pain building ever higher in his balls as they slapped heavily into 
the cheeks of her upturned ass below. He knew it would not be long before 
his load of semen would have to be jettisoned, but he would be able to hold 
out only a little while longer. God! Why didn't she cum? He was giving her 
everything he had! 

She moaned with passion incessantly beneath him, as her thighs opened and 
closed around him in time to his long, hard plunges to the depths of her 
searing pussy. Suddenly, he knew that she must be near her climax. Her moans 
became articulate, the words spitting out of her mouth at him. 

"OOOooooh! Fuck it! Fuck it, hard! HAAaaaarrrd! God damn it! Fuck it! Fuck 
it! Fuck it! Hard! Hard! Hard!" she chanted up at him, her eyes suddenly 
uncontrollable in her head, her face contorted and straining, as she reached 
for the last erg of pleasurable sensation. 

"Oh, God! I'm almost there! I'm going to cum! Oh, Christ! I'm cumming! 
AAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!" 

She pulled her thighs back against her chest until the whole of her punished 
vaginal furrow was presented up to him to pummel and fuck as he willed, her 
crotch squirming and gyrating beneath him, wildly, wantonly, her hungry 
cunt-lips clasping and unclasping as his rod sawed back and forth in her 
with ever-increasing force. 

She thrust up at him then, locking herself to him with all her strength, and 
her loins jerked and spasmed up against his belly. She held her breath for 
several moments as he stroked into her, she holding her body rigid, 
absorbing every bit of him to the core of her. She collapsed with a great 
sigh, expelling her held breath, the uncontrollable tremors inside her 
vaginal vault communicating their messages to him. He had almost reached his 
own jetting climax, but he stopped, resting atop her, hoping that she would 
rise to him, again, for a second climax. 

"Oh, Phil! That was good!" she smiled up at him. "But you . . . you haven't 
finished, yet!" 

"No! But, I'm almost there!" 

"Pull out for a second!" she said. "I'll show you something ..." 

Obediently, he raised himself, allowing his painfully sensitive prick to 
pull from her steamy moistness. She reached down between her legs, grasped 
his cock firmly and guided it to the entrance just vacated by his finger. 
Satisfying herself that it was lined up, she began to screw her rectum up on 
the length and breadth of his rod of hard male flesh. It was a deliciously 
excruciating sensation of pleasure-pain, and he thought he would cum off 
before his penis was entered all the way in the soft sponginess of her 
backside. 

"Now, fuck it into me . . . just like it were my cunt!" 

Willingly, he did as she bade him, pulling out and slamming into her for 
several strokes, the unbelievably sharp sensations racing the length of his 
cock as he moved in the tight constricting sheath. Suddenly, the acid, 
burning sensations of his ejaculation burst upon him, and he spewed his 
white, viscous sperm deep up into her bowels, the pumping, spasming feelings 
never seeming to end. Never in his life had Phil experienced anything like 
that. 

"Christ! I'm being pumped dry!" he panted. 

He tumbled down on her, no longer able to support himself above her. He lay 
still, his cock throbbing in her back passage. 

Several minutes passed. Wini stirred under him. 

"Did you like it, Phil?" she asked him. "Yes! God yes! I've never had a fuck 
like that!" 

"Phil, I'm going to be honest with you ... I seduced you . . . you know ..." 
she said. "Yes ... I know ..." 

"And you liked it.. . liked me . .. ?" she persisted. 

"I loved every minute of it!" he affirmed. "I'm very expensive!" "How 
much...?" 

"I want the formula you're working on!" "Christ! Why don't you ask for the 
moon!" he spat. 

"We'll split 50-50 when I sell it ... " she offered. "No sale!" 

"You'll have me ... to boot!" she bargained. 

"You tempt me!" 

"We could go away, together ..." 

Phil was silent. 

"You don't want me, then . . . ?" "I didn't say that!" Phil snapped. "I'm 
thinking!" 

"Northern will never pay you what it's worth!" she probed. "I know!" 

"People should have money when they're young . . . and can enjoy the things 
that money can buy . . . ?" she went on, building her case. 

"You're right, again!" 

"You're being used! Your talents are being exploited ... in exchange for 
what . . . ? Nine or ten thousand dollars a year in salary . . . ? Is that 
about what you make . .. Phil?" she asked, making the question a statement 
of a cold fact. 

"About that ..." he allowed. 

"And . . . what have you got. . . ?" 

"Nothing! Not a God damned thing!" he blurted. 

"Well. . . ?" 

"I'll hate myself!" 

"Sooo . . . hate yourself all the way to a Swiss bank!" she smiled. "What 
have you got to lose?" 

"My job . . . my wife ..." 

"You can get another job ... if you need to . . . another wife if you have 
to ... " she said. 

"Then, there's my self-respect!" 

"You can learn to live . . . with ... or without it!" she suggested. "You'll 
find it's not that all-important!" 

"I take it you're speaking from experience. . . ?" he queried, sarcasm 
dripping from his voice. 

"Yes." 

"You're a little whore!" 

"The world's oldest profession!" she said, defiantly. 

"Doesn't it bother you that I called you a whore?" 

"No! I've learned to live with it ... " "And, you like it . . . ?" he 
probed. 

"The money's great!" she answered. Then, "Well. . . what is your answer . . 
. ?" 

An idea had begun to form in the back of his mind, and now, it pushed its 
way forward, crowding out other, more logical reasoning. He made his 
decision. 

"Yes," he said. "I'll do it!" 

"Come on . . . let's freshen ourselves up a little bit . . . and I'll take 
you back to bed . .. would you like that . . . ?" 

"MMMmmmm, Yes!" 

"What is your pleasure, this time . .. ?" 

"A little sixty-nine would be fine ..." he said. 

* * * The following morning Phil did some homework. From his files he 
removed a folder of his notes along with several reports. He re-typed new 
first and last sheets and signed his name on the last sheet. 

Finding Wini Brent in the Secretarial pool, he told her that he wanted an 
original and two carbons of the report. 

"The second carbon is for you . . . You'll have to figure out how to get it 
out past the security guards!" he told her. 

"I'll find a way, Mr. Grey ..." she said, easily. 

"Will I see you tonight?" 

"No .. . I'll be quite busy ..." she answered. 

"Give Taylor my regards!" he said jauntily, sure of himself. 

"Taylor? Taylor who?" 

"Your tailor ... I guess ..." he said, not quite so sure, now. 

"You're fun!" She said. "Always saying the craziest things!" 

"Yes," Phil said. "I know ... I'm laughing myself sick over this one!" 

"You'd better run along and play with your chemistry set some more ..." Wini 
reminded him. "Or I won't be able to get your report back to you in time!" 

"Miss Brent . . . you're so right! I'm going to blow the place up ..." he 
grinned. 

Phil chuckled to himself all the way back to his project office. It was a 
joke he was really going to enjoy! 

 Chapter Six 

Rhoda had recovered, physically, quite quickly from her ordeal with Don 
Proctor. She had bathed, cleaning herself thoroughly, then had soaked for 
more than an hour in a tub of hot water, before she felt really clean, 
again. Psychologically, she would never be the same; although Don Proctor 
had forced her to have sexual intercourse with him, she had to admit to 
herself that she had enjoyed the soaring orgasm to which he had brought her. 
Now, she knew what it was she had been missing in her marriage. 

In bed with Phil she had become aroused, knowing now that she could be 
brought to the heights, and that there was a way she could be assisted 
there. She had overcome her shyness in sexual matters enough to ask him, 
outright, for it. Her great need dictated it. She had asked Phil to . . . 
lick her ... get her ready, really ready for a meaningful sexual encounter, 
but Phil had been too fast, too peremptory, hurrying to get his hard cock in 
her to bring himself sexual satisfaction. It had been difficult for her. She 
had been so frustrated that she had gone into the bathroom, ostensibly to 
clean herself up, but in reality, not knowing in advance what she would do 
there, she had been successful in bringing herself to orgasm, relieving her 
frustration and allowing her a restful night's sleep. Never would she have 
dreamed that her sex needs could have driven her to solitary masturbation. 

After she had taken that long, soaking bath after Don's departure, she 
turned her attention to the damning tape of Phil's conversation with an 
unknown man. Clearly, Phil had agreed to sell-out, but she was determined 
that this bit of evidence would be destroyed. Opening the plastic cartridge, 
she used her sewing scissors to shred the tape into thousands of pieces, 
then she had taken the tiny pieces of acetate in a paper bag to the unused 
incinerator behind the apartment building where she watched it burn 
completely to ash. She had further vowed to herself that she would not 
mention it to Phil, unless he brought up the subject himself. In her own 
mind she really couldn't believe that he would do something like that. She 
wanted to hear it from his own lips. 

She thought of Don Proctor. Should she tell Phil about him . . . and what he 
had done to her? She decided that nothing would be gained. Proctor had 
blackmailed her. She had paid off. It was as simple as that. Lurking in the 
back of her mind was the idea that Don may have done her a service in 
awakening her libido; however, thoughts of that bestial man awakened the 
terror and fear in her that she had first experienced. The sexual release 
had only been at the end of that horrible session. She preferred to remember 
that and often dwelt upon it, hoping against hope that she could have the 
experience again and again in her own marital bed, with Phil, her husband. 
Phil, whom she loved even more dearly, now, would never know what she had 
done for him. She wanted it that way! 

Tuesday morning, Rhoda tried to accomplish most of the paper work involved 
with her application for a teaching job with the Seattle school system. She 
and Phil had discussed it; Phil had been agreeable to her trying for the 
job, telling her that perhaps her solution was the wisest one. 

"The economics of today seems to make it almost necessary we have two 
incomes ..." he had said. "So, go ahead and see what you can do about 
getting that job." 

Rhoda had been overjoyed, for through her extra income, they could plan 
ahead to a more comfortable, although certainly not a more luxurious 
existence. 

The doorbell rang. Rhoda arose from the table where she was writing out the 
information required on the application forms and went, reluctantly, to the 
door. Who in the world can it be... I sure don't need any gossipy neighbor 
woman dropping in on me, today . . . 

She opened the door. Don Proctor stood there, his twisted grimace of a smile 
on his face. 

"Good morning, Rhody, bab ..." he began. 

Swinging the door, hard, she tried to slam it in his face. Proctor was too 
quick for her; he swung his attache case forward, wedging it between the 
door and the jamb. He pushed the door open against her puny, woman-strength 
and walked boldly into her apartment. He was followed by two men, each of 
whom, also, carried similar attache cases. The last man in closed the door. 

Instant terror struck her; she shrank back away from them, looking with 
horrified eyes from one to the other of the three neatly dressed men. Don 
stepped toward her while the other two lounged easily near the door. Rhoda 
stepped backward a step, keeping her distance. 

"W-what do . . . y-you want ..." she managed, trying not to show her terror. 

Smoothly, seductively, the security guard began, "I've got some new leads on 
that husband of yours . . . and ..." 

Rhoda knew, then, what his angle was. She stepped back another step and 
said, "I don't want t-to hear it!" 

Proctor moved smoothly toward her. 

She shouted, her voice terror-stricken, "Don't you dare touch me! G-get out! 
All of you!" 

Running forward, she dodged Don's advance and made for the door; the larger 
of the two men grabbed her, easily, clamping a hand over her mouth. 

"Got you, baby!" he gloated. 

Don Proctor stepped up in front of her, his ferret-eyes glinting with anger. 

He grated out at her, "Now, listen, you little bitch. . . we're going to 
have a nice quiet afternoon, together . . . here in your snug Little 
apartment . . . and, you're going to cooperate! If you don't . . . nobody'll 
ever be able to recognize you again!" 

Rhoda struggled in the big man's bear-hug, attempting, desperately, to free 
herself. He laughed deep in his huge barrel chest. 

"Don't waste your strength, baby! You're not getting away from me!" he 
warned. 

"Take her into the bedroom, Allen," Don ordered. 

The third man, who had still not spoken, preceded them into the bedroom; he 
hurriedly stripped the counterpane, blankets and top sheet from the bed, 
tossing the bedding to the top of the dresser. Allen deposited Rhoda on the 
bed as Don and the number three man produced handcuffs from their belt, 
locked one wristlet of each set to the corners of the headboard, each 
reaching for one of her wrists, they pulled her down on her back and locked 
each of her wrists securely with the manacles. Allen, now bending down over 
her, his big hand still clasped over her mouth, grinned lewdly into her 
face. 

"This'll be fun for you, too ... if you want it to be!" he suggested. 

Producing a wide roll of adhesive tape from his attache case, Don tore off a 
generous strip, wadded his handkerchief into a ball, and reaching down 
forced her jaws open with thumb and forefinger. 

"O.K., Allen . . . take your hand away!" he said. 

Allen removed his hand from her mouth, and Don stuffed the handkerchief 
between her teeth, quickly applying the adhesive across her lips to make an 
effective gag. 

"This doesn't have to stay on," Don Proctor said, "Whether it stays ... or 
comes off ... is up to you ..." 

The girl's fear-glazed eyes, wide open, pleading with them looked up to see 
the three men looking down at her, salaciously, lewdly, lasciviously, their 
lustful eyes devouring her voluptuous figure. 

"When do we undress her . . . Don?" Allen asked. 

"Anytime . . . right now ... if you want to ... " Don croaked, sitting down 
at the foot of the bed and reaching for one of her feet, he quickly removed 
one, then the other of her shoes, dropping them carelessly on the floor. 

God! They're actually g-going to r-rape me. . . all three of them! What can 
I do ... oh God. . . hear me. . . hear my prayer! I'm so alone. . . and so 
helpless! Please. . . help me! Oh, HELP ME! 

Allen reached down to the neck opening of her blouse, his big hand grabbing 
the thin material, his brown, pig-eyes dancing lewdly in his head. He 
chortled, "Damn me . . . I've always wanted to do this to a woman!" His hand 
slashed downward, ripping her blouse to shreds; again, and again, he grasped 
and ripped until he had it all off, the torn pieces of material scattered 
around the room like confetti. 

Meanwhile, Proctor had unhooked and unzipped her skirt, hauling it down over 
her legs, roughly, exposing the tapering white columns to their sex-crazed 
gaze. Rhoda kept her legs clamped tight together. She knew what the sight of 
her body was doing to these men, but she could do nothing to turn them off. 
She looked up at the third man. He stood as though he were mesmerized, 
gazing intently at her loins, the whiteness of her panties, with tiny tufts 
of soft blonde pubic hair curling out, somehow holding him entranced. 

The big man leaned over her, a long switchblade knife in his hands. Rhoda 
screamed, the gag making it silent, as he used the knife, the blade chill 
against her crawling flesh; he slipped the knife expertly under the straps 
of her bra, the keen edge severing them like butter; then, a third time, 
between the cups, his knife snicked, and he plucked the bra from her, 
exposing the magnificent, full, rounded orbs of her breasts to the three 
rape-bound men. 

Don Proctor reached to the waistband of her panties; he started to tear them 
from her, ripping them to shreds, but he was stopped in mid-movement. 

"No! Save those for me!" the third man in the room screeched. "I want 'em!" 

"O.K. . . . take 'em off of her, yourself. . . Sky!" the security guard 
assented, releasing the panties and sitting back. 

"No! No, I won't touch her ... I just want her panties! Just . . . don't rip 
'em when you take 'em off of her!" Sky said, nervously. 

Proctor winked at Allen, shaking his head negatively, and the big man 
followed his lead. 

"Sorry, Sky . . . you want her pants . . . you get them yourself!" 

Sky looked, pathetically from one to the other of his companions, his face 
bleak with disappointment. 

"All right! I'll take 'em off myself!" he grunted. 

Approaching the bed he reached out, gingerly, grasping Rhoda's panties on 
either side, and began to tug them from her hips with extreme gentleness as 
he crooned to her. 

"Little lady ... I don't want to do anything to hurt you . . . you're such a 
beautiful little thing . . . just like a doll ... all I want's your panties 
... to keep. You won't mind that . . . will you . . . you've probably got 
several extra pairs ..." 

He now had pulled her panties down to her knees, his eyes locked on the 
softly curling hair at the triangle of her sex. Don broke in, spoiling the 
mood for Sky. 

"God damn it, Sky! Get those fucking pants off of her!" 

Sky was startled. Suddenly, hastily, he pulled her wisp of nylon panties off 
and retreated to the corner of the room burying his face in them. 

"God! Oh, God!" he moaned. "They're so soft. .. and warm!" 

Rhoda felt so cold and exposed, the terror in her pounding in her veins, her 
chest heaved, her breasts moving up and down, provocatively, as she gasped 
for breath, the gag in her mouth feeling nauseous to her, and her head 
flailed from side to side with her desperation. She hadn't understood the 
by-play with Sky, but she was impressed by the gentleness of his hands as he 
had removed her panties. 

I can't imagine why he'd want my panties. . . and put them all over his face 
like that! 

Don Proctor came to sit on the bed next to her, his hand reaching out, 
casually, to fondle a breast, his fingers massaging and kneading, his thumb 
and forefinger rolling the coral nipple until it was hard and spiky. 

"Don't fight it, Rhoda, baby . . . we've got a lot of time ..." he said. "I 
want you to listen real good to this tape . . . then you'll understand . . . 
why I came back ..." 

He removed the portable tape recorder from his case and set it in motion. 
Rhoda heard her own voice: "OOH, YES, DON! I-I WANT IT! F-FUCK ME! Y-YES 
PLEASE . . . FUCK ME?" Don's voice: "WHERE?" "IN MY C-CUNT!" 

"WITH WHAT? GOD DAMN IT! WITH WHAT?" 

"WITH THAT BIG C-COCK OF YOURS!" 

My God! He made a recording. . . that day . . . he raped me! 

Shame and humiliation at the memory of what she had said that day flooded 
through her as her quick, hot tears ran down her cheeks. He's going to use 
that. . . as - as blackmail against me! Oh, God! When will it end! There's 
always more. . . and more. . . and I'll be used again . . . and again! My 
God! Oh, My God! 

Proctor was speaking again, "Now, that pretty well establishes what you are 
. . . doesn't it?" 

Rhoda wagged her head from side to side. 

No! He's implying that I'm a - a p-prostitute. . . now! Oh God, I need you! 

Crack! 

His hand snaked out, slapped her full in the face! 

"Bitch!" he snarled. "You want to keep that tape away from your husband . . 
. don't you?" 

Her streaming eyes pleaded with him, her head moving, affirmatively. He went 
on. 

"Doesn't that tape show that you're nothing but a whore?" 

Rhoda's fear was too great. The vision of herself. . . facing Phil as he 
heard it . . . flashed through her mind. 

Anything. . . but that! 

Affirming his words, again, her head moved up and down. 

"Are you ready to cooperate?" he asked her. 

Forgive me! Dear God. . . forgive me! I can't help it! I have to do. . . 
whatever. . . he wants me. . . to do. I've never been so helpless. . . 

Again she signaled affirmatively. 

"If I let you loose and take off that gag . . . will you promise not to 
scream or run away ..." he asked. 

Her bobbing head up and down told her acquiescence to his demands, and he 
leaned forward to rip the adhesive tape from her lips. She spat out the 
handkerchief. 

"You bastard!" she shot at him, and licked at her lips where the tape had 
made them raw. 

Allen guffawed. "That's it gal . . . show a little spunk!" 

Don's face had crimsoned, but Allen's remark turned his anger, the twisted 
grin returning to his face. 

"Yeah . . . that's right ... a little fight'll make it more fun!" he agreed, 
reaching into his pocket for his key case. "Unlock those cuffs!" 

He twisted the key in the lock, freeing one of her hands; likewise, Allen 
freed the other, and she sat up rubbing her wrists where the steel bracelets 
had chafed her, cruelly. 

Sky spoke up, now, from where he stood in the corner, still holding her 
panties to his cheek. "It's about time for a drink ... isn't it . . . Don?" 

Proctor looked at him with distaste. "Yeah . . . Rhoda'll have one with us 
... ! Get some glasses!" 

The broad-faced man named Sky left the room, quickly, and they heard him 
rummaging around in the kitchen searching for the glasses. 

Don Proctor looked over at Allen, who had sat down beside Rhoda and was 
running his big paw of a hand over her full, pouting breasts, 
appreciatively, feeling their soft, silkiness as he teased a coral tipped 
nipple to erectness under his thumb and forefinger, and said, "Christ! If 
I'd known Sky was such a kook I'd never have let him come along!" 

Allen shrugged his big shoulders. "Just goes to show you," he grunted. 
"Everybody's got some kind of a hang up...." 

Shivering inwardly, Rhoda tolerated the big man's caresses. She had already 
faced her point of decision, passed it, her mind made up that there was 
nothing she could do to delay or escape her fate. Resignedly, 
fatalistically, she had decided she would have to do their bidding; her 
cooperation would assure that she would not be hurt ... or killed. Now, she 
waited, eagerly, for Sky to return with glasses from her kitchen. They had 
brought liquor with them! That's what she needed to dull the shame and 
humiliation in her. She hated the stuff, and only drank an occasional drink 
to be sociable when she had to be. 

Having raised both nipples to spiky hardness, Allen used his mouth, sucking 
up the entire areola; he used his tongue and the roof of his mouth to nurse 
at a breast, the suction becoming increasingly painful. Until, suddenly, 
again that unexplainable warmth flowed out, permeating her breasts, racing 
through her belly and igniting a flame in her loins. She moaned with the 
horrible pleasure of it, her hand stealing up to his neck to pull his 
massive head in close to her. 

What's happening to me. . . God! That feels wonderful! His mouth . . . just 
his mouth on my breast. . . is making me hot all over again! It's wrong... 
so wrong! I shouldn't be reacting to a ... a stranger like this! But, I feel 
so.. . sexy . . . and wanton . . . almost like I want them to. . . f-fuck 
me! Oh, dear Lord! Forgive me! I don't want this... all I want. . . ever is 
Phil! This way I'm . . . an a - adultress . . . and a . . . whore! A whore! 
That's what Don told me I was. . . Am I? Am I a whore? Oh, dear God! I'd 
rather die! 

Her hips began to undulate, almost imperceptibly, and the muscles of her 
thighs relaxed, allowing them to fall open an inch or two. Don Proctor, 
watching, saw and his hand went out to travel the length of her inner thigh, 
caressing, kneading and teasing, arriving, finally, at the sparse blonde 
triangle of curly hair, a finger trailing lightly into the closed, pink 
slit, and with a deep shameful groan from her lips, her beautiful, 
marble-white thighs, the milky, translucent skin forming little goose-bumps, 
splayed open to his plundering hand. His finger dipped lightly into the 
portal below, viscous, pearly moisture coating it as he drug the tip up 
through her open defenseless furrow to the enshrinement of her clitoris 
within the soft, palpitating flesh of her golden, hair-lined cunt. 

Sky came bustling into the room carrying four gleamingly clean water 
tumblers on a tray. Jack looked up at him, his face twisting into his 
horrible grin. 

"What the hell took you so long." he needled. 

"Christ! She's got bugs in her kitchen! I had to wash and dry some glasses 
before we could use 'em!" Sky defended. 

"Well, bully for you! Get that bottle of brandy out of my case . . . and 
we'll drink to the bugs in the little bitch's kitchen!" Don said, 
sarcastically. 

The broad-faced Sky shot Don a malevolent look but said nothing as he went 
about getting out the bottle of domestic brandy and poured, carefully, 
handing a glass to Rhoda, first. 

"Here you are, little lady ... IT didn't really mean anything by saying 
something out of line about your housekeeping," he apologized. "I-I just 
can't stand . . . bugs!" 

"I understand..." she said. "Thank you . . . " When they all had their 
drinks in hand, Sky raised his glass and smiled evilly at them, "A toast ... 
to our hang-ups . . . whatever they are ... " Don glowered and drank; Allen 
clinked glasses with Sky and grinned; Sky looked down, sipped his drink and 
Rhoda took a large swallow, gasping as the potent brandy slid down her 
throat. She wanted it only for the alcohol; she knew it would make her 
coming ordeal easier. 

Rhoda drained her glass, quickly, and held it out for a refill. Sky 
understood. When Don did not reach for the bottle, he did, giving her an 
extra finger's depth, for good measure. 

"There!" Sky said. "That'll deaden things a little for you." 

Rising to his feet, Proctor spat, "All right! Enough of this crap! Drink 
that down, Rhoda baby . . . you're going to get fucked . . . but good! 

Allen laughed. "On with the show ... at any cost ... eh, Don!" 

"You're damned right! I didn't have time the other day to give this little 
bitch the full treatment ..." Don snarled, as he began to take off his 
clothing. While he undressed, Rhoda gulped down the fiery brandy, hoping 
that its anesthetic effect would be speedy. As she drank, her eyes happened 
to lock with those of the broad-faced Sky. Strange! For a moment they 
reminded her of a cow's eyes. He was fondling her panties, raising them to 
his face, rubbing their softness into his cheek. He saw her looking at him, 
and self-consciously dropped the garment into his lap where an enormous 
erect penis stood out through the fly of his trousers, its red, 
blood-engorged knob throbbing wildly. Her eyes followed where the feminine 
undergarment fell; he noticed and pulled the panties over it, his face 
reddening with embarrassment. He turned to pick up his glass taking a large 
sip from it. He looked back at her and his eyes were cruel, now, unsmiling, 
and she couldn't understand the swift change in him. 

He's a real weirdo. . . and, yet he seems so nice. . . some of the time! I 
wonder: . . why he's here. . . what does he want. . . is it just to fondle 
my panties? This is crazy . . . and sick! 

Don was undressed, now, his cock only at half-mast erectness; he reached 
down to his genitals taking his testicles and the root of his cock in his 
hand, the characteristic, twisted smile of sadistic pleasure on his face. 

"The first order of business for you today, Rhoda, baby, is to learn how to 
suck cock properly!" 

Rhoda's eyes widened in horror. She gasped. 

"N-no! No . . . I've never ..." she began. 

"There's always a first time . . . this is it!" 

His strong-fingered hand grasped her waist and jerked her to her feet, then 
applying downward pressure he began forcing her to her knees. 

"On your knees, bitch!" 

She was forced to kneel before him. He thrust his hips toward her, his penis 
rising from the curly mass of hair at his groin on a level with her face. 
She turned her head aside, involuntarily. Grasping her by the hair, he 
twisted her head around painfully. 

"Now, just start off by kissing it . . . and licking it! 

"N-No!" 

Crack! 

His free hand slashed across her face. 

The guard growled, "Do it! Goddamn it! . . . or the next one will be with 
this!" He showed her a heavy ring on his finger. "I'm tired of messing 
around with you!" 

Dear God! 

Tremblingly, gingerly, she reached out and took his half-flaccid prick in 
her hands, feeling the warmth of it, her hands sweating in the palms as her 
fingers encircled it. 

"Pull the foreskin back!" She obeyed, blindly, tears suddenly dimming her 
vision. 

She leaned her head forward and placed her lips on the hardening tip, 
kissing the hardening flesh, then she put her tongue forward tentatively, 
tasting, with trepidation the pungent man-taste for the first time in her 
young life, its flavor strangely not repugnent to her. Using her tongue she 
began to lave it wetly, brushing and grazing from the head back along the 
wide under-side to the base, her nose coming into contact with his pubic 
hair, then back to the corona, now rapidly becoming engorged with blood 
where she lapped at it, and she felt it grow larger and harder in her hand, 
the feeling of it, somehow, tingly, erotic and sexy. 

Becoming aware, now, of other things around her, she felt Allen, behind her, 
sitting on the bed, his knees widespread on either side of her ribs as he 
reached with both hands around her, imprisoning each of her full, 
satin-skinned breasts in his big hands. He began to caress them, his long 
fingers digging into her worm, white flesh, making her wince with the pain 
of it. The nipples came to life, spiking out into the palms of his hands. 
Suddenly, he kissed her on the nape of the neck. It felt horribly wonderful. 
He kept it up, moving out to her shoulders and down her back while he 
continued to tease her breasts. Involuntarily, uncontrollably, she shivered 
with delight, the warmth beginning to grow again in her loins. 

There was a wild, frenzy of new sensations building in her belly and loins, 
thrilling, erotic fermentations she had never dreamed could exist in her. . 
. for her. Suddenly, the delicious masculinity of the cock she licked began 
to excite her, driver her, and she felt a new desire, a phenomenon of her 
psychology, far beyond the horizon of her knowledge. She wanted to suck it . 
. . suck his cock until it spewed its white, viscous sperm into her mouth! 
This she wanted more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. The 
thought was hardly formed, dimly, in her mind, before she began to reject 
it, spurn it as something monstrous . . . unthinkable. 

But I thought it! Oh, God. . . I thought it! I wanted to do it... I felt I 
had to suck his . . . c-cock. . . until he came! Dear God! I'm going crazy! 
I can't do it... I can't do something that... perverted! It's unnatural! A-A 
sin! 

"All right, Rhoda baby!" Don ordered. "It's about time you started suckin' 
on it! 

Without hesitation, without thinking, really, Rhoda slipped her ovaled lips 
over the head of his lust-filled shaft, taking the glans entirely into her 
mouth, her tongue moving in swirls around its smooth, satiny head as her 
lips tightened around it and began a soft, gentle sucking motion. 

Oh! It's happened! I did it! I've got his cock in my mouth . . . and. . . 
and it feels good! Oh, God! It's so big and hard. . . and so smooth! I feel 
like I could suck on it forever! Is this what it feels like to... to be a-a 
whore?. . . at heart!! Don's right. . . maybe I am a whore . . .at heart! 
Dear God. . . forgive me. . . for a sinner! Phil! Could he ever forgive me? 
Oh, these feelings . . . this wanting. . . craving thing in me! What is it 
that's making me change this way? Oooooooooh! I'm getting so hot. . . I 
don't seem to care anymore! I've got to have it. . . now! I've got to be 
fucked! 

Allen, behind her, shifted his position, bringing his hips forward to sit 
just on the edge of the bed, his erect penis in contact with her bare back. 
She could feel it back there, resting hugely against her, and she could 
almost tell by the feel of it that his endowment was overly adequate; then 
she heard him say something; it sounded fuzzy and far away, and she was 
suddenly dizzy. The brandy she had gulped down had hit her, hard. She wasn't 
used to drinking alcohol, at all. 

Allen said, "Let's get her on the bed, Don! I'm getting hot as hell!" 

She didn't hear Don's answer, but she felt herself being lifted, stretched 
out on the bed, and she didn't have that beautiful cock in her mouth. She 
moaned aloud. 

"Oh, don't . . . ! Please, I-I want it ... " "What?" Don's voice was harsh. 

Dimly, she heard herself say, "I-I want . . . sex ... to be loved ..." 

"You've got the words mixed up! You're going to get fucked, baby. Not 
loved!" Don grunted, as he crawled onto the bed, levering her legs apart 
with his knees, exposing the pink slit of her moist cunt to their lustful 
gaze. 

He dropped his head to her loins, his tongue snaking out to brush the 
pulsating clitoris in its canopy of hair-lined flesh. Teasingly, his tongue 
played there, then he nipped with his teeth, taking the miniature phallus 
into his mouth, his oral member stroking its length, and the sensations it 
produced exploded in Rhoda's loins. She ground her hips in small circles 
under her, then pulling her knees up, flexing them, her feet flat on the 
soft mattress, she pushed her crotch up at him wanting more and more of that 
excruciatingly delicious sensation. 

"Damn it!" Allen said. "If you just want to get a blow job . . . let's get 
her ass up in the air so I can take her from the back! She can eat you at 
the same time!" 

"O.K. by me, big man," Don said agreeably. Then, to Rhoda, "Get up on your 
knees, bitch!" 

Together, they pulled her into position. Don lay back, half-supported by the 
headboard; Rhoda was kneeling on all fours, her head over Don's hardened 
cock, jerking in the air before her eyes. She rested on her elbows between 
his widespread legs and reached out to cup his testicles in one hand, her 
other grasped his hard rod of lust-inflated flesh, her mouth ovaling to take 
it into her mouth, again; soft mewls of pleasure came from her throat, as 
instinctively, she began to suck on it, her head beginning to move up and 
down in a slow in-out movement. 

Don's hips began to move in opposition to her, his lust rising, constantly, 
at the sight of her tiny lipstick rimmed mouth on him. He could see the 
flesh being pulled from the inside of her lip on the outstroke; on the 
instroke it was pushed back inside. God! He was getting so hot, now, just 
watching her ... he could cum almost anytime! 

The big man, Allen, had, meanwhile, climbed up on the bed behind her, 
kneeling up, close into her backside, his hands on the full, globoid 
protuberances of her buttocks, smoothing and kneading them. 

"What a perfect little ass!" he grunted, then, suddenly, he began to slap 
her buttocks, lightly, with the flat of his hand. 

Rhoda moaned with pain, but she kept up her rhythmic sucking of the security 
guard's prick, unconsciously, beginning to speed up the tempo, her tongue 
working with her lips as she began to absorb more and more of his rigid 
maleness into her mouth and throat. God! How she hated but loved the taste 
of him! 

With increasing force, Allen, slapped her buttocks until they were red and 
stinging. Rhoda could never have explained it to herself; the pain of his 
slapping was converted to a sexually oriented pleasure, a perverse enjoyment 
of pain, the stinging warmth of it jolting through her like high voltage 
electricity. 

I'm on fire! My cunt feels like an oven! I've got to have a man's cock in 
me! Oh, why doesn't he put it in . . . and fuck me? Oh, God! Will he make me 
beg for it. . . too? 

Wriggling her hips salaciously in the air, she invited him to enter her. She 
wanted it! Her searing pussy, moistly ready, throbbed with her need, and she 
could feel the wetness of her, as pearly drops of the viscous fluid gathered 
on the pink walls of her vaginal passage, forming tiny rivulets of clear 
ichor-like substance. Perhaps this fluid formed by the Bartholin's glands is 
the true blood of the Gods of ancient Olympus that flows now in mortal 
females. 

As suddenly as he had begun the slapping punishment of her buttocks Allen 
stopped, his big hands on her waist, grasping her, roughly, pulling her 
backwards toward him, and she felt the heat of his penis as the head nudged 
into the pink furrow of her cunt, the nozzle smoothly parting the lips 
guarding the portal to her wildly pulsing cuntal passage. Then, with one 
hand still on her hips, he reached down between them, grasped his huge 
hardened shaft and began to draw it up and down the length of her slit, 
teasingly. He made several passes in this manner, spreading the lubricating 
juices over the reddened cowl of his throbbing staff. 

Rhoda could stand no more; she couldn't wait! Groping with a hand in panic, 
finding her way, between and behind her legs, she grasped the rock-hard cock 
dallying there at the "V" of her crotch. Her fingers could not reach around 
it, and she gasped with the realization that the size of it fit the man 
kneeling behind her. Had she expected something different? 

Oh God! It's positively huge! I'll never be able to take that inside of me! 
It'll split me open! 

Her mouth worked with abandon on Don's penis, as he came closer and closer 
to his climax. His misshapen mouth worked spasmodically and he tangled his 
fingers in her hair, pressing her head ever farther down on the 
blood-engorged length of his demanding prick, his hips surging upward at her 
face until she was absorbing all of it into her mouth and throat. 

Goddamn! She's taking all of it! I can't believe it! It's a damn wonder she 
isn't gagging! Christ! Her mouth is like honey! I can't believe this is the 
first time she ever sucked a man's cock. . . ! I just can't believe it. . . 
! 

Now, her tightly clenched fingers, only partially encircling the 
circumference of Allen's cock, began to pull him to her; she sensed the 
convulsive spasms in the sex tool she held, the viscid fluid dribbling from 
the orifice in the head as she steered it up the vale between the soft, 
quivering moons of her upraised buttocks, never allowing it to lose contact 
with the coral flesh between her legs until she had placed it between the 
now ravenously lubricated lips of her wildly demanding cunt, she held it 
there, at the portal, attempting to pull it in to her, as her hips moved 
salaciously around and around the throbbing epicenter of all her feeling. 

Rhoda winced with pain as she felt the lips around her pulsing vaginal 
opening forced widely apart, its elastic muscled snugness resisting, 
momentarily, only to give way before the harsh, brutal pressure Allen 
exerted steadily against her. The agony of the massive pain was too much for 
her; it shattered into her consciousness causing her to emit a long wail of 
torment, her mouth sliding off of Don's jerking, pulsating cock. 

"AAAAaaaagh! Oh, God, not so hard! You're splitting me!" 

Don used both hands as he rammed her head back down on his thick, fleshy 
shaft, even before her wail of complaint was finished. He held her head in 
place, forcefully, as his hips thrust up at her, brutally, his great prick 
racing in and out of her stretched ovaled lips without mercy. 

"Keep sucking, bitch!" he grunted. 

The big man behind her grinned, lewdly; he knew that he had only gotten the 
head of his giant phallus into that tight, squirming pussy. Damn! The sight 
of her trembling cunt as it tried to escape his impaling instrument only 
served to incite his lust-crazed mind all the more. He wanted to hear her 
really scream for mercy, now! He could stand it no longer! Simultaneously, 
he used his powerful hand to slap her smooth buttocks, resoundingly hard, 
ramming forward with everything he had, sinking his huge, hardened shaft 
deeply into her resisting pussy in one surging plunge, forcing the inner 
walls of her vaginal vault in waves before the plundering head until it 
flicked past her womb and crashed into the back wall of her searing passage, 
his testicles, swinging below, smacking heavily into the hair-lined shrine 
of her clitoris. 

The tortured girl screamed, opening her mouth around Don's big cock, but his 
hands kept her head in place, her scream dying in her throat as his rod of 
flesh surged deep into her throat, her lips and throat muscles constricting 
around it, accidentally giving him the final pressure he needed to release 
his lead of sperm. Just in time, Rhoda, jerked her head up, clearing her 
throat of his lust-inflated penis as it began to spew its hot, white, viscid 
semen up into her working mouth. Automatically, she swallowed, and was 
aware, even in the pain-shattered state of her body-mind, that it was good . 
. . that it was something she wanted. 

Oh, God! I've really gone off the deep-end! I'll never be the same! It's. . 
. it's almost exquisite . . . the feel of his cock as it pumps his cum into 
me. . . and the taste of it. . . ! God! I'll never forget the taste. . . ! 

Allen paused, resting it in her, pulling her hips back against him and 
allowing her ravished, tormented passage to adjust to his huge presence in 
her. Goddamn! She was the tightest little cunt he'd ever had it in! He 
expanded his tool inside her eliciting a deep guttural groan from deep in 
her chest. 

Licking and sucking, Rhoda took every last drop of his sperm, Don's cock 
becoming flaccid in her mouth as she finished him off. The plant guard 
slumped back against the head board with a huge sigh, his mouth falling 
open, his eyes closed, completely satiated. 

He groaned, "Son-of-a-bitch! I thought I'd never stop cumming! " Sky leaned 
close to watch from his place in the corner where he had been sitting. 
Rhoda's panties wrapped around his cock, his hand working up and down around 
it as he masturbated. His broad face worked with conflicting emotions. 

"Man! She can really eat cock. . . can't she . . . ?" he said to no one in 
particular. 

Looking over at him, distastefully, Allen said, "Why in the hell don't you 
stop beating that thing . . . and let her suck it for you!" 

Sky's face crimsoned. "Shit no!" he spat. "I can't . . . I-I couldn't ask a 
woman ... to do that!" 

Proctor sat up, straight. "Don't ask her . . . Tell her ... for Christ's 
sake!" he bawled. 

"I-I couldn't do that . . . either ..." he confessed. 

"Hell!" Don fumed. "I'll tell her for you! Here . . . trade places with me!" 

The security guard moved to get off the bed, pulling his now Ump prick from 
Rhoda's mouth with a slight popping sound. The pain in her loins was 
lessened now as her vaginal lining adjusted to the huge fleshy log imbedded 
in her. 

With glazed eyes she gazed about as the exchange took place. Don got off the 
bed and pushed Sky down on it in the place he had just vacated. The broad 
faced man was still fully clothed. He had made only one concession; he had 
removed his shoes. His hand was wrapped tightly around his huge cock, 
enclosed, sheathed completely in Rhoda's nylon panties. Rhoda had the 
strange idea that it was almost as if he were holding on to it for dear 
life. She looked up into his face, dazedly, to see stark fear written on his 
countenance, and she couldn't understand it. Her dazed mind wandered . . . 

What is he afraid of? Is he scared of me. . . ? Or is sex somehow 
frightening to him ... ? Is it possible he's really some kind of pervert. . 
. ? I wish I could do something . . . say something. . . that would help 
him! But, why should I feel sorry for him . . . ? He came here with Don, 
knowing that they were going. . . to . . . r-rape me. . . ! No, now I 
remember. . . He said he came just to watch. . . and, now. . . he's 
involved! They're forcing him to do something he doesn't want to do! 

She recognized that in some way, somehow, Sky and she were kindred spirits. 
Compassion for him flooded through her. She looked up at him and smiled, 
lewdly, her voice seductive as she spoke. 

"Welcome . . . to the . . . club, Sky ..." 

He half-grinned back at her, his lower lip quivering as he said, "The . . . 
club . . . ? What club?" 

Don broke in. "Stop stalling, bitch! Start sucking on that big cock of 
Sky's!" 

Slowly, Allen began now to stroke in and out of her, pulling out until only 
the head of his giant cock remained in her, pressing forward into her until 
his pelvis smacked into her cheeks of her softly rounded ass. She responded 
to him. God! It felt wonderful! She had never been so filled with cock. 
Suddenly, she knew that she wanted Sky's rigid, upstanding member in her 
mouth to suck on. . . suck it to a jetting ejaculation... to give this 
frightened man a sexual release. There was something more in her. .. 
something she did not know until this instant. She possessed the idea and 
made it hers. She dared. Don Proctor was a paper tiger to her now. He had 
already degraded her, humiliated her, fucked her in the cunt and in the 
mouth; he could do no more to her! Now, there was only one way for her ... 
up! 

"Shut up . .. you . . . b-bastard!" she grated out at him, surprising 
herself that she had said it. "This is between Sky . . . and me!" 

Allen laughed aloud. Don's face twisted into a deadly grimace. He had just 
poured a finger of brandy into his glass. He tossed it off in one gulp, set 
the glass down and advanced toward her. 

He sneered, "You're pretty damned uppity all of a sudden . . . you little 
bitch!" 

He raised his hand to strike her. Sky sitting back against the headboard 
made a swift movement under his jacket, his hand coming up with a snub-nosed 
.38 aimed at Don's heart. Sky's voice was steely. "That's all Proctor!" 

Don stopped dead in his tracks, his hand raised to strike. Slowly, he 
dropped his arm, glaring at the broad faced man with the deadly gun in his 
hand. 

"Why, you son-of-a-bitch! I'll have your ass for this.. . pulling a gun on 
me! Don't forget . . . I'm your boss!" 

Sky grunted, "Until ten seconds ago . . . when I resigned!" 

"I'll have you in court for assault with a deadly weapon!" Don snarled. 

"Under the circumstances .. . you won't! Now, get dressed and get the hell 
out of here! Sky said, coolly. 

The plant guard obeyed. He dressed quickly. At the door he turned and said, 
"I never forget, Sky!" 

"I don't either, Don! You've made fun of me for the last time! As a matter 
of fact. . . making me come up here today . . . was one of your ideas of 
making fun of me! Get the hell out of here . . . before I really do lose my 
temper . .. and blast you!" Sky said, drawing a bead on Don's head. 

Turning without another word, Don Proctor picked up his attache case and 
stomped from the room. 

Sky's gun swung back around to bear on Allen, who had stopped momentarily 
while the swift action swirled around him. Rhoda was aware that his penis 
inside her was rapidly becoming flaccid, and unconsciously, she moved back 
against him, wanting him to continue. She was rewarded by the sensation of 
his organ flexing, sending erotic messages to her. 

"Where do you stand?" Sky barked. 

"You and me got no beef..." Allen said, affably. 

Rhoda was dumbfounded at the swift turn of events, but she was relieved that 
Proctor was gone. She hoped that it was the last she would see of him. She 
watched as Sky returned the .38 Police Special to the holster under his 
coat. He looked at her, his eyes soft brown, again - cow-like, Rhoda thought 
- and said, "What were you going to say to me . . . little lady?" 

"I-I wanted to ... to say something ... or do something for you ..." she 
managed, trying to put into words what she had thought. 

He was silent a moment. 

"You know ... I believe you ..." 

Now, Allen, moving behind her, began his slow sawing movement in and out of 
her warm, moist pussy, building delightful sensations, again, in her 
innermost being, the stabbing sexual feelings racing along her nerve endings 
to generate greater incitement of her lust. 

Sky watched as Allen drove in and out of her with ever mightier strokes; 
then she saw his cock jump under the covering of her panties. Her feeling 
for him of a few minutes before flowed back into her; she reached out for 
his member. 

"No! Don't touch me!" he snapped. 

"I'm sorry, Sky ... I didn't mean to offend you." 

"No offense ... I just can't bear to ... to have a woman touch my . . . 
c-cock," he confessed. 

Allen said, "... Or, a man either. Don tried . . . didn't he, Sky . . . ?" 

"Yeah!" the broad-faced man growled. 

Rhoda ovaled her lips over his loins. She wanted to do something for this 
mixed-up man. 

She said, "Put it in my mouth . . . yourself. . . and let me try to suck on 
it for you ..." 

"You won't touch me with anything . . . but your mouth . . . ?" 

"I promise!" Rhoda said. 

Hesitantly, he uncovered only the head of his massive, blood-engorged penis. 
He held it with his hand and guided it to her waiting mouth, poising just 
below her lips. Rhoda held her head still. He advanced the last inch. It 
brushed her lips. She kissed the swollen head, lightly, and Sky gasped; 
next, she extended her tongue and laved the head, licking it all around like 
an ice-cream cone. Sky's breathing became hard, raspy. 

"Oh, God! That feels good!" 

Involuntarily, he thrust his lips up at her face, the head of his giant cock 
popping through her lips and into her mouth. Rhoda closed her lips over it 
and began to suck, using her tongue in swirls around the throbbing head; 
then with slow strokes, she moved her head up and down, absorbing him only 
as far as the nylon of her panties held in place around the shaft by Sky's 
hand. She heard him begin to gasp louder and faster, and she began to speed 
her working mouth on him. 

Meanwhile, the searing sensations in her wildly, seething cunt were building 
to unbearable tension as Allen began to pound his hardened cock into her 
with ever more powerful and longer strokes. 

Rhoda's happiness knew no bounds. She was filled with cock. A marvelous 
instrument was filling her cuntal passage; a massive tool was in her 
sensitive mouth. God! It was wonderful. 

Now, she became aware that Sky was reaching his climax. Suddenly, he reached 
out to her, tangled his fingers in her hair and began to move her head 
faster, ramming her lips farther down on his jerking cock with each down 
stroke. His loins began to move, drubbing his rod up into her mouth with 
wild abandon. 

He came! From somewhere deep down in his chest, a deep grunting sound began, 
changing to a rising wail as he neared the point of ejaculation; then he was 
spewing his load into her mouth, the viscous liquid literally jetting from 
the slit in the head to fill her mouth. She gulped and wildly swallowed it 
all. 

"OOOOOooooh!" he screamed. "Oh, Christ!" 

He slumped back to the headboard, then, mumbling, incoherently, "I did it! . 
. . And, I'll do it. . . again! Don't do that, Sky! Don't! Don't! Don't! If 
you were . . . alive . . . Spit in your face! Damn you! You're dead!" 

Rousing himself, he pulled his deflating cock out of Rhoda's mouth, a long 
string of semen clinging to it, and he clambered from the bed to leave the 
room. They heard him in the bathroom running water in the sink. 

Allen pulled his rock-hard rod of flesh from her and expertly turned her to 
her back, re-entered her and began plunging without mercy into her steaming 
cunt. He had begun to race for his orgasm. 

Rhoda strained under him, arching herself off the mattress to push her loins 
up at him, her cunt climbing up his hardened slippery cock, with each 
thrust, countering him, straining to absorb all of him into her. There was 
nothing in the world but this for her. She wanted it to go on forever. 

Her senses were shattered by the strength of her climax when it came to her. 
She held her breath, as great convulsive spasms of welcome relief exploded 
inside and enveloped her, and she was transported to a strange land of 
wildly flashing colors and clashing noises. "Oooooh God!" she ground out in 
her passion. "I'm cumming! God, I'm cumming!" She had but a glimpse of this 
paradise before she realized that she was on her back in her own bed, with a 
strange man's cock still plunging wildly in and out of her vagina. 

Allen rammed into her without mercy, coming to his own orgasm in a crescendo 
of furiously hard thrusts, the viscid milk of his sex rushing through him, 
hose-like, to jet up into the warmly, moist depths of her tender walled 
vaginal vault. He collapsed on top of her panting for breath. 

They both rested. Several minutes later ... or was it hours . . . ? Sky 
hissed into Allen's ear, "We'd better get out of here! I just saw a City 
Police unit cruising past ... on the street! He's looking for something!" 

Hastily, Allen dressed, and together, the two men left Rhoda's apartment, 
walking, nonchalantly down the steps, got into Sky's car and left. A little 
sadly she knew that she would never see them again. 

Just before leaving her, Sky turned back from the door, his broad face 
serious, as he said, "little lady. .. where do I get an application blank . 
. . to join that club of yours?" 

She was confused for a moment before she remembered what it was she had 
said. 

"Oh, that.. . ? I was only kidding ..." she said. 

"I'm not!" Sky murmured. 

Rhoda closed the door behind them, went into the bedroom, stripped off the 
sheet and re-made the bed; then, she went into the bathroom, douched and 
took a long, hot, soaking bath. She was tired, drained of all emotion. 

Dear God. . . I was raped. . . I couldn't help myself!. .. But, I loved 
it... Oh, God! How I loved it! 

 Chapter Seven 

A new dimension was added to Phil and Rhoda's lovemaking; she had thrown 
herself into it with wild abandon, discovering that she could have multiple 
orgasms as she came sexually alive in Phil's arms. Afterward, as Phil had 
not yet reached his climax, she decided to show him her newly learned 
love-technique. 

"Phil... let me show you how much I really love you." 

"You have, already, honey," he said. "I'll be darned if I can figure you 
out. .. ! You've changed ..." 

"Stop straining to cum, darling . . . Just pull that wonderful cock of yours 
out. . . lay back and relax . .. and let me take care of it.. . for you ..." 
Rhoda said, throatily. 

He had not even known that she knew the word ... or that she would use it if 
she did; he had to admit that he was a little shocked. He pulled his 
rock-hard prick from her satiated cuntal passage into which he had been 
ramming his great cudgel, driving for ejaculation, frantically, and rolled 
to his back. 

Rhoda crouched over him and took his cock in her hand, lowering her head to 
it and took just the tip of it in her ovaled lips, her tongue working inside 
her mouth; then, she began to bob her head in inexorable rhythm, sucking him 
to spewing climax within a very few minutes. 

"Christ, Rhoda . . . your mouth is like honey!" he groaned in ecstasy. 

"Was it really good for you, Phil?" 

"I thought I'd never stop cumming . . . !" he exulted. 

She crawled up to him, offering her lips for his kiss. He snaked his tongue 
into her mouth, and as she nibbled and sucked on it, he tasted his own 
pungent maleness in her mouth. 

* * * 

Wini called Phil on the inter-office telephone soon after he arrived at the 
plant the following morning. 

"Phil. . . ?" she asked. "Phil.. . I've got to talk to you. . . ! Is there 
some place where ... we can talk, privately?" 

"Yes . . . How about the cafeteria ... for coffee break . . . ?" "O.K." she 
said. "... And, Phil. . . It's terribly important!" 

Something of the urgency in her voice was communicated to him, and he 
guessed that his substitution of research data he had given her for his own 
probably had something to do with her desire to talk with him . . . 
privately. 

They met in the noisy din of the cafeteria over steaming plastic cups of 
coffee. Wini was pale and tired. She opened their conversation with an 
accusation. 

"I should hate you .. . ! You damned near got me killed!" Phil was aghast. 
"Who . .. ? Taylor! Did Taylor try ... ?" 

"He almost succeeded!" she broke in. "He didn't like your little joke .. . 
and took out his revenge on me! ... It-It was horrible! She was near tears, 
her eyes puddling becomingly. 

"God! Wini. . . I-I never dreamed that you might be. .. put in a tough spot! 
I'm sorry ... terribly sorry ..." he said, contritely. 

"I'll let you make it up to me . . . in bed. O.K.?" 

"Gladly! That's an easy penance!" 

"Now, let me tell you what happened! I-I've got to tell somebody ... or I'll 
pop my skull!" 

He took one of her tiny hands in his and said, "You know I'm interested . . 
. especially since I've got this guilty feeling about getting you into it... 
" "I was just plain lucky!" Then she began to tell him, quickly, sketching 
in details where necessary, of what had happened. "I took that report to 
Taylor. He glanced at it and put it aside. He seemed sort of grim, but I 
thought he was just worried. His main interest, right then, seemed to be 
sex. We made love. He was awfully good in bed, you know . .. " Phil broke 
in, "Was. . . ?" 

"He's dead, you know.. . but I'll get to that... in a minute. Oh, Phil... It 
was just horrible ... !" 

"Taylor! Taylor Robbin's dead . . . ?" 

"Yes," she said dully. "He was trying to ... to kill me!" 

"D-Did you kill him ... ? The police . . . ?" 

"No! It was an accident!" she said. "Let me tell you the rest.. . About ten 
o'clock - last night - he suggested we go for a sail... We drove to Bayside 
where he keeps his boat... It's about thirty feet long... a sloop rig. 
Anyway, we drove down there in my Jag. He said he keeps a room there at 
Bayside - in case he didn't feel like driving all the way home after a sail. 
He also said that it'd be easy for him to call for a car to get him. 

"We had a few drinks . .. and about midnight we sailed out of Bayside toward 
Vancouver Island. It was beautiful... He wanted to make me, again . . . but 
he started getting mean .. . and wanted me to do all kinds of crazy things 
with him . .. you know. Well, I've been fucked every way possible .. . but I 
don't like to be knocked around ... by anybody. I do things for people .. . 
because I like them." 

"Did you try to put him off..." Phil asked. 

"Yes ... sort of ... I gave him head ..." 

"Head . .. ?" he queried. 

"A blow job!" 

"Oh," he grunted, understanding, then. 

"Well, he became angry, because I wouldn't go the anal route . . . just 
then. He went up on deck to check on something. Pretty soon he called me, 
'Wini... get your ass up here'! 

"I was naked, but I came up out of the cabin into the cockpit. . . And, he 
had a .45 in his hand pointing it at me. Taylor said, real nasty like, 'That 
stupid mistake of yours cost me a hell of a lot of money'! 

"For the life of me ... I didn't know what he was talking about. .. then." 

" 'What do you mean . . . '? I asked him. 

" 'You and that smart-ass, Phil Grey, were trying to pull a fast one . .. 
switch papers on me . . . Well, when I saw my own report on pesticides, I 
knew you were trying to cheat me ...' "I was just flabbergasted! I said to 
him, 'Taylor ... I don't know anything about it... I just gave you what I 
got from Phil. ..'! 

"He said, 'I'll take care of him . . . later. This is all for you'! 

"Then he pulled the trigger! Somehow, the boat lurched or something ... He 
missed! I jumped up . . . and tried to grab his hand! I remembered my 
Karate... I tried to throw him . . . and the gun went off, again . . . and . 
. . and Taylor was dead . . . he-he died right away." 

Memories of the horror flooded back to her; she dabbed at her eyes with a 
tissue. 

"God!" Phil said. "I can't believe that Taylor would stoop ... to murder!" 

"Believe me, Phil! I'm sure he planned it.. . that way. He was going to dump 
me overboard . . . !" 

"The son-of-a-bitch!" Phil blurted. "Then what ...?M "I didn't know what to 
do! I threw the gun overboard . . . and then I-I pushed his body over the 
side . . . and he sank. Then I turned the boat around and headed back toward 
Bayside. When I was about a mile away I turned the boat around again . . . 
heading -it toward Vancouver . . . and I dived overboard and swam to shore." 

"That was a mighty long swim!" Phil interjected. 

"'I'm in pretty good condition . . . but I was awfully tired. It must have 
been about three o'clock in the morning when I came out of the water... I 
just laid there on the beach and rested. When I came to myself, enough ... I 
looked around and discovered I was at Whitehead! I was still naked . . . but 
it was dark. I swam across to Bayside . . . sneaked out to my car, found the 
spare key that I keep hidden up under the frame.. . and drove home ... 
Believe me, I was never so thankful in my life!" 

All Phil could say was, "Fantastic!" 

"Maybe you think so. . . but it's all too horribly true!" 

Her little pixie face was a study in travail. She sniffed. After a moment 
she continued. 

"And . . . here's the worst thing of all. .. It concerns you!" 

Phil raised his eyebrows, questioningly, "Me . . .?" 

"Yes ... I delivered some letters I'd typed to Mr. Proctor . . . you know 
him . . . He's the head of the security force for the plant. I heard your 
name mentioned . . . and I listened in! He was making an appointment with 
the president ... to talk about you ... as a security risk! So, I figured he 
must have been on to something. Phil... I just know that horrible man is 
going to try to get your fired . . . And, then you'll never get anything at 
all for all of your work ... on your special project..." 

"I sure as hell can't afford to lose this job!" Phil said, grimly. 

"Listen to me Phil! Your project must be really worth something. . . ! 
Taylor wanted to pay me a lot of money to get it. . . then, he was willing 
to kill me! And, he may have been planning to kill you . . . too! It is 
important . . . isn't it? " "Yes, it is!" Phil affirmed. 

"Take it, Phil! Take it... it's yours! Take me with you... We can sell it 
some other place . . . for a lot of money! Look! There's a United Flight to 
New York at 5:30 this afternoon . . . Let me take your formula out of here . 
. . meet me at Seattle International.. . We'll leave together . . . Make a 
new life together!" 

He was caught up in her argument. Against what he knew to be his better 
judgment he began to agree with her. Suddenly, he made a decision. 

"All right! I'll do it!" he said. 

"Right away ... in the next few minutes ... before they call you in . . . !" 
Her voice was urgent. 

The cafeteria began to clear of people. There was more possibility of their 
being overheard. Phil lowered his voice and said, "O.K.! I'll bring you some 
stuff to be typed. . . It'll be in the middle. Can you get out of here with 
it .. . ?" 

"Leave it to me! Remember 5:15, International . . . United!" she said in 
haste as they both rose to leave. 

Phil was in a daze. Dully, he went back to his project office; he knew what 
he was doing was wrong, but the element of danger . .. adventure lured him. 
Wini was an exciting woman. The memory of making love to her was strong in 
him, and at this point in time, he was ready for anything... let come what 
may. He had decided to seize the opportunity, and act upon it! 

Gathering all of his project notes together and putting them in a mislabeled 
folder as a cover, he made his way to the rackety din of the secretarial 
pool, making his way to Wini's desk. He gave her the folder. 

"Miss Brent . . . please make two carbons for me ... " "Certainly . . . 
right away, Mr. Grey," Wini smiled. 

Back in his office he had a call from the Vice-President for Personnel 
requesting him to come up, immediately, to that office. Phil went with heavy 
heart. True to Wini's prediction he was asked to resign ... in the best 
interests of all concerned. It had come to their attention that Phil had 
been approached by persons unknown concerning his project; that he had been 
offered a large sum of money .. . the whole bit. 

Phil tried to give the straight story, but to no avail. 

"We are sorry, Mr. Grey . .. Your employment with Northern Chemical and 
Research is ended as of now!" 

That was the final word! 

He had been allowed to go back to his working space to clear out any of his 
personal belongings he wanted to take with him. He did so under the watchful 
eyes of a smirking Don Proctor. "Well, I sure as hell nipped this little 
fiasco in the bud!" Don boasted. 

"Yes," Phil agreed. "You sure as hell did! You did me right out of a job!" 

After that little exchange there was no more conversation between the two 
men. Don escorted him to the lobby. Phil carried a paper bag of personal 
effects from his desk. The bouncy blonde at the reception desk gave him a 
fat envelope. 

"Mr. Grey . . . Miss Brent asked me to be sure to give you this ..." she 
said. 

He thanked her and stuffed it in a pocket. Later, as he sat in his car, in 
the parking lot of a bar not far from the plant, he ripped open the letter, 
addressed to him. It was from Wini. He almost expected it! He didn't expect 
the remaining contents. There were 50 one-thousand dollar notes wrapped 
separately in a packet. His eyes widened in disbelief. 

"I'll be damned!" he said aloud. He read her letter. 

Dear Phil, I just saw you go up to personnel, so my guess must be right 
about their letting you go. 

What I told you about Taylor Robbins is all true. He really is dead! It 
happened just like I told you it did. 

Wini Brent is dead, too! I just killed her! You understand, of course, that 
Wini never existed! I created her, and when I was through with her I just 
willed her to die. By the time you get this, I'll be gone! You'll never be 
able to locate me. 

One last laugh I've had here in Seattle is that I operated right under Don 
Proctor's nose, and he never suspected that I'm known and wanted all over 
the country! I make a pretty good living doing this sort of thing. It's 
dangerous, but I love it. The danger is a sort of occupational hazard . . . 
like this scrape with Taylor. 

Phil, I loved you while I was with you; that's all I can do! I am sorry that 
you'll be hurt, but believe me, it is temporary! 

The money is yours. Use it to get some of the things you've always wanted. . 
. Take your little wife, Rhoda, and go to New York. That's where the action 
is! 

All my love, C.S. 

Again, Phil Grey said, "I'll be damned!" 

He stuffed the envelope under the floormat, searched his wallet, found a 
twenty dollar bill and decided that he would use it. 

I can hang one on with the twenty! That's exactly what I need. . . I need to 
forget. . . one hell of a lot of things! 

Phil Grey walked into the bar and ordered scotch ... for the first time in 
his life! 

 Chapter Eight 

Don Proctor received his letter in the afternoon, inter-office delivery. He 
opened it with disinterest, but he read with mounting rage: To Don Proctor, 
Security Chief Re: Your stupidity The Jack of Hearts Was chasing tarts, But 
this tart has won . . . ! 

She's got Northern's number one! 

By the time you get this, it'll be too late for you to do anything about it 
so don't pop your skull! I've just walked out of here with everything on 
Phil Grey's research project! I want to make it absolutely clear to you that 
he had nothing whatever to do with it. Leave him alone! He doesn't even know 
who I am. 

Let me jog your memory since I was able to operate in this plant for more 
than a week. I'm the little redhead in the secretarial pool at the fourth 
desk in the second row known as Wini Brent. Of course she never existed, but 
I'm real. You'll find me in your files. There should be a lot of information 
there, but you didn't check it out... you stupid ass! 

Bea Palmer 

In a blind rage the security guard rummaged in his filed to come up with a 
dossier on Bea Palmer who was wanted for a half-dozen or more thefts of 
industrial research secrets. The information concerning her was for the most 
part very accurate, describing her as cunning, an able seducer of men and a 
past master (sic) in gaining access to secret documents. 

"Goddam her!" he blurts out. 

How in the hell did she get in here . . . and get away with something that 
important! God! My own job's going to be on the line! I've got to do 
something... fast! She couldn't have gotten that data by herself. . . she 
had to have some help!. . . And I'll bet our fair-haired boy himself had 
something to do with it! That smart-ass was too calm. . . too damn cool when 
his ass got fired out of this plant. If I get to him . . . I'll be able to 
get a line on this Palmer woman! That's what I'll do . . . first! And while 
I'm at it I might as well have some more fun with that smart-ass Grey's wife 
again! Christ! It's going to be a real pleasure . . . BOTH of them together. 
. . this time! 

Leaving the plant, he drove rapidly to the apartment complex where Phil and 
Rhoda Grey live. His already deranged mind was seething with a maniacal 
desire for revenge. The mockery in Bea Palmer's letter rankled him; each 
passing moment drove him deeper and deeper into a dank morass of dark 
thoughts and foreboding sadistic plans of what he would do when he had those 
two in his power. God! He could hardly wait! 

* * * 

The security guard mounted the stairs to the Grey apartment, tested the 
door, found it unlocked and walked inside, catching Rhoda completely 
unaware. She was on her knees in the kitchen, her head stuck inside a 
cupboard; she was busily and energetically engaged in cleaning it. 

He came to stand behind her and watched her for a moment, enjoying the 
spectacle of her beautiful voluptuous body, clad in short-shorts and skimpy 
halter top as she worked, the muscles of her back rippling smoothly under 
the white skin, her full rounded buttocks swaying with the rhythm of her 
scrubbing action. As he watched her, he felt his penis come alive below, 
rapidly becoming tumescent and hard, jerking up against the confinement of 
his shorts and pants. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and removed a long 
deadly switchblade knife. Pressing the button on the side, the blade snicked 
out with a soft clicking sound, and he stood alert for her to hear and react 
to it. 

Rhoda heard the click and became aware of his presence at the same time; she 
jerked her head out of the cabinet, attempting to twist and see who the 
intruder was, a scream beginning to build in her throat as she saw that it 
was a man; then he clamped a hand quickly over her mouth, stifling the 
outcry even before it was started. Bringing the knife around before her 
eyes, he grated into her ear, the threat in his voice unmistakable, "Don't 
make a sound, Mrs. 

Grey ... or I'll carve you like a Christmas turkey!" Instinctively, 
desperately, she struggled in his grasp. With a quick motion, he slipped the 
blade down between the mounds of her breasts under the cloth of her halter 
top; one fast pass of the knife severed the two halves of the garment and 
her firm white breasts were naked; next he laid the cold steel against the 
areola of one of the magnificent mounds, the keen edged blade poised to 
slice into the nipple. 

"One more move, bitch .. . and you lose it!" he threatened. 

Her horror-stricken and fear-filled eyes looked down to see the sharp knife 
against her coral-tipped nipple. A shudder of defeat passed through her, and 
she slumped back against him, sudden hot tears gushed from her baby-blue 
eyes. 

"You ready to do as I say . .. Rhoda baby?" 

She moved her head up and down in affirmation. 

Don removed his hand from her mouth but left the knife in position. Rhoda 
uttered no sound; her fear kept her mute. 

Don growled, "O.K. - Bitch! I guess you mean it ... " Rhoda collapsed in a 
heap on the floor, sobs wracking her body, her very soul exposed in the 
complete helplessness she felt. 

Dear God. . . ! Oh my God! Why... ? Why has he come back. . . again!? I 
thought. . .I'd seen the last of him. . . when Sky drove him away with a 
gun! Oh Lord. . . I can't stand the thought of this monster touching me . . 
. again! 

Proctor stood over her for a few moments, listening to the broken-hearted 
sobs before he prodded her with the toe of his shoe. 

"All right, that's enough of that. . . ! Get that beautiful ass of yours 
into the bedroom .. . and get undressed! You and me are going to have a 
little fucking ... before your husband gets here!" 

The forlorn figure of the girl on the floor stirred and rose to a sitting 
position, pulling the useless cups of her halter over to cover her breasts. 

"H-Haven't you done e-enough . .. to m-me ... already ... ?" 

"No! Not nearly enough! I've got a real special thing going today ... for 
both of you! Get going!" he grunted, grabbing her arm to haul her to her 
feet. "Phil! Phil... ? You're not going to hurt him...?" 

"I'll kill the son-of-a-bitch if I have to!" 

Pdioda walked toward the bedroom; looking back over her shoulder, she asked, 
"Why .. . ? What has Phil done... to make you want to ... to commit murder?" 

"Why ... ?" Don grunted. "He and that broad he's been playing around with 
... just got away with all the data on his research project. She's already 
cut out... but that smart-assed husband of yours will be coming back here 
before long... and that's when I'll find out where he was going to meet 
her!" 

"Phil? With another woman .. . !? Oh no! You're wrong... ! He wouldn't do 
that... to m-me ... !" 

"Don't bet on it! Her name's Bea Palmer .. . She's wanted for a half dozen 
jobs like this! She steals plans and research data ... and sells 'em to 
other companies that are not too concerned about where she picked them up. 
She was using the name of Wini Brent... of course, that was just a cover!" 
he explained. 

Rhoda threw herself onto the bed, forsaken, alone, about to be raped again 
by Don Proctor, her very being shaken to the foundations. Phil - her Phil - 
was a ... thief and ... an adulterer! 

Oh Phil! Phil! What have you done .. . to us? I-I just can't believe it! 
Phil.. . making love to another woman?... And stealing his project from 
Northern? Oh God. . . what do I do now? I'm a-alone... and helpless... and 
I'll have to let this horrible man make love to me . . . again .. . and 
again! Where does it end? 

Don Procter was removing his clothing. It was almost as if he were reading 
her mind. 

He said, "You've had it Rhoda! He's run out on you! ... But don't forget one 
thing, bitch! You're still nothing but a little whore!" 

Whore! Yes! I'm a whore! I'd almost forgotten . . . and I was blaming Phil. 
.. condemning him . . . for having another woman! How could I do that.. . 
when Don Proctor has made me what I am! It's so funny. .. so damned funny! 
Little Rhoda Grey is a whore! Whore! WHORE! Nothing but a goddamned no-good 
WHORE! 

Suddenly she began to laugh-cry, an hysterical, almost depraved laugh, harsh 
and hard. 

"Oh Christ! That's funny! Little Rhoda's a whore ... but the Don of Proctor 
made her one!" 

Then she got off the bed, quickly stripped it of bedspread, blankets and top 
sheet, whipped off her shorts and panties and lay down again on the bed; 
spreading her legs obscenely, she began to writhe her hips in salacious 
sexuality, her hands massaging her breasts, smoothing and cupping around 
them with studied deliberateness. Don watched her, amazed at her sudden 
transformation. 

"What the hell's gotten into you .. . ?" he asked. 

"I'm a whore .. . and you want to fuck me ... don't you?" she said crudely. 
"If you do .. . come on over here . .. and start licking my . . . my cunt!" 

"God! What an act!" he chortled. 

"This is no act ... ! I'm just trying to act the part you gave me ... you 
bastard!" 

Coming then to the bed, Proctor climbed on top of her, found her waiting 
lips and claimed them, snaking his tongue into her mouth, nibbling and 
sucking on her tongue when she began to joust with his, finally thrusting 
her tongue back at him deep into his mouth. Meanwhile, his hands were busy 
on her body, smoothing down along her ribs and belly to her tapering, 
marble-like thighs; then breaking the oscular contact, he began to slither 
down her body, his lips trailing, paying homage to her neck and the lobes of 
her ears, and then his twisted mouth was on her breasts, sucking up the 
whole areola into his oral cavity, using his tongue and lips to tease the 
nipples into erect hardness. His hands followed, fingers digging, kneading 
and smoothing over the perfect hemispheres of them, and they were plastic 
yet firm, their satiny skin enticing the rising passion in him to greater 
heights. Moving down, his avid lips kissed her flat belly, his tongue 
dipping into her navel to tickle and tease. 

Don moved now to kneel between her legs. The sight of her coral furrowed 
pussy as she pulled her knees up then splayed her thighs out far to the side 
made him gasp, and his penis leaped to rock-hard erectness, the blood 
surging and throbbing into it. He leaned forward and used his thumbs pressed 
to either side of her luscious, hair-lined cunt lips, tenderly spreading the 
vertical mouth until its viscously moist pink sexiness was fully opened to 
him, the petals of the inner lips flowering open and his mouth twisting into 
a crooked smile was lewd on his face. 

"Goddamn, you're a lovely piece!" he said. "Reminds me of a woman I used to 
know ..." 

Rhoda moaned; her hips moved salaciously, invitingly up at him, the movement 
erotic, sexual and lewd; likewise he could feel her soft, warm, white inner 
thighs quivering against the backs of his hands, and he heard her breath 
gasping deep down in her throat. 

"I could care less. .. about your other women!" she breathed. "Right now ... 
I just want your tongue licking my cunt!" 

Her words were like a goad to him, the lewdness coming from her lovely lips 
elicited a sudden response from him. He lowered his head swiftly and plunged 
his tongue into her cuntal opening as far as he could, holding the portal 
open with his thumbs, his lips going inside the inner petals. He stabbed his 
tongue in and out several times imitating a man's cock moving in her. He 
felt the erotic shock in her body as he tongue-fucked her, the convulsions 
of pure sexual pleasure surging through her in waves. Now he moved his 
Ungual member in circles, pushing outward against the sensitive wet inner 
walls of her vagina, her hips beginning to buck up against his face 
rhythmically. 

"Christ! That's wonderful...! Rhoda moaned in ecstasy. "Don't stop! Don't 
ever stop!" 

Don's alert ears heard it first. Someone had entered the apartment. It was 
Phil! 

"Rhoda . . . ? Rhoda honey ... I'm home ... Where are you?" 

Don rolled off the bed and hissed at her, "Don't let out one peep! I've been 
waiting for this!" 

He picked up his pistol and blackjack from the bedside table where he had 
placed them in preparation for Phil's return to the apartment. Placing 
himself beside the door, he waited for the unsuspecting young husband to 
enter the bedroom. 

Phil walked in, saw the horror-stricken look on his wife's face as she sat 
up quickly, and he saw that she had been lying nude on the bed in the 
instant before Don Proctor raised his blackjack and tapped him lightly 
behind the ear. 

Rhoda's husband crumpled to the floor with a single surprised gasp, "What... 
?" 

Galvanizing into action, Rhoda attacked! She leaped off the bed, her 
fingernails clawing at Don's face; the security guard raised his arm again 
to use the sap but thought better of it, and transferred it to the same hand 
holding the pistol and struck her a backhand blow, the heavy ring on his 
finger gouging into the flesh of her jaw, causing a small superficial cut. 

She put her hand to her face and felt the warm blood, seeing it then on her 
hand as she withdrew it, quickly, her eyes widening in new desperate fear. 
The look on the guard's face - telling her there was more to come if she 
continued her attack - took all of the fight from her. 

"OOOoohh!" she wailed. "You bastard!" "Shut up, bitch! Unless you want more 
of the same!" he grunted, reaching down to haul Phil's inert form to the 
ladder-back chair at the work table. When he had Phil seated in the chair, 
he drew the unconscious man's arms back, threading them over and through the 
back and using his handcuffs to secure them there; next, the depraved 
security man went to his ever-present attache case, opened it and removed 
the wide adhesive tape roll. He used the tape and a handkerchief for a gag; 
then, removing Phil's shoes and socks, he used long lengths of the tape to 
bind his ankles to the legs of the chair. Assuring himself that the young 
husband was securely immobilized, Don grunted his satisfaction. 

"There! Hell play hell breaking out of that!" 

He turned to Rhoda, his broken face twisted into his version of a lewd smile 
of triumph. 

"When he wakes up ... he's going to see the show of his life!" he chortled. 

"W-What do you . .. m-mean ... ?" Rhoda asked, almost knowing the answer 
already, but dreading to hear it. 

"He's going to watch while I fuck you silly ... bitch!" 

"Oh! No! You wouldn't. .. ?!" 

"Wouldn't I...?" he jeered. "I'll do whatever and any goddamned thing I 
please! Who's going to stop me .. . him?" he went on, jerking his thumb in 
Phil's direction. "Not likely ... !" 

Oh my God! He's insane! I could never. . . make love while Phil was 
watching! What can I do. . . ? Oh Lord! What can I do against this monster!? 

"I won't do it!" 

Don had laid his pistol and blackjack aside while he had worked to secure 
Phil to the chair. Now, he picked up the weapons and put them again on the 
bedside table. Going to his jacket, he procured the deadly switchblade 
knife, snicking it open as he turned to survey her, a malevolent crazed look 
twisting his face. 

"You just keep asking for it . . . don't you . . . ?" 

"No! No! Please . .. ! Please . . . put the knife away! I-I'll do whatever 
.. . you ... s-say ..." she sobbed. The security guard started to put the 
knife with the pistol and blackjack on the bedside table; suddenly he 
reconsidered. It might be too risky. 

Never can tell... She might flip her gourd. . . and try to use some kind of 
weapon. It's probably safer to put them on the dresser. Damn! This is going 
to be fun . . . fucking her while that son-of-a-bitching husband of hers 
watches! 

He placed all three weapons on the dresser and turned back to Rhoda and 
said, "O.K. Rhoda baby . . . How'd you like to try a little sixty-nine ... 
for awhile. My cock needs to be brought up!" 

Straddling her head, his knees on either side of her face, Don's cock hung 
down half-flaccid to her lips. God! She hated him! .. . Feared him! She 
loathed the sight and touch of his genitals. Why should she try to please 
him ... in everything? 

Below, Don buried his face in the soft golden fleece of her loins, the curly 
golden hair of her pubic mound brushing tantalizingly against his cheeks. 
His tongue went into the top of her exposed vaginal slit, probing for the 
miniature phallus enshrined there in its soft canopy of flesh. Snake-like, 
his tongue moved on her to the tip of her clitoris, sliding back and forth 
across it, and he felt the shudder in her body as the erotic shock of it 
sparked on her body-mind. 

She moaned with tormented delight and raised her head to look down between 
her proud, erect breasts where her nipples had begun to tingle again, on 
beyond to her crotch to see his face buried there between her legs, his lips 
and tongue giving her such a feeling of need. God! It was wonderful! 

Now his tongue circled the sensitive head of her clitoris; teasingly and 
suddenly, he nipped with his teeth, taking the slender organ in his mouth, 
his tongue playing directly on the tip, causing surging currents of electric 
sensations along her nerve endings, racing out to her hands and feet and 
back again, gathering in intensity until it began to discharge, grounding 
itself in her loins. 

God! What he does to me! I can't stand it! I've got to have his cock! I'm 
going to let him fuck me. . . and I won't be able to help myself! Even if 
Phil sees me. . . ! Oh God! I won't be able to . . . resist him! Dear God! 
Am I getting to be nympho ? 

"OOooohh!" she moaned, her hips beginning to grind under her as he now began 
planting wet teasing kisses on her cuntal opening, his tongue flicking 
eel-like at the closed portal to gain entrance again. Then she felt him 
using his hands to open the flower of her womanhood, his tongue shooting in 
and out of her in a rhythmic beat as old as man. 

"God Don! That's driving me crazy! Please . . . turn around . . . the right 
way . . . and fuck me!" 

The guard withdrew his head for a moment from the moist warmth of her 
demanding pussy. He snapped, "Start sucking on my cock ... you little 
whore!" 

She took his now fast enlarging cock in her hand, her lips reaching up to 
kiss the bloating head; then she moved her hands on the shaft, skinning back 
the foreskin to reveal the shiny red satin of the head. Her lips encircled 
and sucked, her tongue wildly trying to split the tiny orifice in the tip of 
the red cowl. She felt the tremor of excitement in her body as she began to 
suck energetically, her cheeks hollowing in and out. Slowly, his hips moved, 
forcing the length of him farther and farther into her throat, tiny ragged 
edges of her inner lip coming out with the hardened cock on each outstroke, 
pushing it all back in on the downstroke. 

As Rhoda sucked, she became aware of the sensitive flesh inside her mouth; 
there was something new and strange about it. It was almost a feeling like 
the feeling in her loins, a definite sexual stimulation. It was pleasant, 
delightful, the sensations wild in her, and she knew that sucking a man's 
cock was almost as sexy as being fucked in the cunt. 

Christ! I love it! I love to suck cock! I'll never be able to get enough! 

Phil Grey began to regain consciousness. From far, far away, he heard voices 
. .. Yes! It was Rhoda's voice ... and the voice of a man. They were saying 
words, but his ears would not unscramble the words yet, make them 
understandable. 

Then the young husband thought he heard his wife say . . . "Turn around. . . 
the right way . . . and fuck me!" 

No! That couldn't Rhoda! Where am I? Damn! My head hurts! Let me see. . . ! 
I came home. . . walked into our bedroom ... Rhoda was on the bed. . . stark 
naked! She seemed to be scared of something... or somebody! There's a man's 
voice.. . Who? Where have I heard that voice before. . . ? This afternoon? 
That's it... The Chief of Security .. . Don Proctor! Don Proctor! God! 

His eyes flew open, the vision still fuzzy, but he saw, on the bed, his wife 
... and Don Proctor in the classic sixty-nine position. The guard's head was 
buried in Rhoda's open vagina, and her mouth was filled with his massive 
cock. God! She was sucking him off! He started to yell. .. scream at them to 
stop! STOP! ... but no sound escaped him; his mouth was stuffed full of 
cloth, and he could feel the tape covering his lips. 

Son-of-a-bitch! I've got a gag in my mouth! 

Phil struggled then to free his arms ... his legs; his muscles strained 
against his bonds to no avail. 

. . . And I'm tied hand and feet. God! I'm completely helpless! I can't do 
anything! That bastard is fucking my wife in the mouth . . . and I can't do 
one goddamned thing about it! 

Oblivious of the fact that Phil had regained his consciousness, the pair on 
the bed continued their lascivious display of wanton lust, and Phil could 
but watch, helpless and seething with rage. 

Rhoda was speaking again, her voice strained, choking with passion, "Damn 
it. .. Don! I want to fuck... now! I've got to have your cock ... in my 
cunt!" 

She used the strength of her arms to push up against his pelvis. He finally 
relented and rolled from her. He noticed as he came from atop her that Phil 
seemed to be partially conscious. He said nothing; he wanted this to be a 
sadistic pleasure of his own! 

"Well ...! I see your vocabulary is improving . .. !" he chortled. 

Rhoda splayed her thighs widely to each side to accept him as he crawled 
between her legs, his throbbing, rock-hard prick coming up into contact with 
her soft fleecy pubic hair. She reached down to between their merging loins 
and gripped his huge lust-inflated rod of maleness in her tiny hand, guiding 
it between the lips of her softly pulsating pussy. 

With firm pressure he moved his hips against her as quickly she placed the 
smooth rubbery head at her cuntal opening, the tip of it resting just past 
the portal. She was ready for his entrance now, and he drove the hardened 
rod of flesh deep and hard into the female softness of her. 

"Oooohh!" she groaned in pain beneath him as he felt the vaginal muscles 
give way before his vicious onslaught, and his cock raced up into her carnal 
passage, the warm, elastic inner lining slipping moistly along his length of 
hardened flesh. 

With wild animal-like abandon she clasped him, claimed him and absorbed him 
to the hilt; his sperm-loaded testicles swinging below slapped resoundingly 
against the rounded cheeks of her straining upturned buttocks as he rammed 
his giant cock forward into her throbbing wide-split passage without mercy. 

Screaming with the first pain of his forceful sadistic entry as Don's 
massive rock-hard cudgel struck bottom in her, flicking past the cervix, 
causing her to screw her hips back and down into the soft mattress to escape 
the sudden unexpected pain, and her head flailed in uncontrollable frenzy 
for escape. Rhoda was filled completely with man-cock. 

Her husband struggled against his bonds; his voice screamed in silent agony 
at the sight of his wife's lovely young body pinned under the depraved Don 
Proctor, his cock slamming into her, impaling her . .. ravishing her. He 
raged ineffectually, for the spectacle continued before his eyes; they were 
both oblivious to his presence . . . too absorbed in their lewd coupling to 
notice him. 

If I could get my hands on him. . . I'd strangle him! 

As her thrashing head whipped back and forth on the pillow, she caught sight 
of Phil imprisoned in the chair, struggling to escape, his shoulders 
straining, the sweat popping out on his face, but it was his eyes, those 
baleful, fierce burning orbs that arrested her action . . . drew her 
attention. 

Oh my God . . . my God! Phil's come to . . . and he's watching us! 

Don stopped momentarily, letting her cuntal walls adjust to his hardened rod 
of flesh, resting on top of her, his huge thick cock skewering her to the 
mattress. He flexed his tool deep inside; she opened her thighs wider, 
involuntarily, as the pleasurable sensations raced in her, the pain of his 
first entry now replaced by the filling sensation of his massive prick. 

"Oooohh!" she moaned, her need growing greater with every passing moment. 

She tried to look away from her husband, but his eyes locked with hers. The 
look in them was horrible to see. 

Phil! You'll never understand! I can't stop now. . . ! I've got to have it! 
I've got to be fucked. . . and fucked until I cum! I want you too, Phil! I 
want your cock too! Somehow, I'll make it up to you. . . but please try to 
understand! I can't help myself! I'm being forced to do it! I know it's 
crazy . . . but I love it! I want to be fucked like this! 

With her husband's eyes on her, knowing how wrong it was, being forced 
against her will to fuck the depraved man whose great cock split her 
quivering cleft, but wanting it . . . needing it, Rhoda began to move her 
hips under him - first in tiny circles, tantalizingly changing - after a few 
moments to longer back and forth movements of her pelvis - her buttocks 
digging back into the mattress, forcing withdrawal - only to move forward 
again, her cunt sliding and climbing up his rock-hard rod as she impaled 
herself wildly, wantonly on the full length of him; finally she moved 
uncontrollably, her buttocks gyrating and flexing, the muscles straining and 
hollowing and the smoldering sex sensations were blown to a raging inferno 
in her loins. 

Incredulously, Phil watched her, his struggles subsiding as he saw the 
wanton salacious way in which she moved, her actions telling him louder than 
words her obvious enjoyment of her ravishment. He could understand how it 
might be possible for her to be raped - any man was capable of it and most 
women would be helpless to stop it - but he could not.. . indeed, would not, 
understand how his wife could be throwing herself into the act with such 
wanton abandon. As he watched, he began to realized that she was actually 
the active partner! His wife was doing the fucking! The man atop her was 
merely holding himself rigid in her and she moved on him! God! 

My sweet demure wife Rhoda .. . ! Goddamn her! She's fucking like a mink! 
How long has this been going on?. . . How many times has this son-of-a-bitch 
fucked her?. . . How many other guys have laid her?. . . How many has she 
sucked off? Come to think of it. . . she's been pretty hot in bed the last 
week or so . . . letting me kiss her cunt. . . then her sucking me the other 
night! Christ! She's fucking like a bitch in heat. . . or like a street 
whore! Yes! Like a goddamned whore! 

The thought scorched through his brain; his head spun with the monstrous 
idea. He wanted to believe that it was impossible .. . that he was watching 
someone else . . . that it was not really his wife Rhoda who lay on her back 
in their marriage bed taking another man's cock in her cunt and enjoying it 
with relish. The evidence before his eyes of course would not allow him to 
evade the truth. It was his Rhoda! 

Bitch! BITCH! BITCH! 

The words raced in circles in his mind. 

Whore? WHORE! WHORE! 

It was a fugue with no stretto or final cadence! 

Now working to the top of the quagmire there came to him something familiar. 
The slithering crawling sensations in his loins, his testicles beginning to 
be squeezed up tight to his crotch by the scrotal sac, the blood beginning 
to pound in his veins, being trapped in spongy tumescence as his penis rose, 
erect, throbbingly alert against the confining trousers. The familiar warmth 
flowed through him, the need for sexual release growing greater in him. God! 
How he wanted to fuck her, mount her with his cock in his hand and brutally 
ram it into her, plunging without mercy, punishingly into the warm depths of 
her unfaithful cunt. 

Goddamn her! If I get loose. . . I'll take care of Proctor first. . . then 
I'll fuck that little whore until she can't walk! God! I still can't believe 
it. . . the way she's going after it! 

Don Proctor was in a sexual rapture of his own. He felt the urgency in her; 
the wonderful sensation of her moist, clasping channel moving on and around 
his shaft was driving him wild. He braced himself on knees and elbows above 
her thrashing body, her wildly gyrating pelvis driving her hungry cunt up 
and down the blood-engorged length of his thick cock at will. Her 
uncontrolled thrusting against him incited him to an attempt to dominate 
her. He bucked his hips forward a few times on her upstroke, driving the 
growing head of his sex prong deeper and deeper until he felt he must be 
crashing through the back wall of her vagina. Goddamn! The little bitch can 
really fuck! 

Then by use of superior strength and position, he began to dominate her, 
grinding his pelvis forcefully into her, his prick moving with deliberate 
rhythm in and out of the moist depths of her cunt, making her submit to him, 
and she strained back at him, finally matching her movements to his so that 
he pistoned her smoothly with ever-increasing power and speed. 

Glancing toward his prisoner, Proctor noted that he was now conscious and 
was wide-eyedly watching their lewd performance. Sadistically, he ground 
into the man's wife even more brutally and smiled his horrible grimace over 
at the bound man. 

"Well Grey ... did she ever fuck you ... like this . .. ?" he spat as he 
gave a particularly hard thrust into Rhoda's squirming pussy. 

Phil's eyes cursed him eloquently. He made sounds in his throat and strained 
against his bonds anew. 

You leering bastard! Just let me get my hands on you! 

The security guard laughed aloud. "You won't be able to get away ... so 
enjoy the show! I'll get to you pretty soon! ... And you'd better have some 
right answers ... pretty boy!" 

Christ! I'll bet he already knows about Wini and me . . . and the research 
data! 

The young chemist's mind was in a whirl; he didn't know what... or how much 
he should tell. Then his mind grappled with another possibility: the 
Security Chief might torture him to get the information! 

God! What a dolt I am! I'm in so deep now . . . I don't know which way to 
turn! 

His wife moaned in ecstasy beneath her ravisher, welcoming his plundering 
cock, lifting her full rounded ass up to him, arching her back several 
inches off the mattress to meet his pounding pelvis, her legs scissoring 
open and closed around his waist as she fucked back at his rampaging prick 
in the chanting rhythm of sexual ecstasy. 

"Fuck me! You bastard! Fuck hard! Pound it into me!" she said, suddenly 
moaning between clenched teeth. 

Her words bit into the cock-thrusting man above her, and he was driven to 
plunging wildness as he redoubled his efforts, fucking into her with long 
powerful strokes like a man possessed of the Devil, himself. 

Rhoda mewled and moaned, the sounds coming from deep in her throat 
animalistically, interspersed with sharp, indrawn gasps of pleasure-pain as 
his giant cock pistoned in and out of her, steady as a machine. She was 
approaching her climax, her breath came in fitful jerks, the all-consuming 
passions engulfing her, drowning her in voluptuous ecstasy, and she was 
filled and fulfilled, the dizzying brink of her orgasm visible but just out 
of reach as that magnificent stem of hardened lust-filled maleness ravished 
her soft wildly pulsating loins almost beyond endurance. 

She chanted a sexual litany. "Oh! OOoohh!" Oh God! Oh yes! Oh yeesss! Like 
that! Fuck me hard! Long! Deep! Deep in my cunt! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" 

Faster and faster she chanted to him, wanting . .. demanding her sexual 
peak, needing it, desiring it but hoping it could go on forever at this high 
plane ... this level of sexual tension. She could have gone on like that 
forever! Quickly she rose on the express upward draft of a towering 
thunderhead where she was tossed to and fro among tremendously brilliant 
flashes of lightning, a light show of the Gods, produced just for her; then 
she was on the downdraft, zooming downward with the speed of a diving 
airplane, the ground rushing up at her, until she was released like a firing 
Roman candle in a groaning, convulsive orgasm, and she floated down to her 
bed like down, clasped deeply in the arms of a relaxing euphoria of sexual 
fulfillment. 

Her release came to her on the wings of her scream of ecstasy as Don 
continued to pound powerfully into her. 

"Oh Christ! I'm cumming! I'mmm cccuummmiinnggg! AAAaaaggghhh!" 

As Rhoda screamed Don knew that he was almost ready to cum too. He kept his 
rod moving in her, faster, harder and longer, the sensations growing ever 
more intense; then he could feel the beginnings of his ejaculation back 
there behind the root of his cock as his rock-hard flesh fucked into her 
with the power of a well-tuned machine, the piston of his cock moving in the 
cylinder of her vagina smoothly. Now his semen-loaded testicles began to 
jerk, the pumping action of his member siphoning the sperm and jetting it 
the length of his prick to spew from the nozzle in the lust-filled head into 
the warm wet clasping depths of her cuntal passage. Suddenly it was there, 
hosing through him, the white viscid fluid splashing against the coral 
lining of her pussy while spasms of sheer sexual pleasure shot through his 
body, concentrating in his loins, the flashing electric jolts shuddering 
through him in wave after wave of nerve-relaxing sexual satisfaction. His 
great thick tool of blood-engorged flesh continued to pump for several 
moments, and he fell, exhausted atop her, panting for breath. 

"Oh Christ!" he groaned. "What a goddamned fuck that was! Rhoda baby .. . 
you really know how to wiggle your ass!" 

The security guard raised his head to look at Phil. He grinned crookedly. 
"Phil... something tells me you've been missing something!" he needled. 

Phil glared back at him in helpless frustration. As he had watched his wife 
being fucked, he had become more and more involved. His erect penis throbbed 
in his pants, needing release, and he could do nothing about it. The lewd 
spectacle he had been forced to watch seared into his mind, and he planned 
in detail what he would do when they were free of this madman. Rhoda was 
going to be punished for her adultery. He had thought of many different ways 
in which he would do so, but the humiliation he would put her through would 
do more to break her, he decided, than any physical torment he could devise. 

I'll fix her, goddamn it! She fucked him too good. . . for it to have been a 
rape! 

When Don had spoken to Phil, Rhoda was jolted back to reality. The shame and 
degradation of what she had just done burst upon her, and her tears were 
quick and hot. She looked at her husband and saw the look of frustration and 
anger in his eyes . . . Something else was there too, she decided! It was 
lust! Phil wanted her! He wanted to fuck her, too! The strange thought came 
to her: Would Phil share her . . . ? Would he have been willing to be a part 
of what he had just witnessed, just as Sky and Allen had shared her a few 
days ago .. . ? 

It was a monstrous thought! She was not sure she would ever want it that 
way. 

Oh God! Please. . . help me to make Phil understand! 

She said, "Phil, darling ... I love you . . . ! I'll be able to explain . . 
. this ... to you ... if ... if you'll let me." 

His eyes flashed and he wagged his head, emitting inarticulate sounds from 
his throat. He strained again at his bonds. 

"Shut up, bitch! You'll talk when I tell you to .. . !" Don barked at her. 
He rolled from atop her, his rapidly deflating cock pulling wetly from her 
flowered pussy. 

"As for you ..." he addressed Phil. "I've got some questions to ask you!" 

He picked up the knife from the dresser, held it lightly in his hand, picked 
up a few strands of Rhoda's golden hair and snipped them off clean and neat. 

"I'm going to take that gag off... so you can answer ... but you make one 
peep and I'll slice off one of her breasts .. .just like that! Is that clear 
... ?" 

Rhoda gasped in horror. She knew that he would do it! "Oooohhh!" 

Phil moved his head up and down affirming his understanding, and Don came to 
him and ripped the tape from his mouth. Phil spat out the handkerchief and 
roared, "You goddamned little whore!" 

 Chapter Nine 

Sky Jackson's broad face was grim as he questioned the bartender. 

"If Grey came in pretty often . . . then maybe he has a bar tab that'd have 
his address on it..." 

Reluctantly, the barkeep admitted that there was such a record and gave it 
to the broad-faced detective. Sky persisted in his search for information. 

"Did he say anything while he was here?" 

"Well . . . seems he lost his job over at Northern. He mentioned that Don 
Proctor - you know him . . . he's Chief of Security -anyway something about 
Proctor getting him fired ..." the barkeep told him. 

"Thanks . . . that'll help ..." Sky said, turning to leave. 

Outside, he looked at the address the bartender had given him, got into the 
unmarked police car and gave the young driver the address. 

Sky Jackson had had no trouble in gaining reinstatement with the Seattle 
Police Department. He had left the department in good faith to take the 
security job at Northern; he had been taken back with few questions. Good, 
well-trained policemen were hard to get . . . and keep. 

When they arrived at the apartment complex, Sky was not surprised to find 
Don Proctor's car parked near by. He checked the registration to make sure. 

Sky told his young driver to wait for him . . . that he wanted to check out 
this one alone. As Sky walked along, he reviewed what had happened: The 
president of Northern had reported a theft of documents. The company 
Security Chief was not in the plant. Phil Grey had been fired; it was his 
project data that was missing. A new, young typist from the secretarial pool 
had left the plant saying she was sick. The woman may or may not have had 
any connection with the theft. Those were the bare facts. Sky had been 
detailed to bring in Phil Grey for questioning, but somehow the uniformed 
investigating officer had not gotten Grey's address. Sky had had to dig for 
it, finally hitting pay dirt at the bar. 

Mounting the stairs to the Grey apartment, softly, cautiously, Sky tried the 
door, found it open and slipped inside. Voices came to him from the bedroom. 
He recognized Don's voice. The other one, he guessed, must be that of Phil 
Grey. He stood, silently, waiting and listening. Phil's voice came to him, 
clearly. 

"I've already told you . . . everything I know about her. I knew her as Wini 
Brent... I don't know anything about Bea Palmer . . . that's just a name ... 
to me!" 

"Where'd she go?" Don barked. 

"I don't know ... I told you!" 

CRACK! It was the sound of flesh on flesh! 

"Don't lie to me! Where were you going to meet her?" 

"God damn it!" Phil said. "I've already told you ... I don't know anything 
about her ... I don't know where she was going . . . and I sure as hell 
wasn't meeting her anyplace!" 

"I know something that'll make you talk ... Grey!" the security man said. 
"Turn over on your belly . . . bitch!" 

Rhoda obeyed. "W-what are you going to do . . . t-to m-me .. . now?" she 
asked. 

"I'm going to fuck you in the ass, Rhoda, baby! Maybe, your smart-ass 
husband'll come through with what I want to know when he sees your tight 
little asshole squirming on the end of my cock!" 

She gasped, "No! No! Please . .. don't do that? Anything but that!" 

Phil grated out, "Proctor! You son-of-a-bitch ... if I ever get my hands on 
you . . . they'll have to rebuild your face!" 

Proctor grunted out a short laugh. "You're too late! It's already been 
re-built once ... I cracked up a big Diesel rig on the freeway . . . once! 
That was several years ago! 

"Too bad it didn't kill you, then!" Phil rejoined. 

"I'm too tough for that!" Don boasted. 

Sky slipped up closer to the bedroom door, his broad face working. He had to 
make a move, soon, but he didn't want either Phil or Rhoda to be endangered; 
additionally, he had to know how well-armed his quarry was before moving in 
on him. 

"All right, Rhoda, baby," Don went on, "Get up on your knees!" 

Dully, Rhoda obeyed him, hauling herself up until her buttocks waved in the 
air behind her, vulnerable and unprotected. Don Proctor climbed onto the bed 
behind her. He stroked his massive cock to rock-hardness, as his twisted, 
diabolical smile split his face. 

Don knew that he could have made it easier for her by stretching her first 
with his fingers, but he wanted this to be the ultimate, sadistic, 
humiliating torment to which he had subjected her . . . and to do it before 
the watching eyes of her husband gave him a perverse pleasure. Damn! This is 
going to be some real fun, he thought, as he put some saliva on the 
blood-engorged head of his penis. 

"Now, reach back . . . and spread the cheeks of that beautiful ass!" the 
depraved security guard commanded. 

"Don't do it, Rhoda!" Phil ordered. 

CRACK! Don's fist scored again on the defenseless man's face! "Shut up! 
Unless you've got some answers!" he roared. 

Rhoda reached up behind her, as she rested her weight on her shoulders, her 
hands trembling, to spread the rounded, white half-moons of her buttocks, 
exposing to him, completely, her defenseless, puckered anus. 

My God! He's insane! 

Moving in close behind her, on his knees, Don prodded his giant cock against 
the tiny, tight opening of her back passage, worming the tip of it into her 
until he felt the tight elastic muscle ring begin to give way. Suddenly, he 
gave a savage thrust to his hips and felt the lust-inflated head slip into 
the sheath of her rectum. 

The pain was almost unbearable to her; it felt like a telephone pole was 
being shoved into her. She tried to pull away from him, but his hands on her 
hips held her firmly in place. 

"OOOOOooooh! God! Oh, Christ Jesus! NOOooo! It hurts! You're splitting me 
open!" 

Don grinned, crookedly, at her cry of protest. Excitement rose in him. It 
was supposed to hurt! That's what he intended. He looked over at Phil. 

"You got some answers . . . now!" 

Phil grated, "No! I've told you all I know!" 

Rhoda could barely think, the pain in her backside permeated the whole of 
her loins, now. There was nothing she could do but endure it. 

God! I'm helpless! Oh, it hurts so much! 

"Push back . . . against me!" Don ordered. 

"God! It's too big! It'll kill me!" she screamed. 

Roughly his hands pulled on her hips; at the same time, he thrust with his 
hips and his cock surged inexorably up into the soft, sponginess of her 
rectum, stretching her unrelentingly ever wider and wider. 

Then, she heard Don's harsh giggle of delight as he rammed into her the last 
half-inch. She had absorbed all of him into her wide-stretched back channel. 
Now, he began to saw in and out of her without mercy. 

Rhoda dug her nails into her palms, bit at her lower lip to keep back the 
groans of pain, and little by little the hurtful sensations began to ease. 
Strangely, to her, as the pain was dissipated, she sensed a strong sexual 
stimulation, a warmth that spread in her loins; then, abruptly she commenced 
to feel a masochistic joy in her position, of being sodomized, the 
pleasurable sensations of that massive cock in her rectum blotting out all 
reason. 

I've really flipped. . . now! It's starting to feel good. . . and it's crazy 
t-to want something like this. . . to be fucked in the ass! God! I'll never 
be the same! 

Suddenly, she realized that she was moving with him, countering his thrusts, 
heaving backward to meet him, undulating her hips to increase the 
pleasurable sensations. She wanted it to go on and on... to completion, her 
lust-crazed mind accepting the fact that she could. 

Well! I've been fucked. . . almost every way possible! Don's made a good 
whore out of m-me! He's degraded me... humiliated me. . . fucked me. . . and 
made me like it! I'm so on fire with sex . . . one man would never be able 
to satisfy me! Would Phil ever be able to understand me. . . oh, Christ! His 
cock in my asshole feels . . . so good! 

Don gloated, "God damn! Grey . . . the little bitch likes it! Look at her 
wiggle her ass . . . would you!" 

"Proctor . . . you perverted bastard!" Phil ground out. "If I ever get loose 
. . . I'll take care of both of you!" 

Rhoda groaned and gurgled as Don's pelvis smacked into her bottom, his 
rampaging rod of flesh moving searingly in her back passage, building a 
perverse ecstatic passion in her. 

Outside the bedroom door, Sky decided that Don was fully distracted, now. 
Now was the time! 

The detective came through the door, gun in hand, and put the muzzle of the 
lethal .38 at the base of Don's skull. 

"That's all, Don! Crawl off!" 

The security guard recognized Sky's voice. He knew better than to argue. 

"What the hell!" he grunted. 

"I'm taking you in!" the broad-faced policeman said. "Now get dressed!" 

Sky collected the weapons from the dresser and put them in his pocket, as 
Don pulled his rapidly deflating prick from Rhoda's anal passage. Quickly, 
she scrambled away from him, her face reddening; blindly she grabbed for a 
pillow to cover her body, the shame and humiliation in her bringing quick 
tears. 

"Sky!" she choked. "How ..." 

"Never mind, little lady . . . it's all over!" 

Phil grated. "Thanks Officer... let me go . . . and I'll take that 
son-of-a-bitch apart!" 

"You'll not touch him! He's under arrest . . . and my prisoner! I'll take 
you in, too ... if I have to!" Sky told him, sternly. Then, to Proctor, 
"Give me the key to these cuffs . . . carefully!" 

Don who was now fully dressed reached into a pocket and handed the 
broad-faced detective the proper key. In a few moments. Phil was free. He 
glared malevolently at the security guard, restrained from any further 
action by the cop's warning. The young husband stood to his feet and 
stretched his cramped muscles. 

"Let's go, Proctor!" Sky commanded, pulling Don's arms behind him and 
putting manacles on his wrists. He led the now docile man to the front door; 
Phil followed, but Rhoda remained on the bed enveloped in her tears of 
shame. 

At the door, Sky turned to Phil and said, "Go easy on the little lady . . . 
she's had a bad time! Proctor here forced her, you know!" 

"I know!" 

"One other thing!" Sky said. "I want you to come down to police headquarters 
in the morning... we want you to answer some questions about the 
disappearance of certain documents at Northern! We also want to know what 
you know about Bea Palmer!" 

"Wini Brent ..." 

"Yes . . . that was just a cover she used!" Sky explained. 

"I'll be there!" Phil promised. 

* * * 

Walking toward the police unit, Sky began talking to Don Proctor, "Don, I'm 
taking you in on rape, assault and kidnapping ... all felonies, but there's 
something else ..." 

He stopped and faced his prisoner before going on, "After I quit security at 
Northern and I got back on the department, I did some leg work on you ... I 
found out some interesting things . . . and what I learned bothers me ... " 

"Like what . . . smart ass!" 

"Like your real name!" 

"My name's Don Proctor!" 

"Like hell it is!" Sky said, "It's Ray Steel!" 

"You can't prove that!" 

"We'll see! Now you listen good, you no-good, perverted son-of-a-bitch!" Sky 
said, intensely. "This is what really bothers me ... I found out you left 
your first wife . . . and a little five year old girl . . . left them with 
nothing!" 

"So ..." 

"That little lady ... up there . . . Rhoda Grey ... is that little 
daughter...you abandoned . . . sixteen years ago!" 

Don snarled, "That's a lie!" 

Sky's broad face showed his deep emotion. "I know it for a fact! I was going 
to give it to the D.A. . . . but I couldn't do that . . . without hurting 
her. I don't want her to ever know! You've ruined that little lady . . . she 
never had a chance!" 

"What a cock and bull story!" Don growled. "She loved every minute of it!" 

The broad-faced detective went on, determination to carry through his plan 
evident on his grim visage. 

"Let me tell you what's going to happen ... I'm going to give you a running 
chance when we get to the patrol car . . . but whether you take the chance 
or not. . . one way or the other . . . you're a dead man!" 

Don Proctor's face turned chalky white! He sputtered, all of his bravado 
gone. His shoulders sagged. 

"N-no! Y-you wouldn't . . . that's murder ..." 

"That's where you're wrong, Ray Steel . . . alias Don Proctor ... I think 
they'll call it justifiable homicide!" Sky grated. "Start walking!" 

The young policeman waiting in the patrol unit saw them approaching. He 
dismounted and came around to the curbside rear door to assist Sky Jackson 
with his prisoner. 

When the two men were five paces away from the car, Sky gave Don a shove 
forward. "Now!" he grunted under his breath. 

"Thanks for nothing . . . you bastard!" Don said aloud. 

Suddenly, he began to run, awkwardly, down the sidewalk. 

"Stop!" Sky shouted, drawing his pistol; his first shot was fired in the 
air. 

Aiming carefully, fully accepting his role as self-appointed executioner, 
Sky Jackson squeezed the trigger and sent a .38 slug crashing through the 
brain of the fleeing man. The young cop had his gun out, now. He fired 
twice, scoring body hits before the corpse of Don Proctor slid, crazily, to 
a stop on the concrete sidewalk. 

Sky turned away and sat down on the curb. He issued his orders with a calm 
voice. "Report," he said. "That prisoner, white man, age 47, height 5' 10", 
weight 180 pounds, shot and killed, resisting arrest... give this address 
..." 

"What's the man's name, Sergeant..." 

"Don . . . Don Proctor!" Sky said, his broad face a grim mask. 

I hope that evens the score . . . little lady. And you'll never know... now, 
who Don Proctor really was! God! It makes me sick to my stomach! 

The nausea came . . . and he retched . . . until he was dry. 

* * * 

In the Grey apartment, Rhoda heard the fusillade of shots. She came into the 
living room, a startled look on her face. 

"What ..." 

Phil was seated on the couch. He did not move; his answer was laconic. 
"Proctor ... I guess ..." Rhoda gasped. "Dead ..." "Probably ..." 

"Phil ... he forced me ... to do it!" she said. "I know!" 

"I couldn't help myself..." she said, walking toward him. 

"Stay where you are!" Phil ordered. 

Rhoda stopped dead in her tracks. "What's wrong . . . Phil?" 

"Get down on your knees!" 

Rhoda knelt on the floor. She said, "Phil . . . will you try to understand . 
. . t-try to f-forgive me ... " "I'll give it some thought ..." he said. 

"Oh, Phil .. . please? Tell me what you want of me ... " "Crawl on your 
hands and knees over here!" he ordered, harshly; then, he added, "You little 
bitch!" 

"Oh, Phil! You don't understand!" Rhoda wailed. "You don't know what I . . . 
went through for you!" 

"I understand plenty! You were fucking him like the little whore you are!" 
he roared. 

"He made me do it . . . " she sobbed. 

"Shut up . . . and start crawling!" 

Rhoda crawled! 

"Please . . . Phil ... I'm your wife ..." she begged. "Please, don't treat 
me l-like this!" 

"I'm treating you the way you deserve to be treated!" he said, a sadistic 
smile on his face. "When, you get here . . . you can take out my cock and 
suck it like you've done to all those others. 

"Ooooh!" she sobbed. 

"After that ... I'll decide what else I want to do to you. How do you like 
it best ... in your cunt ... or your ass?" 

 Chapter Ten 

Phil was easily cleared of any implication with the theft of his own 
research data, simply because he refused to implicate himself. All the blame 
rested on Wini Brent, or Bea Palmer, as she was really known. 

He took her advice and the fifty thousand dollars and moved to New York. 
Even though he was cleared in the case with Northern Chemical and Research, 
not another firm would consider hiring him. The money began to run out and 
Phil became desperate. 

One day, a well-dressed man came to see him in their apartment. He offered 
Phil a job. He accepted it at once. Late at night, he was escorted to a car, 
blindfolded and driven to an estate upstate. He thought it might have been 
up as far as Mt. Kisco, but he couldn't be sure. When he was allowed to see 
again, he stood in a completely equipped laboratory. 

He was shown a granular substance. 

"Do you know what this is . . . ?" 

"Yes, I think so," he answered. "I'd have to run tests on it to identify it 
properly." 

"Can you refine it . . . ?" 

"Yes . . . ?" 

"Do you know what the end result will be . . . ?" he was asked. "Heroin!" he 
said. 

"We'll need you for one run a week!" 

"I couldn't do that..." Phil told him. "The fall-out from that stuff has the 
same effect as if you were shooting it into a vein! One run every two weeks 
would be safer ..." 

Phil knew better, but he began running one bath a week. It was not long 
before he was hooked; he became a main-liner, and the habit became more and 
more expensive. He had to buy it just like any other addict. A rotating 
armed guard made sure that he had no opportunity to siphon off any of the 
white powder for himself. He never did know for sure who his employer was. 

Rhoda began entertaining men in their apartment, charging up to two hundred 
dollars to selected clients for an all-night session. Phil could have cared 
less. The false euphoria of his drug-induced day-to-day stupor claimed him, 
completely, and he was no good for her in bed. 

"Hell!" he told her. "Why should I care ... ! You've been giving it away, 
anyway!" 

"Won't you ever understand ... be willing to forgive me?" 

"Get off my back!" he growled. 

"Well, you'll have to get out . . . I've got a visitor coming pretty soon." 

Phil moved off the couch, went into the bathroom and shot up. He emerged 
feeling better, dressed in hat and top-coat and went out into the crisp, 
cold night of November in Manhattan. Wistfully, he longed for balmy, smoggy 
California and the way it was, then, when he was an ambitious, struggling 
young research chemist with his whole career and a full life ahead of him. 

What the hell happened. . . ? 

Rhoda's visitor back at the apartment made his mission clear very quickly. 

"The big man sees you've been operating independent-like . . . Now, he wants 
everybody to be safe . . . including you! You never can tell when somebody's 
going to blow the whistle on you ... or some nut comes up here, and gets 
violent with you . . . What do you do then . . . ?" 

Rhoda was puzzled. "I don't understand . . . ?" 

He took her to the window, forced her to look down from the dizzying height. 
He continued, "Have you ever seen what happens when somebody falls out of 
one of these windows from way up here fourteen floors above the street . . . 
?" 

"Why ... no ... I haven't ... but they'd be killed ...!" 

"Exactly!" he leered. "Now, you wouldn't want that to happen ... to you . . 
. would you...?" 

"N-No . . . !" 

"Well... to make sure nothing like that ever happens to you . . . the man 
wants fifty percent of everything you make! The pick-up will be every Monday 
night! Here's a list of special telephone numbers . . . start working on 
them! And, in case you've got any ideas about holding out. . . we've got all 
kinds of ways to check up on you ... is that clear?" 

"Y-Yes ... I think . . . I-I understand ..." Rhoda said. "You're nothing but 
a... a gangster . . . and . . . you're stealing my money!" 

The veneer of smoothness was thrown off. He rasped out at her, "Gangster? 
That's kind of old-fashioned! You see . . . you happen to live in territory 
belonging to my family . . . and we always take care of our people . . . You 
make the pay-off regular . . . and you're safe. Try to pull some kind of 
smart play on us... and ..." 

The switch-blade appeared in his hand as if by magic, its blade snicking 
open to gleam keen and deadly in the soft light of the room. Working 
swiftly, smoothly, expertly, he shredded her clothing from her, and she 
stood nude before him in a matter of seconds. Suddenly, the message was 
clear to her. 

"Oh, my God!" she sobbed, her tears quick and hot. 

Then, idly, he reached over and deftly snipped several strands of curling 
golden hair from the triangle of her pubic mound. 

"You get the idea?" 

"Y-Yes . . . !" I-I understand . . . !" 

"My name's Gino ... he said amiably. "I'm supposed to sample the merchandise 
. . . Let's start off by seeing how well you eat cock!" 

Rhoda managed a smile. "I'd love to . . . It's my specialty!" 


End
